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girlrotterr · 6 months ago

Note

ellie x reader with an eating disorder?

— "𝑇𝛨𝛦 𝛢𝑃𝛢𝑅𝑇𝛭𝛦𝛮𝑇 𝑊𝛢𝘚 𝘘𝑈𝐼𝛦𝑇."

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: ellie williams x reader

The apartment was quiet.

The faint hum of the refrigerator ringing in the air as you sat at the kitchen counter, your elbows propped against the cool surface. A plate sat untouched in front of you, the scrambled eggs now cold and unappetizing under the dim overhead light.

You felt the weight of it—the food, the silence, the unspoken battle raging in your mind.

From the hallway, the creak of Ellie’s boots against the hardwood broke the stillness. She appeared, her hair damp from a shower, and her loose hoodie hanging off her shoulders in that effortlessly messy way she always carried herself. She paused when she saw you, her green eyes flicking between you and the plate on the counter.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice careful, like stepping onto thin ice. She pulled out a chair, the legs scraping against the floor as she sat across from you. "You been sitting here long?"

You shrugged, your gaze dropping to the plate. The knot in your stomach tightened.

Ellie leaned forward, resting her forearms on the table. The smell of her shampoo—a clean, piney scent—drifted between you. "I, uh, made those for you earlier," she added, her tone light.

"I know." Your voice came out quieter than you'd intended, barely above a whisper.

She didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched you with those piercing eyes of hers. Then, she reached out, her fingers brushing against yours in a touch so gentle it nearly undid you. "You don’t have to eat it," she said finally, her voice a soft murmur.

Your throat tightened, a lump forming that you couldn’t quite swallow. The words you’d kept bottled up pressed against the back of your teeth, but saying them out loud felt impossible.

Ellie didn’t rush you. She never did.

Instead, she leaned back, running a hand through her hair as she glanced toward the window. The golden light of the setting sun poured through the blinds, casting slanted shadows across the room. "I know it’s hard," she said, breaking the silence. Her voice wavered slightly, like she wasn’t sure if she was saying the right thing. "But I see you struggling, and it... it kills me not knowing how to help."

You blinked hard, trying to fight the sting of tears.

Ellie shifted in her seat, her fingers drumming against the edge of the table. Then, almost hesitantly, she said, “If you let me in—just a little—I’ll do everything I can. I mean it."

Her sincerity wrapped around you like a blanket, warm and grounding. You glanced at her, meeting her eyes for the first time, and saw nothing but patience and love reflected back at you.

You exhaled a shaky breath. "It’s not... It’s not about the food," you admitted, your voice barely audible. "It’s just... everything. I don’t know how to..."

Ellie leaned forward again, her hand reaching for yours and this time holding it firmly. "You don’t have to figure it out alone," she said, her voice steady, grounding. "We’ll take it one step at a time. Together."

The tears came then, silent and unstoppable, and Ellie didn’t hesitate to move to your side, wrapping her arms around you in a hug that spoke louder than words ever could. The smell of her hoodie, the warmth of her presence, and the quiet reassurance of her heartbeat against your ear felt like a lifeline.

In that moment, the weight didn’t disappear, but it shifted, just enough to remind you that you weren’t carrying it alone.

Ellie’s arms stayed firm around you, grounding you as the storm in your chest slowly ebbed. She didn’t say anything, didn’t offer platitudes or rush you through the moment. She just held you, her fingers gently tracing circles on your back like she knew the exact pace you needed to steady your breathing.

When you finally pulled back, her hoodie was damp where your face had been buried, and you couldn’t bring yourself to meet her eyes. Ellie noticed, of course—she always noticed—but instead of forcing you to look at her, she gave you space.

"Let me grab you some water," she said, her voice quiet but sure, like she was letting you know she was still there without overwhelming you. She stood up, her chair scraping softly against the floor as she moved to the sink.

You heard the soft rush of the faucet, the clink of a glass, and then the weight of the cup in your hand. "Thanks," you mumbled, your voice raw from the effort of speaking through the lump still stuck in your throat.

Ellie leaned against the counter, her hands stuffed into the pocket of her hoodie as she watched you. The fading sunlight cast her face in golden hues, softening the edges of her usually sharp features. Her mouth twitched like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if she should.

"You don’t have to explain more right now," she said finally, her words deliberate and careful. "But... I’ve been doing some reading." She rubbed the back of her neck, her awkwardness showing in the way she avoided your eyes. "Like, about this kind of stuff. Just... trying to understand, you know?"

You looked up at her, surprised. "You have?"

Ellie’s cheeks flushed slightly, and she shrugged. "Yeah. I figured it’d help me be less of an idiot about it."

A faint smile tugged at the corner of your mouth despite the heaviness still clinging to your chest. Ellie noticed and her own lips quirked up in response, the tension in the air easing just a fraction.

"I don’t need to have all the answers," she continued, her voice softening. "I just need you to know that I care."

The vulnerability in her words hit you harder than you expected, her willingness to meet you where you were, even if it meant fumbling through the darkness with you.

You nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling in your chest like a balm. "I think I’d like that," you said, your voice shaky but honest.

Ellie’s smile widened, relief flickering across her face. "Good. ‘Cause you’re kinda stuck with me, y’know."

A small laugh escaped you, surprising both of you, and Ellie’s grin turned into something brighter, something closer to the light you hadn’t realized you needed.

"Okay," she said, stepping closer and nudging the untouched plate of eggs aside. "How about we take a walk or something? No pressure, just... fresh air."

For the first time in what felt like forever, the thought didn’t feel like an impossible task. You nodded again, a little more firmly this time.

Ellie grabbed your jacket from the chair, holding it out for you. As you slid your arms into the sleeves, her hand brushed yours, and it lingered for just a moment longer than necessary—a quiet reassurance that she was here, and she wasn’t going anywhere.

And as the two of you stepped into the cool evening air, the sound of her voice—light, teasing, but undeniably steady—kept you tethered.

For now, it was enough.

#── ꒰੭ ﾟ 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 #꒰ ❀ ⋮ 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 ꒱#﹙♡﹚─── 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie fanfic #ellie tlou #ellie x y/n #ellie the last of us #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams au #ellie williams tlou #ellie x you #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie fluff #ellie williams fluff

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girlrotterr · 2 months ago

Note

ughs we need more ellie fluff / hurt2comfort;

here's some ideas!

- ellie and reader going on their first date and both of them being nervous (movie theater, zoo, farmers market)

- ellie being really nervous to commit cause she's scared to hurt reader (reader becomes more hurt from this and ellie comes back and comforts her)

- ellie x popular!reader and reader isn't out yet and hides relationship w ellie until ellie gets fed up (reader comes back and comes out - fully committing to relationship)

- bully!ellie x reader (enemies to lovers...? per chance...?)

- ellie and reader moving in together!

- ellie x barista!reader (reader "accidentally" making ellie's drink a bigger size, drawing hearts next to her name on her cup, reader writing their number on the cup)

-🍓

— "𝐼 𝐷𐒆𝛮'𝑇 𝑊𝛢𝛮𝛮�� 𝛣𝛦 𝑇𝛨𝛦 𐒆𝑊𝛮𝛦𝑅 𐒆𝐹 𝑌𐒆𝑈𝑅 𝐹𝛢𝛮𝑇𝛢𝘚𝑌."

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: ellie williams x reader

𝘚𝑌𝛮𐒆𝑃𝘚𝐼𝘚: You’re lying next to ellie, someone who holds your hand but never says your name like it means anything. You’re tired. She's distant. You’re in love, and she's somewhere else entirely.

𝛢/𝛮: I was in the mood for something a little angsty, so i went with the second one! but omg i loved all of these ideas—definitely saving them for future fics.

The rain started again.

Soft at first, like fingertips tapping the glass. The city outside blurred into a watercolor wash—smudged lights, shapeless cars, neon signs bleeding into puddles. Inside, the apartment was quiet and still, lit only by the flickering glow of a candle on the dresser. Its flame bent and danced with every subtle draft.

Ellie sat at the edge of the bed, half-dressed.

Her hoodie clung to one shoulder, boxers creased from being pulled on too fast. She stared down at her hands, unmoving, her thumb twitching faintly like it had a mind of its own. You sat behind her, legs folded under the blanket, watching her through the low light.

The silence between you wasn’t new.

You knew it well—like the pattern of freckles on her back, where they gathered in constellations and where they scattered like dust. You even knew the rhythm of her sighs now, the pause before her shoulders slumped.

Still, you speak. Softly. Carefully.

Still, you tried. “I was thinking... maybe we could go away this weekend. There’s a cabin Jesse knows. It’s by a lake. Real quiet. No service.”

The words came out soft, careful.

Ellie flinched—not dramatically, but enough. Just a small wince, as if you’d grazed a bruise she forgot to hide.

She didn’t turn around.

Just dragged a hand through her hair and let out a tired breath through her nose.

“I—yeah. Maybe,” she says. But the words hang limp. Like she already told you no.

You swallowed. Nodded. The air in your throat felt like static.

Then she finally turned to you, her face half in shadow, eyes unreadable—stuck somewhere between guilt and regret and something you were scared to name. For a second, you thought she might actually say something.

But then, like a reflex, she leaned in and kissed you.

It was gentle, practiced. Her lips barely parted, like she was scared of tasting too much. Her hand found your cheek, but it only rested there, light and cold like snowfall. You kissed her back because this—this part—was the only part she gave without flinching. But like always, she pulled away first. Her breath was shaky.

Her eyes locked on the candle flame.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

She always said sorry. After every kiss. After every night wrapped around you like it meant something. After every morning she slipped out the door before you were fully awake. You exhaled and reached for her hand. She let you take it, but it stayed limp in yours—cold, still. Like holding the hand of a statue.

“Ellie,” you said. Just her name. A question wrapped in a whisper.

She didn’t answer. Her jaw tightened. Her eyes looked wet, like she wanted to say something—maybe three words, maybe goodbye. But she didn’t. She never did. Instead, she slipped beneath the blankets and turned to face the wall.

You lay back beside her, staring at the ceiling as the rain hissed softly against the windows. And in that moment, with her body warm beside you and her heart miles away, it hit you.

You weren’t sleeping next to a lover.

You were lying beside a ghost.

And she haunted you more when she stayed than when she left.

One night, after a quiet dinner where Ellie said nothing—not about her day, not about the music playing faintly through the kitchen speaker, not even when your hands brushed while reaching for the same fork—something inside you cracked.

You’d made her favorite, and she barely touched it. Picked at the rice like it offended her. Her eyes stayed on her plate the whole time, not once meeting yours. It felt like talking to a painting of her instead of the real thing—beautiful, familiar, but frozen in time.

Untouchable. Unreachable.

The silence was loud. It pressed against your skull, your chest, your ribs. And when you finally spoke, it wasn’t planned. It wasn’t rehearsed. It just happened, like the moment when a dam breaks.

“Am I just a placeholder until you feel something real?”

The words dropped heavy between you. The kind of sentence you can’t take back. It hung in the air, pulsing, waiting for her to kill it with a denial, a laugh, even anger. Anything. But Ellie didn’t say a word.

She froze, her jaw clenching so tight you saw the muscles twitch. Her hands stilled on the table, curled slightly like she was holding something invisible and delicate. But she didn’t answer.

Her silence was worse than cruelty.

You would’ve taken a scream over this. A door slammed. A sharp “Don’t say that.” At least then it would’ve meant something was alive between you—love, hate, pain, anything.

But this? This was absence. A hollow space where her heart should’ve been.

You watched her, and she stared at the wall, the candle flickering on her face. You searched for a sign. A tremble in her lip. A shift in her eyes. Some proof she’d heard you.

Something to prove she cared.

But all you got was that silence. Cold. Flat. Indifferent.

You stood up, slowly, the chair scraping across the hardwood like an exhale. Your hands trembled as you gathered the plates. She didn’t move. Not even when you brushed past her, not when the water started running in the sink, not when you closed the bedroom door behind you an hour later.

She stayed in the kitchen long after the food went cold.

You weren’t sure how many hours had passed.

Outside, the city fell into its usual nighttime hum—cars whispering by, the occasional distant siren—but inside, everything remained still.

No footsteps. No apologies. No doors creaking open.

You lay curled toward the wall, wrapped in the dim amber glow of the bedside lamp, the covers pulled high even though the room wasn’t cold. Your body ached with the kind of exhaustion that didn’t come from movement, but from holding too much inside for too long.

You weren’t sure when Ellie had come in—maybe ten minutes ago, maybe an hour—but the bed had dipped beneath her weight, and she hadn’t said a word.

You didn’t move.

It was easier not to.

You waited for her to say something—anything.

But all you heard was the low hum of the heater and the distant clink of a spoon left in the sink.

You hated her silence, how it folded itself between the sheets like a third presence in the room. It was always like this: the aftermath of something unspoken. Of words that had cut too deep, or worse, landed with a dull, indifferent thud.

Then, finally, you felt it. The barest brush of her fingers against your neck, trembling. Like she was asking for permission to exist beside you.

You stiffened, instinctively, but you didn’t pull away.

“Hey,” her voice came, barely a whisper. Hoarse. Almost hesitant.

You didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

You were afraid that if you opened your mouth, it would all come spilling out again—the pain, the resentment, the quiet desperation you’d spent months pressing down.

She shifted behind you. The mattress creaked. Her presence moved closer, hesitantly, until you felt the heat of her against your back, not touching but near enough to feel it, like sunlight through glass. For a moment, she didn’t say anything. And then, softly—like she wasn’t sure she had the right to—she said, “I’m sorry.”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I’m fucked up,” she went on, her voice fraying at the edges. “I know I am. But it’s not because of you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

God, how many times had she said that?

But this time, her voice cracked mid-sentence. It sounded like she meant it—like it wasn’t just another line she repeated to deflect your pain. You felt her reach for your hand beneath the blanket, hesitating before her fingers slid over yours.

Warm, trembling. The contact undid something in your chest.

“I’m scared all the time,” she whispered. “Like... if I let myself have this—have you—it’ll just get ripped away.”

You turned slightly, just enough to see the way her face was half-shadowed in the soft glow of the bedside light. Her brows were drawn tight, her jaw tense. She wasn’t crying, but she looked like she could. You had never seen her this exposed, this raw. Her words spilled like blood from an old wound—slow, painful, necessary.

“You’re not a placeholder,” she said, her voice almost shaking. “You’re not. You’re... you’re the only thing that feels real. And that terrifies me.”

You swallowed hard, eyes stinging again, because the confession hit harder than any silence ever had. It wasn’t just fear in her voice—it was grief. Like she was mourning something she hadn’t even lost yet.

“I don’t know how to love you without ruining it,” she admitted, quieter now. “But I want to try. I swear I want to try.”

Her hand tightened around yours then—not possessive, but anchoring. As if to say please don’t go. As if to say I don’t deserve you, but I’m here anyway.

You turned fully this time, your face streaked with dried tears and fresh ones threatening. Ellie looked at you like she was bracing for impact, but you didn’t yell. You didn’t run. You just looked at her, and for the first time in a long time, she looked back like she saw you.

Not just your body. Not just the version of you that was easy to hold and easier to forget.

She saw the part of you that was breaking. And for once, she didn't flinch.

“I’m here,” she said again, quieter this time, the words brushing the silence like a hand over raw skin. “I’m here, okay?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, she meant it.

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girlrotterr · 3 months ago

Note

Hey, so, I have read almost all your work and I have loved all of them. I have no idea if you do request (I understand if you don’t x) but I was wondering if you could do a fanfic about pottery, I have been loving it recently and I cant seem to get Ellie Williams doing pottery of my mind. This can be a smut or just a fluff I don’t mind. Again I completely understand if you don’t do requests xx

P.S I don’t mean the ‘xx’ in a bad, it’s just something I do to be kind. 🪼<This is just so I know if you do my request, I don’t claim it in any way.

— "𝑈𝛮𝐷𝛦𝑅 𝑌𐒆𝑈𝑅 𝘚𝛫𝐼𝛮."

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: ceramicist!ellie x apprentice!reader

𝘚𝑌𝛮𐒆𝑃𝘚𝐼𝘚: You start an apprenticeship with Ellie Williams, a renowned ceramicist known for her cold demeanor. When a sudden tension between you grows.

𝛢/𝛮: a little rusty on my writing so forgive me! I fell in love with this request and anon.

The first time you met Ellie, she barely looked at you.

You knew her name before you ever set foot in the studio. Ellie Williams—ceramicist, infamous in the art world. Her work spoke in textures and fractures, in pieces that felt like they had been unearthed rather than made. The kind collectors whispered about, the kind that never gathered dust in a gallery for long. And yet, she stayed here—buried in this dimly lit studio on the outskirts of the city, where the air was thick with the weight of clay dust and the sharp tang of burning glaze.

You had imagined this moment before, played out every version of it in your head—the quiet thrill of stepping into her world, the flicker of recognition in her gaze, maybe even the hint of a smile.

Instead, she barely spared you a glance.

She leaned against the worktable, exhaling a slow drag from a cigarette, fingers tapping absently against the wood. Smoke curled around her like an afterthought. She wore paint-stained overalls, the straps loose over a threadbare sweater, sleeves shoved to her elbows. Her hands—God, her hands—were streaked with dried slip, inked with tiny scars and half-healed nicks.

She didn’t acknowledge you. Just tapped ash onto the concrete floor, her expression unreadable, her eyes hooded like she had already decided you weren’t worth the effort.

You swallowed, shifting around “I’m supposed to start today. As your apprentice.”

Ellie exhaled smoke through her nose. Finally—finally—her gaze flicked toward you. A single glance, sharp and assessing, before she looked past you, as if already bored.

“Don’t fuck anything up.”

You should have been irritated. Should have rolled your eyes, maybe even walked out. But instead, something twisted low in your stomach.

Because for all her detachment, all her cold, effortless dismissal—Ellie Williams fascinated you.

And that was going to be a problem.

She turned away, flicking her cigarette into a clay-streaked mug on the counter, then gestured vaguely toward a wheel tucked in the corner. “Show me what you know.”

The air in the studio felt thick, pressing against your skin like damp fabric. You hesitated, then moved toward the wheel, rolling up your sleeves as you settled onto the stool. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for the clay—a ball of cool, damp earth waiting on the table.

Ellie leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed. Watching. Always watching. Her gaze felt heavier than it should.

Taking a steadying breath, you pressed the clay against the spinning wheel. It wasn’t perfect, a little wobbly, but you knew the basics. You let your fingers glide over the surface, trying to shape something—anything—under the weight of her gaze.

The silence stretched.

Then—“You’re doing it wrong.”

You froze. “What?”

Ellie pushed off the counter and strode toward you, the scent of smoke and earth trailing behind her. She stood too close—close enough that you could see the freckles scattered across her cheeks, the way clay had settled into the creases of her fingers. Close enough that you felt the heat of her without her even touching you.

Her chin tilted slightly, gaze dropping to your hands. “Your pressure’s uneven. You’re gonna collapse the whole thing if you keep forcing it like that.”

Frustration prickled under your skin. You weren’t bad at this. You had experience. But under Ellie’s scrutiny, every movement felt clumsy.

“Then show me,” you said, meeting her gaze. “Show me how to do it right.”

Something shifted in her expression, just for a moment. A flicker of something unreadable before she scoffed, shaking her head.

“You’re not ready.”

You frowned. “How do you know that if you won’t even teach me?”

Ellie’s jaw tensed. Her fingers twitched at her sides, as if she was debating something.

“Just—figure it out,” she muttered, turning away too quickly, grabbing a lump of clay and throwing it onto her own wheel with more force than necessary.

You watched her, confusion twisting in your chest.

She wouldn’t touch you.

The days in the studio bled into nights. You spent hours covered in clay, your fingers wrinkled and raw from the water, the air thick with the scent of earth and smoke. Ellie was a constant presence—sharp, impatient, always watching. She never praised you, barely acknowledged your progress, but you started to learn her silences. The way she hovered just close enough to correct you without touching, the way her eyes lingered on your work longer than necessary.

She never let you get too close.

But then—one night—you caught her staring.

The studio was quiet, save for the occasional drip of water from the sink and the distant murmur of the city outside, and the quiet crackle of Ellie’s cigarette. You were finishing up a piece, smoothing out the edges, when you felt it—that heavy, lingering gaze.

You looked up.

Ellie was sitting at her worktable, a half-finished sculpture in front of her, but she wasn’t working. She wasn’t even pretending to. Her eyes were on you—dark, hooded, something restrained simmering just beneath the surface.

Your breath hitched. Heat crept up your spine, curling at the base of your neck. You swallowed, heart pounding, hands still dusted with clay as you wiped them absently on your apron.

"Ellie?" Your voice was soft, careful.

Her jaw clenched. She looked like she wanted to say something, but instead, she dropped her gaze, her fingers curling into fists against the table.

"Don’t—" She cut herself off, shaking her head as if she could will the words away.

You swallowed. "Don’t what?"

She exhaled sharply through her nose, eyes flicking back to yours, frustration warring with something else. Something raw. Something she didn’t want to name.

"Don’t look at me like that."

She exhaled sharply through her nose, eyes flicking back to yours, frustration warring with something else. Something raw. Something she didn’t want to name.

Your fingers curled against the worktable, your pulse hammering in your throat.

"Like what?" you asked.

Ellie’s throat bobbed as she swallowed. Her hands twitched like she wanted to grab something—grab you—but instead, she pushed herself up from the table so fast her chair scraped against the floor.

"It’s late," she muttered, already turning away. "Go home."

The tension only got worse afterwards.

The kind of tension that crackled in the air, waiting for the right moment to ignite.

And maybe you were impatient. Maybe you wanted to see what it would take to make her snap.

So you challenged her—constantly.

Not with teasing, not with soft words or lingering glances, but with pure, relentless defiance.

You questioned her methods, countered her critiques, pushed back every time she dismissed you. When she told you your form was sloppy, you demanded to know why. When she muttered a vague correction, you pressed until she had to explain herself. When she tried to shut you out, you forced your way in.

And it infuriated her.

"You have to be precise," Ellie said one evening, watching as you tried—again—to carve the fine details into the rim of your piece.

"I am precise," you argued, scowling as you adjusted your grip on the tool.

Ellie scoffed. "No, you’re stubborn. There’s a difference."

"Or maybe you just don’t know how to teach," you shot back.

Her eyes snapped to yours, a flicker of something dangerous behind them.

"Excuse me?"

You shrugged, pretending nonchalance. "You don’t explain anything. You just bark orders and expect people to understand."

Ellie took a slow breath, the kind people take when they’re trying not to lose their temper. "If you actually listened—"

"I do listen," you cut in. "But you never show me."

Her jaw clenched. "I don’t need to—"

"Yes, you do," you insisted, pushing the piece aside and turning fully toward her. "If you want me to get better, if you actually want me to learn—then show me how you do it."

Ellie flinched. Just barely. A quick, subtle shift in her expression, gone almost instantly.

And then she stepped back.

"No," she muttered, shaking her head. "You’re not even-"

You scoffed. "Bullshit."

Ellie stiffened. You saw the way her fingers twitched at her sides, the way her breath came just a little too fast, the way she refused to look directly at you.

It hit you all at once.

She wasn’t saying you weren’t ready.

She was saying she wasn’t.

You stared at her, something hot curling in your chest, frustration clawing its way up your throat.

"What is wrong with you?" you demanded. "Why won’t you just—"

"Because I can’t," Ellie snapped.

Silence crashed between you.

Ellie’s hands curled into fists, her whole body tense, like she was trying to hold herself together.

You opened your mouth, but she was already turning away, already grabbing her things, already moving for the door.

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Before Ellie could reach the door, you lunged forward and grabbed her wrist. Not hard, not enough to hurt—just enough to stop her.

She froze.

The air in the studio went thick and silent. You could feel the tension coiled in her arm, the way her muscles tensed beneath your grip. Her breath was sharp, shallow, like she was bracing for something.

"Let go," she said, low and warning.

"No," you shot back.

Ellie finally turned to face you, and the look in her eyes was something dangerous. Frustration, anger—but beneath that, fear. A hesitation she didn’t want you to see.

"You don’t get to just walk away," you pressed, tightening your grip slightly. "Not this time. You’re gonna tell me what your problem is, and you’re gonna do it now."

Ellie’s nostrils flared. "My problem?"

"Yeah," you snapped. "The way you look at me like you hate that I exist. The way you won’t touch me, even when it would help. The way you’re constantly holding back like—" You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "What the hell is it, Ellie?"

She yanked her wrist out of your grasp and took a step back like she needed space, like being too close to you was the worst thing in the world.

"You wouldn’t fucking understand," she muttered.

"Then make me understand!"

Ellie ran a hand through her hair, exhaling hard, like she was trying to keep herself from breaking right in front of you.

"You’re my apprentice," she finally gritted out. "I’m supposed to teach you, not—" She cut herself off, shaking her head violently.

"Not what?" you pushed.

Ellie let out a bitter laugh, but there was no humor in it. She looked at you then, really looked at you, and something inside her cracked open just enough for you to see the mess beneath.

"Not want to fuck you," she muttered.

Your breath caught.

Ellie clenched her jaw so hard you thought she might shatter her own teeth. She looked like she hated saying it, like admitting it made her weak.

"I can’t fucking trust myself around you," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "That’s the problem."

Either way, before you could react, before you could so much as blink, she was there.

Right in front of you.

Her arm came up, pressing against the wall above your head, caging you in, the heat of her body radiating into the air between you. Her breath was ragged, hard, each inhale like she was fighting something. Like being this close to you was driving her to the edge of something she didn’t want to fall into.

You swallowed hard, barely able to move, barely able to think.

"Ellie," you whispered, and the moment your voice hit the air, you swore you heard it—

A groan. Low and strained, barely there, like she was pained by the sound of her own name in your mouth.

The air between you was hot—too hot. Your chest rose and fell in tandem with hers.

Her hand curled into a fist against the wall, the veins in her forearm tight beneath inked skin. Her jaw clenched like she was forcing herself not to move, not to close the inch of space that still remained between you.

"Don’t," she whispered, but it didn’t sound like she meant it.

You weren’t even sure what she was telling you not to do. Speak? Move? Breathe?

Ellie was so close now, you could feel the tension in her body like a coiled spring. Her chest heaved, her breath coming in uneven bursts as if every inhale took everything she had.

It was too much. Too much pressure in the air, too much in the way her hands clenched and her jaw was set tight, like she was trying to hold herself together by sheer will. And you—you could feel it too, that pull toward her, a force that made your body lean in, that made your heart race.

Without thinking, your hand lifted, and you reached for the strands of her hair.

The moment your fingers touched it, you felt the soft strands slide between your fingertips, and you couldn’t help it. You let your fingers drift through her hair, feeling the warmth and texture of it—rough yet silky

Ellie’s eyes snapped shut, her brow furrowing in frustration.

Her breathing grew even heavier, sharper. Her chest was rising and falling as though she was fighting the urge to take control, to pull away, but also fighting to stay exactly where she was.

And then—oh, you couldn’t stop it.

You tugged.

Just a little. Enough to pull her head back slightly, just enough to make her hair stretch in your fingers. The instant you did, she let out a sharp, ragged breath, like the sound was torn from her against her will.

Ellie’s whole body tensed. Her eyes shot open, and for a fraction of a second, you saw something break in her expression.

But you don’t pull away. And neither does she.

There is nothing soft about the way it happens. There is nothing patient. When she gives in, it is all at once, her mouth crushing against yours, all teeth and hunger, all the restraint she’s clung to shattering like fragile porcelain.

Her hands are rough as they find your waist, pulling, gripping, needing—her nails biting into your skin hard enough to bruise. A quiet, desperate sound escapes her throat, like she’s been starving for this, like she’s finally caving to a need she’s tried to bury. She gripped your hips, steering you back until you hit the nearest worktable, the edge pressing into your lower back. In the rush, your hand knocked over a bowl of slip—wet clay spilling over the surface, dripping onto the floor with a thick splatter. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters but the feverish drag of her hands, the sharp pull of her fingers twisting in your shirt, yanking it up, her breath coming faster, rougher.

You taste months of tension snapping like a bowstring. Her hands slip under your shirt, dragging over your ribs, nails scraping as though she’s trying to mark you, trying to make this real. And maybe she is. Maybe she needs proof that she’s allowed to want this, even if she shouldn’t.

But then she jerks back, breathless, eyes wild.

"Fuck," she whispers, voice wrecked. She stares at you like she’s ruined something, like she’s just set fire to the last thread of her self-control.

And maybe she has.

Because now that she’s had a taste, she knows—

She’s never going to stop.

219 notes · View notes

girlrotterr · 8 months ago

Note

So glad you’re back, missed your amazing writing a lot!

Would it be possible to make something about maybe the reader getting bit and infected , but Ellie instead of killing them just kind of ..keeps them?

Like she refuses to lose anyone else , too many people she knew lost themselves to the infected and she just can’t shoot them, and despite their pleas for Ellie to just put them down, yknow before they’re fully infected, Ellie just can’t do it

It’s selfish and she knows that but she just can’t lose R . And maybe when R is like, fully infected, they’re way less aggressive with Ellie- like even with the fungus controlling their brain, those foggy eyes still recognize Ellie just a little bit, like they’re still there

Or maybe that’s what Ellie believes and she’s just majorly delusional! It’s not like she could get infected if we bit them anyway 😁

(P.S I’m glad you’re back but don’t feel any pressure to do anything you don’t want to! It’s always nice to keep balance and take breaks and all that. really love what you do!)

— "𝐹𝑅𝛢𝐺𝛭𝛦𝛮𝑇𝘚 𐒆𝐹 𝑌𐒆𝑈."

𝑃𝛢𝐼𝑅𝐼𝛮𝐺: ellie williams x infected! reader

𝛢/𝛮: This literally made my day! tsym for this request, it was gut-wrenching to write. I definitely need to write more angst.

The air in the room felt stifling, thick with tension and the lingering smell of antiseptic. You knelt beside Ellie, carefully cleaning the dirt and dried blood from her arm, your hands steady despite the unease crawling up your spine. Her skin was cold to the touch, and you could feel the thinness of her frame—she hadn’t been eating. Her face was hollow, eyes glassy as she stared blankly at the peeling wallpaper, as if the world beyond had ceased to matter.

"You need food," you said quietly, dabbing at the worst of her wounds. "If you don’t, you’ll collapse before you even make it out of this place."

Your voice barely stirred the silence. Ellie’s jaw tightened, but she gave no other sign that she heard you. You reached for the bandages to wrap the gash along her arm, but just as your fingers brushed the edge of her sleeve, she pulled back, standing abruptly. The bed creaked as she rose, putting space between you, her body tense like a spring ready to snap.

She moved to the window, staring out into the rain-soaked streets, her reflection barely visible in the glass. One hand rose to her forehead, pressing hard as if she could push away the weight bearing down on her. "I’m leaving tonight," she murmured, her voice flat but filled with quiet finality.

You rose slowly, watching her closely. "Ellie…" you began, but the words felt heavy, caught in your throat. "You can’t go alone. I’m coming with you."

The sound of your words seemed to break something loose in her, and she let out a dry, humorless laugh. It was bitter, the kind of laugh that had nothing to do with amusement. "No, you’re not," she said, turning halfway to glance at you. Her eyes flickered with something cold and distant. "This isn’t about you. You stay here. I don’t need you following me."

Her words cut through the air like a blade, sharp and unrelenting. You wanted to reach out, to close the gap, but her posture warned you to keep your distance. She ran a hand through her hair, the strands falling messily around her face, the exhaustion clear in the way her body sagged, but she kept standing. Kept moving. Kept fighting.

Finally, she turned fully, her eyes locking onto yours with a steely resolve. The warmth that had once been there—the fire, the connection—was gone. Replaced by something hollow, something hardened by too much loss. The person you were staring at was Ellie, but at the same time, it wasn’t her. Her expression was almost unreadable, the kind of cold determination that refused to be questioned.

"You don’t know what this is," she said, her voice low, barely above a whisper, but carrying the weight of everything unsaid. "You don’t want any part of it." Her gaze was icy, her eyes daring you to argue. Daring you to stop her.

And in that moment, you realized the Ellie standing before you was not the same girl who once trusted you with her secrets, her fears. She had become something else, someone chasing after something that only she could see.

The rain outside drummed softly against the cracked windowpane, its steady rhythm the only sound filling the suffocating quiet between you and Ellie. She had turned away from you again, facing the door now, hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets like they were holding her together. But you weren’t going to let her leave. Not like this.

"I am coming with you, Ellie," you said, your voice firmer this time. "You can’t do this alone."

She stiffened, her shoulders hunching slightly, like the weight of your words was too much to bear. For a moment, she didn’t move, didn’t say anything, the tension between you thickening with every passing second. The space between you felt like a chasm, widening with each breath.

"I told you to stay," she muttered through clenched teeth, her voice low but trembling at the edges. Her hands gripped the fabric of her jacket inside the pockets, knuckles white, though you couldn’t see it. "This isn’t your fight."

"You think I care about that?" you shot back, stepping closer, trying to catch her eye. "You think I’m going to stand by and let you run off into God knows what? You’ll get yourself killed out there."

She let out another bitter laugh, but this time it was shakier, less certain, like she was using it as a shield. "I’ll be fine," she said, though the words felt hollow, more for her benefit than yours. She shifted slightly, her back still to you, and you could see her hands twitch inside her pockets. Her whole body was rigid, but there was a tremor running through her, something she was desperately trying to hide.

You stepped forward, your voice softening but still determined. "No, you won’t. You haven’t slept, haven’t eaten. You’re barely holding on, Ellie." The words hung in the air between you, and you could feel the weight of them sinking in.

"Stop it," she snapped suddenly, her voice cracking at the edges as she turned halfway, but still not fully meeting your eyes. Her hands were shaking now, slight but noticeable, and she shoved them deeper into her pockets, as if that would make the tremors disappear. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Then tell me," you pressed, not backing down. "Tell me why you won’t let me come with you. Why you keep pushing me away."

Her gaze darted to the floor, her lips pressed into a thin line. She was breathing faster now, the tremble in her voice more pronounced, and her whole frame seemed to sag under the weight of your words. But still, she didn’t look at you. She couldn’t.

"Because…" she started, her voice barely above a whisper, but then she swallowed hard, shaking her head, as if trying to force the words back down. She ran a hand through her hair again, her fingers trembling as they got caught in the messy strands, her breath shallow.

She took a step toward the door, her movements almost frantic, her back still turned. "You don’t get it," she muttered, her voice fragile. "If you come with me…"

Her voice broke completely, and she clenched her fists so hard inside her pockets that you could see her arms tense up. She couldn’t finish the sentence, couldn’t even face you, her entire body vibrating with barely contained emotion. You could feel the distance between you growing, and yet, you knew she was right there—right on the edge of something she didn’t want to admit.

"Ellie," you said gently, stepping closer until you were just behind her. "You don’t have to do this alone. You can’t keep shutting people out."

She took a deep breath, as if trying to steel herself, but it wasn’t working. The more she tried to keep her voice steady, the more it trembled, betraying her. "I have to," she whispered, her voice so small, so fragile that it barely sounded like her. "I can’t… I can’t lose anyone else."

The confession hung in the air like a fragile thread, one tug away from snapping, and your heart clenched. She still wouldn’t look at you, her eyes glued to the door, as if staring at it would keep her from unraveling. Her hands slipped from her pockets, fingers twitching at her sides now, shaking uncontrollably.

"Ellie…" you whispered, taking a step closer, but she flinched, turning away sharply, like she couldn’t bear your presence. Her breathing had quickened, shallow and uneven, and her eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape.

"I can’t… I can’t lose you too," she choked out finally, the words spilling out like they had been forced from somewhere deep inside her, where she had buried them. She bit her lip, hard, as if punishing herself for saying it out loud, as if the very act of speaking it made it real.

Her hands balled into fists again, trembling as she pressed them against her sides. She was shaking now, her entire body vibrating with the fear she couldn’t voice, the grief she refused to let surface. But it was there, seeping out through every crack, every tremor. And she couldn’t hide it anymore.

She wouldn’t look at you—couldn’t—but you could see the tears welling up in her eyes, and the way she blinked rapidly to hold them back. Her voice was barely a whisper when she spoke again, raw and broken. "If you come with me… something will happen. I know it. I’ll lose you too."

There it was. The truth she had been too terrified to say, the fear she had been carrying with her all this time. The fear that had kept her running, kept her distant, kept her cold. She wasn’t just afraid of losing more people—she was afraid of losing you.

You stood there, your heart aching for her, wanting to reach out and tell her it was okay—that you understood. But you knew that right now, she couldn’t handle that. Not when she was so close to breaking.

She turned away again, her shoulders hunched, her body trembling as she fought to keep herself together. "Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Just… stay. Don’t make me say goodbye to you too."

The silence that followed was suffocating, and you knew in that moment, she wasn’t just asking you to stay behind. She was asking you to save her from the heartbreak she feared was inevitable. To stop her from speaking her worst fears into existence.

The morning was overcast, the kind of gray that settled over everything, turning the world dull and lifeless. You and Ellie walked side by side through the empty town, your footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet streets. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the dampness still lingered in the air, making everything feel heavy and cold. Your breath came out in short, visible puffs, mingling with the mist that clung to the abandoned buildings around you.

Ellie was quiet, her gaze fixed ahead as she led the way, rifle slung over her shoulder. The tension from the night before still lingered between you, a quiet undercurrent that neither of you had fully addressed. But for now, there were more immediate concerns—supplies, food, anything that could keep you both going for another few days. The last town had been picked clean, and this one didn’t look much better.

You passed by boarded-up storefronts, windows cracked and shattered, their interiors dark and hollow. The signs above them had long faded, the paint chipped and peeling, a reminder of a life long abandoned. Ellie didn’t say a word, but her movements were sharp, purposeful, her eyes scanning every alley, every shadow. She was on edge, though she tried to hide it.

As you walked, the distant sound of creaking metal caught your attention. A rusted-out sign swung lazily in the wind above an old convenience store. The windows were grimy, impossible to see through, but it didn’t look like it had been touched in a while.

"Let’s check in there," you suggested, nodding toward the building. Ellie gave a curt nod in response, her lips pressed tightly together, and without a word, she moved toward the door, her boots scuffing against the wet pavement. She reached for the handle, testing it cautiously, and the door creaked open with a low groan, the hinges rusted from neglect.

Inside, the air was musty, thick with the scent of mold and decay. Shelves lined the walls, though most were bare, their contents either stolen or long expired. Sunlight barely filtered through the grime-covered windows, casting everything in a muted, grayish light. Ellie stepped in first, her hand already hovering near her pistol, her eyes sharp and scanning the dim interior. You followed close behind, your heartbeat quickening slightly in the eerie stillness of the place.

You moved toward the back of the store, eyes scanning the shelves for anything useful—canned food, medical supplies, anything that might help. Ellie moved along the opposite side, her footsteps deliberate, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

The quiet between you both was almost oppressive, but you could sense her tension with every move she made, like she was barely holding herself together. Her fingers twitched as they traced the edge of a dusty shelf, her breathing shallow but controlled. The rawness from last night was still fresh, unspoken, hanging heavy in the air, but neither of you knew how to address it.

Your gaze drifted toward her as she rifled through a half-empty bin, her face partially hidden under the hood of her jacket. There was something about the way she moved now—faster, more determined, as if keeping herself busy could drown out whatever thoughts were haunting her. But the slight tremor in her hands as she reached for a tin can gave her away.

"Ellie," you said softly, breaking the silence between you.

She froze for just a second, her shoulders tensing before she forced herself to keep moving, pretending she hadn’t heard you. "We need to focus," she muttered, her voice tight, strained.

"I am focusing," you replied, stepping closer. "But we’re not going to find much if you burn yourself out."

Her jaw clenched, and she finally looked at you, her green eyes flickering with something sharp—anger, maybe frustration, but beneath it, fear. She didn’t respond immediately, instead stuffing the can she’d found into her backpack with more force than necessary.

"We don’t have time to slow down," she said, her voice low, clipped. "Not now. We have to keep moving, keep finding what we can. It’s how we survive."

Her words had a harsh edge, but you could see the exhaustion pulling at her features, the way her body sagged slightly as she spoke. She hadn’t fully recovered from everything—physically or mentally—but she was pushing herself harder than ever, trying to keep the walls up, to keep that distance between you.

You sighed, glancing around the room. "Look, I get it. I do. But if you don’t rest, if you don’t take a second to breathe… you’re not going to make it to the next town. Neither of us will."

Ellie shot you a look, a mix of frustration and something you couldn’t quite place, before shaking her head. She opened her mouth to respond, but just as she did, the soft sound of glass crunching underfoot echoed from the far side of the store. Both of you froze instantly, the air thickening as your heart rate spiked.

Ellie’s hand was on her pistol in a flash, her body low and tense, her eyes darting toward the source of the sound. You reached for your own weapon, your grip tight, the adrenaline flooding your veins as you both moved silently toward the back corner of the store. There, behind a display shelf, something shifted—small, fast. A figure darted past the aisle in the dim light.

Ellie glanced at you, her eyes wide but focused, her hand steady on her pistol despite the fear lurking beneath the surface. The moment stretched on, filled with quiet breaths and pounding heartbeats as you both prepared for whatever came next.

But this was no longer just about finding supplies. Now, survival had become the immediate goal.

The sound came before you saw them—a low, guttural growl echoing through the silence of the store, followed by the unmistakable shuffle of heavy footsteps. At first, it was just one. But then, more followed. A chorus of inhuman snarls and groans rising up from the aisles.

Ellie’s eyes darted toward the door as the noise grew louder, her posture stiffening with the realization. "Shit," she muttered under her breath, her grip tightening around the handle of her pistol. She didn’t need to say anything—you knew exactly what was coming.

Before you could react, a figure lurched into view, stumbling into the store from the far side, its limbs jerking with that unnatural, erratic movement you knew too well. The infected creature let out a high-pitched screech, its head snapping in your direction, milky eyes locked onto you. It wasn’t alone. Behind it, more shadows shifted, crowding the entrance as the herd began to pour in, a flood of bodies pushing against the broken doorframe.

"Go!" Ellie barked, her voice sharp and urgent. Without hesitation, she grabbed your arm and yanked you toward the back of the store, her eyes wide with fear but her movements quick, determined. The infected were swarming now, their snarls filling the air as they tore through the aisles, knocking over shelves and scattering debris in their path.

You ran, the sound of the horde behind you growing louder with every second, the ground trembling under their relentless charge. Ellie was in front, her boots pounding against the worn tile, her breathing fast but controlled as she weaved between shelves, looking for an exit. You could hear her muttering curses under her breath, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

But then you heard it—the stumble, the faint hitch in her step. You glanced at Ellie, and immediately you saw the change. She was slowing down, her movements less fluid, more labored. Her breathing had turned ragged, and her face was pale, her brow glistening with sweat.

"Ellie!" you shouted, grabbing her arm as she stumbled again, barely keeping herself upright. Her legs were shaking now, her footsteps faltering as though her body was finally giving out.

"I’m fine," she snapped, pulling away from you, though the strain in her voice was impossible to miss. She tried to push forward, but her legs buckled again, this time more severely. Her frustration was palpable, a flare of anger that lit up her expression as she fought to keep moving.

Behind you, the infected were closing in, their growls growing louder, more aggressive. You could hear the scrape of their claws against the floor, the sickening sounds of their bodies slamming into shelves, knocking them aside in their frenzy to reach you.

Ellie tried to pick up the pace, but it was clear something was wrong. Her face twisted in pain and frustration as she pushed herself harder, but her body wasn’t cooperating. She was weakening—fast. Days without food, without proper rest, were finally catching up to her. And it showed.

"Damn it!" she hissed, her voice thick with anger—at herself, at the situation. Her fists clenched, her legs trembling with every step. She was trying, but her body was betraying her, and you could see the panic beginning to set in, masked beneath her frustration.

"Ellie, stop," you called out, your voice rising over the cacophony of snarls and shuffling feet behind you. "You’re going to get yourself killed if you don’t—"

"I’m fine!" she barked again, her voice strained as she forced herself forward. But it was clear she wasn’t. Her breath was coming in shallow gasps now, her legs nearly giving out beneath her as she stumbled again, catching herself on a shelf. She paused for a split second, clutching her side, her face contorted with frustration and pain.

You could see it in her—the fear, the anger. The way she was cursing herself for being weak, for slowing down. The look in her eyes was one of desperation, her teeth clenched as she fought to stay on her feet, her body visibly trembling from the effort.

But the infected were too close now. There wasn’t time.

"They’re almost on us!" you yelled, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her forward, practically dragging her as you both pushed toward the back of the store. You could hear the footsteps of the infected right behind you, their growls echoing in your ears, growing louder, more frantic.

Ellie’s legs were barely holding her up at this point, and she stumbled again, letting out a frustrated growl of her own. "I can’t…" she muttered, her voice cracking as she nearly collapsed, her knees buckling beneath her. "I can’t fucking—"

"Keep going!" you urged, your heart pounding as you tugged her forward, the infected right behind you. "You have to keep moving, Ellie!"

She gritted her teeth, her breath coming in harsh gasps. "I’m trying!" she snapped, but her voice broke, revealing the exhaustion and fear underneath. Her legs were giving up, her body shaking violently now with the effort to keep going. But there was no time to stop, no time to rest.

With a final, desperate push, you managed to drag her to the back of the store, where a door hung slightly ajar, leading into an alleyway. You kicked it open with your foot, the door slamming against the wall as you shoved Ellie through, both of you stumbling into the narrow passage outside.

The moment you were out, you slammed the door shut behind you, leaning heavily against it as you heard the infected slam into the other side, their snarls muffled but still terrifyingly close. Your chest heaved, your heart pounding in your ears, but you had made it. Barely.

Ellie collapsed against the brick wall of the alley, her legs finally giving out. She was breathing hard, her hands trembling as she gripped the wall for support, her eyes squeezed shut. Her frustration was palpable, mixed with the fear she refused to admit.

"I can’t…" she muttered, her voice weak, trembling. "I can’t… keep doing this."

You knelt beside her, your own breath ragged as you watched her struggle, her body shaking from the exhaustion, her face pale and drawn. She was angry—angry at herself for slowing down, for not being able to keep up. But beneath that anger, you saw the fear—the fear of losing, of failing, of being weak.

"It’s not your fault," you said quietly, your voice steady despite the chaos. "You’re exhausted. You need rest."

But Ellie just shook her head, her jaw clenched as she fought to catch her breath, her hands still trembling as she wiped sweat from her brow. "I can’t afford to be weak," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Not now. Not ever."

You stole a glance at her, noticing the way she picked at the dirt beneath her fingers, brow furrowed in concentration. She looked lost, wrestling with turmoil inside. The vulnerability in her posture struck you, and you reached out instinctively, your hand brushing against her cheek. The moment your skin made contact, her gaze snapped up to meet yours, a flicker of surprise dancing in her green eyes.

Your fingers grazed her face, gently caressing her skin, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like time stood still, the chaos outside fading into the background. But then her eyes fell to your hand, and your heart sank as you followed her gaze.

Your wrist was marked by a fresh bite, angry and raw, the skin around it bruised and mottled. You hadn’t even realized it—maybe it was the adrenaline that masked the pain. But now, as the truth washed over you, a cold dread seeped into your bones.

“No…” Ellie breathed, her voice breaking the stillness. Her eyes widened with panic, the color draining from her face as the realization hit her. The flicker of fear transformed into a tempest of emotions within her—anger, despair, disbelief.

In an instant, she was on her feet, her movements frantic as she began to throw things around the alley. Old crates, discarded bottles, and scraps of metal flew through the air, clattering against the brick walls. “No! No! No!” she shouted, her voice rising in a frantic pitch, echoing off the walls like a scream in the dark.

You remained seated, shock holding you in place as you watched her unravel. It was as if she was trying to physically push the reality away, to fight against the fate that loomed over you both. “This can’t be happening!” she yelled, her hands shaking violently as she grabbed a rusted pipe and hurled it against the wall, the sound of metal clanging against stone reverberating through the air.

“Ellie, stop!” you tried to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. The weight of your own fate held you down, anchoring you in place. You could only watch as she spiraled deeper into panic, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her eyes darting everywhere as if searching for an escape that didn’t exist.

“I can’t lose you! Not like this!” she cried, the desperation in her voice slicing through the air like a knife. She kicked over an old barrel, its contents spilling out onto the ground, littering the alley with debris. Each movement she made was frantic, unhinged, her anger directed at everything around her, but it was clear where the true target lay—at the helplessness of the situation, at you.

Her voice cracked with emotion as she faced you, rage and anguish contorting her features. “You can’t just—get bitten! You know what that means!” Her fists clenched tightly, her nails digging into her palms as if they could ground her in this moment of chaos. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears, mixing with the fire of her anger, creating a whirlwind of emotions that threatened to explode.

“Damn it!” she shouted, pacing the narrow confines of the alley, her energy raw and electric. “You were supposed to be careful! We were supposed to stick together! I can’t do this again!” With each word, she hurled another object, her fury radiating like heat waves. A glass bottle shattered against the wall, fragments scattering as they hit the ground like shards of her resolve.

You attempted to rise, to reach out to her, but the weight of your own fate held you down, anchoring you in place. The world outside the alley faded into insignificance as the reality of the bite settled in your mind, its implications crashing over you like a tidal wave. Ellie’s face crumpled, and you could see the moment the fight drained from her.

“I can’t do this again!” she shouted, her voice cracking, finally collapsing onto her knees in front of you. Tears shimmered in her eyes, glistening like tiny stars as they caught the dim light filtering through the alley. She was shaking now, her body trembling from the weight of the moment.

You reached out, brushing your fingers against her shoulder, but she flinched away from your touch, her eyes wide and wild, the anger and fear swirling in them. “You’re not… you can’t be bitten! Not again! Not after everything!” The words tumbled out of her, each one a plea, a denial of the truth that was crashing down around you.

“Ellie,” you finally managed to say, your voice low and strained, but she cut you off.

“No! Don’t say it!” She shot to her feet again, her fists clenched, the glass glinting dangerously in the dim light

You wanted to reassure her, to tell her it would be okay, but the words caught in your throat, the reality weighing down your heart. You could feel the tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall.

“Ellie…” you managed to say, your voice strained and raw. “You have to put me down. Before it’s too late.” You could see the conflict in her eyes, the way she fought against the impending reality, her heart grappling with the instinct to protect and the stark truth of your situation.

“You can’t let me turn,” you pleaded, your tone urgent as you reached out to touch her knee, seeking any connection that might ground her in this moment.

But she recoiled slightly, shaking her head vehemently. “I can’t. I won’t!” Her voice cracked with emotion, the glass shard trembling in her grasp as she wrestled with the weight of the decision before her. “You’re not going to die. Not like this! Not at my hands!”

“Ellie, please,” you urged, your own heart pounding in your chest as you saw the resolve in her face begin to crack. “You know it’s the only way. You have to be strong.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, and when they opened again, the hurt etched into her features made your heart ache. “No! I can’t lose you! I can’t!” The glass fell from her fingers, clattering against the pavement, shattering the silence that enveloped you. Her shoulders trembled as her breath hitched, and you could see the tears beginning to spill over, tracing paths down her cheeks.

“It’s selfish, I know,” she said, her voice a choked whisper, filled with anguish. “But I just can’t… I can’t let you go. I can’t do it again.” Her body shook as she spoke, the weight of her grief pulling her under. The memory of everyone she had lost flooded back, and the fear of losing you felt like a tidal wave crashing against her, threatening to drown her in despair.

You watched her struggle, your heart aching for the pain she carried. “Ellie,” you said softly, trying to reach her through the turmoil.

“No!” she cried, and it was a raw, primal sound, one that echoed with the deep, crushing fear that had taken root within her. She dropped her head into her hands, fingers tangled in her hair as if trying to pull herself together. “I won’t let you go,” she repeated, her voice muffled, but resolute.

“Ellie, listen to me,” you urged, desperation creeping into your voice. “I don’t want to become one of them. I can’t do that to you. You have to make the hard choice. You’re stronger than this.”

Time slipped away in a haze of disorientation and muffled sounds. The world outside your awareness had transformed into a distant murmur, punctuated by the gnashing of teeth and the haunting cries of the infected. As the days passed, the infection took hold, an insidious creeping through your body, weaving its way into your mind, pulling you deeper into a fog that blurred the line between your old self and the new, grotesque reality.

Yet, even as the fungus spread, there were fleeting moments of clarity—glimmers of recognition amid the haze. It was as if the remnants of your consciousness flickered like a dying light, occasionally illuminating the shadowy corners of your mind. And somehow, through it all, Ellie remained a constant presence, a beacon that anchored you to the fragments of your former self.

The small, makeshift shelter you shared was dim, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and the remnants of previous meals. Ellie moved around the space with a quiet intensity, her every action laced with a palpable mix of determination and despair. She had become the lifeline, foraging and hunting in the barren landscape outside, all while trying to preserve what remained of the person you used to be.

Today, she returned with a small game—a rabbit, its body limp in her hands, the fur matted with dirt from the struggle. As she set to work preparing it, you watched from your corner of the room, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated, remnants of the old you trying to claw their way to the surface.

She moved with a practiced ease, though her eyes reflected the weight of her heart. The sun cast a soft light through the cracks in the shelter, illuminating her face, the tension in her jaw, and the shadows beneath her eyes. Ellie hummed a tune, a faint echo of the songs you used to sing together, but the melody was laced with sorrow.

“Hey,” she murmured, her voice wavering as she chopped the rabbit into pieces. “Just hold on a bit longer, okay? I’ll make us something good.”

You stared at her, trying to focus, your mind a swirling mess of thoughts and emotions. You wanted to respond, to assure her that you were still there, still part of this fragile moment. Your fingers twitched, and for a heartbeat, you felt a flicker of the warmth and love that had once defined your connection.

Ellie set the small pot over the meager flame and watched it carefully, as if the rhythm of the boiling water might soothe the chaos within her. “I wish you could help me with this,” she said softly, glancing over her shoulder at you, the ghost of a smile trying to break through the pain. “You always knew how to cook better than I did.”

You shifted your gaze toward her, the fog thickening around your thoughts, yet something within you stirred. You wanted to tell her that you remembered, that you could still see her, that you were still there. But the words lay heavy on your tongue, trapped in the murky depths of the infection’s grip.

As the scent of cooking meat filled the air, Ellie moved to the small stash of supplies, pulling out a bowl and some utensils. She served the food into two bowls, carefully portioning it out, her hands steady despite the tremor in her heart. The moment felt almost normal, a slice of life amid the horror that surrounded you.

Yet, as she sat down across from you, her hands cradling the bowl, the weight of it all crashed down on her. She brought the food to her lips, but just as it reached her mouth, her resolve faltered. The sight of you—sitting there, half-formed and shifting between the shadows of your former self and the infected being you had become—made her heart ache. Tears streamed down her face, hot and relentless, splashing onto the bowl, mixing with the meal.

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed, dropping the bowl back into her lap. “I can’t eat. Not like this.” Her voice broke, cracking under the strain of the moment, each word laced with the weight of grief and hopelessness.

Your foggy gaze remained fixed on her, struggling to understand the depth of her sorrow. Something in your chest tightened as you watched her, the recognition of her pain filtering through the haze. There was still a flicker of connection—some thread of recognition that made you feel like you were still there, still a part of her life.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered, her voice shaking, trembling with the raw honesty of her emotions. “I thought we could be okay, that you could still… still come back to me.” Her tears fell freely, each drop a testament to the battle raging within her—love, loss, and the desperate longing for the past.

In that moment, something deep within you stirred, a yearning to reach out to her, to tell her that despite the infection, you could still feel her presence, still recognize her. You shifted slightly, the movement barely noticeable, but it was enough to capture her attention.

“Ellie…” you rasped, the sound barely escaping your lips, but it felt like an eternity as you fought against the fog, wrestling with the remnants of your thoughts. It was a plea, a cry buried deep within, resonating with all the unspoken words that hung between you.

She looked up, her eyes wide, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to pause. “You’re still in there, aren’t you?” she breathed, her voice laced with disbelief and hope. “You can hear me?”

There was a flicker of clarity, a connection that pulsed between you—a heartbeat against the chaos that surrounded. You focused on her, trying to push through the fog, to let her know that you were still here, still fighting against the darkness that threatened to consume you both.

But even as the realization flickered within her, the truth hung heavily in the air—the infection was taking hold, and there was only so much time left. The thought sent her spiraling back into despair, the tears falling more freely as she gripped the bowl tightly, her knuckles whitening.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered, her voice breaking once more, a raw wound laid bare for you to witness. “I just can’t.”

And in that moment, as the warmth of her tears pooled on your skin, you understood the weight of her love and the crushing reality of your situation. You were still there, a flicker in the darkness, but it wasn’t enough to shield her from the pain that lay ahead. The bond between you remained, even as the world began to fade, and all you could do was hold on to that sliver of connection, even as everything else slipped away.

#── ꒰੭ ﾟ 𝒓𝒆𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒔 #꒰ ❀ ⋮ 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 ꒱#﹙♡﹚─── 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie fanfic #ellie tlou #ellie x y/n #ellie angst #ellie the last of us #ellie williams au #the last of us #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x you #ellie willams x reader

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