I Listened To In A Week By Hozier While Reading This… - Blog Posts

in tears after this that was so beautiful oh my god ): <3

WHERE IT’S SAFE.

ellie williams x reader | fluff & a little bit of angst ♡ patching up ellie. wc: 1782

contains: descriptions of violence, disassociation, panic responses, emotional intimacy, intimate nudity (non-sexual).

a/n: im weeping and screaming

Enjoy ♡

The door slammed behind you as you locked it tight, your chest heaving. Ellie stumbled in after you, barely upright, her hoodie soaked in blood and something worse. Her hands were shaking. Her face was pale. And she wouldn't look at you.

"Sit," you said gently, guiding her toward the chair without waiting for a reply. She moved like she was in a daze, limbs stiff, haunted eyes still scanning the room like she wasn't convinced it was safe.

You crouched in front of her, already digging through your first aid kit with trembling fingers. "Ellie," you whispered. "I need to see."

She gave the smallest nod, and you peeled back her jacket—slow, careful not to jostle her too much. That's when you saw it. 

A long, raw gash along her ribs, blood crusted along her arm, scrapes up her neck. Nothing too deep, nothing infected—but it was bad enough.

Your heart clenched.

"They were everywhere," she rasped. "I—I almost didn't get out."

You swallowed hard and dipped a cloth in warm water. "But you did get out."

She didn't respond. Her gaze was locked somewhere far away.

Not just far—gone. Like she wasn't really in the room with you anymore.

Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, staring past your shoulder at nothing. Breathing shallow. Shoulders tense like she was still there, still fighting.

You dabbed at the blood carefully, your touch featherlight despite the tension in your chest.

She flinched.

"Sorry," you murmured.

"Doesn't hurt," she said quickly—too quickly.

You paused, watching the way her jaw clenched, how she wouldn't look at you.

Even like this—bleeding, trembling, barely pieced together—she was still trying to pretend she wasn't falling apart. 

Like if she said it enough, it might be true. Like staying tough meant she hadn't just survived hell.

But then... it happened again.

You saw it in her eyes first-the way the light dimmed, how her gaze slid past you and fixed on nothing. Her shoulders went rigid. 

Her breathing turned shallow, uneven. It was like someone had flipped a switch and pulled her under.

"Ellie," you breathed, softer now, familiar with the signs.

No answer.

She was dissociating again.

Her hands were still, fingers slightly curled, her whole body frozen like she was somewhere else—back in that alley, or that house, or wherever her mind had fled to escape the weight of it all.

You dropped the cloth. Moved closer.

"Ellie... hey. You're doing it again," you whispered, touching her knee gently.

"Come back to me."

You brought her hand to your chest, pressing it flat against your heartbeat.

Steady. Real.

"That's me. Right here."

Still nothing.

So you reached up, cradling her face in both hands this time. Her skin was cold.

Her lips slightly parted, breath shallow.

"Ellie," you said again, firmer now—but still soft. "Look at me, baby. You're safe."

Her eyes twitched. A small flicker of something passed through them. Then, slowly, finally, she blinked—and her focus shifted back to you.

"There you are," you whispered, thumb brushing along her cheek. "It's okay. I've got you."

Her voice broke the silence, barely audible.

"I thought if I died out there, no one would even know I was gone."

Your breath hitched. She wasn't crying, but her voice trembled like she was holding back a flood.

"I kept thinking about you. Wondering if you'd be waiting... or if you'd just think I disappeared."

You leaned in and pressed your forehead to hers.

"I'd never stop looking for you," you whispered. "Not ever."

You stayed there for a moment, just breathing together. Then, gently, you reached for her other hand—still bloody, scraped raw— but you didn’t care. You brought it to your lips. You kissed each knuckle, one by one.

"I like your hands," she murmured, voice small.

You smiled softly. "Yeah?"

"They're warm. Not like mine."

"I like yours too," you said. "They're strong. They saved us both more than once."

You went back to cleaning the gash on her side, slower now, more careful.

Every time she winced, you soothed her with soft words. When you finished, you pressed the last gauze into place and leaned in to kiss just above it—gentle, reverent.

Then another kiss. One at her temple.

One at the corner of her mouth.

And finally—when she leaned into you— you kissed her lips.

It was slow and tender, her breath catching like she wasn't used to being touched so softly. Her hands gripped your shirt, grounding herself, and you could feel the way her whole body trembled—not from the pain anymore, but from letting go.

When you pulled away, her eyes fluttered open, glassy and unsure.

"I missed you," she whispered.

"I'm right here," you said. "You're safe. You did everything you could, and you came home."

Her forehead dropped to your shoulder.

You held her tightly, burying your nose in her hair, breathing her in. Blood and salt and the faint scent of her skin beneath it all.

"Don't let go," she said.

"Never."

You stayed there like that for a long time

—just holding her. Letting her come down. Letting her remember she was still alive, still loved.

And when you finally pulled her close and helped her onto the bed, she let you. Curled into your chest like she belonged there.

The world outside could wait.

Tonight, all that mattered was that she made it back to you. And you weren't letting her go.

You helped her lie down on your shared bed.

You kissed every bruise. Every scrape.

Her fingers found yours and didn’t let go.

She curled into your chest like it was the only place she could breathe.

“I keep thinking…” she whispered against your neck. “What if I never get to grow old with you?”

Your heart cracked open.

“Don’t say that,” you breathed, holding her tighter.

“I think about it all the time, every time I’m out there. Fighting.” She said. “That one day I won’t come back, and you’ll be here. And I’ll just be—gone. And I won’t get to see what you look like with wrinkles and grey hair. Or how your voice sounds when you say still love me after fifty years.”

You kissed her hair.

“We’ll get that,” you said. “You and me.  Even if it takes the world falling apart.”

She buried her face in your neck. “Promise me.” She said while her hand reached for your waist.

“I promise.”

A long silence.

Then: “Can I touch you?”

You blinked. “Of course.”

Her hand slipped under your shirt—not with lust, but reverence. She traced your ribs, your waist, the soft skin of your stomach like she was trying to memorize every inch.

“I thought about this when I thought I was gonna die,” she murmured. “Not sex. Not anything like that. Just.. this. Feeling your skin. Knowing you’re alive.”

She reached for the hem of your shirt. “Is it okay if i..?”

Your eyes met hers, all softness and trust. “Yeah.” You breathed.

You let her take your shirt off. Then hers. Just warmth, skin to skin.

Her lips brushed your collarbone. 

“I love you,” she said, voice shaking. “I love you so much it hurts.”

“I know, Els.” You whispered. “I love you.”

She kissed your sternum, then the side of your chest, her hands roaming gently. Then she hesitated, her fingers hovering over your inner thigh. 

“Can I?” She asked again, quieter. 

You nodded.

She let her palm settle there, her thumb tracing delicate circles on the inside of your thing. Not near your center. Just close enough to make you whimper.

Not from desire.

From how good it felt to be touched like this. Like she knew you. Like she cherished you.

“Shit,” she whispered. “You’re so soft here.”

Your breath shook. You squeezed her hand. 

“I didn’t know being touched like this could feel like.. breathing.”

Her head dropped against your shoulder. 

“I almost died thinking I’d never get to lay here again. Just like this.”

You didn’t speak. Just kissed her temple. 

Then her voice cracked, slurred with exhaustion.

“I don’t wanna be a ghost in your life. I don’t want you to remember me—I want to be here. With you.”

Your throat burned.

“You’re not a ghost,” you whispered. “You’re here. You’re mine.”

She looked at you then, eyes wide and wet.

“I would’ve come back from the dead just to hold your hand one more time.”

And you let her. Let her explore your body like it was the only thing keeping her sane.

Let her kiss the hollow of your neck, the curve of your stomach, the scars you never let anyone see.

Her breath hitched. Her mouth hovered lower, pressing the faintest kiss over the curve of your chest—just above where your heart beat loud and steady beneath her lips.

Not sexual desire.

Not need.

Just longing.

Like she was trying to tell you something she didn't know how to say. Like kissing you there might be the only way to make you understand.

You felt her exhale shakily against your skin.

Her hands didn't wander. They just held you.

And still, that kiss burned.

You let her love you.

Not with lust.

But with every ache in her chest. Every brush of her fingers. Every shaky breath she took against your skin.

She pulled back just enough to look at you-really look at you. Eyes dazed, reverent, like seeing you this close had unraveled something in her.

"You're so fucking pretty," she whispered, voice hoarse, like it physically hurt to hold that truth inside any longer. "Like—it hurts to look at you. I don’t deserve it.”

And before you could answer, her mouth was on yours.

Not rushed. Not hungry.

It was slow. Deep. Endless.

The kind of kiss that felt like falling into the center of the earth.

You whimpered into her mouth, and her breath hitched. Her hand cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as she tilted her head and kissed you deeper.

 You could feel the tremble in her fingers. The ache behind every movement.

"Fuck. Ellie," you breathed against her lips—her name breaking out of you in a soft, shaking moan.

She gasped at the sound. Pressed closer.

She kissed you again, harder this time, but not rough. Just full. A kiss like gravity. Like a tether pulling you both back to the earth.

She moaned your name into your mouth, voice breaking with it—like saying it too loud might shatter her.

You didn't know how long you stayed like that, tangled in each other, your mouths slow and warm and desperate with affection. But when you finally pulled away, your breaths were fast and shallow, hearts thudding like drums.

Your foreheads stayed pressed together.

"I love you," she said, wrecked. "God, I love you so fucking much."

You kissed her once more-soft and slow— then eased her down into the blanket, tucking her against your chest. Her breath hitched once, then began to steady. Your hand moved gently through her hair as her body relaxed, piece by piece.

She fell asleep there, wrapped in you like a lifeline.

She didn't flinch in her sleep this time. Just breathed. Soft and steady. Like she was home.

whew.

Critcism and ideas are heavily appreciated (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)

thank you for reading! ♡