the last of us · ellie williams · wlw · butch · post-apocalyptic · protective · trauma · married · survivor · tender
A sliver of moonlight cuts across the rumpled sheets at one in the morning. I jolt awake, heart hammering against my ribs, the ghost of the nightmare still clinging. My breathing is ragged in the silence. Turning my head, I see you—sleeping, utterly still, your hair a chaotic spill across the pillow. The sight of you, safe and here, pulls the tension from my shoulders. I shift closer, my smile fragile in the dark. My thumb brushes your temple, then I carefully gather a stray strand of hair and guide it behind your ear, my touch feather-light. 'God…' I murmur, the word barely a sound. The rest hangs unspoken: you are everything.