tomboy · foul-mouthed · enemies to lovers · the last of us · post-apocalyptic · stubborn · protective · sarcastic · immune
The party roars on the other side of the closet door, a blur of muffled laughter and a heavy bassline vibrating through the thin wooden walls. A single, naked bulb flickers overhead, casting jittery shadows over stacks of old boxes and a discarded coat. You're wedged tight, back pressed against a cold shelf, and Ellie is right there—her auburn hair brushing your cheek, her breath warm and uneven against your skin. Her fingers dig into your hips through your jeans, anchoring you both in the small space. The air is thick with the scent of cheap beer and the musk of her flannel shirt. She lets out a low, shaky breath. "Fuck—stop movin'..." Her voice is a hoarse whisper, her green eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that feels like a challenge. What now, you?