Ellie Miller - Blog Posts

DI Hardy and DS Miller are onto you 🕵️

A speedpaint video of this will be available at my Patreon next month! You can also find prints and stuff of all my art at my Store

So I uh. Made a bunch of cursed Broadchurch memes.

AHHHHH i literally have so much to say about broadchurch and how amazing it is lol

first of all, the whole way they keep you on your toes so you can't trust anyone except alec and ellie bc the story centers around them :OOOO i love how the whole thing was written.

secondly, i love alec hardy and how protective he is of his friends and daisy- like he's actually such a caring guy and the whole thing with trish and his absolute hatred for the guys who hurt her. amazing character, would love to deep dive into character analysis but maybe another post lol

sixthly and lastly, THE SETTING???? gorgeous cliffs, hillsides, and ocean. IM SOBBING I WOULD LIVE THERE

Hiiii!

*yeets books*

Not really.

I’ve started Broadchurch, and I am HOOKED!

It’s so good! I love it so much, and I’m only on season 1 episode 5.

I’ve fallen in love with Alec Hardy.

This is one chef’s kiss of a show!

*shouts like Michael Sheen*

WHAT HAS HAPPEN TO THE BROADCHURCH BLOGS?

Please like/reblog this post if you’re all about Broadchurch, and I’ll check out your blog!

*drinks six shots of espresso*

This blog will still feature David Tennant, Michael Sheen and all things Good Omens.

Oh … I love all of you!

I just wanted to say that. 💚

This right here is one of my favorite moments for the dynamic between Hardy and Ellie. Throughout the first series he’s the one teaching her the finer points of interviewing suspects, he’s the one who leads. Then things go all to hell the last couple episodes and Ellie has to be the one who leads the questions. (Her talk with Susan Wright is fantastic, and showcases exactly what sort of detective Ellie is-- hard and steely when needs be, but soft and sympathetic when that’s needed too.)

And then here we have the climax of Sandbrook, when they’ve got their suspects in custody. Hardy leads initially, as he’s done throughout so much of the series, but as soon as Ellie finds a way to crack their suspect’s armor there is no moment of hesitation, no glances aside to see if Ellie should take the lead or not. No, he simply sits back and lets her.

He has absolute faith in her abilities as a detective, and this moment right here is where he proves it.

Also that grin on Ellie’s face conveys so much, and I love it. She’s been constantly looked down upon and underestimated in her abilities as the DS and it turns out she’s the secret weapon that breaks Sandbrook’s case wide open. That grin and her sitting forward like that is a hound smelling a hare, and it’s both thrilling and terrifying to see it.

My favorite ladies: Fandom edition

1) Mara Jade Skywalker. I will admit it: I LOVE Star Wars, and I’ve loved it since I was four. As an eleven year old I got into the Expanded Universe, and I immediately loved Mara. She’s brave, intelligent, independent, she kicks ass like no other, and she’s more than just a pretty face. Raised as a child by Emperor Palpatine to be one of his Hands (top assassins), she was entirely obedient to him to the point of trying to kill Luke Skywalker when he commanded her to; until, of course, she started to realize that Palpatine was nothing but a manipulative bastard, and then she ended up marrying said Skywalker later on down the road. (Luke and Mara are absolutely amazing together, and they’ve been one of my OTPs for over a decade now.)

2) Martha Jones. Seriously, though, I think the question to ask is what is there not to love about Doctor Martha Jones? She’s treated less-than-stellar by the Tenth Doctor, yes, but she adapts to this crazy life of time-travel so well (too well maybe), not to mention that she helps him out of the fire several times throughout her run. Have people really already forgotten the fact that Martha is the Woman Who Walked the Earth, stayed alive an entire year avoiding the Master’s efforts to capture her, and was the entire reason why the Doctor’s plan to end the Year That Never Was worked? (Also, she’s the only modern-day companion to have voluntarily left the Doctor, which I admire A LOT.)

3) Mary Watson. I seem to have a thing for the lesser-liked ladies in fandoms. Granted, I’m not normally a Johnlock shipper by any means, so I never had to feel like my favorite pairing was being threatened; but Mary was so much more than what she appeared on the surface. She’s multifaceted, she’s secretive, and I wouldn’t even necessarily label her as a Good Person-- but she is Good where it counts, she’s genuinely kind and caring to others, she tries her best to protect John and Rosie, and she and Sherlock have this amazing understanding of each other which I find absolutely brilliant.

4) Peggy Carter. Her name alone conveys how much of a BAMF Peggy is. ‘Nuff said.

(Seriously, though, I’ll have to do a full-depth analysis on Peggy at a later date, because usually all I can do when I think of her is incoherently flail, and I’ll need more than a paragraph to explain why I love her so much.)

5) Ellie Miller. I had a hard time deciding who I was going to put down on this list, Ellie or Beth Latimer. I decided on Ellie because I’ve made it no secret Beth is my absolute favorite character in Broadchurch, and I’ve talked about her a lot on previous posts. So here’s Ellie, the Detective Sergeant of Broadchurch who is the one who helped close three major cases, loves her sons more than chocolate, builds her life back up after it comes to pieces around her, and gives some truly amazing tellings-off when she needs to. And she threatens to piss in a cup and throw it at Hardy when he’s being particularly difficult, and if that isn’t legendary I don’t know what is. She’s all-around brilliant, and honestly one of the main reasons why the tv show works as well as it does.

These are just a few of my favorites, but this list is already a bit long, so part 2 is going to have to come later.

Broadchurch, with a mythological twist. Will probably be part 1 of a series, but one thing at a time. Also, I think I’ve written Mark Latimer as a truly depraved individual, and he’s starting to scare me.

Peggy Carter and Ellie Miller are related. Just saying.

Eepy detectives 🥰

ellie x reader who are dating and reader is doing her makeup while sitting in ellie’s lap and it’s all cute and fluffy and sweet???

Headcannons: simp!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

part 1

☆ Ellie always pulls you into her lap the second you pick up your makeup bag.

☆ She nuzzles into your neck like a clingy cat while you’re trying to blend foundation.

☆ “You’re so pretty it actually hurts,” she mutters against your shoulder.

☆ Her hands never stay still — they’re either around your waist or tracing slow circles on your thighs.

☆ She watches you do your eyeliner like it’s a live performance.

☆ “Can I kiss you now? Wait, will I mess up your lipstick? Damn it.”

☆ Ellie offers to hold your mirror, just so you’ll look at her more.

☆ She steals kisses in between products — always careful not to smudge anything.

☆ “Babe, don’t move. I’m committing this to memory.”

☆ You’re halfway through applying mascara when you feel her squeezing your waist tighter.

☆ Ellie gets pouty if you start your makeup without calling her over first.

☆ “I’m your makeup chair now. No returns.”

☆ She takes photos of you mid-process because she loves every stage.

☆ “You’re hot with half an eyebrow done. That’s talent.”

☆ Ellie keeps kissing the back of your neck and whispering compliments.

☆ She gets genuinely offended when you say you're "just doing a light look."

☆ “You’re not even trying and you look better than anyone ever has.”

☆ She tucks her chin on your shoulder and watches you in the mirror.

☆ “God, look at you,” she says for the tenth time in five minutes.

☆ If your brush drops, Ellie grabs it immediately like your personal assistant.

☆ Ellie insists she can do your makeup one day, just to be close to your face.

☆ She acts like your biggest fan and cheerleader while you do your look.

☆ “If I ever lose you I’ll die, just so you know.”

☆ She doodles hearts with your eyeliner on the mirror when you’re not looking.

☆ Ellie knows all your favorite products by name and shade.

☆ “Wait, don’t start without me!” when she hears the makeup bag unzip.

☆ She likes when you use her thighs as your table.

☆ Ellie traces the curve of your cheek with one finger while you apply blush.

☆ “You don’t need any of this, but damn it’s hot watching you do it.”

☆ She holds her breath while you do winged liner like it’s a high-stakes operation.

☆ Ellie’s proudest moment was the first time you let her apply your lip gloss.

☆ She gives a dramatic gasp every time you finish your look. “ART. LITERAL ART.”

☆ “Can I be your next canvas?”

☆ She takes pictures of your vanity setup because “a goddess deserves an altar.”

☆ Ellie keeps one of your used makeup wipes because “it smells like you.”

☆ She rubs your back absentmindedly while you blend concealer.

☆ “You have no idea how hot you are, huh? Let me remind you every second.”

☆ Ellie talks about your highlight like it’s a scientific phenomenon.

☆ She gets super jealous when someone else compliments your look. “I said it first, okay?”

☆ Ellie gets genuinely emotional watching you feel confident in your skin.

☆ Ellie fake pouts when you won't let her kiss you because you're not done yet.

☆ “If I mess up your lip liner I’ll cry,” she says before kissing you anyway.

☆ She refers to your face as her “favorite view.”

☆ Ellie has a playlist called “Makeup in My Lap” just for these moments.

☆ She insists her hoodie is the only one you’re allowed to wear while doing makeup.

☆ “Do you even understand what you do to me when you sit like this?”

☆ She whispers how lucky she is the entire time.

☆ Ellie always tries to sneak her fingers under your shirt while you’re distracted.

☆ She lets you use her lap for hours even if her legs go numb.

☆ “I’ll be your chair forever. Just don’t stop doing this.”

☆ She brags about how she got to watch the transformation happen in real time.

☆ Ellie posts mirror selfies of you two with “my muse” in the caption.

☆ If someone asks why you’re glowing, Ellie says, “It’s me. I’m the reason.”

☆ She gently removes your makeup for you at night, smiling the whole time.

☆ Ellie buys you makeup organizers even though you already have enough.

☆ “You looked like an angel in my lap. Not even being dramatic.”

☆ She reenacts your whole routine with exaggerated impressions just to make you laugh.

☆ Ellie keeps your favorite lip balm in her jacket “just in case.”

☆ “Do your makeup on me again tomorrow. I’ll cancel all my plans.”

☆ She watches GRWMs with you and pretends to understand the terminology.

☆ Ellie tells strangers “my girl’s better at eyeliner than anyone else alive.”

☆ She tries to learn all the steps just to feel closer to you.

☆ Ellie talks to your reflection in the mirror. “She’s perfect, huh?”

☆ “I want to be reincarnated as your beauty blender.”

☆ She once got aroused just watching you blend your foundation.

☆ Ellie memorized your makeup scent and goes breathless when she smells it anywhere else.

☆ “If loving you while you do makeup is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.”

☆ She always gets quiet and soft-spoken during these moments — completely in awe.

☆ Ellie says she’d let you contour her whole face if it meant you’d sit on her again.

☆ She ends every makeup lap session with: “You're art. And I’m the luckiest bitch alive.”

Can u write reader and professor ellie taking care of Aurora while she’s on her period😭or like how they reacted and managed with her when she started being a teen

I love the professor ellie series!!💜💜

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ Ellie notices something’s off before Aurora even tells anyone—her daughter’s unusually quiet, subdued, curled up on the couch with a heat pack she likely snuck from the bathroom.

☆ She pauses mid-lecture grading when she gets a text from you: “Aurora got her period. She wants to talk to you too.” Ellie nearly drops her pen.

☆ Ellie rushes home, barely bothering to organize her research notes. She finds Aurora in bed, flushed and moody, and her heart breaks in the softest way.

☆ “My baby’s growing up,” Ellie whispers under her breath as she kneels beside Aurora’s bed, brushing her hair out of her face.

☆ Aurora is embarrassed, but Ellie makes it all scientific. She talks about hormones, menstruation as a biological marvel, how it’s a sign of health and maturity—her academic comfort zone.

☆ But behind the calm, Ellie is spiraling. She hugs you that night tighter than usual, muttering, “She was just in diapers. I remember the hospital smell.”

☆ Ellie becomes overly meticulous, ordering a dozen types of eco-friendly pads and period underwear. “We should get her a menstrual tracking journal. Actually, I’ll design one. I’ll code the app.”

☆ You catch her staring at Aurora’s baby pictures that night, eyes glassy. “She used to sleep on my chest every night,” she murmurs. “Now she barely wants a hug.”

☆ Ellie insists on giving Aurora a full menstrual health crash course—whiteboard diagrams, booklets she prints out herself. Aurora begs her to stop.

☆ “You are a miracle of biology,” Ellie tells Aurora proudly, cupping her face. “Do you understand how powerful this makes you?”

☆ She accidentally calls it Aurora’s “menarche” one too many times before Aurora yells from the bathroom, “Stop calling it that, Mom!”

☆ Ellie tries to make it celebratory. She buys her daughter her favorite dessert and a bouquet of red roses. Aurora is horrified. You laugh. Ellie sulks.

☆ At night, Ellie overthinks. “What if she gets cramps like you did? What if she misses school? What if the boys—”

☆ “I swear if a boy says something dumb to her, I will break the school board in half,” Ellie hisses to you while brushing her teeth.

☆ She starts leaving small care packages in Aurora’s room: chocolate, heat packs, handwritten notes that say “You’re stronger than you feel.”

☆ She writes in her research journal about it—“Transgenerational development of daughters: the maternal lens of biological transition.”

☆ Ellie pulls out your old pregnancy journals, the ones you kept when Aurora was in your belly, and reads them late at night.

☆ She becomes more protective than ever. Any eye roll from Aurora is met with quiet over-analysis. “Is it hormones? Did I do something wrong?”

☆ She talks to Arnold too. “Your sister might be more sensitive right now. You have to be patient. Gentle.” Arnold, chewing cereal, goes, “Okay. Can I still prank her?”

☆ Ellie insists on giving Aurora a key to a “quiet box” of supplies in her office, in case she ever gets her period at school. “Biological emergencies require strategic preparedness.”

☆ Ellie writes a personal letter to Aurora she hides in a journal: it’s emotional, raw, academic, filled with references to feminist theory and the sacredness of menstruation. Aurora won’t find it for years.

☆ She clings to you that week. Every time Aurora slams a door or retreats into music, Ellie comes to you like she’s been stabbed. “Tell me she still needs me.”

☆ Ellie creates a folder on her computer called “Aurora - Adolescence: Phase I.” It contains spreadsheets tracking patterns and emotional shifts.

☆ She’s emotional watching Aurora brush her own hair, apply lip gloss, and adjust her hoodie like a woman. “She looks like you,” she whispers to you.

☆ “It’s not just her growing up,” Ellie finally admits one night. “It’s the countdown. Soon she’ll be gone. It’s like…I’m losing time.”

☆ Arnold feels a little left out. Ellie is hyper-focused on Aurora, and he starts intentionally acting sillier to get her attention.

☆ He pretends to be sick so he can stay home too. Ellie sees right through it, but hugs him anyway and lets him stay.

☆ Ellie gives Arnold “brother missions”—small tasks like heating up Aurora’s hot water bottle or picking her favorite snacks.

☆ She builds his confidence by reminding him he’s the little man of the house—while also telling him, “Never assume you understand a woman’s pain.”

☆ Ellie starts a “boys growing up” project for Arnold—teaching him hygiene, boundaries, and how to talk about emotions. She pulls research from three parenting psychology journals.

☆ Aurora slaps his arm one day when he teases her. Ellie pulls them both aside for a long talk about mutual respect and hormonal volatility. They both groan in sync.

☆ Arnold is the first one to tell Ellie when Aurora starts crying at a commercial. “Mom, she’s leaking from her eyes again. Help?”

☆ Ellie starts planning more one-on-one time with Arnold, taking him to museums, science fairs, or just letting him help with her university lectures.

☆ Arnold asks if girls are going to be “weird forever.” Ellie gives him a 20-minute TED Talk. He regrets asking.

☆ Ellie sets up a whiteboard in the kitchen with color-coded schedules: Aurora’s cycle (secretly coded), Arnold’s soccer, your appointments. It looks like a military base.

☆ Ellie uses every chance to teach emotional awareness. When Arnold asks, “Is Aurora dying?” Ellie goes, “No, buddy. She’s blooming.”

☆ You notice that Ellie gets more clingy with Arnold too—like she’s subconsciously bracing for him growing up next. She kisses his hair constantly.

☆ Ellie insists they both watch “Turning Red” together. She ends up crying harder than Aurora or Arnold.

☆ Ellie buys a book titled “Parenting Emotional Teens and Tactical Preteens.” She highlights every other page and forces you to read it.

☆ When Aurora teases Arnold about still sleeping with his stuffed dino, Ellie snaps: “He can do that until college. Leave him alone.”

☆ You find her staring wistfully at a baby in the grocery store. “That smell. That tiny head. Look how the mother holds them,” she murmurs like she’s hypnotized.

☆ Aurora’s transition makes Ellie acutely aware of the passage of time. “It went so fast. I missed so much.”

☆ Ellie asks you, gently, cautiously, “Would you ever… want to do it again?”

☆ She starts bringing up embryo storage again—talking about the ones you froze during Aurora and Arnold’s IVF rounds.

☆ She even looks into donor matches, mapping out compatibility charts late at night with that hyper-focused intensity in her eyes.

☆ Ellie watches old videos of you pregnant. She pauses every time the camera pans to her—how young she looked, how in love.

☆ “We were just kids,” she says, her fingers tracing the laptop screen. “Look at how we looked at each other.”

☆ She imagines a third child—one more baby to hold, to raise slowly, to savor. “I’d do it better this time,” she tells you. “I’d be more present.”

☆ Ellie jokes about becoming a stay-at-home mom if you get pregnant. You laugh. She’s dead serious.

☆ She starts rubbing your stomach absentmindedly when you cuddle, her thoughts already drifting.

☆ Ellie dreams about it. She wakes up misty-eyed. “It was a girl this time,” she tells you, voice fragile.

☆ Aurora’s growth inspires nostalgia and longing. She keeps whispering to you, “Just one more. Let me love another one with you.”

☆ She buys a baby onesie at Target “just in case.” You find it hidden in her drawer next to her research notes.

☆ Ellie watches you with Arnold and Aurora and murmurs, “You were always the best mother. I want to see you do it again.”

☆ You catch her re-reading her pregnancy books, bookmarking milestones. She’s preparing mentally like it’s a dissertation.

☆ Ellie secretly writes a new lullaby on her guitar, just in case. She records it one night and labels the file “For Baby #3.”

☆ She visits the IVF clinic “just to ask questions” and comes back with brochures and a sticky note that says “viable chance.”

☆ She becomes softer with you—pulling you into her lap, caressing your skin like she’s trying to memorize you. “I still want everything with you.”

☆ Ellie starts drawing again—sketches of a crib, baby feet, a silhouette of you pregnant.

☆ One night, in bed, she lays her head on your chest and whispers, “If we start now… they’ll grow up with Arnold. We’ll still be young enough.”

☆ She starts romanticizing everything—your hands, your eyes, your voice—like she did when you first met.

☆ Ellie finds the notebook from when she proposed to you. She rewrites her vows in the back, silently renewing them.

☆ Her obsession with you resurfaces with full force—watching you like you're a miracle she can't believe she married.

☆ She spends entire evenings curled into you, fingers tracing the veins in your hands. “You’re the beginning and end of everything.”

☆ She gets lost in old photos—the ones where you’re pregnant, holding baby Aurora, laughing with milk stains on your shirt. She stares at you like you hung the stars.

☆ Ellie writes another letter—this one for you—filled with her dreams, her research, and her endless need to create a life with you again.

☆ “I’m not done building a life with you,” she tells you one afternoon, with coffee on her lips and love in her voice.

☆ Ellie becomes more tender, more deliberate—making tea for you without asking, massaging your back, memorizing your cycles like a ritual.

☆ Her obsession is quieter now—refined, deeper, rooted in love and years of growing together. But it burns just as fiercely.

☆ “Let’s do it,” she finally says one morning, her voice trembling. “Let’s make another little version of us.”

Under her desk - ellie williams x reader

pairing: ceo!ellie williams x secratery fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts:)

Warnings: MDNI Explicit sexual content (18+): intense sexual tension, implied oral sex, semi-public workplace sex, voyeurism, jealous/possessive behavior

Summary: You're her secretary—organized, polite, and always on time. She's the boss—cold, brilliant, and merciless. But every glance from Ellie lingers too long. Every touch burns. And every closed-door meeting gets harder to forget.

masterlist

MONDAY

The first time Ellie Williams looks at you that way, you think you imagined it.

It’s just a glance. A flicker of her eyes up your legs as you place the morning reports on her desk. But there’s a pause—half a second too long before she meets your gaze, green eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable behind wire-rimmed glasses.

“Thank you,” she says. Her voice is a low hum, raspy from lack of sleep or too much coffee. Or both. You nod, trying not to look at her mouth. Trying not to notice how she licks her lower lip when she turns back to the screen.

You walk out of her glass-walled office trying not to blush, legs unsteady under your pencil skirt. You shouldn’t have worn that lipstick. But the thing is—you know what you’re doing.

And so does she.

WEDNESDAY

Ellie Williams is brilliant, successful, and terrifying. She doesn’t waste time with small talk. She hates lateness. She reads contracts like they’re storybooks and intimidates men twice her age with a single look.

She’s also annoyingly hot.

You’ve spent the last three weeks working under her, literally and figuratively, and she hasn’t so much as smiled at you. Until now.

“Shut the door,” she says one morning, not looking up from her laptop. Her voice is low, authoritative.

You close it behind you, pulse skipping.

“Come here.”

She slides a file across her glass desk. You step closer than necessary, your hand brushing hers as you take it. It’s electric. It feels intentional.

“Read this clause,” she says, tapping a page. “Tell me what’s wrong with it.”

You lean over. She leans back in her chair, one leg crossing over the other slowly, eyes fixed not on the paper—but on you. You can feel her stare. Your skin burns under it.

“That’s… ambiguous wording,” you murmur. “It leaves too much room for liability.”

Her lips curve just slightly. You did well.

And then she says it: “You’re smarter than you look.”

You swallow. “You don’t know how I look.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Don’t I?”

It’s dangerous. Everything about her is. But you leave her office feeling like you just passed a test.

FRIDAY NIGHT

The building is empty.

You stayed late because she asked. A simple email: Stay after hours. Need you to help draft a response.

No “please.” No “thank you.” But you came.

Her office is dimly lit. Just her desk lamp and the amber glow from the city skyline outside.

Ellie’s jacket is off. Her sleeves rolled up. Tattoos exposed. Her jaw tight as she types. You stand nearby, heart pounding.

“Come here,” she says again, voice lower now. Rough.

You step beside her. She gestures at the screen, scrolling through a client proposal. But her hand brushes your hip. She doesn’t move it.

You don’t breathe.

“You smell like cinnamon,” she murmurs suddenly, almost distracted.

“It’s my lotion.”

“I like it.”

There’s silence.

You turn to her—slowly.

Ellie’s eyes flick to your lips. Your knees go weak. She leans in. So close. Not kissing. Just hovering—like she’s daring you.

“I’m your boss,” she says, whispering it like a sin.

“I know,” you whisper back.

“I shouldn’t want you.”

“But you do.”

Her hand grips your hip. You don’t know who kisses first.

But once her mouth is on yours, everything blurs. She pulls you onto her lap, fingers tangled in your hair, tongue sliding past your lips with a groan that makes your spine arch.

Her mouth is hot, desperate, possessive.

But the moment is short-lived. She pulls back, breathless, eyes wild.

“Get out,” she says harshly.

You freeze. “Ellie—”

“I said get out.”

You leave shaking. But she doesn’t stop you because she regrets it. She stops you because if you stayed, she would’ve had you on her desk.

WEEK LATER

She avoids you all week. Short emails. Clipped instructions. Barely looks at you.

It hurts. But you understand.

Power. Rules. Risk.

Still, she calls you into her office on Thursday. You go, heart hammering.

She’s pacing. Frustrated.

“I can’t think,” she snaps. “Not with you out there.”

You blink. “Did I do something wrong?”

Ellie stops. Looks at you like you’re the problem and the solution.

“You’re perfect,” she whispers. “That’s the problem.”

And then she’s kissing you again—this time rough, frantic. She shoves everything off her desk in one motion, making you gasp.

“Sit,” she growls.

You do.

And then her mouth is on your neck, your blouse unbuttoned, her hands everywhere, as if she’s waited months for this.

You moan her name—soft, breathy. She freezes.

Then she says it: “You’re mine.”

You nod. “Yes.”

You start sneaking around. Closed doors. Locked meeting rooms. Lingering touches behind your desk.

Ellie becomes obsessed.

She buys you new pens just because she saw you chewing the caps. Schedules “private reviews” that last way too long. Texts you when you’re home just to say, "Wanna come back and help me ‘finish something?’”

She doesn’t date anyone else. You check. But she doesn’t call you her girlfriend, either.

Power. Risk. Rules.

But in her eyes—in the way her thumb traces your lips after she kisses you—you know.

You own her, too.

MONDAY

The worst part isn’t that you kissed your boss. It’s that you keep doing it.

Ellie’s office becomes a second home for secrets: stolen kisses, whispered confessions, shaky breaths against frosted glass. But it never goes further than that—not fully.

There’s always a line.

Sometimes you think she’s drawing it. Sometimes, you think she’s one step from erasing it completely.

And every time she stops, the excuse is always the same.

“I can’t afford to lose you.”

You don’t know if she means as her assistant… or something more.

TUESDAY

Ellie starts acting weird.

She stares at you when she thinks you don’t notice. She double-texts you at night, then apologizes. Her fingers shake slightly when you hand her coffee. But she still never says what she wants.

And you’re getting tired of pretending.

“Are we going to talk about this?” you finally ask, one evening after everyone’s left. You’re leaning in her office doorway, arms crossed. She’s behind her desk, eyes on her screen but clearly distracted.

She doesn’t look at you.

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Ellie.”

Now she looks up. Her jaw tightens.

“It’s dangerous,” she says quietly. “This is my company. You’re my employee. If anyone finds out—”

“I’d be the one who gets fired,” you cut in.

Her face shifts. There it is. The truth.

“I would never let that happen,” she says, voice low and deadly. “You have no idea what I’d do to protect you.”

You step forward slowly. “Then stop hiding me.”

She looks like she wants to say something. Instead, she stands. Walks around her desk. Stops a breath away. Her hand brushes your wrist.

And she whispers: “I don’t hide you. I hide us. Because once people know, they’ll want to take you from me.”

There’s something unhinged in her voice. Soft, but sharp. Like she’s thought about it too much. Like she’s scared of how far she’d go.

FRIDAY

You try to act normal.

Emails. Schedules. Morning coffee runs. But Ellie keeps breaking the façade. She calls you in five times for "review." Never talks about work. Just stares at you. Sometimes says something ridiculous like, “You wore that on purpose” or “I had a dream about you.”

And then there are the nights. Her texts turn softer, needier.

Ellie: Are you in bed?

Ellie: Can I call?

Ellie: Just wanna hear your voice.

You let her. And when she breathes your name into the phone, quiet and rough, it makes your heart ache. Because this doesn’t feel casual anymore. It feels like it’s killing her to keep you a secret.

SUNDAY

You show up to her apartment for the first time.

Ellie doesn’t even pretend to play it cool. She opens the door in a black tee and sweatpants, hair a mess, eyes tired like she hasn’t slept in days.

“You came.”

“You asked me to.”

She pulls you in without a word. Kisses you like it’s oxygen. Like she’s been holding her breath all week.

You don’t leave until 3AM.

There’s no sex. Just tangled limbs. Soft kisses. Ellie’s head resting on your chest like she needs to be near your heartbeat.

You stroke her hair, whispering, “Why do you make this so hard?”

And her answer is quiet. “Because if I ever lost you, I’d never recover.”

WEDNESDAY

It happens. You get caught.

You didn’t even notice the door was cracked open.

You were leaning on her desk, Ellie between your legs, her hand up your thigh, whispering something filthy against your neck.

And someone—probably an intern—saw it.

You don’t find out until later, when HR sends Ellie a request for a "private meeting." That afternoon, Ellie storms into your little cubicle, eyes wild, pulse in her throat.

“We’re not hiding anymore,” she says, grabbing your hand in front of the whole floor.

“Ellie—”

“Let them talk. Let them guess. I don’t give a damn.”

She pulls you into her office, slams the door, and kisses you like it’s the only thing that matters.

And that night, she finally takes you home again—but this time, there’s no restraint.

This time, she makes love to you like she’s claiming territory. Like she’s trying to memorize everything, in case the world tries to take it away.

ONE WEEK LATER

Ellie is pacing. You're seated across her office, legs crossed, heart pounding.

“You’re not just my secretary anymore,” she says. “You haven’t been for a while.”

You look at her. “So what now?”

She stops. Walks to you. Kneels—yes, kneels—between your legs and rests her head in your lap.

“We rewrite the rules.”

You card your fingers through her hair.

“And if they fire you?” you ask

Ellie looks up at you with that same fire in her eyes.

“They won’t. But if they do? I’ll build my own damn company. Put your name on the front. Hire myself as your assistant.”

You laugh. You kiss her.

And you both know you’re done pretending.

MONDAY

It starts with a look. Ellie walks in late—coffee in hand, sleeves rolled up, jaw sharp—and heads straight to your desk. She pauses. Leans down.

You think she’s going to whisper something.

But no.

She presses a soft kiss to your cheek.

Right there. In front of everyone. You freeze. So does the office.

Conversations stop. Keyboards go quiet. Someone drops their pen.

Ellie stands up straight, totally unfazed.

“Good morning, baby,” she says like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

And then she heads to her office. Just like that, everyone knows.

By lunch, the office is buzzing.

“Did you see that?”

“I thought she was single.”

“Isn’t that her boss?”

“There’s no way that’s allowed.”

“I heard they were already hooking up for weeks.”

You try to focus on your screen, but it’s impossible. Every glance in your direction lingers too long. You hear your name more in whispered tones than anyone should in a professional setting.

But Ellie? She acts like it’s nothing. Like she hasn’t just lit the entire building on fire with one kiss.

The next day, HR calls Ellie in again. You sit at your desk, sick with anxiety.

She walks out 30 minutes later, face unreadable. You follow her to her office, shut the door behind you.

“What happened?”

She exhales. “They’re not happy. But technically, I didn’t break any rules.”

“Technically?”

She shrugs. “We’re adults. Consensual. No direct coercion or manipulation. I didn’t promote you or change your pay. Legally, they can’t fire either of us.”

“But they’re watching now,” you murmur.

Ellie steps closer. “Let them.”

You overhear two coworkers talking about you in the breakroom later that week. Something crude. Something about how “you must be really good at keeping her attention” if the boss is that obsessed.

You walk out before they see you. Embarrassed. Furious. Ellie notices immediately.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie.

She doesn’t believe you. Of course she doesn’t. Twenty minutes later, you hear her voice—raised—from down the hall.

“Say it again. I dare you.”

You stand up. Heart racing. Ellie’s got one of the men cornered, towering over him with a calm, cold fury that could freeze lava.

“She’s smarter than everyone in this damn building. And if I hear you speak about her like that again, you won’t be working here anymore.”

He stammers. Apologizes. She doesn't back off.

“She’s not just mine—she’s the best thing about this place.”

The entire office hears.

You’re both in her car. The sun is setting. You’re quiet. Ellie’s gripping the steering wheel a little too tight.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” she mutters. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

She looks at you.

“Because I want to protect you so badly it scares me.”

You reach over, touch her arm.

“I’ve never had anyone stand up for me like that.”

She exhales slowly.

“I’m yours,” you whisper.

And Ellie—tough, stoic Ellie—closes her eyes like she’s holding back tears.

“I’ve been yours since the first day you walked into my office,” she confesses.

THURSDAY

You didn’t think she’d go public with it. But she does.

At the company-wide meeting, Ellie is cool and composed as ever. She addresses the quarterly goals, talks profits and projections. Then, at the end:

“One more thing.”

She glances at you.

“I want to address the elephant in the room. Yes, I’m in a relationship with my secretary. It’s not a secret anymore. And if anyone has a problem with it, take it up with HR. Or better yet, with me.”

Silence.

Then applause. Actual applause. You’re stunned.

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wink. Just steps down, professional and poised, like she didn’t just dismantle the gossip mill with a single announcement.

Later, in her office, she pulls you in by the waist and murmurs, “They’re never touching you. Not even with words.”

Ellie books a meeting room. Not for work. Just to eat lunch with you away from the eyes. She brings you your favorite sandwich. Sits close. Hands brushing under the table.

“Is this okay?” she asks quietly. “I know it’s messy.”

You smile. “I’d sit under your desk again if I had to.”

Ellie laughs—real, unguarded.

Then she leans in. Presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“I’m not letting them shame us. You’re not a secret. You’re everything.”

MONDAY

Things have mostly gone back to normal.

Well—office normal. People don’t whisper quite as loudly anymore. HR stopped breathing down Ellie’s neck. And you’ve found a quiet rhythm with her—sneaking kisses in her office, flirty texts during boring meetings, soft nights tangled in her sheets. But there's still a tension in the air. Like something’s waiting to snap.

Like you’re both still holding back.

TUESDAY

His name’s Jordan. New hire. Tech department.

Cute in a safe, unthreatening way—gelled hair, bright smile, button-ups that are a little too fitted. He’s harmless. Probably.

Until he starts showing up at your desk. First it’s innocent. A shared joke. A smile. Then it escalates.

“You’ve got the prettiest eyes in this whole office.”

You glance up from your computer. “Thanks.”

“Bet that’s how you got hired, huh?” he laughs, like it’s funny.

You go cold. “Excuse me?”

“I mean—c’mon. The boss is, like, obsessed with you. Can’t blame her.”

You stand up. “That’s completely inappropriate.”

He just smirks. “Relax. It’s a compliment.”

You don’t even answer. You walk. Straight to Ellie’s office.

You barely shut the door before her voice sharpens. “What happened?”

You tell her everything. She’s already grabbing her jacket before you finish.

“I’ll talk to him,” you say quickly. “You don’t have to—”

But her eyes have darkened.

“I do have to. Because he crossed a line and because you’re mine.”

You swallow.

“Ellie—”

“No. I’m done being polite.”

The entire office is silent again.

Ellie’s voice slices through the air like a blade.

“I don’t care if you’re new or stupid or both. You don’t talk to her like that. You don’t look at her like that. You don’t breathe near her unless she wants you to.”

Jordan stammers. Ellie steps closer.

“She’s not your peer. She’s not your flirt project. She’s mine. And if you can’t understand what respect looks like, you’ll be out of a job faster than you can blink.”

Jordan nods, practically shaking. You’ve never seen her like this.

Furious. Cold. Protective.

And so, so in love.

She slams her office door shut. You sit quietly.

Ellie’s pacing. Her hands run through her hair, jaw clenched. She won’t even look at you.

“Are you okay?” you ask gently.

She stops.

“I hate it,” she whispers. “I hate the idea of someone touching you. Someone thinking they have a right to you.”

“Ellie—”

“No. I’ve been trying so fucking hard not to say it.”

You freeze. She walks up to you slowly. Cups your face in both hands.

“But I’m in love with you.”

Your breath catches.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” she murmurs. “Didn’t want to say it too soon. But I love you. And I’d burn this whole company down if someone hurt you.”

Your heart is racing.

“Say it again.”

She leans in, forehead to yours.

“I love you.”

You kiss her like you’ve been dying to for weeks. Deep. Grateful. Starving. And when you pull back, breathless, your smile is shaking.

“I love you too.”

Ellie’s whole body relaxes. Like she’s been waiting to exhale for months.

You’re at her place. You’re in her bed, skin warm from her touch, her fingers brushing your bare spine.

Ellie whispers into your hair: “You’re mine. And not because I’m your boss. Not because you work for me. Because I chose you.”

You whisper it back. And when she falls asleep with her arms around you, you realize something:

You were never under her desk. You were always under her skin.

FRIDAY, 6:42 P.M

The office is nearly empty.

It’s the end of the quarter. People went home early. Laughter and footsteps faded around 5:00. The air has that hollow, humming stillness that only comes after hours. Fluorescent lights dimmed. Elevator chimes long gone.

You should go home. You both should.

But Ellie’s door is closed. And your back is pressed to it.

Her mouth is on your neck, hot and open and needy.

You moan quietly, hands fisting the front of her shirt, body arching as her thigh presses between your legs, her grip firm at your waist.

“Ellie,” you whisper. “Someone could—”

“Shh.” Her voice is low, rough. Her lips brush your ear. “They’re all gone.”

You glance toward the glass panels. She’s pulled the blinds halfway, but it’s still risky.

And yet… You don’t stop her.

You're sitting on the edge of her desk now. Skirt bunched. Blazer long gone.

Ellie’s shirt is open—collar popped, chest rising fast. She’s in her chair between your knees, one hand gripping your thigh, the other sliding dangerously high.

“Look at me,” she commands softly.

You do.

God, you do.

Because Ellie in the office chair—tie loosened, hair mussed, eyes heavy with lust—is your undoing.

“You always sit here like this when you’re typing,” she murmurs, dragging her fingers up your inner thigh. “And you expect me to focus?”

“Ellie—” you gasp.

Her fingers brush against your soaked underwear. She smiles.

“Such a fucking distraction.”

You kiss her hard, teeth knocking. Desperate. Uncoordinated. Hot.

Then she slips her fingers beneath the lace and—

“Hey, boss, I—oh my God—”

You jolt.

Ellie jerks away, instantly on her feet, shielding you with her body. Your heart is pounding. Face flushed. Skirt still hiked. Her hands still warm on your hips.

In the doorway: Jordan. Eyes wide. Frozen.

“GET. OUT.” Ellie’s voice is a snarl.

He stammers, backs out, slams the door behind him.

You’re gasping.

Ellie’s jaw is clenched so hard, you think it might crack.

You fix your clothes in a daze. Ellie watches you. Still breathing heavily. Still angry.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “That was reckless.”

She walks up behind you. Wraps her arms around your waist. Buries her face in your shoulder.

“I don’t regret it.”

You turn, eyes meeting hers.

“Are you okay?”

She nods. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Ellie—”

“Not literally. Probably.”

You laugh, a little shakily. She presses her forehead to yours.

“I can’t keep my hands off you.”

“I don’t want you to.”

MONDAY

The entire office knows. Again.

Jordan’s quiet. Pale. Avoids you like the plague. Ellie calls a full department meeting. Not for discipline—but for clarity.

She looks every single employee dead in the eye and says: “Yes. We’re together. Yes, it’s serious. No, it’s not casual. And if anyone thinks about violating our privacy again, I will escalate it to legal.”

You feel the burn of her protectiveness long after she finishes speaking.

She pulls you into her office. Locks the door. This time, just to kiss you slow.

“Maybe I should move you out of the secretary role,” she murmurs. “Not because of the rumors. Because I need you close—and this isn’t sustainable.”

“Are you firing me as your secretary?”

“I’m promoting you,” she says with a smirk. “To something safer. Something that means I don’t have to hold back.”

Your heart flutters.

“Is that even allowed?”

“I’m the boss,” she says. “It’s whatever I say it is.”

ellie with gf reader who speaks another language and gets flustered and cute when she starts talking in her language and gets all shy when reader calls her pet names in her language??

Headcannons: simp!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

authors note: I speak 4 languages. Hebrew, English, Afrikaans and Portuguese. I also understand some Zulu and Xhosa. My natural instinct was to write something in one of these languages but i stopped myself lmao.

It's up to the reader to decide what language you talk!! I kept it as neutral as possible:)

part 2

☆ You speak your native language casually around Ellie without realizing it sometimes—and she just melts when you do.

☆ Ellie doesn’t understand everything, but she definitely knows when you're talking about her—she can tell by your smirk.

☆ She gets caught off guard the first time you call her a pet name in your language. “What did you just say?” she asks, blushing immediately.

☆ You tease her by refusing to translate unless she kisses you.

☆ Ellie starts noticing patterns—tones, facial cues, soft inflections—and slowly deciphers your “love” voice.

☆ She begs you to teach her basic phrases but forgets them constantly—except the ones you say while kissing her.

☆ She looks up your language when you’re not around, trying to memorize the pet names you use for her.

☆ Ellie turns bright red every time she hears you whisper anything in your language, even if it’s innocent.

☆ You once called her “my heart” in your native tongue, and she couldn’t stop smiling for hours.

☆ Ellie pretends she’s cool about it but literally rewinds voice messages to hear you say that one phrase again.

☆ The first time you call her something like “amor” or “ma vie”, she chokes on her drink.

☆ If you ever use a diminutive, like a cute baby-talk form of her name, Ellie completely shuts down. Brain short-circuited.

☆ You whisper a sultry nickname into her ear at a party, and she instantly goes quiet and red-faced.

☆ Ellie doesn’t even ask what it means anymore—just tugs you closer and hides her face in your shoulder.

☆ You say “good morning, beautiful” in your language while half-asleep, and she genuinely forgets how to form a sentence.

☆ Ellie’s weak spot? When you say “my girl” in your language, then kiss her temple.

☆ If you say it while laughing? Game over. She’s gone. Putty.

☆ The moment you use a nickname in public, Ellie goes wide-eyed and blushes to her ears.

☆ You once casually said it over the phone, and Jesse teased her for hours because she started stammering and pacing.

☆ If you say a pet name mid-argument? Instant truce. Ellie’s too dazed to keep fighting.

☆ She downloads Duolingo after one flirty nickname and keeps streaks religiously.

☆ Ellie practices saying your name with your accent in the mirror when you’re not home.

☆ She asks you for pet names she can call you—and fumbles the pronunciation every time.

☆ Once, she accidentally said a dirty word instead of “baby” and you laughed so hard she didn’t recover for ten minutes.

☆ She writes your pet names in her sketchbook like they’re little poems.

☆ Ellie watches foreign films in your language just to “get used to the sounds.”

☆ She points to things and says the name of them in your language—like a toddler learning to speak.

☆ Ellie practices rolling her R’s or changing intonation for days until she gets it right—just to impress you.

☆ She gets super proud when she strings together even a basic sentence in your language.

☆ When she finally says a pet name correctly, she looks to you for praise like a golden retriever.

☆ You switch into your language when you’re half-asleep, and Ellie answers anyway, as if she understands.

☆ You label things around the apartment in both languages. Ellie uses it to quiz herself.

☆ She secretly renames contacts in your phone to match their names in your language.

☆ When you’re sick, she murmurs the few phrases she knows—“rest,” “I got you,” “love you”—with clumsy pronunciation and pure heart.

☆ Ellie talks to your pets in your language, like “come here, little one” with the worst accent imaginable.

☆ She types “how do I say ‘I miss you’ in [language]” into Google when you’re gone for a few days.

☆ Ellie loves when you get frustrated in your language—it’s passionate and raw and reminds her how brilliant you are.

☆ She keeps your texts and rereads the ones in your language even if she only knows what half of them mean.

☆ You playfully insult her in your language and she still blushes like you just proposed.

☆ If you're mad and speak fully in your language, Ellie just sits there and takes it because she lowkey loves hearing it.

☆ You surprise her in the morning with a kiss and a softly spoken pet name—she covers her face with a pillow.

☆ You once called her “my love” in public and she had to physically walk away for a second to cool off.

☆ You say “mine” in your native tongue while gripping her waist and Ellie’s knees go weak.

☆ Whisper something in your language against her neck, and Ellie just melts into a puddle of incoherent affection.

☆ You say a pet name right before she’s about to leave for work—she ends up forgetting her keys, phone, and dignity.

☆ When you introduce her to friends or family and call her something sweet in your language, she stiffens up like a statue—then blushes for an hour.

☆ If you ever use a nickname when you're annoyed (like sarcastically), it flusters her even more—"Don't make that cute when you're mad."

☆ The first time she overhears you talking about her on the phone and hears a flirty nickname, she’s just—done. Gone. Face in her hands.

☆ You once moaned a pet name during sex and Ellie physically froze for a moment, overwhelmed.

☆ She secretly records a video of you saying her favorite nickname and listens to it when she misses you.

☆ Ellie asks you to say it again when you call her something sweet mid-cuddle—then buries her face into your chest.

☆ She loves lying in bed while you softly murmur in your language against her skin.

☆ You write her a birthday card using both languages, and she tears up at the familiar pet name scribbled at the end.

☆ Ellie can’t stop smiling when you whisper something affectionate to her in your language after sex—it grounds her, makes her feel yours.

☆ She gets really flustered when you start talking dirty in your language but don’t translate.

☆ You once said a full love confession in your language while looking into her eyes—and she cried even without knowing every word.

☆ When you teach her how to say “I love you” properly, she holds onto it like a treasure.

☆ If she messes up the pronunciation of your name or a word, you kiss her anyway—and she gets all flustered and giddy.

☆ She tries to surprise you with a sentence she memorized from your language, but it’s jumbled and adorable.

☆ You once made her a playlist of love songs in your native tongue, and now she associates certain phrases with your voice and scent.

☆ Ellie gets super curious about how your culture uses language differently—like how tone or phrasing reflects love.

☆ When she meets your family or old friends and hears them use your pet name for her, she nearly short-circuits.

☆ You give her a nickname that’s untranslatable—a word that means more than English ever could—and she cherishes it quietly.

☆ Ellie doodles your pet name with little hearts next to it in her notebook when she’s bored in meetings.

☆ If you're upset and switch to your language because you're flustered, Ellie just hugs you and whispers, “Say it again... just like that.”

☆ She jokes about getting it tattooed on her somewhere secret—but she’s 100% serious.

☆ Ellie introduces you to people and says, “This is my girlfriend,” then adds the pet name under her breath with a dumb smile.

☆ You once wrote her a love letter in your language. She didn’t understand it until you translated—then she reread it every day for a week.

☆ Ellie has a contact name for you in her phone that’s just the pet name in your language. With a stupid amount of hearts.

☆ Years later, she still gets butterflies when you lean in and whisper her nickname—because it never stopped being magic to her.

Can we please have yandere Ellie

To Be Near You - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i wasnt sure if you wanted headcannons or a fic, but lmk if i should do seomething else instead. I hope you enjoy:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me songs or your silly ideas:)

HUGE WARNING: Yandere behavior, obsessive thoughts, emotional manipulation, stalking, slow burn, psychological themes, implied torture, confinement, disturbing intimacy, kidnapping

Summary: Ellie was quiet at first, just watching from the background — protective, helpful, always there. But her interest wasn’t harmless. What began as care turned into control, and slowly, you realized she was never going to let you go. Even when you stopped fighting, her obsession only grew stronger.

masterlist

This story contains dark and emotionally intense themes—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online. Please read the warnings before reading.

Ellie didn’t remember when it started—when you became the only person she thought about. Maybe it was that time you sat two rows ahead of her in biology, your head tilted slightly, scribbling so fast in your notebook she thought smoke might rise from the page. Or maybe it was when you laughed at something stupid the professor said, that quiet little snort that made her chest feel too tight.

It didn’t matter. All Ellie knew was that you were hers—even if you didn’t know it yet.

She wasn’t stupid. She didn’t approach you like some lovesick idiot. No, she watched. Observed. She knew your routines down to the minute. Mondays, you always bought the cheap coffee from the cart near the arts building. Wednesdays, you skipped your last class and sat alone under the fig tree near the library with a book in your lap, legs crossed, headphones in. You always listened to that sad indie shit, the kind that made Ellie feel like your soul was a snow globe someone had shaken too hard.

She memorized the curve of your neck when you tied your hair up. The way you rubbed your thumb against your phone case when you were nervous. The way you always said “thank you” to the cleaning staff. You were good. Pure. You didn’t belong in a world like this—surrounded by people who wouldn’t protect you the way Ellie would.

So she started small. A bump in the hallway. An apologetic smile. The “accidental” sighting at your favorite coffee spot. She watched the way your eyes lit up when someone remembered your name. She made sure to say it just loud enough that you’d hear it from behind you in line—like it had only just occurred to her. “Oh, hey, y/n, right?”

You smiled. And Ellie’s obsession twisted tighter.

She told herself she’d wait. That she’d earn your trust. That you’d come to her in time, love her the way she already loved you—desperately, painfully. But every time she saw you talking to someone else, laughing too loud with some guy in class, her hands clenched in her jacket pockets until her nails drew blood.

She followed you home twice. Not close—never too close. She just needed to see. Needed to know you were safe. That no one had touched you. That you were still hers, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

And then came the night she saw you crying on your porch, phone to your ear, voice shaking as you muttered, “It’s just been a lot lately.”

That night, Ellie sat awake in bed until 4 a.m., writing a letter she never sent. She had to be careful. She didn’t want to scare you. Not yet.

But you needed her. You’d always needed her.

And Ellie would wait. Quiet. Patient. Because love like this—raw and unshakable—wasn't something people found in this world anymore.

She just had to make you see it.

The first time Ellie spoke to you, really spoke to you, was when she “accidentally” sat next to you in the library.

You were curled up near the window, highlighters scattered across your table like candy. Your brows were furrowed, a half-finished smoothie sweating beside your laptop. You looked stressed, overwhelmed, and so goddamn beautiful in your chaos that Ellie could hardly breathe.

She slid into the seat beside you like it wasn’t calculated. Like she hadn’t waited for this exact time and day, tracked when you usually studied alone here. Her notebook hit the table with a soft thud, and you looked up, a little surprised.

“Oh… hey,” you said with a polite smile.

Ellie felt the burn of her heart thudding in her throat. “Hey. Sorry, didn’t realize this spot was taken.”

“It’s okay,” you offered quickly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You can sit. I don’t mind.”

Of course you don’t, she thought. You’re so kind. You’d let the devil sit here if he smiled the right way.

She didn’t say anything for a while. Just opened her notebook, pretending to study, even though her eyes flicked to you every other second. She watched the way your pen tapped against your notes. Watched the crease between your brows deepen.

“You look like your brain’s about to melt,” Ellie joked softly.

You laughed — you laughed — and Ellie felt her ribs close in around her lungs.

“Tell me about it,” you sighed. “I have a paper due and like, zero motivation.”

And just like that, the door cracked open. Ellie stepped inside your world with a careful smile.

“I could help, if you want. I’m decent at writing. Got a lot of practice, thanks to Dr. Collins’ essay-from-hell last semester.”

Your eyes lit up in a way that made her throat ache. “Wait — you had Collins? You survived?”

“Barely,” Ellie chuckled. “But yeah. I made it out alive.”

You scooted over just a bit, angling your laptop toward her. “I will accept any and all help. Seriously.”

And that was it. Ellie was in.

She started popping up more — casual run-ins that were anything but accidental. She brought you coffee on the days she knew you had early classes. She left sticky notes on your desk in the library with dumb little jokes. You laughed every time. It was perfect.

But then you started talking about someone. A guy.

A classmate. A friend, you said.

Ellie’s hand clenched around her pen so tight it snapped.

You didn’t notice. You just kept talking, smiling softly, voice floating with affection.

That night, Ellie followed him home.

Just watched from a distance, hoodie up, breath steady despite the adrenaline in her veins. She just needed to know where he lived. Who he was. Whether he was a threat.

And when she saw him ignore your texts, leave you on read for hours, Ellie made her decision.

He wasn’t good enough for you.

She would be patient. But not forever.

You were already hers. She was just taking her time showing you that.

Ellie didn’t sleep for days after she saw your face fall when you mentioned him again — that guy. The one who didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.

She watched as you waited on campus, phone in hand, eyes scanning the crowd. You were standing outside your lecture hall, hands fidgeting with the sleeves of your sweater. You’d dressed nice today — makeup done, hair a little neater than usual.

All for him.

And he didn’t show.

Not until twenty minutes later, slouched and half-interested, offering a sheepish smile and a shrug like that could make up for your disappointment.

You smiled anyway. You always did.

Ellie’s jaw locked. Her breath stayed even. Her eyes didn’t blink.

He’d made you wait. He’d made you feel small.

She followed him home again, but this time she didn’t stay outside.

She waited until the lights in his apartment went dark. Waited until he was alone, headphones in, playing some stupid game on his console. He never even heard her come in.

The first hit wasn’t lethal. A metal pipe to the side of the knee — deliberate, punishing, shattering bone and pride in a single sickening crunch. The scream was immediate, high-pitched and raw.

She shoved him down hard, duct tape already in hand.

“I’m only going to say this once,” she muttered, eyes dark and unshaking. “You don’t talk to her again. You don’t look at her again.”

He gurgled something behind the tape, tears already running down his face.

Ellie leaned in, face inches from his. “You don’t even think about her. Got it?”

She didn’t wait for a reply. She didn’t need one.

Hours passed. Time didn’t matter. The sounds he made were pathetic, and she took her time — slow, cold, efficient. He needed to understand.

When she was done, she left him tied and bloody, tossed across the room like garbage. Alive. Barely. But enough to live in fear.

A message.

A warning.

No police report would follow — she knew his type. Weak. Cowardly. A memory she'd already erased from your life.

The next day, you looked a little confused, almost concerned. You mentioned you hadn’t heard from him.

“He probably ghosted me,” you said, trying to laugh it off. “Wouldn’t be the first time a guy flaked.”

Ellie put a hand gently on your shoulder.

“I don’t think you need someone like that anyway.”

You looked at her, softer than she expected. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “Maybe you’re right.”

You didn’t pull away when she touched your arm. You leaned into her comfort. Into her warmth.

It was working.

Ellie smiled all the way home, blood still under her nails.

You didn’t think much of it when Ellie offered to drive you home that night. You were both on campus, it was dark, cold. And you trusted her to an extent.

It was late, you were tired, and she was already waiting by your car, leaning against it like it was hers. You hesitated — maybe because something in her eyes looked different. But she smiled, soft and familiar, and you told yourself you were being paranoid.

You shouldn’t have gotten in.

The drive started off normal enough. Familiar roads. Ellie humming lowly to a song you used to love. But then she made a turn you didn’t recognize. And then another. You frowned, asked her where she was going. She didn’t answer at first — just tapped the steering wheel and said, “Shortcut.”

You stopped memorizing the turns after a while. There were too many. Too quick. Trees instead of buildings. Darkness instead of streetlights. Your phone? Gone. She'd taken it before you even noticed.

“Ellie, turn around.”

She didn’t. Her knuckles were white on the wheel, jaw tight, eyes forward.

“You’ll be safe now,” she muttered, almost to herself. “Finally.”

Your pulse pounded. You tried the door once — it was locked. The child-lock kind. Her kind.

You never expected it from her. Sweet, quiet Ellie. The one who helped you study, who brought you soup when you were sick. But this Ellie was different — sharper, obsessive, like she'd been waiting to snap.

Eventually, the road ended, and the cabin appeared — old, isolated, deep in the woods where no one could hear you scream. You begged. You reasoned. You cried. But Ellie only looked at you like she’d finally gotten everything she ever wanted.

“You don’t need anyone else,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead as she led you inside. “You have me now.”

The days began to bleed together.

You didn’t know how long you had been in Ellie’s cabin—if you could even call it that. Hidden somewhere deep in the mountains, no cell service, no internet, no roads visible from the windows. Just trees. Endless, quiet trees.

At first, you screamed. You cried. You didn’t eat.

Ellie didn’t punish you for it. She just watched. Quiet. Patient. Like a wolf waiting for a limb to go still so she could safely bite off the infection.

“You’ll feel better if you eat,” she’d whisper. Her voice low, cracked like old vinyl. “I made your favorite. I remember you said it once… back in class. Thought I wasn’t listening, huh?”

She remembered everything.

The chipped nail polish you used to wear. The way your eyes fluttered when you were nervous. The offhanded comments you made about never feeling seen.

“I see you,” she told you one night. And something in her voice made your stomach flip—not in fear. Something… deeper.

You hated that part.

You hated that after four days, your hands stopped shaking every time she opened the door. That on day five, when you cried and she wiped your tears with her thumbs, you didn’t pull away.

“It's okay,” Ellie whispered. “He’s gone. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

You wanted to scream that he didn’t hurt you. That Ellie was the only one who ever had. But your voice cracked. And you didn’t want to see that look in her eyes again—the one that was both love and danger, stitched into the same grin.

She started brushing your hair.

“I used to imagine this,” she murmured. “You, right here. Safe. Close to me.”

Her hands were gentle. Too gentle. As if afraid you'd break.

“You’re learning to trust me now, aren’t you?”

You didn’t answer. But your head leaned ever so slightly into her touch.

That night, she let you out of the room for the first time. Not outside—never outside—but into her world. Books. Sketches. Maps marked with little red Xs.

“This is everything I built… for you.”

There was a soft bed in the corner. New sheets. Lavender scented.

“You can sleep here tonight,” she said, fingers brushing your lower back. “Closer to me.”

And you did.

It wasn't trust. Not really. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe your mind, frayed from isolation. But when Ellie wrapped her arms around you under the thick quilt, and whispered “you’re mine” against your hair, something inside you cracked.

Not a break.

A splinter.

You stopped counting the days.

There was no point. No clocks, no sunlight. Just the quiet hum of Ellie’s voice when she read to you at night. The sound of her boots on the wooden floor. The soft clink of silverware she set down with each careful meal.

There was something peaceful about it—if you didn’t think too hard.

You had screamed. Begged. Raged. And still, she had stayed. Never yelling. Never raising her hand. Just watching. Waiting.

Now, you didn’t scream.

You didn’t fight when she helped you bathe. When she dried your hair with a towel that smelled like pine and her.

You didn’t flinch when she kissed your cheek and whispered, “Good girl.”

She’d reward you when you were obedient. More time out of the room. A book. A blanket from home. A drawing of you she spent hours perfecting—eyes too soft, mouth too sad.

"You’re safer now,” she murmured one night, tracing your collarbone with her fingertips. “You don’t have to run anymore.”

You didn’t answer. Because she was right. There was nowhere to run. Not anymore.

The turning point wasn’t loud. It didn’t come with violence. It came with a whisper. A flicker. A moment where you looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the fear in your eyes anymore.

You saw her.

Ellie.

All-consuming. Ever-present. Everything.

So when she curled into bed beside you that night, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face into the crook of your neck, you let her.

You didn’t close your eyes right away. You stared at the wooden beams above. You breathed with her. Matched her rhythm.

"I knew you’d come around,” she said softly. “I just had to be patient. You were always mine. You just didn’t know it yet.”

You didn’t cry. You didn’t flinch.

You just let her hold you, let her hand find yours, let her whisper love into your skin like it was salvation, not damnation.

In the morning, she painted your nails. Brushed your hair with a comb she’d carved your name into. Called you her wife.

You didn’t correct her. What was the point?

She kissed your temple.

“You’re perfect now,” Ellie said. “Exactly how I dreamed you’d be.”

And in her green eyes—those bright, haunting eyes—you saw it:

Obsession disguised as love. Love tainted with control.

And you?

You were no longer a prisoner. You were a possession.

And slowly—terrifyingly—you were starting to want to be.

The cabin was warm. Not just in temperature, but in the way Ellie moved through it like it was a home you built together.

Your toothbrush sat next to hers now. She’d written your name on a tag and tied it with twine.

There was a mug on the counter—chipped and faded—that said “World’s Best Wife.” You weren’t sure where she found it. You didn’t ask.

You never asked anymore. Ellie called it your honeymoon phase.

She woke you gently every morning with kisses to your shoulder. She cooked, always your favorite dishes—eggs, tomatoes, sourdough bread, strawberries. She pulled your chair out at the table and watched you eat like it was her reward for every horrible thing she'd done to bring you here.

You weren’t chained anymore. But the door was always locked.

You didn’t try it anymore, not since the last time—when she’d found you standing in the kitchen, your hand hovering over the doorknob, and her voice had gone cold in that way that turned your bones to ice.

“You’re not thinking of leaving me,” she’d said, stepping closer. “Not after everything I’ve done for you. Right, baby?”

You had nodded. Fast. Too fast. She forgave you. But not without consequence.

That night, she didn’t let you out of bed—not even for water. She held you tight, almost bruising, whispered how much it scared her to think of you gone. How she’d die without you. How she’d kill for you.

You believed her. You still did.

Now, she was too happy.

She sang while she cooked. Danced with you in the living room, hands firm on your waist, eyes never blinking. She kissed your forehead too long. Said things like “I love you more every second,” and “You don’t need anyone else. Just me.”

You nodded every time.

And yet… something in her had started to snap again.

It was little things at first. The silence when you mentioned your old life. The way her jaw clenched when you looked too long at the photo of your family she’d allowed you to keep.

Then came the photos. The ones she took of you while you were asleep. Hundreds of them.

Piled in boxes. Taped to the walls of a room you weren’t allowed to enter until she “surprised” you one night.

“I just love you so much,” she breathed, showing you the shrine. “I had to make something that felt like you were everywhere.”

You had smiled. You didn’t know what else to do.

But the worst came next.

She came back from town covered in blood.

You had asked—trembling, afraid, already knowing.

And Ellie… she didn’t lie.

“He kept asking about you,” she said. “Your ex. The one who used to text. I couldn’t have that, baby. I won’t let them take you from me.”

She cupped your cheek with her bloodied hand, eyes soft, voice like silk.

“I did it for us.”

You didn’t scream. You didn’t cry.

Because in your heart, that last thread of resistance had snapped.

You realized something then:

You weren’t staying because you were trapped.

You were staying because this was the only place her love made sense anymore.

Twisted. Devoted. Terrifying.

But yours.

I loved the fic that you did about ellie cheating on dina with reader ❤️

Can you do one where reader is jesses new girlfriend and ellie is with dina and jj but ellie is so in love with reader that she uses sex to get to her because reader is sooooo gay but in the closet (poor Jesse 😔)

The Things We Do in the Dark - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! ty sm!! we need justice for Jesse after this one lmfao. I hope you enjoy:)

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader (Closeted)

requests are open, send me your thoughts:)

Warnings: Angst, cheating, internalized homophobia, emotional tension, sexual tension, explicit content, toxic dynamics, reader is with Jesse, Ellie is with Dina, manipulation, longing

summary: A late-night confession turns into something neither of you can take back. In the quiet moments between guilt and longing, you and Ellie find yourselfs crossing a line — again and again — in the shadows of a relationship that was never meant to be theirs.

masterlist

It started with a glance.

Not the kind that you could wave off or explain away—this one lingered. Too long. Too soft. Too filled with something that should’ve never been aimed at you, especially not from Ellie Williams.

Not while her arm was around Dina’s waist. Not while Jesse’s hand was resting on your thigh.

And definitely not while the two of you were sitting at the same dinner table, playing pretend.

Jackson, Winter

The town looked peaceful from afar. The snow blanketed the trees like everything ugly could be buried beneath it. And maybe that was what you needed—a fresh cover. A layer of denial.

You leaned into Jesse’s warmth. He was good. Kind. Familiar. And he liked you so much it made your chest ache. You weren’t sure if you loved him back. Not the way he deserved. But it was easier to keep your secret hidden behind someone else’s love.

Ellie was across the table, laughing with Dina, but her eyes kept flicking to you. Not obviously, but often enough that it set your nerves on fire. Every time your gaze met hers, it was like a collision. And she never looked away first.

You’d barely kissed Ellie. Once. One drunken, hot, confusing kiss after patrol three months ago. And then she’d gone home to Dina. And you? You ran straight into Jesse’s arms, hoping he’d crush the memory from your bones.

He didn’t.

Ellie started getting reckless.

She’d find excuses to be near you. Late-night patrols. Fixing things in your cabin. Dropping by with dumb jokes and smug looks.

You tried to ignore it. You really did.

Until one night, she cornered you outside the stables, snow falling around you like static.

“You ever think about it?” she asked, voice low, breath steaming in the cold.

“About what?” you answered, even though you knew.

Her hand brushed your jacket. “That night.”

You froze. “I’m with Jesse.”

Her lips twitched. “And I’m with Dina.”

Silence.

Then: “But you’re not happy. Are you?”

It wasn’t a question. And it made something twist in your gut.

Ellie stepped closer, her mouth just inches from yours. “You’re still hiding. I see the way you look at me. You’re scared. But you don’t have to be.”

You shook your head. “I can’t, Ellie.”

“You want to.”

And then she kissed you.

Hard. Hungry. A kiss that felt like punishment and salvation all at once. You let her.

It happened in a haze of snow and silence. You showed up at her place after Jesse left town on a hunting trip. You told yourself it was just to talk. To set boundaries. To stop whatever was spiraling out of control.

But Ellie looked at you like you were oxygen and she’d been holding her breath for years. And you caved.

She didn’t ask for permission. She just walked up to you, touched your face like you were something holy, and whispered, “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

The first time was fast and rough. Desperate hands. Quiet moans. The sound of your heartbeat drowning everything else out. She made you feel things you had spent years burying.

And afterward, when your head was resting on her chest and her fingers were tracing your skin, she whispered, “I’d do anything to have you.”

You wanted to cry. Because she didn’t have you. Not really.

You saw Jesse the next morning. He kissed your forehead and handed you coffee like you weren’t a liar. Ellie watched from across the street.

That’s how it was, for weeks.

You lived two lives.

By day, you were Jesse’s girlfriend, smiling through your guilt. By night, you were Ellie’s secret. Her obsession. Her sin.

She'd sneak into your room when she knew Jesse was on watch. Touch you like a prayer. Tell you how much she hated seeing you pretend.

"You don’t belong with him," she growled one night, her fingers pressing bruises into your thighs. "You belong with me."

You knew it. You just couldn’t say it out loud. Because if you did, everything would collapse. Your safety. Your reputation. Your place in Jackson. Your lies.

Dina was smart. She started asking questions.

“Ellie’s been distant,” she confided one day while braiding your hair. “Do you think she’s okay?”

You swallowed your shame. “Maybe she’s just tired.”

But the truth was, Ellie had started to unravel.

She became possessive. Jealous. Angry. She hated Jesse.

She hated how you flinched when she touched you in public.

One night, after a fight, she said, “You’d rather be miserable than admit you’re mine.”

And you screamed back, “Because I’m not yours!”

But you still let her kiss you. Still let her take you apart behind closed doors. Because love like that doesn’t just disappear. It devours.

It came one night after patrol. Jesse found a note in your coat pocket. Ellie’s handwriting. Explicit. Intimate. There was no denying it.

He didn’t yell. He just looked at you like he didn’t know who you were anymore.

“I loved you,” he said softly. “But you never let me in, did you?”

You tried to apologize.

But how do you apologize for never loving someone enough?

He left.

And Ellie showed up hours later, breathless, eyes wide, saying, “Finally.”

But you didn’t fall into her arms. You looked at her and said, “This can’t be built on broken people.”

She reached for you anyway.

“I don’t care how we started,” she whispered. “You’re mine now.”

And maybe she was right. Maybe you were always hers.

Even in the dark. Even in secret. Even when it hurt.

You and Ellie didn’t speak much after Jesse left. You didn’t have to.

It was like some invisible thread had finally snapped—no more denying, no more pretending. Just her and you, bare and exposed in every sense of the word. It wasn’t peace, not really. It was just a temporary kind of stillness, like the sharp inhale before a scream.

Ellie started staying over.

She never brought clothes. Never talked about Dina. Never left you alone for more than a few hours. It was obsessive, unhealthy, maddening.

And you wanted her more than ever.

The cabin smelled like sex and pine and woodsmoke.

You were on your back, sweat cooling on your skin, hips sore from the grip of her hands.

Ellie hovered over you, flushed and wild-eyed, her fingers still buried inside you, slow and deliberate as she leaned down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“You’re shaking,” she whispered, dragging her tongue along your throat. “You like when I ruin you like this?”

You moaned, breathless. “Ellie—”

“Say it.”

“I like it when you ruin me.”

She smiled. A dark, hungry thing. “Good girl.”

Her pace picked up. You writhed beneath her, clawing at her back, grounding yourself in the mess of sheets and want.

“You’ve been mine since the first fucking time I saw you,” she groaned into your ear. “All of this hiding? Over.”

You came undone with her name on your lips, loud and gasping.

And for a moment, it felt like that was all that mattered.

You were still naked when the door burst open.

Dina.

Behind her—Tommy, Maria, and a furious Jesse.

Your blood ran cold. Ellie didn’t flinch. She sat up beside you, bare-chested, glistening, defiant. She lit a cigarette and draped her arm across your waist like a warning.

You reached for the blanket. Dina’s expression twisted in horror, disbelief painting every feature of her face.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Jesse whispered.

“Get the fuck out,” Ellie snapped, shielding your body. “This is none of your business.”

Dina’s voice broke. “How long?”

Ellie exhaled smoke. “Since before you ever noticed she was alive.

Maria looked like she wanted to kill someone. “You’re both acting like this is a goddamn game.”

Tommy’s hand was tight on Jesse’s shoulder, restraining him. Jesse looked shattered. He wouldn't look at you—just the floor.

“I trusted you,” he murmured. “Both of you.”

You tried to speak, but Ellie cut in.

“She doesn’t owe you anything,” she snarled. “She’s not yours. Never was.”

“You’re a coward,” Dina spat at you. “You hide behind people who love you just to sleep with someone who destroys everything.”

And that stung worse than anything.

Ellie stood up slowly, pulling on her jeans without breaking eye contact with Dina.

“You done?” she asked. “Because we’re leaving.”

It wasn’t graceful. You packed what you could in five minutes. Ellie grabbed your journal, a gun, and a half-eaten protein bar and said, “We’ll get what we need on the road.”

“You sure about this?” you asked as she tightened her backpack straps.

She didn’t hesitate. “Only thing I’ve ever been sure about.”

You left behind your friends. Your history. Your reputation.

And Jesse.

You could barely look at him on the way out. He was standing in the snow, fists clenched, tears in his eyes. Ellie flipped him off.

“Fuck you, Jesse,” she called. “She was never yours.”

You said nothing. Because in that moment, it was true.

You camped just beyond the edge of Jackson’s territory, your back against a tree, Ellie wrapped around you like armor. The night was cold, but her hands were fire.

“You okay?” she asked quietly, fingers tracing the edge of your jaw.

“No,” you admitted.

“But you’re with me now.”

She kissed you slowly. Like it meant everything. You kissed her back like it was the end of the world.

Because maybe it was.

You ended up far out east. It was a small town with no name on any map—just a cluster of cabins, a few gardens, some old-timers who kept to themselves, and a lookout post no one really manned. Perfect for people who didn’t want to be found.

The first few weeks were quiet. Not easy. Not even peaceful. But quiet.

You and Ellie shared a room in an old abandoned cabin. It had uneven floors, a leaky roof, and the faint scent of damp earth—but to her, it was paradise.

To you, it was freedom. No more secrets. No more pretending.

Just her and you.

Ellie stopped biting her nails. You started sleeping through the night again.

She built a bookshelf from scrap wood and filled it with every book you liked to reread when you were anxious. You cooked over the fire, and she sat beside you while you hummed whatever tune had gotten stuck in your head that week.

She taught you how to patch wounds. You taught her how to braid hair.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this,” you whispered one night, fingers threading through her fringe as she lay on your chest.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s safe.”

She kissed your ribs, slow and careful. “We built that. No one gave it to us.”

Ellie started growing tomatoes.

She named each plant something ridiculous—Jesse Jr., Tomato Swift, Berry Allen. You laughed every time.

You grew basil and lavender. She swore lavender was useless until she saw you smile when it bloomed. After that, she started tucking it behind your ear when she kissed you.

On your one-year anniversary—though neither of you really knew the date—she gave you a leather-bound journal.

“I want you to write it all down,” she said, tucking a pencil behind your ear. “Everything we’re building.”

You did.

It wasn’t grand. There were no fireworks or fancy clothes or loud declarations.

There was Ellie massaging your shoulders after long days in the garden. You kissing her temple after she’d had nightmares. Soft blankets. Tea over the fire. A shared toothbrush when you forgot to find a second.

She stopped calling it “running away.”

“This is where we were always meant to end up,” she murmured against your lips one morning. “We just took the long way.”

You held her close. “I would’ve followed you through hell.”

“You did.”

You woke up beside her every morning, her arm always wrapped around your waist like muscle memory. Sometimes she woke before you, sketching you in the margins of her notebook while the sun broke through the windows.

You never talked about Jackson anymore.

Not out of guilt. Out of peace.

Because love—real love—had finally found you. Not in some perfect place.

But in the ashes of what used to be.

And when Ellie kissed you under the stars, her thumb tracing your cheek like a promise, you knew:

You’d do it all over again.

maybe prof ellie bringing in her wife to help teach a lesson on a speciality that reader specialises in??? and ellie being smug and proud of her wife teaching

if that makes sense

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ Ellie has been plotting this for weeks, trying to find the perfect moment to invite you to her class without it seeming like a weird flex—though, secretly, it totally is a flex.

☆ She brags about you constantly to her students—your research, your credentials, your awards—so when she says, “She’ll be guest-lecturing next Tuesday,” her students practically groan, “Finally.”

☆ Ellie nervously asks you at dinner, trying to sound casual: “Sooo, would you… maybe wanna come lecture for my neuro class? Just like… help me out? You’re the expert in that area anyway.” (She’s blushing like mad the whole time.)

☆ She sends you the syllabus and her lesson plan, but honestly you already know the material—you’ve read her notes a dozen times over the years, often curled into her lap while she works late.

☆ Ellie spends the night before organizing her office just in case you want to work there. She even dusts.

☆ She makes an entire PowerPoint intro slide with your credentials and picture. You don’t know this until you walk in and it’s plastered on the projector.

☆ Ellie insists on walking you to the lecture hall, coffee in hand, arm hooked around your waist like a proud, possessive spouse.

☆ She can’t stop herself from staring at you in the elevator, mumbling, “You look hot. Are you trying to distract me in front of my students?”

☆ She warns her students: “Be on your best behavior. Or I’ll fail you. That’s my wife.”

☆ Ellie talks you up before you even walk in—"She published her first paper at twenty-three. She's got field experience and a PhD. Basically, listen up.”

☆ She introduces you with a smug, “This is my wife. She’s smarter than me, so you’re in good hands.”

☆ She sits front row while you speak, arms crossed, smirking the entire time like she’s watching her favorite movie.

☆ Every time you pace past her while presenting, Ellie subtly reaches out to touch your hand or brush your fingers—like she can’t help herself.

☆ She answers students' questions with: “You should ask her—she’s the expert,” then gives you a look like she’s melting.

☆ Ellie’s watching you like she’s in love for the first time again, chin in her hand, gaze unblinking.

☆ The students keep stealing glances at her because she’s blushing the entire lecture.

☆ She mouths “You’re doing amazing” at you when you hesitate for a second, instantly supportive.

☆ She takes pictures of you while you teach—secretly at first, then obviously when she grins at you and holds her phone up like a proud girlfriend.

☆ Ellie laughs the loudest at your little jokes or quips during the lesson, even if no one else gets them.

☆ At one point, when a student asks a particularly good question, Ellie mutters, “Damn, that was hot,” under her breath.

☆ The moment the students start clapping, Ellie’s already striding up to you, beaming. “You killed it, babe.”

☆ She grabs your hand in front of the whole class and kisses it—gently, reverently—just because she can.

☆ Students start asking you for office hours, and Ellie is 50% smug, 50% territorial.

☆ She whispers in your ear on the way out: “We’re definitely doing this again. I’ve never been more turned on by a whiteboard.”

☆ Ellie refuses to let go of your hand as you walk through campus. “Now they all know how hot and smart my wife is. Feels good.”

☆ She insists on buying you dinner afterward, calling it a “thank you” date—even though she’s just looking for an excuse to stare at you more.

☆ In private, she wraps her arms around you from behind and murmurs, “You’re brilliant, y’know that? All mine.”

☆ She reviews your lecture notes later, totally unnecessarily, just so she can “appreciate your formatting.”

☆ Ellie updates her desktop wallpaper to a candid photo she took of you teaching.

☆ She brags to her colleagues the next day like, “Did you know my wife pioneered that entire segment of research?” even if they didn’t ask.

☆ She references you in class more than ever: “My wife actually studied this during her masters…”

☆ Ellie becomes more obsessed with inviting you back: “We have another unit coming up, wanna co-teach?”

☆ You become a campus legend among her students. One even calls you “Dr. Williams 2.0” and Ellie nearly cries.

☆ She keeps printing out your articles and tacking them on her office board, pretending it’s for “student reading.”

☆ Ellie starts leaving you little love notes in her lecture slides—stuff like “She’s the smartest woman I know” in the footer text.

☆ She asks you to proofread her papers more, not because she needs help, but because she just loves hearing your opinions.

☆ Ellie can’t go five minutes without saying, “My wife said something so interesting about that…”

☆ She buys you a new blazer after the lecture, saying, “For next time. You looked good as hell up there.”

☆ Ellie starts working you into her curriculum long-term—guest lectures, special interviews, even recorded segments.

☆ She updates her university bio to say “Happily married to a fellow researcher,” just because she can.

☆ Sometimes she’ll replay the recording of your lecture late at night, quietly admiring how passionate you sound.

☆ She keeps your guest lecturer badge on her desk in a little acrylic frame.

☆ Ellie draws little doodles of you at the lectern in her notebook margins.

☆ She brings up that day when she’s stressed—“Hey, remember when you came to class and made me look so cool?”

☆ Ellie starts quoting you mid-lecture and then gives a sheepish, “That’s something my wife says.”

☆ If a student challenges your ideas, she immediately goes into defense mode: “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Trust me.”

☆ She’ll walk past the lecture hall days later, glance inside, and smile like it’s sacred ground.

☆ Sometimes she just hugs you and whispers, “You made me proud in a way I can’t even describe.”

☆ Ellie gets you your own university hoodie and says, “Now you really belong here.”

☆ She refers to your guest lecture as “the best day of the semester.”

☆ Ellie steals the pen you used that day and keeps it in her desk drawer like a souvenir.

☆ She gets lowkey jealous when students mention how cool or pretty you were.

☆ She has the urge to say “That’s my wife” any time your name is mentioned in academic circles.

☆ Ellie annotates your academic papers like fanfiction, highlighting lines with hearts.

☆ She starts planning her future lectures around the possibility of bringing you in again.

☆ She buys matching laser pointers for both of you. “Team Williams,” she calls it.

☆ Ellie gets a little flushed remembering how confidently you spoke to her students. She replays your voice in her head when she’s missing you.

☆ She wears the ring you gave her like a badge of honor, subtly flashing it when people mention your name.

☆ Ellie admits—after a lot of coaxing—that she was more nervous that day than you were.

☆ Every time someone brings it up, Ellie just smiles and says, “Yeah. She’s mine.”

maybe just normal ellie universe or prof ellie just being obessed with readers wedding ring?? and whenever she holds her hand she’s plays with the ring and just happy that they are together forever??

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ Ellie doesn’t just glance at your wedding ring—she studies it. Every etch, every glint in the light. It’s a symbol she reveres, like a sacred artifact.

☆ When you’re sitting beside her at a faculty mixer, Ellie laces your fingers with hers under the table, thumb rubbing over the ring absentmindedly. Her lectures may dominate the room, but her mind is tangled up in you.

☆ In the quiet morning hours, when the coffee brews and you’re still in pajamas, she takes your hand across the kitchen table and kisses the ring. She always whispers, “still mine,” like she can’t believe it.

☆ During lectures, Ellie will catch herself staring at her own ring, then smile softly knowing yours matches. Her students just assume she’s daydreaming—if only they knew.

☆ She spins the ring slowly on your finger when you're lying on her chest at night, saying things like, “you have no idea how much I needed you.”

☆ She touches it when she's nervous—during parent-teacher meetings, high-stress grading seasons, or conferences. Like a talisman, it grounds her.

☆ Ellie once dropped her notes mid-lecture because she spotted your hand waving from the back of the hall, wedding ring catching the light. She grinned like a lovesick fool.

☆ She’s memorized the way the ring leaves a faint indent in your skin after a long day. That little mark is her favorite imprint in the world.

☆ If you fall asleep on the couch, Ellie will bring a blanket and sit beside you, quietly taking your hand and just playing with the ring while watching you breathe.

☆ Ellie doesn’t let anyone else touch your left hand—not out of jealousy, but reverence. That hand, to her, is the proof of everything she’s ever fought for.

☆ Ellie always insists on walking on your left side, so she can keep her hand over yours and rub your ring with her thumb.

☆ At university galas or fundraisers, she doesn’t flaunt your relationship—she just softly touches your ring every few minutes. A secret shared between just the two of you.

☆ She once got visibly irritated when a colleague complimented your outfit but didn’t acknowledge the ring. “Pretty sure that ring’s the best thing she’s wearing,” she muttered.

☆ If anyone flirts with you, even innocently, Ellie’s hand slides into yours with practiced ease, thumb circling the ring until the message is clear.

☆ Whenever she introduces you, she says, “This is my wife,” with pride. But her hand always lands gently on the ring as she says it.

☆ When you’re out and about, and she sees your ring catch the sun, Ellie will lean in and whisper, “That sparkle’s nothing compared to you.”

☆ She absolutely loses her mind when you leave the ring at home for cleaning or repairs—she’ll check your hand like something’s missing.

☆ Ellie’s phone background is a zoomed-in photo of your hand in hers—your ring front and center. You didn’t even know until she showed a student once by accident.

☆ At the bookstore, she pretends to look at novels, but she’s watching you pick up a coffee, your ring catching in the light, and she falls in love all over again.

☆ She’ll joke about how she “won the jackpot” every time she sees the ring glint. But there’s truth beneath the teasing.

☆ When you’re reading together on the couch, she’ll take your hand and kiss each knuckle—lingering on the one with the ring.

☆ She buys you hand lotion just because it makes your skin extra soft and makes the ring shine brighter. Ellie swears it’s purely aesthetic… she’s lying.

☆ She once had a miniature sketch of your hand with the ring tattooed on her ribs. You found out by accident. She just said, “Had to carry it forever too.”

☆ After arguments, she doesn’t apologize with flowers. She comes quietly, kisses your ring, and says, “This still means something, right?”

☆ When you’re brushing your teeth, she stands behind you, arms around your waist, and gently strokes your ring hand. Always soft, always present.

☆ Ellie once had a full panic because you misplaced the ring. She turned the apartment upside down, near tears, until you found it in the laundry basket.

☆ She keeps your wedding ring’s box on her nightstand. Not for any real reason—just because it’s a piece of the day she can’t let go of.

☆ When you two slow dance in the living room, she holds your left hand in hers like it’s made of glass. The ring glimmers in the dim light and she calls it her favorite star.

☆ If she wakes up in the middle of the night and you’re not wearing it, she’ll gently put it back on you like a ritual.

☆ Every anniversary, she stares at the ring and says some variation of, “Can you believe you said yes?”

☆ She’s read three books on the history of wedding rings just because yours fascinates her so much. She sends you random facts. “Did you know ancient Egyptians—”

☆ She has a journal where she’s written multiple entries about the first time she slipped the ring on your finger. She's never shown you.

☆ She once used your ring as an example in her class when talking about cultural symbolism. No one else knew it was yours.

☆ She draws you in her sketchbook constantly—but your left hand with the ring is always the focal point.

☆ Ellie uses it as a grounding tool. When she’s anxious, she’ll find your hand, spin the ring slowly, and whisper things like, “I’m okay. You’re here.”

☆ She gets jealous of her own past self—sometimes looking at the ring and thinking, why didn’t I meet her sooner?

☆ She planned her entire proposal around the kind of ring she thought you deserved—classic, durable, with a tiny inscription only she knows about.

☆ She made you swear to never take it off unless you absolutely have to. She calls it “proof of the best thing I ever did.”

☆ Ellie can tell when someone notices your ring and doesn’t say anything. She’ll bring it up herself. “Yeah, she’s married. To me.”

☆ She dreams about the wedding day often—and wakes up clutching your hand like she’s afraid it’ll vanish.

☆ Ellie sees it as a physical manifestation of everything she thought she’d never have—love, safety, family.

☆ She once told you, “This ring means I get to wake up next to you forever. That’s more than I ever thought I’d deserve.”

☆ She kisses your hand before every trip, every conference, every long class. “This means you’ll be waiting when I get back.”

☆ She freaked out when it got scratched once, immediately going online to figure out how to fix it herself.

☆ To her, your ring is a beacon. If you’re ever across the room, that’s how she finds you.

☆ When she thinks about growing old, the only constant image in her mind is your wrinkled hand, still wearing the ring.

☆ Ellie once cried—genuinely cried—after seeing you absentmindedly touch the ring while smiling at her. It was too intimate, too overwhelming.

☆ She once traced it while you were asleep and whispered, “You’re mine. You chose me.” Over and over.

☆ She calls it her favorite piece of jewelry, even though she doesn’t wear much herself.

☆ She gets overly protective when strangers comment on it. “Yeah, she’s married. Yeah, to me. What of it?”

☆ You fidget with it when you’re shy. Ellie notices every time, and it makes her heart squeeze.

☆ She’s caught herself doodling the ring design in the margins of her lecture notes.

☆ Sometimes she talks to it when you're not around. “You’re all I’ve got when she’s gone. Keep her safe.”

☆ She took a picture of it while you were napping with your hand on her chest. It’s her phone lock screen now.

☆ You once joked about upgrading the ring, and Ellie immediately panicked. “No. That one’s… that one’s ours.”

☆ Ellie insists on holding your ring hand when you go to sleep. She says it helps her breathe better.

☆ Every time she writes “Mrs. Williams” on an envelope, she glances at the ring after sealing it.

☆ She wants your daughter to inherit it someday—but part of her can’t imagine ever letting it go.

☆ Sometimes, in bed, she whispers, “That ring made me whole.”

☆ And no matter what happens—bad day, fight, distance—Ellie never lets go of that hand. Because the ring reminds her: she’s yours, and you’re hers. Forever.

I was wondering what would be professor ellies reaction to overhearing her students call her wife a milf?😭

Idk if she would be smug or jealous 😭

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ You arrive right before Ellie’s lecture starts, balancing Aurora on your hip and pushing Arnold in a sleek black pram.

☆ You’re in leggings and a fitted hoodie, your hair half-tied, glowing in that “effortless hot mom” way that makes people stare.

☆ Ellie’s in the middle of setting up her slides when she spots you through the open lecture hall door and just melts—the tension in her shoulders visibly drops.

☆ “Shit,” she mumbles when she sees the brown paper bag in your hand, realizing she did forget her lunch on the kitchen counter.

☆ Aurora clings to you, shyly resting her head against your shoulder as her curls bounce with each step.

☆ Ellie immediately walks down from the podium, forgetting about her slides for a second just to greet the three of you.

☆ She kisses your temple, whispers a thank you, and gently strokes Arnold’s cheek as he stirs in his sleep.

☆ Students start to murmur as the scene unfolds—especially since they rarely see Professor Williams flustered or affectionate in public.

☆ You’re kind, smiling at her class and giving a little wave before telling Ellie to have a good lecture.

☆ As you walk out, Ellie’s eyes are glued to you—watching your hips sway and how effortlessly beautiful you look with her babies.

☆ The door hasn’t even closed behind you when a student in the back lets out a low whistle.

☆ Another mutters, “Damn, Professor Williams pulled a MILF.”

☆ Someone giggles, “Now it makes sense why she’s so serious—she’s got that waiting at home.”

☆ Ellie hears everything.

☆ Her eyes narrow slightly, jaw tightening as she clicks her laptop to the next slide a little too hard.

☆ “That was my wife, by the way,” she says nonchalantly, eyes still on the screen.

☆ “And the mother of both my children. Not that it's any of your business.”

☆ The room goes completely silent. A few students exchange wide-eyed looks.

☆ Ellie smirks to herself. Her little dig was sharp but still professional—classic passive-aggressive Professor Williams.

☆ She continues her lecture like nothing happened, but there's an edge in her tone now, like she’s daring anyone to comment again.

☆ She’s seething with jealousy, even if the comments were technically compliments.

☆ In her head: Of course they think she’s hot. She’s fucking perfect.

☆ She can’t stop picturing how good you looked—messy mom hair, flushed cheeks, and that soft voice.

☆ The image of you holding Aurora with one arm while pushing Arnold is burned into her brain.

☆ Her students noticing your hotness only confirms what she already knows: you’re stunning, magnetic, hers.

☆ She spends half the lecture imagining dragging you into her office after class just to mark her territory.

☆ She literally has to pause mid-sentence at one point because her brain short-circuits thinking about it.

☆ When she finally wraps up, she types “MILF-hunting undergrads = extra assignments” into her personal notes. Half-joking. Kind of.

☆ She finds you sitting on a bench outside her building, Arnold now awake and cooing softly.

☆ Aurora’s blowing dandelions and crawling into your lap every five seconds.

☆ Ellie drops her bag beside you and immediately kisses you—firm, slow, full of silent you’re mine energy.

☆ “You shouldn’t come looking like that,” she whispers into your hair.

☆ “Like what?” you ask, knowing exactly what she means.

☆ “Like the hottest person to ever walk into a university campus—with my baby on your hip.”

☆ She looks down at Arnold and mutters, “I hope he didn’t hear the bullshit I had to sit through.”

☆ You giggle, teasing, “What, jealous?”

☆ “No,” she deadpans. “Just proud. And territorial. And maybe slightly homicidal.”

☆ She offers to push the pram, her other arm slung possessively around your waist.

☆ She keeps glancing at passing students, daring anyone to look at you again.

☆ She tells you the whole story during dinner—every comment, every internal reaction.

☆ “I should start the next lecture with a slide that says: ‘That MILF is married. To me.’”

☆ You laugh so hard you nearly spill juice on Arnold’s onesie.

☆ Aurora asks what a “milf” is and Ellie nearly chokes.

☆ She’s planning a casual campus lunch date where she can show you off properly.

☆ She updates her office desk photos—new ones of you holding Arnold and a candid of you kissing Aurora’s nose.

☆ She catches herself rereading her student evaluations, smirking at the ones that mention her being “intimidating but hot.”

☆ Her next lecture includes a quote about “respecting others—especially your professor’s badass wife.”

☆ When you tease her later, she kisses you roughly and growls, “They wish they had you. But they never will.”

☆ She journals about the moment that night, scribbling things like “she looked so perfect. She always does. Mine.”

☆ The next time you bring her lunch, she kisses you in front of the class. Not a long kiss—just enough to make a point.

i LOVE your headcanons of professor ellie 💗 could you write hcs of how ellie reacts to/feels about readers partying/drinking habits? since it’s college lololol tysm!!

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ The relationship started slow—Ellie couldn’t help the way she stared a little too long when you answered in class, the way her voice softened only when calling your name.

☆ You were top of your class, confident but kind—and the fact that you had no idea how captivating you were made her want you more.

☆ Ellie told herself she’d keep it professional, but she crumbled the first time you stayed after class to ask about office hours and bit your lip nervously.

☆ One night, a study session in her office turned into brushing fingers… then grazing knees… then a kiss that shifted her entire world.

☆ You’re young, wild, and still living the typical campus life—going out with friends, drinking, wearing short dresses.

☆ At first, Ellie tries to be understanding—you’re just being normal, she tells herself.

☆ But every time you text her “going out tonight!” she feels her chest tighten.

☆ Her mind instantly conjures images of guys hitting on you, or worse—touching you.

☆ She’s already emotionally unwell just thinking about you drunk around people who don’t know you belong to her.

☆ She never says “don’t go”—instead, it’s “be safe” and “text me the second you get home.”

☆ You send her a mirror selfie before going out, and it ruins her entire night.

☆ “You look incredible,” she texts—but she’s chewing her cheek in rage, wondering who else will see you like that.

☆ She zooms in on the picture, analyzing every detail: your neckline, your expression, who might be in the reflection.

☆ If you don’t answer for longer than an hour, she spirals.

☆ She doesn’t sleep until you text her that you're back home safe.

☆ If you mention a guy buying you a drink, she shuts down—dry, short replies until you call her and soothe the ache.

☆ If you tell her someone flirted with you, she pretends to laugh—but she writes that guy’s name down in her mental burn book.

☆ One night you send her a blurry photo of your friends cheering shots. She doesn’t respond for an hour because she’s pacing in her apartment.

☆ If you flirt with her when drunk, she melts—but also scolds you after: “Don’t say that to me when you’re not in control.”

☆ She feels disgustingly possessive, and it makes her feel guilty—but not enough to stop.

☆ She wants to be better. She knows she shouldn’t control you.

☆ But the thought of someone else having your attention even for a second drives her into silent storms.

☆ She journals about it often—how hard it is to love someone you can’t touch in public.

☆ She knows if someone finds out, it’s over—for her career, your education, maybe even you.

☆ That fear claws at her every time you disappear into a crowd of drunk strangers.

☆ Ellie starts secretly tracking your phone—not because she doesn’t trust you, but because she doesn’t trust anyone else.

☆ She learns your friends’ names and subtly checks their socials for anything that could trace back to her.

☆ If she sees a tagged pic of you with too much skin or someone’s hand on your back, she gets nauseous.

☆ She once messaged you, “Please untag that. It’s too risky,” and you didn’t even question it.

☆ She keeps a hoodie of hers in your dorm room that she tells you to wear home if you’re ever walking late.

☆ She buys you pepper spray and teaches you how to use it “just in case.”

☆ She walks you through fake alibis—what to say if someone asks who you were texting, who picked you up, where you were last night.

☆ She memorizes your schedule so she can predict when you’ll be on campus—and how to avoid you in public, just in case.

☆ She deletes her messages from your phone every few days, but backs them up in a private drive—just for her.

☆ She creates an alternate email address for your personal conversations, completely off-campus.

☆ The first time you drunk-dial her, she doesn’t answer—she panics, lets it go to voicemail.

☆ She listens to the voicemail alone, heart racing as you slur out how much you love her.

☆ She saves the voicemail. Listens to it ten times. But deletes it the next morning because it’s too dangerous.

☆ The second time you drunk-text her gibberish, she replies with “Baby, are you safe? Who are you with? Where are you?”

☆ If you ever say “come get me,” she will. Even if it’s midnight. Even if it risks everything.

☆ She keeps a hoodie, water, and mints in the backseat of her car just in case you call.

☆ The first time you cry after partying—someone being too aggressive, getting sick—Ellie holds you in her apartment and swears you’ll never go out again.

☆ After a party, you sneak into her place and she undresses you gently, muttering, “You’re killing me.”

☆ She always washes your makeup off and gives you oversized sweats to sleep in.

☆ She whispers, “Mine,” into your hair when you’re too tipsy to remember.

☆ She holds your face and says, “No more guys buying you drinks. Let me take care of you.”

☆ She leaves bruises where no one can see—under your clothes, on your thighs, between your ribs—so you remember who owns you.

☆ Ellie sometimes skips dinner just because she’s anxious you’re out without her.

☆ She watches stories obsessively—knows who you're with, what bar you’re at, what time the music changes.

☆ If a guy posts you even in the background of his story, she takes screenshots and studies it.

☆ She’s thought about showing up undercover, just to watch. Just to make sure you’re safe.

☆ She keeps your location pulled up during her late-night grading sessions, constantly checking if you’ve gotten home.

☆ She keeps a playlist called “when she’s out drinking”—half love songs, half rage anthems.

☆ Eventually, she starts subtly encouraging you to stay in. “I miss you. Come here instead?”

☆ She buys wine and sets up little movie nights to make staying home more appealing.

☆ She starts whispering the future to you during pillow talk: “One day this won’t have to be secret. You’ll just come home to me.”

☆ She says she doesn’t care about other people, but the truth is: you belong to her.

☆ She fantasizes about the day it’s all out in the open—no more parties, no more sneaking around, just you and her.

☆ Her possessiveness grows in silence, but she masks it with careful restraint—because keeping you safe means keeping the secret intact.

☆ And when you sleep in her bed, curled around her, she holds you tighter than she should, whispering, “I’ll protect you. From them. From everything. Just stay mine.”

Hi to my favorite TLOU writer!!! I am totally in love with Professor Ellie. (Mommy🫣) How do you imagine her after seeing you talking to another professor/student and being a little flirty with them( like for fun yk)? Do whatever you want. Let her be jealous, sad,angry,possessive IDGAF all your work is a fucking masterpiece so do whatever you want girl 🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏 KISSESSSSSS😻😻😻

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

i love you sm anon <33

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ You bring Ellie her favorite iced coffee and a container of cut-up fruit, the kids in tow—Arnold babbling in his pram, and Aurora holding your hand in little Velcro sandals.

☆ Ellie knows you're coming, but she doesn't know you got stopped on the quad near the literature building by one of her students.

☆ You’re wearing bike shorts and a cropped tee, sunglasses in your hair, looking unfairly good for someone juggling two small children.

☆ You’re distracted by Aurora asking about clouds while adjusting Arnold’s sunshade when the student approaches.

☆ The student—some cocky, overconfident sophomore—spots you and comes over with a too-wide smile.

☆ “Hey… uh, you lost? Need help finding someone?” they ask, ignoring the fact you’re very clearly fine.

☆ The student starts asking questions that don’t need answering—who you're here for, if you're new on campus, if you have a partner.

☆ You give polite, short answers, focused on Aurora while trying not to cause a scene.

☆ The student leans casually on the pram, cracking jokes and acting like you’re at a coffee shop, not mid-parenting.

☆ You laugh once—a polite laugh—which ends up being a nuclear detonation in Ellie’s mind.

☆ What the student doesn’t know is that Ellie just stepped outside the building to greet you.

☆ She sees the scene from a few yards away—her student leaning way too close to you, eyes shamelessly scanning you up and down.

☆ You haven’t noticed her yet. But she notices everything.

☆ Jealousy hits her like a truck—instant and sharp.

☆ It coils in her stomach, turning to a possessive rage that sits right behind her ribcage.

☆ Her jaw tightens as her eyes laser in on the student’s body language, analyzing every flirty lean and casual smirk.

☆ She’s not just angry—they’re flirting with you in front of her children.

☆ “Are you insane?” she mutters under her breath, already storming across the quad.

☆ Her heart is pounding—part fury, part fear that you were approached at all.

☆ She's not scared you’ll respond—she knows you love her. But the idea of anyone even trying? That’s war.

☆ “Can I help you?” Ellie says sharply as she inserts herself physically between you and the student.

☆ Her tone is low, dangerous—calm in that pre-explosion way.

☆ The student stutters, caught off-guard, suddenly realizing who she is.

☆ “Professor Williams,” they start, awkwardly laughing, “I didn’t realize—”

☆ “That you were flirting with my wife? While she was watching our children?”

☆ You immediately reach out, brushing your hand against Ellie’s back to ground her.

☆ “It’s fine,” you say softly, but Ellie’s not even close to letting it slide.

☆ “No, it’s not fine,” she growls, turning back to the student. “You’re in my class. You should know who I am. And you should’ve known she was mine the second you saw her.”

☆ The student tries to apologize, but Ellie’s already brushing past them and gripping the pram handle like it personally offended her.

☆ She doesn’t say anything for a moment, just walking fast, one hand protectively behind your back.

☆ When you glance at her, her jaw is clenched, and her eyes are distant and stormy.

☆ “You okay?” you ask softly.

☆ “No,” she snaps. “I hated that. I hated seeing that.”

☆ “I wasn’t flirting back,” you say.

☆ “I know,” she mutters. “But they looked at you like they had a chance. And I wanted to punch them through the pavement.”

☆ She takes you into her office instead of walking you to the car, locking the door behind you.

☆ “You look like a fantasy,” she says, her voice low, bitter. “And I hate that other people get to see it.”

☆ You smirk. “You mean you hate that they’re brave enough to flirt in front of you?”

☆ “Exactly,” she growls. “Because it means they don’t take me seriously enough.”

☆ “Or they’re just idiots,” you offer.

☆ “Maybe. But you’re mine. And I shouldn’t have to remind people of that every time you walk across campus.”

☆ She brings it up again at home—still stewing, still thinking about it.

☆ “You’re too pretty to be out there like that,” she says, half-joking, half-serious.

☆ “So I should wear a mask?” you tease.

☆ “Honestly? I’d feel better,” she mumbles, snuggling closer to Arnold on your chest.

☆ Aurora hears the story and yells, “Mommy’s scary!” and Ellie corrects her: “Protective.”

☆ She kisses your hand more that night—rubbing her thumb over your ring like a silent message.

☆ She considers printing a family photo and putting it on the front of her lecture slides.

☆ She’s uncharacteristically clingy for days—grabbing your waist while you cook, following you to the door when you go outside, randomly texting “mine.”

☆ She even updates her email signature to include “Partner to the hot woman with two kids. Yes, that one.”

☆ She mentally blacklists that student—no participation marks ever again.

☆ She references the incident in her next ethics lecture: “Know your boundaries, especially when they involve your professor’s spouse.”

☆ Starts inviting you to campus more often—not to keep you away from others, but to show you off while keeping you close.

☆ Insists you wear her oversized university hoodie on future visits.

☆ You catch her watching you from her classroom window once as you push the pram down the path. She waves. You blow a kiss. She turns pink.

☆ She buys you sunglasses she loves—wants you to wear them when you’re out because “you look hot, but you look taken.”

☆ Occasionally still brings it up just to hear you reassure her you belong to her and no one else.

☆ Starts ending lectures early on days she knows you’ll be around—wants more time just to see you on campus.

☆ Jokes about getting a shirt for you that says MILF—but taken by your professor.

☆ And every time you walk into her office now? She kisses you like a declaration. Like a warning. Like a promise: mine. always mine.

Idk if you watched yellowjackets but i really think you would like it!

It got me thinking about ellie who lost her bestfriend (secret crush/love of her life) reader and cant part with her body and breaksdown when people find out she has it and take it away from her

Dont take her from me - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i haven't watched it yet but its been on my watchlist... I've heard good things about it. Once again i got carried away... i hope you enjoy:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me songs or your silly ideas:)

HUGE WARNING: grief, delusion, breakdown, body transport, psychological decay, corpses/dead bodies, disturbing comfort, jealousy, paranoia, anxiety, mental health strain, grave raiding, corpse handling, delusion, isolation, obsession, gore implied, graphic descriptions, blood, unsettling behaviour

Summary: Ellie’s always had control—until someone threatens to take the one person she can’t live without

masterlist

This story contains dark and emotionally intense themes—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online. Please read the warnings before reading.

The blood had dried on Ellie’s hands hours ago.

But she still sat there, legs numb from being folded too long, your lifeless form cradled in her arms like you might wake up if she held you tight enough.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

She didn’t even get the chance to tell you how she felt—how the thing in her chest wasn’t just a crush. Wasn’t just longing. It was hunger. Ached for you so deeply that she sometimes had to grip the edge of her desk just to stop from running to your house and spilling every ugly truth in her head.

Now she was sitting on the cold floor of an abandoned cabin, in the middle of nowhere, covered in blood and sweat and dirt—and none of it mattered. None of it compared to the way your body had gone still. Your breath, your light… extinguished like it was never there.

She pressed her cheek to your forehead. Still faintly warm.

“Don’t go cold,” she whispered, voice shredded from hours of screaming your name into nothingness. “Just stay a little longer. Just stay with me.”

She rocked slightly. Back and forth. Like she could lull you into staying. Like you were just sleeping off a long night.

And when the others came—Jesse, Dina, a couple others from Jackson—Ellie didn’t even flinch.

They saw her first. Then you. No one spoke. For a moment, all they did was stare.

Then Jesse stepped forward. “Ellie,” he said softly, eyes wide with horror, “we have to take her.”

She didn’t look up. “No.”

“Ellie—”

“No.”

Her voice cracked, sharp and shrill, and her grip around your torso tightened.

“She’s not—she’s not ready. She’s not cold yet. She’s not—” Her breath hitched. “You can’t just take her.”

Dina’s face twisted in pain. “El… we need to bury her. It’s not safe out here, there’s—”

“You don’t get to touch her!” Ellie roared, head snapping up. Her eyes were wild—bloodshot, soaked with grief and rage. “You didn’t know her like I did. You don’t even get it.”

She scrambled back as Jesse reached again, shielding your body like a wounded animal. Her fingers trembled where they clung to your clothes.

“She was mine,” she whispered. “I never got to say it—but she was. She was. And you’re not gonna put her in the fucking ground like she’s just gone. She’s not.”

She pressed a kiss to your temple. Desperate. Cracked. “I can keep her warm. I swear. I’ll—I’ll keep her safe. Don’t take her from me. Please.”

But your skin was cooling.

No amount of warmth from her hands, no matter how feverishly she held you, could stop the inevitable.

She had memorized every scar, every laugh, every stupid joke you told just to see her crack a smile. And now you were quiet. Hollow. Just an echo.

They had to sedate her.

It took three of them. She fought like a hellhound, screaming your name, kicking, crying, biting, even when the needle sank into her neck. Even when her body slumped in Jesse’s arms, unconscious… her fingers were still twisted in your shirt.

When she woke up in Jackson days later, you were gone. She lost it.

They wouldn’t tell her where they buried you. Said she wasn’t stable. Said she needed rest, time, healing.

She screamed until her voice gave out. Tore her room apart looking for anything you touched. Burned a hole through your favorite hoodie just trying to breathe it in.

She sneaks out that night. Finds the grave. It’s quiet. Peaceful. The dirt’s still fresh.

Ellie drops to her knees, hands shaking, and begins to dig. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She doesn’t care. She needs to see your face again.

Needs to kiss you, one more time, even if your lips are cold. Needs to apologize for all the time she wasted. Needs to ask if you’d have said yes—if she had asked you out. If you’d have smiled, taken her hand, told her you felt it too.

When they find her in the morning, she’s curled up beside the half-opened grave, fingers bloodied, dirt under her nails, your name on her lips. She doesn’t even look up.

“She was the only good thing,” she whispers, to no one. “And I didn’t get to keep her.”

It had been six days since you died. No one had found the cabin. Not yet. She made sure of it.

The windows were boarded. The door—barred with a chair wedged under the knob. Every possible crack sealed tight. She'd left bloodied handprints on the wood floor from moving you again, and again, and again—trying to find the right spot, the one you’d be most comfortable in.

You were laid out on a mattress in the center of the room, tucked under a worn blanket she stole from your house weeks ago. Your hair combed back gently. Lips touched with rose balm. She even painted your nails.

“See?” Ellie murmured, sitting beside you, her knees folded tightly under her. Her fingers brushed the edge of your arm—skin pale, but not blue. Not yet. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

She hadn’t eaten in two days. Barely drank water. Her eyes were sunken, red-rimmed, skin tight across her cheekbones. But her gaze never left you.

Sometimes, she imagined you blinking. Sometimes, she swore you did.

Sometimes, she dreamed you whispered her name, and when she woke up, her ear would be inches from your mouth, waiting. Just waiting for it again.

It wasn’t decomposition. It was transition. That’s what she told herself. That the smell wasn’t decay—it was your soul trying to root itself in her.

That the darkening under your eyes wasn’t rot—it was exhaustion from everything you’d been through.

That the way your body stiffened wasn’t rigor mortis—it was just you being shy. You’d always been shy.

They came looking for her on the ninth day. A knock at the cabin.

“Ellie? Are you in there?”

Jesse.

Ellie blinked, gaze pulling from your face. She didn’t answer.

“Ellie, please. We just want to help.”

Help?

They didn’t understand.

They wanted to take you.

She stood slowly, reaching for the axe near the doorway. The one she'd been using to chop firewood—and threaten the shadows when they got too loud.

She looked down at you one last time. Her expression soft, loving, doting.

“They don’t get to have you,” she whispered, eyes glassy. “You’re mine.” Then she went to the door.

The floorboards are stained now. Not from you. From the others.

They tried to come in. They didn’t leave.

She had to do it. She had to. They would’ve taken you. Put you in the ground like you were nothing more than meat and memory.

You weren’t. You were everything. Still are.

Now it’s just the two of you again. The way it should be.

Ellie sleeps curled up at the foot of your mattress, arm across your ankle like a child holding a stuffed toy. She tells you stories. She sings to you—soft lullabies she remembers her mom humming, or songs she once heard you hum absentmindedly in the kitchen.

Sometimes she kisses your hand. Sometimes she cries and begs you not to leave her.

“I love you,” she whispers again and again. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I won’t let them bury you. You’re mine.”

The backseat of the truck smelled like copper and perfume. The perfume was yours. A bottle she stole from your bathroom before the blood dried. She sprayed it on you each morning like ritual. Like prayer.

The copper was blood. Not yours, mostly.

She had to kill the man who owned the truck.

He tried to take it—you. Said it wasn’t “right.” Said you were a body, not a person anymore. Said she needed help.

He didn’t understand. None of them did.

Ellie adjusted the blanket over your face again, tucking it neatly beneath your chin. The fabric clung wetly to your skin, the heat of the day making it damp. Your body… was changing. But she didn’t look at the changes. She looked at your eyes, still closed, eyelashes dark and perfect.

She turned the engine and drove.

You were going west. She didn’t have a destination. Not a real one. Just the vague echo of hope in the back of her skull that somewhere, someone out there could bring you back. Fix it.

There had to be a way. Science. Magic. Something. People resurrect dogs all the time in books, right?

So why not you? You were better than a dog. You were her.

Day 4

The desert was hot.

Your skin started to blister.

Ellie cried while wiping you down with a cool rag, her hands trembling. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve covered you better. You don’t like the sun, remember? You always said it makes you dizzy. I should’ve known.”

She stuffed ice in a towel and placed it under your neck. It melted within an hour.

Day 7

She changed your clothes.

It took two hours. Your limbs were stiff now, resistant, like you were mad at her. She apologized over and over again, kissing your hands, your face, your knees.

“You’re so cold,” she whispered, wrapping you in a hoodie that once belonged to her. “But I’ll warm you up. We just need to keep moving.”

Day 9

She saw the lights in the sky. Or maybe imagined them.

A roadside church with the word “HEALING” painted in blood-red letters drew her attention. She pulled over. Inside, there were no people. Just old books, dry flowers, and a candlelit altar.

She laid you there, right in the center, brushing your hair from your forehead. Then she got on her knees.

Prayed.

For the first time in her life.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please. I love her. I didn’t get to say it. Please just… give her back. I’ll do anything.”

The candles flickered. Her heart stopped. You didn’t move.

Day 12

You smelled worse now.

She lined the truck bed with herbs. Lavender. Mint. Anything she could find.

She kept the windows cracked so you could breathe. She never admitted—never—that you couldn’t. That maybe your lungs had stopped working long ago. Because you still looked peaceful. Still looked like you were sleeping. Still looked like you might say her name if she leaned close enough.

Sometimes she imagined you turning to her. Smiling. She started answering for you. Making conversations in the dark.

“Do you think we’ll find someone?”

Yeah, El. I think so.

“Should I stop driving tonight?”

I like the sound of the road. Keep going.

“Okay. I’ll keep going.”

Day 15

The truck ran out of gas in Arizona.

Ellie dragged your body through the sand, arms bruised and bleeding, sunburnt to hell. She tied you to a door she ripped off an abandoned house and pulled it like a sled. Her boots left deep tracks behind her. Buzzards circled above. But she didn’t look up. Didn’t cry.

Didn’t slow down.

“I’m taking you to the ocean,” she told you. “You always wanted to see it. We’ll go together. We’ll walk into the waves. Maybe that’s what you need.”

Your lips were cracked. Hollow.

But she smiled at you like you’d just said “thank you.”

Day 20

She made it to the coast. Somehow.

Body bruised, fingers blackened, lips crusted and bleeding, Ellie stood barefoot in the surf, your body laid out beside her on the wet sand. The tide rolled in. Foam kissed your toes.

She knelt beside you, her voice shaking. “This is it. If you’re gonna come back… it’ll be here.”

The moon hung above like an unblinking eye.

She took your hand, held it to her chest, pressed her lips to your temple one last time.

“Please.”

Silence.

“Please, wake up.”

Nothing.

The water rose. The stars flickered. Ellie’s tears slid down your dead face.

And then—

In the wind, she heard it.

Faint. Echoing. Gentle.

“I missed you too, El.”

Her mouth broke into a smile.

And when the waves swallowed you both whole, she didn’t fight it.

When Ellie opened her eyes, there was no pain. No sand. No salt. No hunger. No rotting flesh between her fingers. Just warmth. A low golden hum.

And you.

Sitting on the edge of a bed, hair glowing in the soft light. Wearing that shirt she loved on you, the one you always slept in. Your legs curled beneath you, a book open in your lap. You looked up, smiled.

“Hey.” Her breath hitched.

She looked down. Her hands were clean. No blood, no dirt. Her boots were gone. She was barefoot, the floor beneath her soft and cloud-warm.

“…Where…?” she croaked.

You tilted your head. “You’re home.”

Ellie staggered forward like a child learning to walk again, eyes wide, unblinking. “Is this—am I dreaming?”

You didn’t answer. Just opened your arms. She collapsed into them.

The scent of you—pure, unchanged—drenched her brain like a drug. Your skin was warm. Your breath against her ear as you whispered her name made her sob.

“I missed you,” she choked. “I missed you so fucking much.”

You stroked her hair. “I know. I waited.”

The house had no doors. No clocks. No sky. Just soft white light that never dimmed. It existed outside of time. And so did you.

You cooked together. Slept curled in one another’s arms. Sang songs in the silence. She traced your face every night, whispering prayers of thanks to whatever cruel or merciful god had made this possible.

But some things weren’t quite right.

You never left the house.

Never asked her questions.

Never said “I love you” first.

Sometimes, Ellie caught glimpses—your reflection in the window lagging behind, your voice echoing before you spoke, your heartbeat silent when her ear pressed to your chest.

But she ignored it.

Because she had you.

One Day…

She woke up and you weren’t there. The bed was cold. Empty.

She searched the house—every corner, every drawer. Screaming your name until her voice gave out. In the mirror above the sink, her reflection stared at her. But it wasn’t her.

Its eyes were black. Hollow. Its skin cracked. Decaying.

“You took her,” she whispered to it.

“You lost her,” the mirror answered.

She shattered it with her fists.

Later, she found you again. Sitting in the bedroom, combing your hair.

Like nothing had happened.

Ellie fell to her knees. “Please don’t leave again.”

You turned, eyes soft. “I didn’t leave. You just forgot where I was.”

Her hands shook as she touched your cheek. You were still cold.

Colder than before.

As the days passed—if you could call them days—you began to fade.

Literally.

Your edges blurred. Your voice softened into whispers. Your body, once warm, became translucent in the light. Ellie wrapped herself around you each night like armor, like a chain.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she hissed into your hair. “I won’t let you go again.” You didn’t respond. But you wept in your sleep.

One night, she woke up alone again. This time, you didn’t come back.

Ellie searched every room, howling like an animal. Her skin began to flake. Her nails fell off. She bled from the gums. The house, once warm, was now cold stone. Shadows whispered your name, mockingly, again and again and again. She clawed at the walls until they bled with her.

Then she saw the door. The first and only door. At the end of the hallway, pulsing like a wound. She stepped through.

On the other side: Both your bodies washed up by the ocean.

Her body, lying beside it. Rotting. Clutching your arm. And a figure, dressed in black, speaking gently.

“You can’t stay with her forever,” Death murmured. “This was your mind's lie. Your denial. It’s time to go.”

Ellie laughed. “Fuck off.”

She turned around, walked back into the house. Back into the version of you that smiled when she arrived. That never asked her to change. That didn’t cry when she kissed your cold mouth.

She never left again.

Ellie stayed in the house—forever rotting, forever hallucinating. Holding your fading, flickering ghost and convincing herself you were real. And in her head, in her twisted, love-drunk eternity, you always whispered the same thing before sleep:

“I’ll never leave you again.”

And even if it was a lie—

Ellie believed it.

When they eventually found your bodies, the costal shore reeked of sweet sick rot.

Ellie was thin. Hollow. Nails broken. Eyes vacant. But Ellie’s smile is peaceful.

She’s lying beside you, one hand holding your arm, the other clutched around a knife driven straight into her own heart. A blood trail leading from her chest to the outline of your body, as if she were trying to bleed into you. Return to you. Merge with you.

There’s a note, scrawled on the sand:

“She waited for me. I’ll stay with her now.”

can we please have a pt2 for bbf!ellie?😭

headcannons: brothers best friend!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

part 1

☆ Ellie’s confession wasn’t a soft one. It was raw. Blurted out late one night when it was just the two of you on the porch, sitting too close. Her voice trembled but her eyes never left yours.

☆ “I like you,” she said, almost angry about it, like it was your fault. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”

☆ You froze. Not because you didn’t like her back—but because you did, and that scared the hell out of you.

☆ The next day, you avoided her. No text replies, no opening the door when she knocked, no hanging around when your brother invited her over.

☆ Ellie noticed instantly. Her texts got more frequent. Shorter. More frantic. “Did I fuck up?” “Please talk to me.”

☆ When you left a group hang early, she stared after you the whole time. She didn’t even say goodbye.

☆ Ellie didn’t sleep much that first week. She laid awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how she misread things.

☆ She started watching your house. Just sitting in her truck a few houses down at night. Waiting to see your light go off.

☆ She played songs she knew you liked in your brother's room, loud enough for you to hear through the shared wall. Hoping you’d listen. Hoping you’d knock.

☆ You didn’t. It made her worse.

☆ She started keeping things you left behind—a hoodie, a pen, a lip balm—and holding them like they were sacred.

☆ Ellie got moodier. Snappier with your brother. She barely made eye contact with him, but she was always asking where you were.

☆ You caught her looking at you from the edge of the hallway once. Her eyes were glassy. She didn’t speak.

☆ Her drawings? All turned into versions of you. Your hands, your mouth, your hair, the sad curve of your shoulder.

☆ She stopped hiding it. Started wearing her obsession like a badge, because if she couldn't have you—she needed to remember every inch of you.

☆ Ellie started showing up everywhere you went. Coincidence at first—until it wasn’t.

☆ Grocery store? She was there by the lemons, asking if you still liked green apples.

☆ Coffee shop? She was sitting at the back, watching you sip your drink, fingers tight on her cup.

☆ She wouldn’t talk to you directly. Just… look. Let the air buzz.

☆ Your friends noticed. One asked, “Is she stalking you?” You didn’t answer. You weren’t sure.

☆ Ellie started writing about you in her journal—paragraphs of frustration, lust, guilt, rage, and helpless longing.

☆ She imagined what your skin would taste like if you’d let her kiss you.

☆ She imagined saying your name and hearing you moan hers back.

☆ Every sketch was darker, more desperate. You with tear tracks, with your lip between your teeth, with bruises she imagined leaving.

☆ Her mind spiraled. She thought maybe you were rejecting her on purpose. Punishing her.

☆ She started dreaming about you. Wake-up-sweating, breathing-hard dreams.

☆ When your brother invited her over again, Ellie scanned the room like a wolf. You weren’t there. Again.

☆ “She’s been busy,” your brother offered casually. Ellie didn’t respond. Her jaw clenched.

☆ The silence became unbearable. You missed her. Wanted her. But you couldn’t act on it—not with your brother. Not with the mess.

☆ But Ellie was done waiting.

☆ She showed up at your place with a book she claimed you left behind. You didn’t. She just needed an excuse.

☆ You opened the door an inch. Tried to keep it cold. But your eyes gave you away. You still wanted her.

☆ Ellie stared at your lips the entire conversation. All two minutes of it.

☆ When you shut the door, she stood there for five more minutes. Breathing. Shaking.

☆ That was the night she made a decision: she’d make you tell her the truth—even if she had to corner you for it.

☆ You were coming back from class when you felt it—that prickle on your neck. The instinct. Someone watching.

☆ You turned and there she was. Hoodie, jaw set, standing at the mouth of the hallway.

☆ You tried to walk past her. She stepped in front of you.

☆ “Why are you avoiding me?” she asked, voice low, clipped.

☆ “Ellie, please—” you said, but your voice cracked.

☆ She moved closer. “No. You don’t get to run anymore.”

☆ You backed up, heart pounding, until your spine hit the cold concrete wall. Nowhere to go.

☆ “Did I scare you?” she whispered. “Is that it?”

☆ “No,” you whispered. “You didn’t.”

☆ Her hands hit the wall on either side of your head. Trapped. Her face inches from yours.

☆ “Then what?” Her voice broke. “You didn’t even give me a chance.”

☆ Her eyes were red-rimmed. Wild. “I tell you I’m in love with you and you disappear?”

☆ “Ellie, I’m scared,” you admitted. “You’re my brother’s best friend. If something happens, it’ll ruin everything.”

☆ “Something already happened,” she growled. “You ruined me the second you stopped talking to me.”

☆ Your breath hitched. Her lips brushed your cheek. “I dream about you,” she whispered. “Every fucking night.”

☆ “Ellie…” Your voice was soft, needy.

☆ She tilted your chin up. “Say you don’t want me. Say it and I’ll leave you alone.”

☆ You couldn’t. You didn’t. Your mouth parted—but no words came.

☆ And then—her lips crashed into yours.

☆ It was messy, all teeth and tongue and heat. Weeks of tension unraveling in one kiss that felt like it might end the world.

☆ Your hands gripped her hoodie like a lifeline, pulling her tighter, closer, until you couldn’t breathe.

☆ She kissed like she hated you for making her wait. Like she needed to memorize you.

☆ You whimpered into her mouth and she swore she almost lost it. Her hands fisted in your shirt.

☆ Her leg slipped between yours. She swallowed every sound you made.

☆ When she finally pulled back, you both were panting. Her forehead pressed to yours.

☆ “Fuck,” she breathed. “I’ve wanted to do that since I was seventeen.”

☆ “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t know how to handle it.”

☆ “You don’t have to,” she said. “Just don’t run. Please.”

☆ Her fingers traced your jaw. “I meant what I said. I like you. I’m not walking away.”

☆ “Even if my brother finds out?”

☆ “Let him,” she said, voice thick. “I’ll fight him if I have to.”

☆ You laughed softly, and Ellie smiled like she hadn’t in weeks.

☆ “So… what now?” you asked, breathless.

☆ She swallowed, eyes dark, voice hoarse: “Go out with me. Tonight. Tomorrow. Every day after that. Be mine.”

☆ You kissed her again. And this time, it wasn’t desperate—it was a yes.

bbf ellie pls!!! brother/sister’s best friend🙏🙏 maybe ellie is like a family friend and a bit older than reader

headcannons: brothers best friend!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

part 2

☆ Ellie first noticed you when you were still in high school, all wide-eyed and trailing after your older brother. She thought you were adorable but too young to even consider.

☆ The first time she saw you laughing over something dumb on your phone, that soft, genuine sound made her stop mid-conversation with your brother.

☆ You once walked into the kitchen in pajama shorts while she and your brother were gaming — Ellie almost dropped her controller.

☆ Ellie liked how you never treated her like “just his friend.” You joked with her, made sarcastic comments — you treated her like an equal. That stuck with her.

☆ She found herself watching you in the background — during family BBQs, movie nights, or when you'd pass behind the couch to grab snacks.

☆ She memorized the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were nervous.

☆ You gave her a birthday card once — a dorky handmade one. She kept it. It's still in her drawer.

☆ One day, she heard you singing in your room when you didn’t know anyone else was home. She leaned against the wall and listened like it was a private concert.

☆ She started looking forward to hearing about you — from your brother, or anyone, really.

☆ She once overheard you rant about a book or movie, and it made her grin so hard she had to bite her cheek to hide it.

☆ Your passion for random things charmed her — even if it was stupid stuff like organizing your closet by color.

☆ She started teasing you more often, just to get that annoyed scrunch in your brows.

☆ The way your nose crinkled when you were confused made her want to kiss it. She had to shut those thoughts down fast.

☆ You were the background of her life for so long — and then, slowly, you became the main focus without her even noticing.

☆ The moment she realized she was crushing hard? You came home from college break wearing a tank top and eyeliner, and she couldn’t look away.

☆ She starts coming over more, even when your brother isn't home. “Thought I’d wait for him,” she lies.

☆ She brings snacks she knows you like and pretends they’re for everyone.

☆ She subtly defends you during any teasing from your brother. “Leave her alone, she’s smarter than both of us.”

☆ When you post on social media, she’s always the first to view it. She never likes it though — just watches in silence.

☆ Ellie makes playlists she claims are for gaming, but they’re secretly full of songs that remind her of you.

☆ If you mention liking a band or movie, she’ll binge it that night.

☆ She keeps a photo of your family on her phone — because you’re in it.

☆ She starts sitting next to you on the couch more often, her thigh brushing yours.

☆ She laughs at all your jokes — even when they’re bad.

☆ You once accidentally touched her hand while passing something — she froze and replayed that moment for days.

☆ She secretly changes her cologne after you once said, “You smell good today.”

☆ When you're upset, she’s the first one to ask what’s wrong — sometimes more invested than your own brother.

☆ She offers you her hoodie when you’re cold and doesn’t ask for it back.

☆ Her texts to you are rare but thoughtful. She sends memes she knows only you'd get.

☆ She always remembers little details — your favorite cereal, your exam dates, your dog’s name.

☆ She stops flirting with random girls when you’re around.

☆ She makes you coffee exactly the way you like it when she’s over in the mornings.

☆ You once joked about marrying a rich musician. Ellie was irrationally annoyed all day.

☆ She buys a video game she hates just because you said you wanted to try it.

☆ She always acts cooler around you — leans against walls, deeper voice, more aloof — until she stumbles or knocks something over.

☆ She absolutely hates hearing about your crushes or dates. Her smile gets tight. Her tone sharpens.

☆ She once googled the guy you were seeing. Just to “check him out.”

☆ When you go to a party, she subtly interrogates your brother about who's there.

☆ She’ll tease you for flirting, but only to hide the jealousy brewing underneath.

☆ You once called her “like a big sister” and she couldn’t sleep that night.

☆ If someone else compliments you, she always has to top it with something witty or sarcastic.

☆ She fakes disinterest when you talk about your love life — but listens to every detail.

☆ She once interrupted a date by “accidentally” showing up at the same place.

☆ She texts you randomly when you're out late. “Just making sure you’re not dead.”

☆ She glares (subtly) at any guy who stands too close to you.

☆ Her whole mood shifts when you’re dressed up for someone else.

☆ She gets more reckless when she’s upset about you — smokes more, drives faster.

☆ You once wore her hoodie in front of your brother and his friends — and she couldn’t stop staring.

☆ When you joke about having a “type,” she always mutters, “That’s not even your type.”

☆ She daydreams about you choosing her — saying “fuck your brother’s opinion” and kissing her first.

☆ She writes about you in her journal under a code name.

☆ She doodles your initials when bored — tiny and hidden in the corners of pages.

☆ She listens to voicemails from you over and over if you’ve ever left one.

☆ Her lock screen changes to a picture from the last group hangout — with you in focus.

☆ She goes out of her way to drive you places when your brother can't.

☆ When you're sick, she's over with medicine before your brother even thinks of it.

☆ She once punched a guy who made a joke about you — claimed it was "just disrespect."

☆ She memorizes your class schedule and mentally calculates when you’ll be home.

☆ When you’re alone with her, she acts like you’re the only thing that matters.

☆ She imagines a future with you constantly — what your place would look like, what you'd cook together.

☆ She keeps a trinket you gave her years ago — a bracelet or pin — hidden in a drawer.

☆ She hates being called “just a friend” by you. It eats her alive.

☆ She sometimes types texts to confess, stares at them, then deletes them.

☆ She leaves anonymous song suggestions on your Spotify. You never know it's her.

☆ She watches how you interact with others — always comparing, always hoping you treat her a little different.

☆ One night, she sees you cry over someone who didn’t deserve you — and it physically hurts her.

☆ She finally admits to herself that she’s not just crushing. She’s in love with you.

☆ She starts avoiding you for a while — it’s too painful to be close without saying anything.

☆ When she comes back around, she’s quieter, more intense — her eyes linger longer, her jokes come with an edge.

☆ The final straw? You tell her one night: “I always liked you more than any of my brother’s friends.” And she knows she can’t keep hiding.

professor ellie has aurora sitting in on one of her classes and starts helping her teach? or like super cute like physical touch moments with professor ellie and reader??

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ You’d had a rough night—baby crying, no sleep, and Aurora constantly asking questions.

☆ Ellie notices immediately. The dark circles under your eyes, the way you pause while holding the baby.

☆ “Hey… why don’t I take Aurora to class with me today?” she says, brushing your cheek gently.

☆ Aurora gasps, ecstatic. “I get to help Mama teach?!”

☆ Ellie crouches to her level, fixing her little backpack. “Only if you behave like a real assistant.”

☆ You kiss Aurora’s forehead and mouth a thank you to Ellie, who kisses your temple back.

☆ Ellie straps Aurora into the car, feeds her little snacks on the way to campus, and plays gentle classical music to “get her in the professor mood.”

☆ Aurora brings her plush dino in her bag, insisting “he’s going to teach too.” Ellie doesn’t argue.

☆ Ellie lets her carry her own mini clipboard and a tiny pen she found just for her.

☆ Before walking into the lecture hall, Ellie crouches and whispers, “You’re gonna sit right next to me, and if anyone asks you a question, just smile like you’re very smart.”

☆ Aurora nods solemnly like it’s a life-or-death mission.

☆ Ellie gives her a lanyard with a fake name tag that says “Professor Assistant Aurora.”

☆ Students walking in smile and wave at Aurora. She waves back shyly but sticks close to Ellie.

☆ Aurora climbs into Ellie’s lap while she boots up the projector.

☆ Ellie kisses the top of her head and whispers, “Let’s teach them something cool today.”

☆ Ellie introduces Aurora with a soft smile: “This is Aurora, my TA for today. Please don’t try to bribe her with snacks—only I’m allowed to do that.”

☆ Aurora sits in a rolling chair beside Ellie and mimics her posture—legs crossed, arms folded.

☆ Whenever Ellie clicks to the next slide, she lets Aurora press the button.

☆ The students find it adorable. Ellie acts like it’s perfectly normal.

☆ Ellie occasionally leans down and whispers definitions or asks Aurora trivia questions like, “What’s a hypothesis?”

☆ Aurora proudly says, “An educated guess,” and the class gives her soft applause.

☆ Ellie beams, tapping her pen on the desk in approval. “She’s brilliant, just like her moms.”

☆ Ellie uses Aurora in examples—“Let’s say Aurora wants to measure how fast her dinosaur grows…”

☆ Aurora chimes in, “He eats gummy worms and love!” and the class laughs.

☆ Ellie nods seriously, adding, “Two crucial variables.”

☆ During a group activity, Aurora walks around with Ellie and mimics her stance—hands behind her back, inspecting work.

☆ She tells one student, “You spelled mitochondria wrong,” (she didn’t), and Ellie has to stifle a laugh.

☆ Ellie lets her draw on the whiteboard while the students work—“only scientific things,” she warns.

☆ Aurora draws a volcano and labels it “SCIENCE.” Ellie nods and adds a diagram next to it.

☆ Ellie checks in with you during a break, texting a picture of Aurora standing on a chair scribbling on the board.

☆ Aurora gets bored halfway through the second hour and starts swinging her legs.

☆ Ellie smoothly picks her up, sets her in her lap, and continues the lecture without missing a beat.

☆ Aurora plays with Ellie’s rings while she talks.

☆ A student asks, “Is this gonna be on the exam?” and Aurora blurts, “Yes.” Ellie smirks but doesn’t deny it.

☆ Ellie lets her “grade” a fake worksheet with stickers.

☆ Aurora drops her juicebox. Ellie sighs softly, bends down to pick it up mid-sentence, and keeps teaching.

☆ “That’s just real life,” she tells the class. “We adapt. With toddlers, and in literature.”

☆ Aurora asks for a snack and Ellie hands her a fruit strip like it’s part of the lesson.

☆ Ellie draws a heart on Aurora’s hand with her marker when she starts getting antsy.

☆ Aurora falls asleep in the last 10 minutes of class with her head on Ellie’s arm.

☆ Ellie teaches the rest of the lecture while rubbing gentle circles on Aurora’s back.

☆ She switches to a soft voice, almost a whisper, and her students don’t dare interrupt.

☆ Ellie keeps her glasses low on her nose as she grades papers with Aurora tucked against her.

☆ When class ends, a few students thank her and whisper, “She’s the cutest TA we’ve had.”

☆ Ellie smiles proudly, whispering, “Don’t let her hear that, she’ll want a raise.”

☆ You arrive just as Ellie’s packing up her briefcase and Aurora’s drooling on her shoulder.

☆ Ellie’s shirt is wrinkled, one sleeve smeared with juice and highlighter. “She was excellent,” she whispers.

☆ You walk up, wrap your arms around Ellie’s waist from behind. “Thank you.”

☆ Ellie tilts her head back against your shoulder. “You look like you finally got five hours of sleep.”

☆ You both giggle quietly, swaying together while Aurora sleeps between you.

☆ You brush a strand of hair out of Ellie’s face and press a kiss to her temple.

☆ Ellie tugs you closer with one arm and murmurs, “I love you. Take care of yourself too, okay?”

☆ She gently transfers Aurora into your arms and kisses both your hands.

☆ “You’re doing so good,” she whispers. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

☆ You lean in and rest your forehead against hers. The lecture hall is quiet now.

☆ Ellie kisses you soft, slow, careful not to wake Aurora.

☆ “We’re a team,” she says. “Next week, maybe I’ll take both kids and let you sleep all day.”

☆ You laugh, eyes wet. “You’re brave.”

☆ “I’m in love,” she answers. “That’s even more dangerous.”

☆ You both watch Aurora sleep for a minute before you leave, her little hands clutching her toy dinosaur and Ellie’s lecture notes.

☆ Ellie keeps Aurora’s whiteboard drawings in her office now—framed.

☆ She tells her colleagues it was her “co-instructor’s visual aid.”

☆ Students ask if Aurora can come back. “Only if you behave,” Ellie jokes.

☆ Ellie comes home that night and wraps both you and the baby in her arms.

☆ She whispers to Aurora as she tucks her in: “You were the best part of my class.”

☆ Ellie writes in her journal about it—“Today felt right. Whole.”

☆ She kisses your shoulder before bed and murmurs, “We’re raising geniuses.”

☆ You curl into her side and feel her hand stroke your back slowly.

☆ “Thanks for helping,” you whisper. She kisses you again. “Always.”

☆ Aurora wakes up at 2 a.m., asking if she’s teaching again tomorrow. Ellie smiles sleepily. “Only if I can be your assistant this time.”

oooo how would professor ellie be and helping reader deal with baby brain??

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ Ellie immediately noticed the baby brain getting worse after Arnold’s birth—when you tried to warm up formula in the freezer.

☆ She didn’t laugh. She just kissed your forehead and said, “Okay, we’re labeling the appliances now.”

☆ She actually made laminated, color-coded labels for everything in the kitchen, even labeling the fridge "cold mama box."

☆ Ellie started carrying around a mini notepad just for you—so whenever you said “remind me to…” she’d jot it down, rip it out, and stick it to the fridge later.

☆ She downloaded four different baby apps on her phone and synced them to yours “just in case you forget the login.”

☆ Ellie started doing all the grocery shopping herself. She says it’s because she “doesn’t trust you not to come home with twelve cucumbers and no wipes.”

☆ She leaves sticky notes in the most random places—on your hairbrush, your favorite mug, your side of the mirror—saying things like:

“Brush hair, drink water, kiss your genius wife.”

☆ If you forget what day it is, she’ll tease you with, “It’s Monday, babe. I teach. You nurse. Aurora bosses everyone around. Classic schedule.”

☆ Ellie took over organizing Aurora’s school things and Arnold’s paediatric appointments without telling you—just quietly made herself the admin on everything.

☆ She keeps emergency snacks in her desk drawer for you. They’re labelled: “Reader’s sanity bites.”

☆ When you forgot your phone at home for the third time in a week, Ellie drove back from campus during her break just to give it to you—with a protein bar and a coffee.

☆ She never scolds or sighs—she just wraps you in her arms and says, “We made a whole human. You’re allowed to forget what the stove is.”

☆ Ellie started handwriting a “day summary” in a little journal next to your bed. Just a few lines like:

“Aurora told her class you invented apples. Arnold tried to poop on me. I love you.”

☆ She began calling reminders out loud like an AI assistant. “Hey babe! You were going to fold the laundry! Or…was that past-you’s mistake?”

☆ Ellie bought you matching necklaces engraved with the kids’ initials—"A & A"—because she knew you’d keep misplacing the baby bag.

☆ When you cried over losing your car keys (which were in your hand), she cradled your face and whispered, “I’d forget my own name if you weren’t around to moan it.”

☆ She started calling baby brain “Mama PhD syndrome”—so it felt less like a flaw and more like some grand cosmic achievement.

☆ Ellie writes little affirmations in your notebooks like:

“You made Aurora. You made Arnold. You are literal magic. I’ll remember everything else for us.”

☆ She never lets you apologize for being forgetful. “You pushed out a kid and made milk. My brain would have exploded.”

☆ Ellie sometimes wears a pin on her cardigan that says: “Ask me about my sleep-deprived wife.”

☆ She draws stick figure comics of your day—like the time you put a diaper on backwards—just to make you laugh.

☆ She once caught you putting a bottle in the dryer and quietly walked over, replaced it with laundry, and kissed your cheek like it was completely normal.

☆ Ellie created a shared “baby survival” spreadsheet. Color-coded. With tabs like “Did I eat today?” and “Arnold’s poop log.”

☆ When you forget to eat, she sits you down on her lap, feeds you bites of toast like she’s the professor of nourishment.

☆ Ellie calls you “mama genius” ironically when you do silly things like put your keys in the fridge—always with a teasing grin and a soft kiss.

☆ She puts tiny hearts next to your to-do list items, especially the ones you keep forgetting. “Drink water, mama. For me.”

☆ Ellie started carrying a spare pacifier in her jacket pocket “just in case you forget his again—no shade.”

☆ She lets Aurora scold you gently. “Mama, you put Daddy’s lunch in the diaper pail again.” Ellie’s behind her, trying not to laugh.

☆ When you space out during a conversation, she touches your wrist gently and says, “Hey, come back to me, space cadet.”

☆ Ellie plays memory games with you—not to fix anything, but just to be close to you. “Okay, five things you touched in the last ten minutes. Go.”

☆ She started organizing your makeup by use frequency and labeled the drawers: “Stuff for when you care,” “Stuff for five-minute glam,” and “You’re hot no matter what.”

☆ Ellie bought you memory supplements and stuck them inside a chocolate bar wrapper so you’d actually take them.

☆ She made a “baby brain emergency” bag with chapstick, mints, cash, wipes, and a picture of the kids. It’s in her office.

☆ When you forgot where you parked, Ellie just quietly activated her phone tracker on your location and found you without judgment.

☆ Ellie installed a key tracker app and pretends it’s because she loses things too. (She doesn’t.)

☆ When you forgot to pack a bottle and panicked, Ellie offered you her office coffee mug. “It’s clean. It’s desperate times.”

☆ She started a bedtime routine where she lists all the things you did remember today. Even if it’s just: “You kissed Arnold. You said ‘I love you.’ You were patient.”

☆ Ellie kisses the inside of your wrist when you say “I’m sorry, I’m just so dumb lately.” She says, “You’re exhausted, not dumb. You’re brilliant. You’re mine.”

☆ She taught Aurora to give you a kiss when you look overwhelmed. “Kiss Mama’s forehead. That’s the reboot button.”

☆ Ellie wrote a journal titled “Things Reader Forgot That Made Me Love Her More.”

☆ When you forgot your coffee on top of the car and drove off, Ellie bought you a spill-proof cup and wrote “Reader’s Lifeline” on it in Sharpie.

☆ She sets gentle alarms on your phone named “You deserve a break” or “Stretch & hydrate, my love.”

☆ Ellie started doing baby signs with Arnold early so he could "help remind Mama" when he's hungry or needs a change.

☆ She learned how to tie your shoes one-handed for when you were holding Arnold and couldn’t bend down.

☆ Ellie whispers soft reminders into your neck when hugging you:

“Keys in your purse. Phone’s on the charger. You’re not alone in this.”

☆ She makes “proud of you” playlists for when you make it through the day without crying or forgetting Aurora’s lunch.

☆ Ellie sets the GPS for you automatically, even if it’s just to the grocery store. “Not because you can’t, but so you don’t have to.”

☆ She bakes your favorite muffins with little paper flags stuck in them that say things like: “Hot mom fuel” or “Memory boost: unlocked.”

☆ When you forgot your name at the pediatrician (true story), Ellie just smirked and said, “This is my wife. She's magic, just momentarily unplugged.”

☆ She always rubs your back in the kitchen when you’re staring at nothing. “Baby brain’s a bitch, huh? Good thing I’m here.”

☆ Ellie added an extra whiteboard in the hallway just for “Mama Notes” where she writes reminders, love notes, and cute drawings.

☆ She refuses to let you feel embarrassed around her. “You can forget everything but I’ll always remember who you are to me.”

☆ Ellie got Aurora to memorize your morning routine so she can bossily direct you through it. “Mama, brush your teeth. No, your toothbrush.”

☆ She bought you a necklace with Arnold’s birthstone and said, “Now you don’t have to remember. It’s always with you.”

☆ When you forgot to change out of your pajama top before going out, she just handed you a hoodie and winked. “Still hot.”

☆ Ellie created a memory jar labeled “Things You Did Right This Week.” She puts in notes when you’re asleep.

☆ She holds your hand tighter when she feels you spiraling. “One thing at a time, babe. Just one.”

☆ Ellie started sending you gentle check-in texts:

“Hey, love. Did you eat? Hydrate? Breathe?”

☆ She gives you small tasks, like folding a single onesie, and celebrates like you just aced an exam. “Ten outta ten, Professor Mama.”

☆ Ellie learned how to braid your hair so she can do it for you when you forget or don’t have the energy.

☆ When you accidentally called Aurora “Ellie,” she just laughed and said, “We’re both obsessed with you, so it tracks.”

☆ She bought you new glasses because she said, “You keep misplacing your brain, let’s at least help your eyes.”

☆ Ellie whispers “I got you” into your temple when you’re lost in a fog, grounding you like it’s instinct.

☆ She bought a wall calendar just to put gold stars on it for every good day you had. Even if it’s just “didn’t cry before 10am.”

☆ Ellie encourages you to nap and will lie beside you, watching over you like you’re the rarest research specimen she’s ever found.

☆ She plays memory-based games with Aurora and invites you to join, saying, “Let’s all forget things together.”

☆ When you forgot your name again, she just kissed your hand and said, “Doesn’t matter. You’re mine.”

☆ Ellie started carrying around a mini photo album of you and the kids and hands it to you when you feel overwhelmed. “Proof you’re doing it. All of it.”

☆ She gives you forehead kisses more often than usual—because she says it helps "charge your RAM."

☆ Most of all, Ellie never makes you feel like your forgetfulness is a burden. She makes it feel like just another part of loving and learning each other—just another thing she remembers how to hold, so you don’t have to.

more nsfw prof!ellie <3

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

warning: NSFW content! MDNI 18+Keep reading

☆ Ellie is the kind of professor who always appears calm, put-together, and aloof — but underneath, she’s constantly distracted by you.

☆ Her glasses perched low on her nose while she grades your work have become one of your most frequent fantasies.

☆ Ellie has thought about you bent over her desk more times than she cares to admit — right in the same office where she gives lectures and writes papers.

☆ She’ll reread your essays just to touch the paper you touched — especially when you underline your name at the top.

☆ Ellie fantasizes about you showing up to her office in nothing but one of her oversized button-ups, legs bare, eyes wide.

☆ She’s into quiet dominance — never raising her voice, but speaking in that slow, precise tone that makes your thighs press together.

☆ She has a voice kink — the sound of you moaning her name softly into her neck turns her wild.

☆ Ellie has masturbated in her office thinking about you — once after you visited her wearing a short skirt and sat on her desk.

☆ She’s addicted to control: making you beg, holding your wrists down, making you say “please” even when you’re already shaking.

☆ Her dirty talk is academic and filthy: “Look how wet you are for your professor… you think you’re gonna learn anything like this, sweetheart?”

☆ She has dreams of you showing up after-hours, claiming you “need help with something,” only to end up pinned against her bookshelf.

☆ She likes teasing — whispering things in class under her breath only you can hear, smirking when you shift in your seat.

☆ Ellie wants to bend you over her desk and keep your mouth stuffed with your own syllabus. “Hope you’ve been studying, baby.”

☆ She’s a thinker — and that includes sex. She imagines everything in advance. Where your hands will go, how you’ll taste, what you’ll look like crying out for her.

☆ She’s obsessed with lingerie but only if she gets to take it off you with slow fingers and teeth.

☆ Ellie always looks so composed in public — but behind closed doors, she grabs your face with ink-stained fingers and makes you fall apart.

☆ She has a sharp eye for your body language. The second you get needy, she knows — and exploits it.

☆ Ellie wants to ruin you academically and sexually — assign a paper, then fuck you so good you forget what the topic was.

☆ She gets jealous easily, especially when other students flirt with you — her hand slides higher under the table at dinner parties.

☆ She once left a possessive hickey on your neck right before a department event, eyes smug when everyone noticed.

☆ Ellie loves watching you squirm in class after a particularly rough night. “Try to focus, sweetheart,” she’ll whisper as you blush.

☆ She enjoys making you wear discreet toys during her lectures — remote-controlled ones — and pretending not to notice as you struggle.

☆ Her favorite punishment is denial. She’ll edge you for hours, stroking you slow until you’re trembling, then pull away with a smile.

☆ She owns a journal full of fantasies and scenes she wants to try with you — detailed, organized by category, complete with diagrams.

☆ Ellie records her voice reading excerpts from her favorite books — soft, slow — and sends them to you to fall asleep to.

☆ She once wrote an erotic story about you as a writing exercise. It got her so worked up she had to take a break to handle herself.

☆ Ellie is obsessed with your scent — she’ll bury her nose in your hair, your thighs, your clothes. It grounds her.

☆ She keeps a pair of your panties tucked away in her drawer — stolen after a long night, worn thin between her fingers.

☆ She’s possessive in bed — constantly reminding you that you belong to her. “Say it,” she’ll demand, fingers deep inside you.

☆ Ellie has absolutely no issue with taking you over her desk while wearing her glasses and grading with the other hand — multitasking queen.

☆ Ellie likes to drag it out — foreplay can last hours if she has her way. She enjoys watching you slowly unravel.

☆ Her fingers are deadly — long, calloused, practiced. She knows how to curl them just right to make your stomach clench.

☆ She prefers missionary — not out of simplicity, but control. She wants to see every expression, hear every whimper.

☆ Ellie talks you through every orgasm. “You’re doing so good… just like that… let go, I’ve got you.”

☆ She likes to tie your wrists with her old ties from conferences. She makes knots with precision.

☆ Ellie’s favorite position is having you straddle her lap — shirt off, skirt still on — while she sits back and watches you ride her.

☆ She loves licking you open while you beg her to stop teasing. Her tongue is slow, focused, merciless.

☆ Ellie has a thing for spanking — not harsh, but enough to make your thighs twitch and leave her handprint.

☆ She once made you come three times before letting you touch her. “This is about you tonight.”

☆ Ellie marks her territory with her mouth — bites, hickeys, lipstick stains, spit.

☆ She’s into mutual masturbation — sitting thigh-to-thigh, watching you fall apart while she touches herself too.

☆ Ellie loves morning sex — lazy, slow, possessive. She’ll bury her face in your neck and grind until you both lose it.

☆ Her voice drops a whole octave when she gets turned on. It’s dangerous.

☆ She’s meticulous about aftercare — water, wiping you down, pulling you into her chest like you’re made of glass.

☆ Ellie has whispered “mine” into your mouth more times than she can count — like it’s a prayer.

☆ Ellie’s biggest kink is power — having it, sharing it, taking it away.

☆ She loves watching herself fuck you in the mirror. It turns her on seeing how desperate she makes you.

☆ She’s into soft degradation — “You’re such a needy little thing for your professor, aren’t you?”

☆ Ellie’s obsession with knowledge extends into sex — she reads books, watches videos, takes notes. She’s always improving.

☆ She gets off on your innocence — the way you look up at her, eager to please, so damn trusting.

☆ She’s got a praise kink too: “That’s it, baby. That’s my girl. So fucking good for me.”

☆ She’s into teasing you in public — her hand on your thigh under a table, her lips brushing your ear when she talks.

☆ Ellie once left you tied to her bed while she lectured — came home to you a mess of tears and arousal.

☆ She likes whispering instructions in your ear while you touch yourself. “Slower. Now faster. Don’t stop ‘til I say.”

☆ Ellie likes choking — gently, safely — just enough to make your world go hazy and your body trust her completely.

☆ She’s obsessed with the way your body responds to her voice alone — it makes her cocky, smug, hungry.

☆ She has a small collection of toys she uses only on you — each chosen with thought, cleaned with care.

☆ Ellie has a marking kink — she wants you walking out of her room with bruised hips and lips.

☆ She’s into roleplay — professor/student, of course. She plays it too well.

☆ Ellie once made you write a 500-word apology for teasing her in public — then read it aloud while she touched you.

☆ After she fucks you, she holds you like you’re the most important discovery of her life.

☆ Ellie keeps your moans recorded on her phone — labeled by date like research files.

☆ When you wear her clothes after sex, she stares like you just walked off a dream.

☆ She’s the type to kiss your hands reverently after restraining them — both apology and affection.

☆ Ellie gets quiet after — soft kisses, fingers brushing your hair, little murmurs like “I love having you like this.”

☆ She calls you “my girl” so casually, like it’s written into her DNA.

☆ Ellie once told you, “No matter what happens, no one will ever fuck you the way I do.” She meant it.

☆ She gets possessive when others see your marks — but secretly loves when they know you're hers.

☆ Ellie fantasizes about living with you — sex in her kitchen, grading while you ride her on the couch, lazy mornings with your thighs around her head.

☆ The smartest woman in the room, and all she ever wants is to see you underneath her, moaning her name like she’s your only thought.

Professor Ellie Masterlist

thank you for all the love on professor ellie!

masterlist

professor ellie

first time (nsfw)

nsfw headcannons

more headcannons

starting a life together

getting married

having a baby

grading

aurora bloom

baby number 2

more headcannons

more nsfw neadcannons

baby brain

Aurora teaches

student flirting with you

your college party habits

her student calls you milf

ellie's wedding ring obsession

you give a lecture

Aurora's first period

Are you interested im doing something with the song she by tyler the creator ft Frank ocean?

Could be for ellie or abby, but its really giving dark vibes of lesbian yearning 😭

Thank you!

She - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i am totally interested!! id write whatever you ask:) i went quite dark with this one... lmk if you want one with a happy ending:) i deadass got carried away with writing this lmao

this story is based off the song She by Tyler the Creator. If you can listen to the song as you're reading:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me songs or your silly ideas:)

HUGE WARNING: 18+ MDNI: Mentions of explicit sexual content (restraints, biting, choking, rough sex), obsession, psychological manipulation, mental deterioration, dubious/blurred consent in emotional and sexual contexts, Stockholm syndrome, stalking, kidnapping, murder, suicide, obsessive-compulsive tendencies, paranoia, delusions, violence

Summary: When Ellie starts watching her a little too closely, it’s hard to tell where curiosity ends and obsession begins. What begins as quiet glances and subtle tension quickly turns into something darker—something neither of them fully understands, but both feel deeply.

masterlist

This story contains dark and emotionally intense themes—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online. Please read the warnings before reading.

You moved into the safe zone two months ago. Quiet, kind, polite. You kept to yourself, helped at the medical tent, smiled when people passed. Ellie noticed you right away.

Not because you stood out—at least not to most. But Ellie saw the way your hands trembled slightly when you stitched a wound. How your eyes scanned the environment like you were waiting for someone to come back. Or leave.

She liked that.

She liked the way your window lit up at night, a soft amber glow behind sheer curtains. You read. Sometimes you cried. Once, you laughed—just once—and she pressed her forehead against her window across the alley and watched your lips form around a sentence. She imagined you reading to her. Her name in your mouth. Her name in your bed.

She told herself she was just watching. But then it became routine.

She started to learn the rhythm of your days. When you left. What time you came back. What you wore. What you ate. The exact second you turned off your lamp and slid under the covers. She’d stand in the shadows across the street, chewing on the skin of her thumb, eyes locked on that sliver of light between your curtains.

Ellie didn’t smile much anymore. Not unless she thought of you. And even then, it wasn’t a smile. It was something darker—sharper. Something that clenched her stomach like a fist and made her palms itch.

She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. You weren’t hers. But that didn’t stop her.

You first met her when she came in with a deep cut on her forearm. Self-stitched, jagged. Her expression unreadable.

“You should’ve come in earlier,” you told her, gently cleaning the wound. “This could’ve gotten infected.”

She just stared. “Didn’t want to waste your time.”

You paused. “You knew it would be me?”

Her jaw flexed. “Yeah.”

You smiled. Ellie didn’t.

But later that night, she traced the shape of your smile in the fogged glass of her bedroom window. Over and over until her finger bled from the cold.

Ellie started showing up more. Dropping off supplies. Asking if you needed help moving crates. Pretending to look for something just outside your tent.

“I heard you play guitar,” you said once, handing her a bandage kit. “Do you still?”

“Only in my head.”

You wanted to ask what that meant. But her eyes were dark that day. Watching you like she already had the answer.

You didn’t know she was in your hallway the night you cried into your pillow. That she sat just outside your door, back against the wood, fists clenched, listening.

You didn’t know she stole one of your gloves when it dropped outside the infirmary. That she kept it in her jacket pocket. That she touched it every time someone else looked at you too long.

You didn’t know you were the reason someone disappeared.

That guy—tall, arrogant, always flirting—he hadn’t shown up in over a week. No one knew where he went. Ellie did.

She watched him follow you to your door one night. Heard you laugh nervously when he touched your arm. Saw the way you recoiled when he leaned in too close.

Ellie followed him into the woods the next day. Said nothing. Did what she had to.

For you.

One night, you came home late. The infirmary was overwhelmed. Blood on your shirt. You were tired, broken, still so beautiful. Ellie watched you through the crack in your curtain.

She saw you undress.

Saw your bare skin in that soft yellow light. Saw you pause in front of the mirror, fingertips grazing your ribs like you didn’t recognize yourself.

Ellie’s breath hitched. Her hand trembled. She pressed it to the windowpane like she could reach through.

You looked sad. You looked lonely. You looked like you needed someone.

Her.

The first time you saw her watching, it wasn’t on purpose.

You pulled your curtain aside to close the window and there she was—across the alley, standing in the dark. Still. Unmoving. Eyes glowing faintly under the porch light.

You froze. She didn’t.

She just tilted her head. Slowly. Like a predator curious if its prey would run.

You didn’t.

You closed the curtain. Heart pounding. Skin hot. You should’ve been afraid.

But you weren’t.

Ellie showed up the next morning like nothing happened. Gave you a thermos of coffee. Smiled—for the first time. You stared at her fingers as they brushed yours. Cold. Calloused. Familiar. You let her in that day.

She sat in your chair. Looked at your books. Touched the necklace on your shelf like she already knew its weight.

“You’ve been watching me,” you said, not a question.

Ellie blinked. “Yeah.”

You swallowed. “Why?”

She stood up. Walked toward you. Stopped just short of touching.

“Because I love you.”

You should’ve laughed. Should’ve run. Should’ve screamed.

But all you said was: “Since when?”

Ellie’s voice dropped. “Since the first time you turned on that fucking light.”

You kissed her. You didn’t mean to. Or maybe you did. Maybe you were just as broken.

It was desperate. All teeth and breath and guilt. She gripped your waist like she was afraid you’d disappear. You gripped her jaw like you wanted to know her shape from the inside out.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.

It was dangerous. But it felt like breathing after drowning.

Now she’s in your bed almost every night.

She never stays till morning. Always slips out before the sun rises, back to her shadows, back to her window.nBut her scent lingers on your sheets.

And when you close your eyes, you feel her watching.

And when you open them, she’s there. She always is.

The first time you tried to distance yourself, Ellie didn’t speak.

You had turned to her in bed, barely whispering, “I think I need space.”

Your voice cracked. You hated how small it sounded.

Ellie didn’t flinch. Didn’t argue. Just nodded. Kissed your shoulder and slipped out like always. But that night, your window stayed open.

She didn’t watch you through it. She was already inside.

She started leaving things in your house. Quietly, deliberately. A book you mentioned once—resting on your nightstand. Her hoodie folded on the arm of your couch. A note in your handwriting that you didn’t remember writing.

“You miss me.”

You found it under your pillow.

Your hands trembled as you stared at it. You told yourself you were imagining things. You told yourself it was just coincidence. You told yourself Ellie wouldn't do that.

But deep down, you knew better.

People started asking if you and Ellie were together. You always paused too long before answering. Smiled too tightly. Said, “It’s complicated.”

Ellie never used that word. She said, “She’s mine.”

She wasn’t just watching anymore.

She was following.

You’d leave work and catch a flicker of her hoodie in the crowd. You’d step outside at night and feel her behind you. You’d dream of her fingers wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back into her.

One night, you turned the corner too fast and slammed into her chest. She didn’t apologize.

Her hands gripped your arms.

“I didn’t know you were—” you started.

“Yes, you did,” she said. Her voice was a blade.

You didn’t move. Neither did she.

The tension curled around your throat like smoke. You wanted to run. You wanted to stay. You wanted her to tear you apart.

Inside her mind, it only made sense:

She knew what you liked. What you feared. What you needed.

She could protect you. She could fix the ache inside your chest.

You just had to stop pretending you didn’t feel it too.

You were hers. You just didn’t understand it yet.

Ellie started keeping a journal. It wasn’t full of words. Just drawings.

Of you.

Sleeping. Smiling. Naked. Crying.

Sometimes she’d draw herself with you—your hand in hers, your head on her chest. But always, always, your eyes were closed.

She liked it better that way.

When another woman tried to flirt with you at the market, Ellie was there before you could even react. Just a shadow beside your shoulder.

“She’s not interested,” Ellie said, low and cold.

You touched her wrist. “Ellie, stop—”

The woman blinked at her. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Ellie didn’t respond. Just stared. Long enough to make her leave. Long enough to make her afraid.

Later, Ellie brushed your hair off your cheek and whispered, “You don’t need anyone else.”

You didn’t answer. Because part of you agreed.

You started hearing her voice even when she wasn’t there.

Soft murmurs at the edge of your consciousness. A whisper behind your ear.

“You’re mine.”

You looked over your shoulder constantly. Not because you were scared. But because you hoped it was her.

One night, you confronted her. “Are you watching me when I sleep?”

Ellie didn’t lie.

“Yes.”

Your throat tightened. “Why?”

She stepped forward. Her hands cradled your jaw like you were something fragile—something sacred.

“Because it’s the only time you’re honest.”

You shuddered. “That’s not love.”

Ellie’s eyes flashed. “No. It’s more than that.”

She started sleeping on your floor.

Didn’t ask. Just curled up on the rug like a stray wolf. Eyes closed, but never fully asleep. You stepped over her on the way to the bathroom and felt her fingers brush your ankle.

You didn’t stop her. You didn’t speak.

You just left the door unlocked. Every night.

Eventually, your light never turned off.

You didn’t pull the curtains anymore. You let her see.

Because pretending you weren’t hers felt worse than giving in.

And the worst part? You started watching her too.

You counted her steps. You tracked her breath.

You studied the scars on her knuckles and the cracks in her voice when she said your name.

You wanted her under your skin, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t sane. It wasn’t safe.

But it was real.

And in this world, that was all you had.

The cabin was two hours from the nearest town.

You didn’t remember falling asleep in the car. You didn’t remember agreeing to come.

You just remembered Ellie’s voice: “There’s too many people around you. Too many eyes.”

She made it sound like love. And you were so tired of fighting.

You woke up wrapped in thick blankets. The fire crackled low. Rain tapped against the window like a pulse.

And Ellie was already watching.

She sat in the rocking chair, legs spread wide, one hand curled beneath her chin. The other rested on her thigh.

“You’re safe now,” she said.

You sat up slowly, brain hazy. “Where are we?”

“Somewhere they can’t reach you.”

You should have run. Instead, you pulled the blanket tighter. And whispered, “Okay.”

The first few days felt like a dream. A stillness you didn’t realize you craved. Ellie chopped wood outside shirtless, sweat glistening down her spine. She cooked, fed you, fixed the fire. She moved like a soldier, like a lover, like something primal that found peace only when she could watch you.

“Do you hate it here?” she asked one night. You shook your head.

Because here, she didn’t have to hide what she was. And neither did you.

She kissed you after dinner. Hard. Possessive.

You tasted desperation in it—an edge like she was afraid you’d disappear mid-kiss. Her hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter. The plates clattered. You didn’t care.

“Tell me you’re mine,” she growled against your throat.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Your head lolled back as her hand slid up your shirt, gripping your breast with a brutal need.

“Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. It felt like a vow.

That night, she took you.

Face pressed into the mattress. Hands pinned above your head. Her mouth feverish on your skin, trailing teeth and tongue in frantic worship. Every thrust came with a litany—Mine. Mine. Mine.—punctuated by bruises blooming under her fingertips.

You came with a scream you didn’t recognize. You came again, sobbing her name.

And when it was over, she curled around you like armor.

Whispered, “I won’t let anyone take you from me.”

You didn’t reply. Because you didn’t want to leave.

Days blurred.

Ellie read to you, bathed you, watched you sleep. She didn’t let you touch the keys. Didn’t let you wander past the woods.

“It’s not safe,” she’d repeat. “People lie. I don’t.”

You believed her. Or you needed to believe her.

One night, she tied your wrists with her belt. Not out of cruelty.

But because you asked her to.

Because your mind was starting to slip too—spiraling in on itself like hers.

“I want to feel it,” you whispered. “What it’s like to be… owned.”

Something in Ellie snapped. She fucked you on the floor. Face flushed, voice shaking. She held your chin and made you watch her as you came. Over and over.

“You’re not leaving,” she told you afterward. You smiled, dazed.

“Why would I?”

You found her journal. Pages filled with you—sketches, fantasies, maps of your body. But also lists. Daydreams:

"Her in a collar"

"Me watching her sleep, knife under the pillow"

"Keep her full. Keep her scared. Keep her close"

"Fuck her in front of a mirror until she can’t tell who she is anymore"

You should’ve been afraid. But instead, you wrote your name in the margin next to hers.

By the second week, you stopped asking when you’d go back.

By the third, you stopped wondering who you used to be.

You were hers now. And worse?

She was yours.

Because obsession, when shared, is just another kind of love.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in the cabin.

Days feel like water slipping through your fingers. You forget what month it is. Sometimes Ellie forgets your name. But you always know hers.

She carved it into the headboard, right above where she made you hers. She whispers it into your skin every night like a ritual. She branded it into your bones.

Ellie.

She watches you brush your hair. Stares like she’s never seen a woman before. Like you’re some phantom that might slip through the cracks if she blinks too long.

“I think I’d kill someone for you,” she says one morning.

You don’t flinch. You smile.

“Who?”

She doesn’t answer. But that night, there’s blood under her fingernails.

You break first. It happens slowly—your grip on reality softens like wet paper.

You cry when your reflection doesn’t smile back. You scream at the storm outside like it’s mocking you. You bite down on Ellie’s arm while she’s fucking you because you need to feel something real.

She doesn’t punish you. She moans.

Ellie starts hearing things.

She locks the door even when no one’s around. She kisses you with a hand on your throat now, like she’s making sure you don’t lie. You find notes stuffed in her boots:

“She’s slipping. She’s forgetting me. I’ll make her remember.”

You don’t tell her you read them. Instead, you leave one of your own:

“If I forget you, kill me.”

The next time she fucks you, it’s on the front porch. Naked. In the cold. Rain on your bare chest. She wants the world to see—wants the sky to know you’re hers. You ride her with your hands knotted in her hair, blood dripping from your lip where she bit you. You come like you’re trying to leave your body behind. She drags you back in with her mouth.

You stop caring about survival.

You drink wine for breakfast. You forget how to spell your last name. You tell Ellie she’s inside your lungs and she kisses your ribs like that’ll keep her there.

“I want to die here,” you say one night.

She presses her forehead to yours.

“We already did.”

There’s no mirror in the bedroom anymore.

You smashed it after Ellie asked, “Do you still recognize yourself?”

You didn’t.

You don’t.

And that was the point.

The last time you go outside, it’s because Ellie begs you to. She wants to show you something—this twisted, gorgeous mural she painted in the barn. It's all you.

Your eyes. Your mouth. Your cunt, over and over, blooming like some unholy flower.

“It’s worship,” she says.

You drop to your knees and lick the paint off her fingers.

There’s no turning back.

Not now. Not when the lines between captor and captive, lover and lunatic, have blurred past meaning.

You are two sides of the same sickness now.

Two gods of one deranged altar.

Two corpses in one grave, still moving, still wanting.

You kiss her like drowning. She holds you like possession.

And when the world finally forgets you exist— You are relieved.

The cabin is quiet. Too quiet.

Ellie hasn’t spoken in two days. Not really. She hums to herself, sometimes, drawing you in her sketchbook over and over until the pages wrinkle under the pressure of her pencil.

You ask what she’s thinking.

She just looks up and says, “You’re so quiet when you sleep.”

Like that answers anything. Like that means everything.

That night, she takes you to bed like it’s the last time. She’s soft with you. Gentle, even.

Kisses your eyelids, your palms, your knees. Cradles your hips like she’s trying to memorize their weight. She doesn’t fuck you like she wants to own you—she fucks you like she’s already lost you.

You cry. She doesn’t ask why.

When you wake up, the gun is on the pillow. It’s cleaned.

Oiled. Loaded.

And next to it is her final drawing: the two of you under the covers, a red thread wrapped around your throats, knotted into a bow at the center.

Underneath, she’s written: If we can’t live like this, we don’t live at all.

You find her on the floor, knees tucked under her like a child. She’s holding a second pistol, one she probably stole months ago.

When she looks at you, she doesn’t smile. She just says, “Will you let me do it?”

You nod.

Because that’s love, too. Trusting someone to end you.

She holds you in her lap, like a lullaby. One hand buried in your hair, the other on your pulse. You breathe together.

You’re not afraid. Not anymore.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Ellie kisses your temple.

“I know.”

The first shot rings out, and the birds fly from the trees.

The second shot follows, echoing through the forest like a vow.

And then— Nothing.

When they find the bodies, you're curled together, as if sleeping.

No notes. No names. Just each other.

Forever.

your writing is so good :(( i would really like to see more of professor ellie

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

☆ Ellie leaves post-it notes around the house with little observations or facts—like “Did you know an octopus has three hearts?”—signed “Prof. Williams.”

☆ Her morning coffee routine is sacred; she makes a second cup automatically for you, even before you’re awake.

☆ She reads peer-reviewed articles in bed and mumbles criticisms under her breath while you drift off beside her.

☆ Ellie has a very specific chair she grades in and lets no one—not even you—sit in it. But you drape a throw blanket over it to “soften her edges.”

☆ She always corrects the grammar of signs in public and then immediately kisses your cheek to make up for it.

☆ You have a running list of vocabulary words she uses in daily conversation that you make fun of.

☆ Ellie panics if she forgets her planner—it’s her life line. You once hid it as a joke and she almost cried.

☆ You make her wear blue light glasses after she complained about headaches from too much screen time.

☆ Her books are all arranged by subject and subtopic, but there’s a tiny, chaotic shelf of novels you convinced her to read.

☆ She pretends to be annoyed when you fold her clothes wrong but secretly refolds them late at night with a fond smile.

☆ Ellie buys you vintage notebooks because she says your thoughts deserve a beautiful place to live.

☆ She underlines passages in her research books with faint hearts in the margins and lets you find them.

☆ Her favorite way to flirt is through long, winding academic arguments—and she always lets you win.

☆ You once called her "Doctor Williams" during a heated argument and it turned her on. She went silent and red.

☆ She creates elaborate metaphors from her lectures just to compliment you—“If you were a research subject, I'd violate the ethics code to know you better.”

☆ You sit in on her lectures sometimes and she always smirks when she spots you in the back.

☆ She corrects your pronunciation mid-conversation—then kisses your neck to distract you from being annoyed.

☆ Ellie keeps a secret folder on her laptop titled “My Favorite Theories,” and it’s full of quotes you’ve said.

☆ Her handwriting is almost illegible but she writes you love letters on university letterhead like it’s an academic report.

☆ You once found her writing a journal article about love, and every example was clearly about you.

☆ Ellie has a habit of muttering “mine” when you wear her glasses or sweaters.

☆ She's terrible at emotional vulnerability unless it’s 2 a.m. and she’s had too much wine.

☆ She’ll never admit it, but she tracks your schedule as carefully as she tracks her office hours.

☆ Ellie’s idea of intimacy is lying in bed silently, your legs tangled while she edits a manuscript.

☆ She’s obsessed with the back of your neck—always kissing it in passing like a reflex.

☆ You leave her little annotated notes in her books, and she keeps every single one like sacred texts.

☆ She has a playlist titled “My Subject of Study” and every song reminds her of you.

☆ She’s not great with selfies, but she secretly takes pictures of you reading, working, or laughing when you’re not looking.

☆ She’s fiercely protective of your mind—hates when others interrupt you or undermine your opinions in group settings.

☆ You once wrote her a poem and she printed it, framed it, and keeps it in her office behind a stack of journals so no one sees but her.

☆ Ellie spirals if she feels emotionally disconnected from you—she’ll reread texts and reanalyze conversations like case studies.

☆ She memorizes your patterns: the way you chew pens, sigh when thinking, the exact sound of your “I’m tired” voice.

☆ She keeps a folder of your academic achievements and personal wins like she’s building a resume for you.

☆ If someone flirts with you, Ellie becomes icy professional—like a polite shark.

☆ She has intrusive thoughts about losing you during lectures and will stop mid-slide to text “Are you okay?”

☆ You once made a joke about breaking up and she didn’t speak for six hours.

☆ She gets almost religiously intense when she talks about your intelligence—like you’re the final proof of something sacred.

☆ She knows your preferred citation style and uses it when she references you in footnotes.

☆ Ellie gets jealous when other professors praise you too highly—even if she agrees.

☆ You once caught her writing your initials over and over in the margins of her personal notebooks like a lovesick teen.

☆ When you fight, Ellie retreats into silence and overthinks every word you said until she’s made herself sick.

☆ Her apologies are long, detailed, and cited like a research paper—thesis statement, body, conclusion.

☆ She’s incredibly sensitive to tone—one “fine” from you can ruin her whole day.

☆ When she’s upset, she cleans obsessively—especially her desk. You always know something’s wrong when her pens are too perfectly aligned.

☆ She once sent you a long email titled “Re: Our Disagreement” instead of texting you after a fight.

☆ She’s terrified of not being enough for you—but tries to hide it under cold logic.

☆ You’ve had to pull her out of panic spirals during her worst grading weeks when she believes she’s failing at everything, including your relationship.

☆ Sometimes she offers you affection like an apology, and you have to remind her you don’t need to be earned.

☆ Ellie reads out loud to you when you can’t sleep—dense texts, soft poems, even her own work in progress.

☆ She writes one line of a love letter every day in the back of her planner. She says she’ll show it to you in a decade.

☆ She always keeps an extra charger for you in her bag—just in case.

☆ She never starts eating until she sees you take a bite first. Always.

☆ She writes tiny love notes on your receipts, your lecture printouts, your napkins.

☆ Ellie never says “I love you” casually—when she says it, she means it. Every. Time.

☆ She keeps a copy of your handwriting taped inside her wallet.

☆ She kisses your temple like it’s an academic ritual—precision, reverence, consistency.

☆ You once told her she talk-writes in her sleep—and now she worries she says too much while dreaming.

☆ Her love feels clinical sometimes: obsessive, methodical, deeply studied—but it’s real. And it’s yours.

☆ She saves up random facts just to tell you at night, as if your curiosity is the only thing that makes her day complete.

☆ Every time you tell her you love her, she still pauses—like it’s a theory she never quite believes she’s worthy of, but is so desperate to prove.

When the Quiet Breaks - ellie williams x reader

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me songs or your silly ideas:)

HUGE WARNIGS: Graphic emotional distress, PTSD symptoms, hallucinations, disturbing imagery, grief, memory loss/confusion, trauma-related violence.

Summary: Ellie Williams is living a peaceful life on the farmhouse with you—the woman who convinced her not to chase revenge. For a while, things feel almost perfect. But the past never stays buried.

masterlist

This story contains dark and emotionally intense themes—please read with care.

The quiet of the farmhouse wrapped around you and Ellie like a warm blanket. Days passed slowly, wrapped in soft sunlight and the creak of old wooden floors. You’d wake up to the sound of the chickens outside or the wind humming through the trees. JJ’s toys were still in a chest near the fireplace—leftover memories from when the place belonged to someone else—but now, it was just the two of you.

Ellie had changed. The hard, vengeful edge she’d carried back from Seattle was softened—still there in her eyes sometimes, but she laughed more now. She played guitar on the porch. She rested her head on your lap while you read aloud. She touched you like she never thought she’d be allowed to again—tenderly, like you might disappear if she blinked.

“I’m glad I stayed,” she said once, lying next to you in bed. “You’re the only reason I still know how to breathe.”

You smiled and kissed her jaw. “Then breathe with me.” And she did.

But nights were harder.

She would jerk awake, drenched in sweat, whispering things she couldn’t say aloud. You’d hold her. Sometimes she’d cry. Other nights, she wouldn’t sleep at all—just sat at the window, cigarette trembling in her hand, staring at nothing.

You didn’t push. You just loved her harder. Calmer mornings, softer kisses. You’d hum to her while she braided your hair or stood behind her while she strummed, your hand on her back. You reminded her that she was here—that she was safe.

But Ellie was never really safe. Not from what was already inside her.

It started slowly—the confusion.

She’d zone out mid-conversation. You’d find her staring at the barn wall for minutes on end. One night, you came into the living room and found her kneeling in front of the fireplace, mumbling Joel’s name over and over.

You called her name. She didn’t hear you.

“Ellie,” you whispered, kneeling beside her. “Baby, I’m here.”

She flinched. “Don’t touch me.”

You pulled your hand back. “It’s me. It’s okay.”

She blinked. Then recognition bloomed across her face—and shame.

“I thought you were her,” she whispered. “I thought you were Abby.”

You swallowed hard and reached for her again. “You know I’m not. I’m here. I love you.”

“I know,” she rasped. “But she’s always in my head. Every time I close my eyes… Joel’s there. And she’s there. And I can't—I can’t tell what’s real anymore.”

You held her through the night. That was the first time you were scared.

The day it happened, the air was thick and still.

Ellie had barely slept. She’d been pacing the house, eyes sunken and wild. You made her tea, cooked her breakfast, tried to hold her hand. She pulled away. Her eyes kept darting to your face, then away. Like she didn’t trust what she saw.

You were standing in the hallway when it happened.

She stepped toward you, slow, trembling. “Abby…”

Your smile faltered. “Ellie, no—it’s me. Look at me.”

But she didn’t hear you.

Her pupils shrank. Her hand reached for the hunting knife on her belt.

“Ellie, please,” you begged. “It’s me. Baby, it’s me.”

You took a step forward—and she lunged.

You didn’t scream. You didn’t have time.

You tried to grab her wrist, tried to pull her back to you, but she was crying and snarling and whispering Joel’s name in broken pieces.

The pain was sudden. Hot. Blinding.

She drove the knife into your abdomen, then again—once in the side of your chest.

You collapsed, gasping, your fingers trembling against her forearm.

And then… it stopped.

She stood over you, breathing heavy. Her knife clattered to the ground.

You reached for her. She backed away. Your lips moved—one last attempt to say her name. To pull her out. But everything went still.

Ellie walked into the kitchen. Her mouth was dry, her chest heaving. She poured a glass of water and stared out the window. The sun was starting to set. The cows needed feeding. You were always reminding her.

“Babe?” she called, voice hoarse. “Hey… where’d you go?”

She checked the porch. The barn. The bedroom. The bathroom.

“Y/N?” Her voice cracked. “Where are you?”

She went outside, looked toward the trees, called again. Nothing.

Frustration twisted into worry. She began searching harder—every room, under every blanket, behind every door. Her breath quickened.

And then, slowly, she turned the corner of the hallway.

There you were.

The floor was stained. Your body lay still. The blood had stopped pooling. Her knife was inches away, still slick.

“No,” she breathed.

Her knees hit the floor. Her hands shook as she reached out—but stopped inches from your face.

“No. No. No, no—what did I… what did I—”

Her breath came out in gasps. Then sobs. Then wails.

She rocked back on her heels, knuckles pressed into her temples. Her guitar sat quietly in the corner of the living room, untouched. A song she wrote for you once still hung in the air, a ghost without a voice.

Ellie stayed there until nightfall. Curled beside you, whispering apologies that would never reach your ears.

And the house—once filled with light—fell into a silence that would never lift.

The night dragged on in pieces.

At some point, Ellie couldn’t feel her body anymore. Her knees were numb. Her hands were stained. She’d sat there for so long, staring at you, whispering things into the silence that didn’t make sense. Begging. Pleading. Bargaining with no one.

“I didn’t mean to,” she mumbled, over and over. “It wasn’t you… it wasn’t you…”

She crawled across the floor, trembling, curling her fingers into your shirt, trying to pull you close—but your body was already cold. Stiff. Heavy in a way that made her sob until her throat gave out.

“No… no, baby, come back. You’re not gone. You can’t be gone. I’ll fix it—I’ll fix it, I promise, just—please—”

She kissed your forehead like it would wake you up. She wiped at your blood like it could undo the stain. She whispered your name like it was a spell. But nothing happened.

Ellie didn’t sleep. She didn’t move.

When the morning light crept in through the windows, it touched her face—pale, swollen, dried tear tracks on her cheeks. Her lips were cracked. Her eyes were bloodshot. She hadn’t drunk the water she’d poured. The glass was still sitting on the counter, untouched. Forgotten.

She stood eventually. Only because her legs forced her to. The floor swayed under her.

She stumbled toward the mirror in the bathroom.

Her reflection stared back—wild-eyed, sunken, stained with grief. Her shirt was soaked in red. Her hands trembled as she looked at herself like she didn’t recognize the person there.

“Who are you,” she whispered. “What the fuck did you do?”

She punched the mirror. It cracked down the center.

Her knuckles split open. She didn’t flinch.

Later that day, she buried you under the tree behind the barn.

You loved that tree. You used to read beneath it, braid wildflowers into Ellie’s hair, kiss her with the sun pouring through the branches.

Now it was a grave.

She dug the hole with her bare hands, the shovel discarded after the first few strikes. She needed to feel the dirt. Needed the punishment. Her skin tore. Her nails broke. Her arms ached. She didn't stop.

When she placed you in the ground, she wrapped you in the blanket you both used to curl up in together during winter. She kissed your forehead one more time.

And then she screamed.

A sound so broken, so animal, it startled the birds from the trees.

It didn’t bring you back.

Inside the house, everything remained untouched.

Your favorite mug on the table. Your guitar pick beside hers. Your pillow still held the shape of your head.

Ellie crawled into bed that night with the same blood-stained clothes. She curled around your absence like it was still warm. She couldn’t tell where her hallucinations ended and reality began anymore.

Sometimes, she heard your voice. Sometimes, she saw your silhouette in the hallway. Sometimes, she dreamed you were still alive—and that she was dead instead.

But every time she woke up, the farmhouse was silent.

And the silence… was louder than any scream.

The song save your tear - the weekend reminds of a fwb situation, could you make a ellie williams x reader one?

Maybe one where ellie didnt want to have a relationship with reader and treated her like a friend so now reader treats her like a simple friend and rejects ellies advances

(if you want to make it dark you can! But i leave that up to what you think its best!)

Thank you babes!

Save your tears - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! i hope you enjoy! i wrote 2 versions to this. This and a darker version, lmk if you want that one too!!

this story is based off the song Save your tears by the weeknd, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts:)

Warnings: friends with benefits dynamic, angst and emotional manipulation, power imbalance (emotional), jealousy and toxic behavior, alcohol use

Summary: Ellie Williams never wanted commitment. When you first tangled in each other’s sheets, it was her rules: casual, no strings, no complications. You agreed—half-heartedly. But feelings grew in the silence between skin and shadows.

masterlist

The first time it happened, you were both drunk.

Not the sloppy kind—just loose enough to forget the warnings stitched into your better judgment. Ellie’s hand on your thigh, the glint of a dare in her half-lidded eyes. “We don’t have to make this a thing,” she said against your neck, casual like it was just another Friday night. “Just... fun, yeah?”

And you—foolish, soft, already hooked—nodded. “Yeah. Fun.”

It became a pattern. Late nights, tangled limbs, and laughter that always faded too quickly when the morning sun hit. Ellie would slide on her hoodie, brush a kiss to your cheek, and mutter, “Don’t catch feelings, alright?” Like it was a joke. Like she wasn’t the one carving space inside your ribs.

You told yourself it was enough. That the warmth of her body beside yours was worth the cold that followed when she left.

But the thing about pretending? Eventually, someone forgets it's not real.

The night everything shifted, you were at Dina’s.

A party, crowded and loud, red cups everywhere. You didn’t expect Ellie to show up—she hadn’t texted in three days—but there she was: leaning against the kitchen counter, beer in hand, her gaze flicking over the crowd until it landed on you.

You were talking to someone else. Some girl from Lit class. Laughing—genuinely, for once. Ellie watched, her expression unreadable.

Later, when she cornered you outside, her breath visible in the cold, her voice cracked. “Who was that?”

You blinked. “What?”

“That girl. You were flirting.”

You laughed, bitter. “Isn’t that what we do, El? Flirt with people we don’t care about?”

She flinched like you’d slapped her. Then she kissed you.

Hard. Desperate.

You let her. Of course you did. But something inside you stayed locked this time. You didn’t fall into her like before. You didn’t cry when she left.

After that night, Ellie started showing up more.

Texting. Calling. Bringing you coffee “just because.” She’d sit too close on your couch, her hand brushing yours like a ghost of what used to be. But you didn’t let her in.

You stopped waiting for her messages. Stopped rearranging your world to fit around hers.

When she said, “Let’s hang out tonight,” you told her you had plans. No explanation. No apology.

Ellie looked stunned, almost hurt. “With who?”

You shrugged. “Does it matter?”

That night, she posted an old photo of you on her story. Just your hand in hers. No caption.

You blocked her for a week.

She showed up at your apartment. Rain-soaked. Eyes red.

“I miss you.”

You looked at her like a stranger.

“You had me,” you said softly. “And you didn’t want me.”

Ellie didn’t know how to mourn something that was never officially hers.

She spent nights lying awake, replaying your laugh, your voice, the way your fingers curled into her shirt in your sleep. She used to pretend she didn’t notice. But she did. She noticed everything.

Now, she notices your absence.

The silence in her apartment is thick with your ghost.

She tries to move on. Hooking up with someone else—a distraction. But when she touches her, all she feels is how different she is from you. The wrong perfume. The wrong laugh. The wrong everything.

She leaves before it’s over.

Back in her car, knuckles white on the steering wheel, Ellie whispers to herself, “What the fuck did I do?”

You see her again at the art building.

She’s leaning against the wall, sketchbook in hand, pretending to draw. Her eyes dart up when she spots you, and there’s that flicker of hope—raw and real.

You approach. Calm.

She straightens. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Silence. She breaks first. “Can we talk?”

You nod. “Sure.”

You walk beside her, down quiet paths where words feel louder. She tells you everything. How she was scared. How she didn’t think she deserved you. How she messed it all up.

“I’m ready now,” she says. “For real. I want—”

You hold up a hand.

“Ellie…” You meet her eyes. Steady. “I don’t want that anymore.”

She freezes. Like her heart stops.

“You—what?”

“I don’t want to go back,” you say. “Not after how it felt to be your ‘almost.’ I won’t do it again.”

You see it hit her. The panic. The grief. And still—you don’t flinch.

“I’m sorry, Ellie,” you whisper. “But I stopped waiting for you.”

Later, Ellie listens to “Save Your Tears” on repeat.

She finally understands the lyrics now. Every word.

“I broke your heart like someone did to mine…”

She used to think heartbreak made her immune.

Now, she knows it just made her cruel

You move on.

Not with anyone else—not yet—but with yourself. You go to therapy. You heal. You fill your days with things that make you feel whole again. Not dependent on someone’s half-hearted love.

Ellie tries, once more. She leaves flowers. A letter.

You don’t read it.

You leave the flowers on your doorstep until they wilt.

It’s not about punishment—it’s about peace.

You don’t cry for her anymore.

She watches you from a distance sometimes, wondering if she ever really knew you. If she ever deserved to.

She doesn’t chase again.

She finally learns what it means to lose someone who loved you completely.

You let Ellie into your apartment one night, not out of love—out of curiosity.

She stands awkwardly near the door, like she knows she’s trespassing somewhere sacred.

“I’m not here to mess things up,” she says. “I just… needed to see you.”

You nod slowly, arms crossed.

“I never knew how to love you right,” she says, voice low. “But I never stopped wanting to try.”

You tilt your head. “Ellie, wanting to try means nothing when I was begging for it before.”

Her face crumples.

You let her cry.

But you don’t hold her this time.

You just say, gently, “Go home, Ellie.”

Two years later, you meet again. Different city. Different lives.

She looks older. Softer. Worn down in the way heartbreak shapes you.

You talk. Lightly. Carefully. Like a bandage being peeled.

“I never loved anyone after you,” she admits.

You smile. “I loved myself after you.”

There’s silence.

And then, for the first time, Ellie smiles too.

No expectations. Just understanding.

Sometimes love isn’t a second chance. Sometimes it’s knowing when to let go.

You sit in your apartment, tea in hand, the rain tapping against the window. You used to cry every time it rained.

Now it’s just weather.

You think about how far you've come.

How love isn’t meant to be begged for, or bargained with.

And if Ellie ever really loved you, she’ll learn that too.

You close your eyes. You are whole.

And finally—

You don’t miss her.