What About Ellie Taking Readers First Kiss?!?🤭 Very Nervous Reader?? Anxious Somewhat But Also Super

I missed youu, I hope you’re doing well mentally and I’m looking forward to more of your work💗💗

Thank you pookie!! I have a few surprises for yall;))

I absolutely adore your stories but how are you doing they get so dark just wanna check on you 😭

hi anon! I'm doing just fine thank you for asking lmao.... how are you doing after reading my things??? Ik they are dark, idk pookie I've just always been into writing dark things😭 tbh I don't know if that's a good thing BUT atleast I can keep everyone entertained lmfao, anyway thanks for checking up on me<333333

Can you do smt for abby with the song new magic wand by Tyler the creator?

I love her puppy eyes and muscles so much 🥺

Also, i love obsessive women so

New Magic Wand - abby anderson x reader

hi anon!! fictional obsessive women are so hot ughhhhhhhh. i hope you enjoy:) also abby in this pic??? i love her.

this story is based off the song new magic wand by tyler the creator. If you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

pairing: abby anderson x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts:)

Warnings: dark themes, obsession, violence, psychological tension

Summary: Abby has never been good at letting things go. And she sure as hell isn't letting go of you.

Masterlist

You met Abby during a supply run in Jackson. Just two soldiers assigned to the same patrol, nothing special. But there was something about you—your laugh, maybe. The way you didn’t flinch when she barked orders. The way you looked at the world like it hadn’t completely fallen apart.

That was two months ago.

Now, she watches you from the shadows.

She doesn’t mean to. At first, it was casual. Coincidental. A walk past the stables. Lingering near the training yard. Asking around. But then she saw you with someone else. That girl—Mia, from the medbay. Too close. Touching your wrist. Whispering.

Abby’s jaw locked so tight her molars ached.

She waited. Quiet. Calculating.

She told herself you weren’t hers. But that wasn’t true. Not really.

You were hers. You just didn’t know it yet.

“She’s gonna be dead, I just got a magic wand.”

You started noticing strange things.

Your door left slightly ajar when you knew you closed it. The sweater you thought you lost suddenly reappearing on your cot. A shadow behind you in the glass of the dining hall. At first, you brushed it off. The world was full of paranoia and trauma—maybe it was just stress.

Then Mia disappeared.

She never showed up to her shift. Her bunk was untouched. No note. No signs of struggle.

You asked questions. Abby watched you from across the rec room as you begged the search party to look further. No one had the energy to care. People disappeared sometimes.

But Abby cared.

Abby had taken care of the problem.

She didn't use a "magic wand"—just her hands. Just enough pressure. She didn’t scream. Abby was proud of that. No mess. No loose ends.

She thought you'd notice her now. You didn’t.

You started pulling away. Spending more time alone. Your smile—her favorite thing about you—began to dim. She hated that. Hated that you didn’t know she was trying to protect you.

Abby tried to get closer. Leaving you small things. A can of your favorite peaches. A leather glove you mentioned needing. You thanked her, politely.

But not the way she wanted.

“I need to get her out the picture, she’s really fucking up my frame.”

Abby started dreaming about you. In those dreams, you kissed her like you meant it. You let her hold you. You begged her to stay. Woke up to soaked sheets and a clenched jaw.

Reality was uglier. You barely looked at her now. You were scared—she could see it in your eyes. That made her blood boil and her stomach twist.

It was that fucking patrol leader next.

Sergio.

Too friendly. Too smug. Too willing to walk next to you, show you how to hold a better grip on your rifle.

Abby followed him. Took his knee out behind the stables. Broke his arm and left him in the snow. Said she found him that way.

It wasn’t about jealousy, she told herself. It was about clarity. You and her—there was no room for anyone else in the picture.

They were ruining the shot. The life she could see so clearly with you.

She’d fix it.

“I wanna be found, passenger in your car.”

You knew it by the fourth disappearance. This wasn’t just coincidence. Someone was doing this.

Someone was doing this for you.

That’s when you found the journal.

Hidden under the floorboard in the old stables. Pages and pages of your name. Drawings of your face. A lock of your hair taped to the corner of a page. Abby’s messy handwriting scrawled beneath every entry:

“I saw her smile today. I think she smiled at me.”

“She wore her green coat. It suits her. She looked cold—I should bring her another.”

“She looked at her again. I want to rip her throat out.”

“She's mine. She just doesn't understand yet.”

Your breath caught. She was watching you. All this time.

“You got a new friend, it hurts. I’ll make you one, I’ll make you one.”

You confronted her. Cornered her in the greenhouse, where no one else went anymore.

"Abby," you said, voice trembling. "What the fuck did you do?"

She didn’t deny it. Just looked at you like she always had—like you were the sun burning through her skull.

“I protected you,” she said. “They didn’t deserve you. None of them did.”

“You killed them,” you whispered.

She stepped closer. You flinched. That hurt her—cut deep.

“I’d do it again,” Abby murmured, voice soft and low. “I’d do anything for you.”

You should’ve run. You should’ve screamed.

But something in her eyes—something fractured and sincere—rooted you in place.

She reached out, calloused fingers brushing your cheek. You didn’t move.

"You don’t have to be scared," she whispered. "I’m not gonna hurt you. I just want you to see. We can be good, you and me."

And despite everything—the deaths, the obsession, the blood on her hands—your heart stuttered.

Because some broken, desperate part of you wanted to believe her.

Wanted to believe you could be loved that completely.

“Please don’t leave me now.”

Abby kept you in a cabin miles from Jackson. Safe. Stocked. Secluded. A place where no one could come between you.

She made you tea. Lit the fireplace. Spoke softly. Touched you like you were made of glass.

You tried to run once. She found you hours later, frostbitten and sobbing.

She carried you back. Wrapped you in blankets. Kissed your forehead.

“You don’t get it,” she murmured against your skin. “You’re all I have left.”

And eventually...you stopped fighting. Let her touch linger. Let her hold you at night.

You told yourself it was survival. But when she kissed you the first time, your lips parted.

Not in protest.

But in surrender.

HEYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUURRRRR

Hi queeeeen!! <3333333

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.

heyy could you write something based on Dark Red by Steve Lacy?

i love all your works btw

Dark red - (ellie williams x reader)

hi poookie!! thank you sm!! i hope you don't mind me writing this as a gore story, I've been writing a lot of fluff recently and i missed my violent stories, but if you want me to write a different version just let me know!!! i hope you enjoy <33

This story is based off the song Dark Red by Steve Lacy, if you can please listen to the song while you're reading:)

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are open! send me your silly thoughts

HUGE warning: murder, kidnapping, being held hostage, dead bodies, violence

Summary: in which she wanted you to herself

masterlist

"Something bad is 'bout to happen to me

I don't know what, but I feel it coming

Might be so sad, might leave my nose running

I just hope she don't wanna leave me"

Something bad was going to happen. Ellie could feel it in her bones. She doesn't know why she feels this way, but ever since she woke up this morning, she's been filled with dread. A heaviness in her gut she can't shake off.

Ellie sat at her desk, anxiously waiting for the bell to ring. She hasn't been home for the last 3 days because of school spirit week.

Ellie was so pissed off when she heard they were having a camping day, a sleepover and a all nighter back to back. Everyone was complaining that they were exhausted due to all the activities happening at school, but Ellie wasn't thinking about sleep.

She was thinking about you.

She was always thinking about you.

Ellie could see everyone was staring at the clock, they were practically counting down the seconds before the bell rang. They wanted to go home.

Ellie wanted to go home too, she needed to get home to you.

5, 4, 3, 2-

Before the bell rang the intercom went off. The students groaned thinking that they had to stay at school for another day.

"Can Ellie Williams please come to the principals office. Ellie Williams. I repeat, can Ellie Williams please come to the principals office"

fuck.

The bell rang soon after and everyone ran to the door, Ellie watched as they ran like animals.

"Fucking idiots" she thought to herself

She waited till most of the kids were gone, before she got up grabbing her bag and slowly making her way to the office.

She knocked on the door, and she heard a small "come in".

She let out a sigh as she reluctantly pushed open the door and she was greeted by a the principal and a detective.

What the fuck?

"Close the door and sit down" the principal instructed.

As she sat down her heartrate increased. Her ears were ringing, her palms were sweaty.

The detective cleared his throat before he spoke "as you know y/n has been missing for 3 months now"

She nods

"after further investigation, it seems you were the last one seen with her"

"Was i really or are you looking for someone to blame?" Ellie asked with a raised brow.

She knew where you were, but she couldn't tell him that.

"Ms Williams you're under suspension of kidnapping"

Ellies fists clench by her sides "why am i? Just because i was last seen with her?"

"You guys were best friends, many people said you were close, some say you where obsessed"

Oh she was mad. Ellie was really mad. She wasn't obsessed, she just cared about you.

"i wasn't" she said through gritted teeth.

"We think you know where she is"

Ellie got up, her fist hitting the table "so you're accusing an underage child of kidnapping? do i look like I'm capable of doing that?"

"Ms Williams-"

"no"

Ellie turned to the door and she stormed out. She walked out of the building rushing home to see you.

She hoped you didn't leave her.

"Don't you give me up, please don't give up

On me, I belong with you and only you, baby

Only you, my girl, only you, babe

Only you, darling, only you, babe

Only you, my girl, only you, babe

Only you, darling, only you"

They weren't wrong about what ellie had done to you.

But she had to do it! How else was she supposed to keep you to herself?

Ellie always has feelings for you. Ever since you shyly asked her for a pencil in year 8, she's been all over you. As the years went by her fondness towards you grew, you made her blush, you made her giggle, you made her so fucking happy.

Overtime the two of you built a good friendship but Ellie always wanted more.

It was a Thursday, the sun was shining and the two of had a science project to finish.

The homecoming dance was getting closer and she wanted to ask you. Ellie thought this was the perfect moment to ask you.

"So....with who are you going to homecoming?" Ellie asked clearing her throat

"oh Dina asked me"

"what did you say?"

"I said yes, i think Dina is cute"

No no no no no no no

Not her. You belong to her. You were hers. Not Dina. You were supposed to go with her.

No no no no no

"Ellie?" You asked with concern seeing her zoned out expression.

Ellie looked at you briefly before her hands wrapped around your neck. You let out a silent scream trying to scratch her. You tried fighting but you couldn't. Ellie was stronger than you, she was bigger too.

Eventually you went limp in her hands.

Heavy breaths left Ellie's mouth.

You were still breathing. Good.

She dragged you to her house, hiding behind bushes once in a while to make sure no one saw her. She dragged you into her house, and into her basement.

Ellie placed your body onto the cold floor and she watched you breathing faintly.

Now you cant go with Dina.

"Something bad is 'bout to happen to me

Why I feel this way, I don't know maybe

I think of her so much, it drives me crazy

What if she's fine?

It's my mind that's wrong

And I just let bad thoughts

Linger for far too long"

You're fine. You're fine. You're fine.

She's just having bad thoughts. Ellie has always had a tendency to overthink things.

She knew it was bad to overthink but she was always prepared for the worst.

When Ellie first kidnapped you, 3 months ago everything was fine.

You never screamed, you never fought back, you always tried negotiating or escaping which was good because she didn't need to tie you up or gag you.

You made things easy for her. Ellie fed you, she kept you company, she tried to be Dina.

She really tried to keep you happy.

You didn't need Dina, you needed her.

But for the last month you've been very sick. You barley spoke, you barley ate, you barley moved.

There was something wrong with you, she just didn't know what it was.

Since she hasn't been home for 3 days, Ellie didn't know if you would still be alive. There was no one to feed you. No one to talk to you. You were all alone.

You're fine. You're fine. You're fine.

She's just overthinking it.

Her house key rattled as she pushed open the door. She quickly made her way to the basement, unlocking the door. She walked down the stairs quietly calling your name.

You didn't say anything. She didn't see any movement. she slowly made her way to the bed she had made for you and there you were.

Your skin was pale, cold and it was turning blue. You weren't breathing.

Ellie let out a sigh as she gently grabbed your body, hugging you, not caring of the smell.

Atleast Dina cant get to you.

You were hers. You were safe. You were ok. You now only belong to her.

<3

ur acc esthetic is so yummy

PURRRRRR THANK YOU QUEEEEEEENNNN, i gotta make it pretty for all the pretty girls that follow me <3333333333333

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.”

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.”

hellooo

I’m obsessed w the song Drunk, Running by Lizzy McAlpine. do you think you could write a ellie x reader based on that song plsss 🥺

thx so much!!

Drunk, Running - ellie williams x reader

hi anon! I had two ideas for the ending, lmk if you want a different version!! I hope you enjoy:)

this story is based off the song, Drunk, Running by Lizzy McAlpine. If you can listen to the song as you're reading:)

pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts and ideas!!

warnings: codependent relationship themes, alcohol use, emotional manipulation (subtle, mutual), unresolved trauma, toxic dynamic, mentions of anxiety/panic

summary: You and Ellie have always been a storm—chaotic, coiled tightly, unspoken things woven into the silence between glances. One night, everything boils over. Fueled by alcohol, memory, and all the words neither of you ever had the guts to say sober, you're both forced to confront the version of love you’ve built: broken, frantic, desperate.

masterlist

You don’t remember how you got here.

Not the room—you know this place like your own heartbeat. You could walk it blindfolded. It’s the ache in your ribs, the burn in your lungs, the sting of regret creeping up your throat that you can’t place.

Ellie’s doorway leans the same way it always has. Crooked. Waiting.

And she’s there. She’s always there.

Sitting on the edge of her bed with a cigarette between her fingers, head tilted back, red eyes glossy like she’s already lived this night a thousand times. Like she’s been here before, waiting for you to walk in and fall apart in front of her.

“Been drinkin’ again?” she asks.

You nod. She doesn’t move. And neither do you.

You taste vodka and guilt, and something like hope when you whisper, “I couldn’t sleep.”

She shrugs, tapping ash into the same cracked mug she never washes. “I didn’t ask.”

That should’ve hurt. Maybe it does.

But you’re not here for kindness. You’re here because this is the only place where the world stops spinning, even if it’s just for a second.

Even if the stillness breaks you. Even if it’s Ellie breaking you.

“I walked here,” you say, trying to fill the silence that’s pressing hard against your ears. “Didn’t even put on shoes.”

“You’re gonna cut your feet,” she murmurs. She still won’t look at you.

“They’re already bleeding.”

Finally, her eyes meet yours.

And for a second, there’s a flicker of something softer. A glint of that girl who once traced constellations across your shoulder blades in the dark and called you her galaxy.

“You always come back,” she says, like it’s a curse.

You blink. “I always leave.”

“You always come back drunk.”

You laugh, bitter. “Maybe that’s the only time I’m brave enough.”

Ellie’s jaw flexes. You know that expression. She’s doing math in her head, counting how many times you’ve done this. Walked in, broken. Asked her to fix you. Let her hold you. Only to walk out again with your ribs sewn shut and your voice hoarse from the things you never said.

“You ever wonder if we just—" she stops, runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. “If we’re only this because we’re scared to be something else?”

Your throat goes dry. She never talks like this. Not when she’s sober. Not when you’re not.

“I think we’re poison,” you whisper.

She scoffs. “Then why do you keep drinking me?”

You step toward her like your bones are moving without permission. Like they remember the way she feels before your mind does. Like they’re in love with her even when you’ve forgotten how.

“’Cause it’s the only thing that makes it stop hurting.”

Ellie doesn’t pull away when you kneel in front of her. When your head falls into her lap. When your hands clutch at her thighs like a lifeline. Her fingers slip into your hair, gentle. Devastating. Like nothing’s wrong.

Like this isn’t killing both of you.

“You smell like cheap vodka and bad choices,” she says, but it’s so soft you almost think she’s trying to love you with the words.

“I miss you,” you breathe.

“You don’t,” she says back. “You miss the version of me who let you run.”

The silence drapes over the room like fog.

“I miss the version of me who didn’t,” you finally whisper.

And that’s when she leans down, foreheads touching, breath against your lips like a promise neither of you know how to keep.

“You were never supposed to love me like this,” she says, and you feel it like a knife.

“You taught me how,” you reply, and she shatters in your hands.

She kisses you like a warning. You kiss her like a prayer.

And it’s all teeth and memory and the kind of desperation that tastes like blood. Her hands grip your waist like she’s trying to hold together something that’s already cracked.

She lays you down. You let her. You always let her.

And when she curls around you after, her voice barely audible, she asks the same question she always does.

“Will you stay this time?”

And you give the same answer you always do.

“I don’t know how.”

You leave in the morning. You always do.

And behind you, Ellie lights another cigarette, watches the sunrise she never asked for, and whispers into the silence: I would’ve waited forever.

Ellie hadn’t realized the silence was healing her until the ache stopped being the first thing she felt when she woke up. It started subtly.

Your name stopped echoing every time her phone buzzed. Her hands stopped trembling at 3AM. She stopped checking the sidewalk in front of her apartment like you’d be barefoot again, drunk, bleeding, mumbling something about needing to be held.

She stopped waiting for you to come undone in her doorway. And in the quiet you left behind, she started building a life that didn’t require loving you in pieces.

She read more. Fixed the broken step on her porch. Learned how to cook something other than grilled cheese. Stopped sleeping in the middle of the bed. Not because she expected you back, but because it felt better.

Peaceful, even.

She thought of you sometimes. Of course she did.

The way you smiled when you were too tired to fake it. The way your hands always shook when you said you didn’t care. The way you used her like a lighthouse, then cursed the fire when you got too close.

You never meant to be cruel. But that didn’t make it less cruel.

Still, Ellie never stopped loving you. She just stopped setting herself on fire to keep you warm.

And so, when your knock finally came—not a drunken stumble, not a crash, just one soft tap-tap-tap—Ellie was already standing.

Barefoot. Coffee in hand. Awake before dawn because she’d stopped dreading it.

When she opened the door and saw you—sober, eyes clear, jacket zipped—it was like meeting someone entirely new. Or maybe someone you were before the chaos.

“Hey,” you said.

Her throat was dry. “Hey.”

You smiled, almost sheepish. “I didn’t come to fall apart this time.”

That made her chest seize up in ways she wasn’t ready for.

You stood there, hands buried in your coat pockets, shifting like you didn’t know if you had the right to be here anymore. Like you didn’t expect her to open the door.

“I just…” you licked your lips. “I’ve been trying. I’ve been going to therapy. I’ve stopped drinking. It’s been four months. I journal. I even got a cat.”

Ellie blinked. “You hate cats.”

“She hates me too. It’s a good match.”

That pulled a soft laugh out of her, unfiltered. You looked so… real. Not desperate. Not frantic. Not aching.

“I’ve missed you,” you said. “But not like before. Not like… like you’re the only thing keeping me alive. I just… miss you. Not the pain. Not the mess.”

She leaned against the doorframe, letting herself exhale.

“Why now?” she asked. “Why today?”

You bit your lip. “Because for the first time, I wasn’t scared to be alone. And I think… maybe that means I’m ready to be with someone. Not to survive. Just to be.”

She wanted to say something poetic. Something that sounded like closure or beginning or both.

But all she could manage was: “Do you want to come in?”

You smiled like it meant everything.

“Only if you want me to.”

Ellie stepped aside. And this time, you walked in with your shoes on, your voice steady, your hands not shaking.

You didn’t fall into her arms like you were drowning. You stood beside her. Still. Sober.

And when she reached for your hand, it wasn’t trembling.

This is how the cycle ends. Not with fireworks. Not with a breakdown. But with quiet recognition. With two people choosing each other—not out of fear, but out of love that finally feels safe.

It’s almost embarrassing how mundane it is.

The morning light spills through the apartment like it’s always belonged there—soft, forgiving. Your cat (the one who still barely tolerates you) is curled on the windowsill, tail flicking rhythmically. Ellie’s in the kitchen, humming under her breath while flipping pancakes she knows you like just a little burnt on the edges.

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in one of her old flannels, thumbing through a book she lent you. You’ve underlined every other sentence.

She says nothing about it.

Just brings you a cup of coffee exactly the way you like it now. Two sugars. No cream. You’d stopped adding cream when you realized you used to drown the bitterness out of habit, not taste.

“How’s the book?” she asks.

You look up at her—hair messy, tattoo sleeve half-covered by a hoodie, eyes kind in the way that used to terrify you. You used to run from kindness like it was a threat.

Now you let it hold you.

“It’s good,” you murmur. “I think I’m finally understanding it.”

She leans against the counter and raises a brow. “The themes or the words?”

“Both.”

She grins. “Progress.”

You smile back. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

Ellie walks over, slow and sure. Crouches beside your chair, presses her forehead to your knee like it’s instinct. Her fingers curl around yours. Grounding.

“You gave up on yourself first,” she says quietly. “I was just waiting for you to remember who you are.”

You blink back the sting behind your eyes. Not sadness. Just... release.

“I was so scared,” you whisper.

“I know.”

“I thought loving you meant losing myself.”

She nods, solemn. “And I thought loving you meant saving you.”

You both sit with that. Not in shame—just recognition.

“I’m not a project anymore,” you say.

“No,” she agrees, looking up at you. “You’re my partner.”

You press your lips to her forehead. She closes her eyes. Breakfast burns slightly on the stove, but neither of you move.

Later, you water the plants while Ellie grades papers. Your cat hisses when you try to pet her and Ellie snorts behind her laptop. You walk past her and kiss her temple. She tugs you onto her lap and lets you fall asleep like that—safe, full, warm. When you wake up, the sun is fading, and Ellie’s fingers are tracing the line of your spine through the fabric of her flannel.

“You think we’ll always be this boring?” you tease.

She smiles against your shoulder.

“I hope so.”