I Hardly Seen Any Love For Dina Can You Maybe Do One Her Shy X Popular Trope

OR UUST LIKE THE FIRST TIME THEY DO IT SHES SO GENTLE

Headcannons: professor!ellie williams x reader

masterlist

professor ellie masterlist

warning: NSFW content! MDNI 18+

☆ Ellie’s stares linger — too long, too intense. She’s studied every detail of your face, from the way your lashes lower when you're flustered to how your lips twitch when you’re nervous.

☆ Even before anything happens, she’s gently possessive. Walking you to your car. Checking if you’ve eaten. Leaving you notes like: “Don’t skip meals. Your brain’s too pretty to starve.”

☆ Study sessions blur into deep, aching conversations. Ellie leans close, hand brushing yours “accidentally” more often, and when your knees touch, she doesn’t pull away.

☆ She tests the waters. A hand on your thigh during a shared laugh. Fingers brushing your lower back as she moves past you. Every time, she watches your reaction like it’s data.

☆ Ellie never rushes. She peels back your fears and walls with quiet intimacy — until you're exposed emotionally long before you are physically.

☆ She thinks about you constantly, but she buries the filthier thoughts — for now. She wants the first time to be something you remember forever. Something clean. Almost holy.

☆ It finally happens when you fall asleep in her office during a rainstorm. You’re curled up in her chair, cheeks soft, lips parted. She presses her hand to her heart and mutters, “Fuck, I love you.”

☆ Ellie is slow, deliberate. She asks, “Are you sure?” more than once. Not because she doubts you — but because she can’t believe she finally gets to have you like this.

☆ She doesn’t rush. Every kiss feels like a poem. Every touch is a sentence. She wants to memorize you.

☆ Ellie never stops looking at you. Her voice drops to a whisper, “Let me see you,” and every time your eyes flutter shut, she kisses them open.

☆ She undresses you like she’s unwrapping something sacred. Fingers trembling, voice low: “You’re so beautiful… God, you’re unreal.”

☆ She trails kisses down your neck, your chest, your stomach — pausing to breathe you in like she’s trying to brand the memory into her bones.

☆ She can’t shut up. “You’re perfect,” “You feel like heaven,” “I’ve waited so long for this.” Every word from her lips is soaked in reverence.

☆ She touches you with unbearable care — slow, attentive, gentle enough to make you cry. She whispers, “Tell me what feels good. I want to do it right.”

☆ She nearly tears up when you moan her name for the first time. “Don’t say it like that,” she chokes, “I’m gonna lose it.”

☆ She lets you undress her too — biting her lip as your hands explore. She’s shy, almost bashful, but you can tell how much it affects her.

☆ Between kisses, she leans her forehead against yours. “I’ve never wanted someone like this,” she murmurs, brushing her thumb over your cheek.

☆ There’s no teasing, no performance. It’s raw and honest — Ellie letting herself be soft and human in a way she never shows anyone else.

☆ She keeps whispering your name, like it’s a lifeline. “You’re mine, aren’t you?” she asks, not possessively — but like she’s in awe that it’s real.

☆ She laces your fingers together while inside you. It grounds her. Anchors her to the moment. “Don’t let go,” she says. “Please.”

☆ She wraps you in her arms after — tucks the blanket over you, tucks herself behind you, hand splayed across your stomach like she’s protecting something precious.

☆ She mumbles things in your hair. “You feel like home,” “I’ve wanted this for so long,” “You’re everything.” Half-asleep, full of emotion.

☆ In her mind, she promises: This is only the beginning. I’ll learn every inch of her body. I’ll make her fall apart in a thousand new ways.

☆ After that first time, Ellie starts asking questions. “Do you like it when I hold your wrists?” “What if I got rougher next time?”

☆ You catch glimpses — how her eyes darken when you whimper, how she clenches her jaw when you say please.

☆ She gently pins your hands one night — just to see how you react. When you moan? Her whole body shudders.

☆ The next time, she kisses you harder. Her voice gains weight. She starts giving soft orders. “Spread your legs. Good girl.”

☆ Ellie realizes she loves having control — not to dominate, but to cherish and undo you. Her obsession becomes deeper, darker.

☆ She brings it out a toy nervously, checking your expression. “We don’t have to—” but when you nod, the switch flips. She grins like she’s been waiting for this.

☆ She’s addicted to every reaction you give. The soft gasps. The bitten lip. The trust. She knows she could break you — and the only reason she doesn’t is because she loves you too much.

Can you do something with dye it red by beadbadoobee it’s her best songgg 💕

Hi anon! this song fucking slaps, its one of her best songs frrr... i hope you enjoy <3

This story is based off the song, Dye it red by beabadoobe, if you can please listen to the song as you're reading:)

Pairing: ellie x fem!reader

requests are always open, feel free to leave one:)

Warnings: murder, mentions of gore (not that graphic, but it's there), toxic situationship

Summary: In which you dyed your hair red

Authors note: thank you for 300 followers! I'm in tears, I love you all <3

Kiss my ass, you don't know jack

And if you say you understand, you don't

You don't

You don't

You don't

Fuck me, only when I'm keen

Not according to your beer

Your beer

Your beer

Your beer

you saw her contact name, appear on your phone. The red heart you put next to her name, mocking you.

god you were so stupid for falling for her

You hesitantly picked up the phone.

"Come over" you heard her demand from the other end. You could hear the music booming. She must've been at a party.

"Ellie" you said firmly. "You should stop calling me, I'm not a fucking dog that you can call, and expect to show up whenever you want"

"but I miss you baby" she slurred.

Yep, she was definitely drunk.

"Listen-" she started

"I know fucked up but I miss you-"

You didn't even let her finish before you ended the call.

You threw your phone onto the other side of the bed as you broke out in tears. You fell to knees as you held a pillow close to you. Normally Ellie would comfort you, but now she was the reason you were so broken.

You fucking hate love her.

Loud broken sobs left your mouth. She had no fucking right to call you. You deserved better, after what she put you through. The humiliation, the lies, the cheating- you didn't deserve that. No person does.

People like Ellie thought they were god. She always got what she wanted. She was always in control. She was attractive, confident. Narcissistic at times. She was a walking green flag.

Until the two of started seeing each other.

Ellie was nice to you in the beginning. She took you on dates, bought you everything, she spoiled you rotten. She made you soft.

When you thought the two of you were official, Ellie told you that she had been cheated on in the past and she couldn't commit. And you believed her.

You trusted her. You made excuses for her. You defended her.

The longer you and Ellie stayed in this 'relationship', the worse your life became.

You couldn't look in the direction of another women, but Ellie could flirt with as many as she wanted to. Ellie would go days without talking to you, only calling when she wanted a quick fuck.

It took you 7 months to realize that you meant nothing to her. And now here you were ignoring her calls, hoping that she'd leave you alone.

You couldn't block her, you loved her too much for that.

You were pathetic.

How could you love someone so heartless?

but the heart wants what it wants. And all you craved was Ellie.

You sobbed for hours.

Your eyes were puffy, your throat felt raw, before you picked up your phone again.

No calls or texts from her.

Wow.

And here you thought she was trying to fix things.

So let me be what I've wanted to be

So let me cut my hair and dye it red if I want to

I haven't found myself so comfortable

I'm not stopping n

Touch me as if you mean it

Accept I'm getting tired of being all alone

Alone

Alone

Alone

And if it's not from you

Guess I'll find it on my own

you looked yourself in the mirror as you the red dye stained your hair.

You felt free. Like you could actually express yourself.

With Ellie you felt alone. So empty. She controlled your every move. What you wore, your hairstyles, everything.

She'd call you doll because you were only a doll in her eyes. Someone she could dress up, fuck and leave when she was done.

You thought she'd loved you.

The way she touched you, made you feel loved. Her warm hands on her waist, the tender kisses she left on your forehead. It felt like love, but it wasn't.

You saw the way she touched Dina. She looked at her with the same eyes she looked at you with. The same touches, the same smile, and the same promises.

Fuck.

You wanted to vomit when you realized that you weren't the only one.

There was before Ellie. A girl who was insecure, someone who thought she deserves to be alone. There was during Ellie, a girl who was controlled and suppressed, now there's after Ellie.

Who were you? Who were you without her?

Maybe dying your hair red, could give you the identity you craved.

You watched the dye color the water red, as you rinsed it out.

It reminded you of blood. It reminded you of Ellie's blood that flowed after you payed her a visit earlier that day.

You dried your hair and you looked at yourself in the mirror. You looked good like this.

Dying it red was a good idea, after all.

Think I'd be better off alone

Now that I've had some time to think

I've had to put up with your shit

When you're not even that cute

And maybe it's time to change my ways

But that doesn't include you

you've put up with her shit too long. You knocked angrily at her door, you just wanted to see her stupid face and tell her what you fucking thought of her.

Ellie opened up the door, and she looked at you with grin on her face "I see you came.. I knew you couldn't resist me"

You wanted to punch her so bad.

You gave her a fake smile before answering "of course I did, anything for my favorite girl"

Ellie smiled at your response.

She's so pretty.

No, she's not. She isn't.

Pretty people aren't bitches you thought to yourself.

You were here for answers, not to admire her.

Ellie welcomed you in with open arms. You silently walked behind her, and you truly felt out of place in her apartment, even though you were here so many times.

Everything was fine before she had to open her goddam mouth.

"You're so fucking pathetic, you know that right? You ended my call, but yet you're here" she laughed.

You blacked out. You were so fucking angry.

In an instant you grabbed a vase that was next to you and you hit Ellie over the head. You fell to your knees as you repeatedly hit her head with the vase.

When you snapped back to reality the only thing you saw was, blood shards of glass and Ellie's bloody body on the floor.

The blood was oozing from her head as it colored her hair red.

You stared at the scene. You were a murderer.

You left her apartment instantly. Not looking back to see if she was alive, you just left. You couldn't be in the same room with the person you loved so much at one point. You took her fucking life.

You got the urge to dye your hair after you killed her. Her hair looked so pretty red, but yours looked better.

You were a new person now. With new confidence, looks and energy.

maybe she didn't die in vain.

The next month after Ellie's murder, it was all peaceful. No more calls, texts, or insults.

You were free. You weren't her toy anymore.

You were a new person, it's all thanks to the girl who hurt you so much.

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.”

your best friend- ellie williams x reader

no one requested this lol, i just liked the song... do yall want me to make a spotify playlist off all the songs i've written about?

This story is based off the song your best friend by Kiana Lede, 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: emotional cheating

Summary: in which you wished ellie wasn't dating your best friend

Masterlist

Ellie never planned to fall in love with you.

She always said your laugh was addictive. Always told Dina that you were “a good one” — loyal, grounded, funny. The kind of person who didn’t start shit, who didn’t push boundaries.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

You didn’t push the boundary.

Ellie did. And you let her.

It started with late-night walks through Jackson. Dina would stay behind to clean up or rest from patrol. You and Ellie would wander, shoulders brushing, voices soft, dancing around the things you never said.

It continued with touches that lingered — a hand at your waist that stayed too long. A look that lasted one second too much. Her compliments growing too precise. Yours returning just as sharp.

You told yourself: I would never betray her.

And Ellie told herself: I would never act on it.

But both of you were liars.

One night, while Dina slept upstairs, you and Ellie were in the kitchen, whispering about dumb shit, faces inches apart. You’d just said something funny, and she laughed — full and rare — and then she looked at you like she wanted to ruin everything. You saw it coming.

You didn’t stop it.

The kiss was slow, scared — like both of you knew you’d just ripped something open you couldn’t close.

“I’m sorry,” Ellie whispered, lips still brushing yours.

“No, you’re not.”

And you were right.

Guilt became your second skin.

You smiled in front of Dina. You helped her chop vegetables for dinner, listened to her talk about the new recruits, helped her clean out the horse stables.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about Ellie’s hands under your shirt two nights ago, the way she kept saying “fuck, I shouldn’t” while she didn’t stop.

You weren’t proud. But god, it felt real.

You hated yourself for loving it.

One evening, after too much whiskey, Ellie sat on your porch with red eyes.

“I can’t lie to her forever.”

“Then don’t,” you said. “End it. Or stop this.”

Ellie looked at you, jaw tight. “I don’t know how to stop.”

You both sat there in silence. You didn’t know either.

Dina found out in spring.

You never knew how much Ellie told her, but the fallout was brutal. Dina slammed the front door, threw Ellie’s jacket across the porch, and didn’t speak to you for a month.

Ellie moved out of their house.

She stayed in one of the abandoned cabins by the trees, didn’t talk to anyone for days.

You visited once, stood outside her door. “Ellie, say something.”

“I’m a fucking coward,” came her voice. “Don’t come back.”

You left.

But you didn’t stop loving her.

Time passed.

The pain dulled, but it never left. People stopped looking at you like you were contagious. Dina started laughing again, even made peace with you one afternoon when she found you alone by the stables.

“I’m not ready to forgive you,” she said. “But I know you loved her. That’s worse.”

You nodded. Because it was true.

Ellie stayed distant for months.

Then one day, you found a note slipped under your door.

“I’m still in love with you.

-E"

You found her at the lake, sitting on the edge of the dock, legs dangling in the water.

She didn’t look at you as you sat beside her.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said quietly.

“I almost didn’t,” you replied. “But I never stopped loving you either.”

She finally turned to face you — eyes green and heavy with regret.

“I ruined everything,” Ellie said.

“You broke her heart,” you agreed. “And mine. But I let you.”

Silence again.

Then: “Do you think we can try again? For real this time?”

You breathed out slowly. “Only if we stop lying. To everyone. To ourselves.”

Ellie nodded. “I want to love you right this time.”

It wasn’t perfect.

People judged. Dina kept her distance. Some friendships faded. But you and Ellie stood in it — the mess, the guilt, the consequences.

You built something real from the wreckage.

The touches became open. The glances weren’t stolen. Her hand on yours at the bar felt proud now. You kissed in daylight.

Sometimes, she still looked sad — when she remembered what she lost. What she broke.

But when she looked at you, there was love. Raw, honest, painful — but whole.

One night, in your shared bed, she whispered, “You’re not her best friend anymore.”

You smiled, touched her jaw. “No. I’m yours.”

Headcannons: dad's best friend!abby anderson x reader

masterlist

☆ Abby is your dad’s closest friend, someone who’s always been around but never really close to you. You were just the kid in the background—until one day, you weren’t.

☆ She saw it change in real time. You grew up. You started speaking with confidence, dressing differently, looking her in the eye. And it scared the hell out of her.

☆ She resisted—tried to ignore the way your laugh lingered in her mind or the way you’d look at her like you knew. But she couldn’t stop noticing you.

☆ The first time it happened, it was a mistake. A late-night conversation on the porch after your dad went to bed. A shared bottle of whiskey. A too-long stare. Your hand brushing hers.

☆ She kissed you. Hard. Desperate. She pulled away like she'd been burned, pacing, swearing under her breath, apologizing.

☆ You told her you wanted it. She told you it couldn’t happen again. It did.

☆ She never stays the night. Never kisses you in the daylight. Never looks at you for too long in public.

☆ You sneak around like it’s life or death. Quick meetups. Locked doors. Lies stacked on lies. Sometimes it makes you sick with adrenaline. Sometimes it makes you cry.

☆ Abby keeps trying to end it—but she always comes back. She’s addicted to you, even if she won’t admit it.

☆ Abby is riddled with guilt. You’re too young. You’re your father's daughter. She’s betraying someone who trusts her with his life. But she wants you—needs you—in a way that’s primal.

☆ She hates herself for it, but you’re the only one who sees her vulnerability. When she’s with you, she lets the walls fall.

☆ You hate the hiding. Hate pretending like she’s just your dad’s friend when she’s the one who’s memorized the way your body moves and how you like your coffee.

☆ She’s older, bigger, more experienced—and sometimes, she uses that. When you’re bratty or push her buttons, she’ll pin you against a wall, palm flat beside your head, whispering, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

☆ But you’re not powerless. You know how to get to her. How to sit in her lap like it’s innocent. How to call her “Miss Anderson” in a mocking tone just to watch her unravel.

☆ Every moment between you is coiled like a spring—either about to snap into intimacy or explode in a fight.

☆ She hates seeing you with people your age. If you flirt with someone at a party, she corners you in the hallway with fire in her eyes: “You really want to play that game, sweetheart?”

☆ She doesn’t call you hers, but she touches you like you are. Marks you where no one can see. Leaves bruises on your hips and hickeys on your inner thighs like she’s branding you.

☆ When someone else starts showing interest in you, she snaps. Shows up at your apartment. Kisses you like punishment.

☆ Every sound in the hallway makes you freeze when you're together. Every time your dad mentions Abby, your stomach flips.

☆ One close call nearly ends everything—your dad comes home early while she’s still there. You hide in your room, half-dressed, while she plays it cool like she hasn’t just kissed you breathless.

☆ After that, she disappears for days. No calls. No texts. Then she shows up in the middle of the night, eyes red, whispering “I can’t stay away.”

☆ There’s something sacred in the way she holds you in silence. Like you’re the only thing keeping her sane. The way she lets you trace the scars on her back. The way she murmurs your name like a confession.

☆ Sometimes she sneaks into your bed and stays until dawn, just holding you. You wake up to her running her fingers through your hair like she’s memorizing the way you breathe.

☆ She never says "I love you" out loud. But you hear it in the way she says your name. In the way she lingers after kissing you goodbye, her hand hesitating at the doorknob.

☆ The secrecy starts to eat at you. You want her in the open. You want her to fight for you. But she’s scared—scared of destroying your family, of losing everything.

☆ You fight. She pushes you away. You think it’s over. But then she shows up at your door during a storm, soaked, shaking, whispering, “I’d rather burn for this than live without you.”

☆ That night, you realize she loves you—but she doesn’t know how to love you in the light.

☆ There are only two options: get caught… or leave.

☆ Abby starts talking about running away. Not in a romantic way—more like survival. “If he finds out, it’s over for me. For us. I’d lose you both.”

☆ You tell her you’d follow her. She tells you not to say things like that if you don’t mean them.

☆ By day, she’s the picture of loyalty: dependable, trustworthy Abby Anderson—the friend your dad relies on, the one who helps fix the roof and grills on weekends like she’s part of the family.

☆ But by night? She’s slipping into your room when no one’s watching. Holding you like she’s starved. Kissing you like she’s trying to press her soul into your mouth.

☆ She hates the mirror lately. Hates seeing herself knowing what she’s doing. But the only time she doesn’t feel like a monster is when she’s buried in your arms.

☆ She cooks for you in secret. Not well, but she tries—burnt grilled cheese, bland pasta. You eat it anyway, legs wrapped around her hips at the kitchen counter.

☆ She keeps a drawer of your things in her apartment: a sweater, a scrunchie, a book you left behind. She told herself it was just until you took them back—but she likes seeing pieces of you there.

☆ You steal a pair of her dog tags. Wear them under your clothes like a talisman. She notices, and that night, she makes you wear nothing but them.

☆ You have a code phrase—“Are you free to talk?”—that means “I need you. Now.”

☆ You meet in quiet places: her truck parked on the cliffside at night, an old garage your dad doesn’t use, hotel rooms under fake names. Every touch is frantic. Every goodbye, heartbreaking.

☆ After every time, she tells you it’s the last. She never means it. You both pretend like the next time won’t happen, even though it always does.

☆ She hid her jealousy well—until she doesn’t. If someone else touches you, even innocently, she goes cold. Her voice sharpens. Her eyes darken. Later, she drags you into a quiet room and kisses you like she owns you.

“No one else gets to see you like this.”

“You shouldn’t be showing yourself to anyone but me.”

☆ It’s twisted, and it turns you on. But it scares her. She’s never felt this out of control before, and it makes her want to run—or hold on tighter.

☆ After she touches you, there’s always a pause. A moment of silence where she looks at you like she’s doing something unforgivable. Like she’s already lost you.

☆ Sometimes she sits at the edge of the bed, head in her hands. “I shouldn’t want this,” she whispers. “I shouldn’t want you.”

You crawl into her lap, cup her face, and say, “Then don’t make me beg.”

And that’s all it takes—her restraint shatters.

☆ She knows every inch of you—where to touch, where you’re ticklish, what makes you melt. But it’s not just sex. It’s the way her hands tremble when she unzips your hoodie. The way her breath catches when you say her name like a secret.

Her voice drops when she’s turned on. Low, rough, almost pleading.

“You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Tell me you’re mine. Even if it’s just here.”

☆ She can’t be soft in public, so she’s overwhelmingly soft in private. She holds you like a secret she’ll die to keep. Kisses your forehead. Tells you she dreams of a version of the world where this isn’t wrong.

☆ You want more. You start slipping up. Touching her shoulder when your dad’s in the room. Smiling at her too long. She panics when you get bold.

“You’re going to ruin this,” she hisses one day when you almost kiss her goodbye. “Someone will find out.”

“Then let them,” you challenge.

She grabs your wrist. “Don’t ever say that again.”

☆ It starts to hurt—loving someone in the shadows. The secrets eat at you. You wonder if she’ll ever really choose you.

☆ You tell her: “I want a life with you. I want to hold your hand in public. I want people to know you’re mine.”

☆ Abby’s voice breaks. “I want that too. But I want your dad to look me in the eye without seeing betrayal. I want to deserve you first.”

☆ A near-discovery shakes everything. Maybe someone sees you leaving her place at dawn. Maybe your dad borrows her phone and sees your contact.

☆ Abby freaks out. Cuts contact. Says it’s over. You cry. She watches from a distance, agonizing over it.

☆ Then, weeks later—she shows up at your door again. Hands shaking. Heart bare. “I tried. I can’t stop. I need you.”

☆ She finally asks you to leave with her. No more hiding. No more pretending.

“Let’s go somewhere no one knows us. I’ll build us a life. Just say the word.”

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.

Dina ??? Masterlist

main master list

about me!

Stories｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ

- one chance: In which the popular girl asked you out

- guard dog: In which you protected her

- could've been: in which you could've been something special

- all that's left is us: in which you found eachother

Would it be possible for you to do anything about Dina? Totally fine if not, I just never see anything about her at all 😭

If so, would you be able to do something about R just being reeeally protective towards her, almost akin to like- a guard dog or something . Just always following her around, hard to not find Dina without them , literally the nicest to Dina but as soon as anyone gets in the way they’re all glares and ugly looks.

But Dina has no idea what people are talking about when they bring it up to her, because what do you mean ?? They’re so sweet!

And maybe she does know and just chooses to do nothing about it because she finds it cute or funny.

(also really glad you’re back, make sure you still feel like you can take time for yourself tho!)

Guard dog - (Dina x reader)

Hi anon! thank you for this request! We need more Dina fics. Justice for Dina lol. Thank you for your kind message.... i hope you enjoy<33

Pairing: dina x fem!reader

requests are open! send me your silly thoughts:)

warnings: none

Summary: In which you protected her

authors note: part 2?

masterlist

Dina shivered as she walked into Ellies house. She quickly shut the door behind her, trying to not let anymore of the cold air in.

Dina hated winter. When it started snowing in Jackson she would gather as much food as she could and she would stay in the warmth her house. She would not leave for anything. She would wrap herself in blankets and she'll sit in front of the fireplace in her home.

The only time anyone would ever see Dina during winter is when the snow starts to smelt and flowers start blooming again.

Dina slipped off her jacket as she wrapped her arms around herself. Despite Dina practically hugging herself she still felt cold.

Maybe you'd be able to keep her warm.

No.

fuck.

She cant think of you in that way.

You were just friends.

Just friends.

'But friends don't cuddle. Friends don't shower together. friends don't-'

Dina's thoughts were interrupted by Ellie's voice: "fucking finally"

Before Dina could talk she heard Jesse say: "we know you hate the cold but you took like 5 fucking hours to get here"

"you guys are being overdramatic" Dina rolled her eyes as she took of her boots.

It's been a while since the 3 of them hung out alone.

Ellie was always hooking up with someone, Jesse was always patrolling and Dina was always with you.

"I'm surprised you didn't bring your girl with" Jesse told her with a smirk.

Dina's brows furrowed "my girl?"

"yeah" Ellie laughed.

"your guard dog"

"guard dog?" Dina asked in confusion.

"I don't know what you're talking about"

Ellie and Jesse's jaws hung open.

"You don't see it?"

"see what?"

"dude you're stupid" Jesse sighs.

-

You and Dina had gotten ready together. The two of were walking down the road and you held onto her arm gently.

Dina would never admit it out loud but she liked it when you did that. She liked it when you were so close to her. It made her feel safe.

You checked the surroundings while keeping an eye on Dina. Even though Jackson was extremely safe you still couldn't help looking after her.

You were subtle in the way you cared for her. You liked Dina a lot, and you had hoped that she'd catch on. It's been years and she still hasn't noticed anything.

To protect your friendship you decided to settle on just looking after her.

You were possessive, protective over what you wanted. But clearly Dina noticed nothing so your actions were in vain. (Or so you thought).

Dina walked into the bar first and she felt your presence close behind her. (You always followed her around and when the two of you were separated you still kept and eye on her)

Rumors spread around Jackson that the two of you were dating.

Dina has heard them. She liked the rumors hoping that any girl interested in you would believe it and leave you alone but she also doesn't know who or what the source of the rumors were.

She didn't realize it, but it was you. The way you looked at her, protected her, you scared everyone away from her. She didn't see it.

Fucking idiot.

Dina went to Ellie and she hugged her. You stayed close behind her glaring at the two.

'You can't be jealous. It's not fair' you kept telling yourself.

The feelings you had for Dina just grew stronger and stronger and they were threatening to reveal themselves.

Dina slid into the booth first and you slid in after, immediately wrapping your arm around her shoulder glaring at anyone who even looks at her.

Ellie stared at scene before her. There was clearly something going on between the two of you but you both denied it.

Ellie thought you were both really stupid.

The conversation flowed easily between the three of you, but eventually Dina had to go to the bathroom. You moved out the booth and Dina made her way to the bathroom.

"Hi"

Dina's head turned to see a beautiful red head giving her a small smile.

"hi" Dina smiled shyly.

"my name is-"

Before she could even utter her name you walked in

"There you are" you said as you walked towards her ignoring the girl.

You took Dina's hand and you looked at the girl.

"Sorry" she muttered and she walked away.

Dina frowned "why was she saying sorry"

You glared at the girl before you turned back to Dina, your grip on her hand tightened.

"I don't know" you shrugged as you kissed her temple.

-

"She was just protecting me" Dina's blushed.

"protecting you? All she had to do was pee on you to mark her territory because damn"

Dina felt butterflies erupt in her stomach.

Maybe there was more to your behavior

"It was probably a one time thing" Dina argued.

"one time?" Jesse said dramatically.

"She's always holding you. A arm around your shoulders or waist, she never leaves you alone, she follows you around like a dog... she's in love with you!"

Dina drowned out Ellie and Jesse's voices.

Everything she heard can't be a coincidence right.... right?

She wrapped her arms around herself once again

Maybe you were just protective.

But maybe, just maybe you felt the same way.

<3

Headcannons: ceo!abby anderson x fem!reader

masterlist

☆ Abby is the kind of CEO who commands a room the moment she walks in. Tailored suits, sharp jawline, low voice that cuts through the noise. People either fear her or fall in love with her—there’s no in-between.

☆ She didn’t inherit the company; she built her reputation through blood, sweat, and an iron will. Everyone knows the rumors: military background, strategic acquisitions, never smiles unless she’s already won.

☆ In meetings, she’s precise, no-nonsense. Employees scramble to meet deadlines because the idea of disappointing her is terrifying—but deep down, they respect her. She’s fair. She rewards loyalty, effort, and genius when she sees it.

☆ You work in one of the departments she rarely pays attention to—PR, internal communications, or perhaps you're an executive assistant brought in as a temp to cover someone’s maternity leave.

☆ She notices you because you’re not intimidated by her. You’re polite but blunt, you don’t fawn over her like others do. And when she gives you a task, you complete it perfectly—without needing a follow-up.

☆ The first time she really looks at you is when you correct a minor detail in one of her public statements. She stares at you for a beat too long, then nods. That’s when it all started.

☆ Abby is all control—she’s used to people submitting, obeying. But you? You don’t give her that satisfaction easily. It drives her insane and fascinates her at the same time.

☆ She tries to keep it professional, but her restraint cracks. She starts showing up near your desk more often than necessary, asking for “updates” she could have emailed about.

☆ You make her feel off-balance, and Abby hates being off-balance—but she keeps coming back for it.

☆ When the relationship starts, it’s secret. Very secret. Her rules: no one knows, no workplace displays, and absolutely no compromising your career because of her.

☆ But it doesn’t take long before those lines blur. She touches your wrist in meetings. She defends you publicly. She gets jealous when other execs talk to you.

☆ Abby’s bedroom persona is different—still dominant, but reverent. Like she’s worshipping something she doesn’t think she deserves.

☆ She tries to be gentle, but her hands are rough, and her need is overwhelming. She’ll press you into soft sheets in her penthouse, hair loose, voice husky as she murmurs your name like a prayer.

☆ Aftercare is where her walls drop: she wraps you in her arms, kisses your forehead, brushes your hair back. She doesn’t say much, but the way she holds you says it all.

☆ You’re the only person who’s seen Abby cry. It happened once after a brutal boardroom betrayal. You found her sitting alone in her office at 1AM, hands shaking, eyes red. She didn’t send you away.

☆ She doesn’t let anyone touch her unless she initiates—except you. If you brush your hand over hers during a bad day, she visibly relaxes. No one else has that power.

☆ She trusts you with her past. Military trauma, the father she lost, the fear of turning into a machine. You’re her anchor.

☆ Abby doesn’t get petty jealous—but if someone flirts with you at a company party, she’s by your side in seconds. Hand on your lower back, icy stare, soft command in your ear: “Come with me.”

☆ If you’re ever hurt, dismissed, or undermined at work, Abby becomes an unstoppable force. “They don’t work here anymore,” she’ll say flatly, her protectiveness quiet and lethal.

☆ Sends you flowers “anonymously” that somehow end up in the executive suite with your name on them.

☆ Leaves sticky notes on your monitor with short notes: “You killed it today.” “Dinner tonight, 8PM.” “Proud of you.”

☆ Hires a private chef for your birthday but insists on cooking breakfast herself the next morning in nothing but a shirt and boxers.

☆ Keeps a framed candid photo of you in her locked drawer. You don’t know about it, but she looks at it on the hardest days.

☆ Eventually, you’re not a secret anymore. Abby makes it public in her own way: attending a gala with you on her arm, no apology in her eyes.

☆ She promotes you—not because of your relationship, but because you’re damn good at what you do. She makes sure no one can question your worth.

☆ Talks about retirement one day. Not to quit, but to slow down. “Maybe we’ll move somewhere quieter,” she murmurs against your neck. “Somewhere with a garden.”

☆ You knew Abby loved her diary. She wrote everything in there, every emotion, every high and every low. You were never allowed to read it, until one day you were alone in her room you decided to take a peek:

January 3rd

11:47 PM – Office

I saw her again today.

Same desk. Same quiet smile. Same nerve to look me dead in the eye without flinching.

I shouldn’t notice. I shouldn’t care.

But I do. And it’s starting to piss me off.

-

February 9th

1:15 AM – Penthouse

She corrected me. In front of the team.

Tactfully. Respectfully. But it was still a correction.

And god, it turned me on.

What the hell is wrong with me?

-

March 2nd

10:06 PM – Gym Locker Room

She wore her hair up today. It pulled her features tighter, more severe. And yet, all I wanted to do was tug it loose and see her fall apart.

I made up a reason to call her into my office.

Five minutes of conversation about a report I didn’t read.

Her voice lingers longer than it should.

-

March 16th

12:22 AM – Office (again)

I touched her hand today.

Not by accident. Not in passing.

I could feel the pulse in her wrist—fast, unsure.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither did I.

I’m crossing lines now. I know it.

I don’t want to stop.

-

April 4th

2:02 AM – Bedroom

She kissed me first.

That’s what I’ll tell myself, even if I know it’s a lie.

We were in the elevator, alone. I leaned in. Maybe too close. She looked at me like she’d already forgiven the mistake I hadn’t made yet.

I kissed her like I hadn’t wanted anything else in years.

And she kissed me back.

I’m fucked.

-

April 22nd

3:35 AM – After she fell asleep

She sleeps like she trusts me.

That should terrify me.

Instead, I’m scared of how badly I want to earn it.

-

May 11th

11:11 PM – Office

Saw her laughing with one of the interns. I hated how it made me feel.

Possessive. Petty. Animal.

I smiled when she glanced over, but I wanted to drag her away and remind her who she belongs to.

No. Not "belongs."

That’s not right. She’s not mine.

But I’m hers.

And I don’t think she even knows it.

-

May 27th

9:49 PM – Her Apartment

She made dinner. It was bad. I ate every bite.

She looked so proud.

When she leaned over to kiss me, all I could think was: I’ve gone soft.

Then she whispered she loves me.

And just like that, I broke.

-

June 5th

Midnight – Private Jet

I’m bringing her to the gala. Publicly. No more secrets.

Let them talk. Let them guess.

She’s not a scandal.

She’s the only real thing I have.

-

July 1st

10:10 PM – Lake House (weekend getaway)

She made me promise I’d rest.

No emails. No meetings.

She’s outside reading a book right now. Feet in the water. Hair wind-blown.

I’m watching her through the window.

And for the first time in a long time, I feel... free.

Maybe love isn’t a weakness.

Maybe it’s the only reason I’ve survived this long.

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK

THANK YOU, I LOVE YOU GUYS SM

I'm in actual fucking tears