𐙚 she/her . puertorriqueña 🇵🇷 . wlw . femme . ✟ ୨୧⋆ Jesús es mi Señor. ₊˚ ⋅ i love psychology, cartoons (specifically mlp), tlou, singing, & writing. ellie williams es mi esposa.
i am taking suggestions for ellie so just lmk! WILL NOT write for scat, age play, p*ss kinks, cnc, extreme age gaps, zoophilia, feet fetishs, incest, anything overly controversial like that so pls don’t even ask. tysm for all the support! :)
daily click to help. ❤️🩹
——— my current and recent works 🎀 ——— 1. nerdy!ellie 2. nerdy!ellie headcanons 3. nerdy!ellie part 2 (idk if i like it or not). 4. nerdy!ellie part 3 5. nerd!ellie’s moodboard
PLS DO NOT copy, repost, or translate any of my work, if u do (like repost it on wattpad or something) pls ask permission and give credit. do not label it as your own work or else. 🔪
also just wanted to say a few things. this isn’t super important but just wanted to clarify some things since i’m new to being public on this platform.
i’m new to all this writing stuff, my intentions are just to express myself, share my work, spread love and entertain people with my writing. i cannot write all the time until the summer since i am currently in school and im under a lot of pressure, trying to maintain having good grades. i expect to please not have any issues on this blog and if u have an issue with me being a wlw follower of Christ pls don’t publicly hate on me, disrespect my beliefs, or express that on my blog with negative intentions. i am aware that being both a follower of Christ and liking women as a woman can be controversial to some. i understand historically Christianity hasn’t been the most comforting and respectful religion to individuals. i understand religion can be triggering due to religious abuse, religious psychosis and things of that sort, this is just what i believe in and the God i serve, even as a someone who is apart of lgbtq+. the way me being wlw is apart of my identity, its the same way for me following Jesus. He’s apart of my identity. i will always be respectful to people of ALL religions and i expect the same.
summary: both you and ellie wake up in the middle of the night and cuddle your way back to sleep.
content: answer to this req!! nothing nsfw :] just fluffy and ellie being stupid
notes: sorry i havent posted in a while.. but yes finals are coming up so i’ll prob kms soon. but i have this class where i hate the teacher and after finals i'm done with him FINALLY YESSS
(wc 1.0k)
a loud coughing fit came from over your shoulder where you slept in bed, making you open your eyes to see if it would stop. it did not, instead intensifying after you look over your shoulder to find a hunched over ellie sitting up with her legs swung over the edge of the bed. she notices that her coughing woke you up and she quickly palms her mouth, hoping to muffle the volume of the coughs.
she tries—and fails—to get an apology out in between her coughs: "fuck- i didn't mean- didn't mean to wake you up."
you simply watch with your eyes wide and brows drawn in naked concern. finally, she calms down and lowers her voice to a whisper. "sorry baby."
rolling onto your back, you extend your hand out towards her and then stop it midair, shocked at how unconcerned she seems at her previous death hacks.
"um, hello? are you okay?" you whisper-yell.
she lifts the covers to get back into bed, trying to rub her eyes of the sleep that was so violently interrupted. "i woke up with the worst cotton mouth so i just drank whatever was on my nightstand. it was soda. squirt to be exact. i think i just asphyxiated."
"stupid- why would you drink soda for thirst? drink water," you scold her.
"it was right there- i just needed anything! i would've drank chocolate milk if it was right there!"
"dummy," you huffed. the blinking led lights of the clock on ellie's nightstand catches your eye—it was just past two in the morning. yawning, you say, "just come back, let's sleep."
she didn't resist—she looked exhausted. ellie was anything but a morning person, and she got cranky if she didn't get a full night's rest.
scooting down to get under the blanket, she pulls it up to her chin and turns on her side to face you staring back at her. she moves with a shimmy to get closer to your body, pushing her legs in between yours and tangling them as she nearly presses her nose to yours. with a content sigh, she nuzzles into her pillow and closes her eyes.
softly chuckling at her apparent routine to get resituated, you huff out a laugh, making her open her eyes.
"what?" she murmurs, confused at what you were laughing at.
"el, what do you mean what? i'm exhaling right into your nose and inhaling your breath."
"just say you don't love me," she pouts, theatrically turning over to face her back to you and yanking the blanket.
"you're so annoying," you say and roll your eyes while sitting up to litter her face in kisses. "please come back so we can share germs?"
"that's more like it." she returns to her previous position with her legs tangled in yours and face a centimeter from yours.
her head pushes forward for a second to drop a kiss on your lips—just a quick goodnight. "'night, baby."
you laugh, "good night, ellie."
you settle into your pillow and close your eyes to begin to drift off to sleep when you feel the weight of ellie's head lift off of her pillow. after a second or two, you open your eyes to a squint to see ellie looking at you in disbelief.
"can you give me a kiss back or should i roll back over and social distance again?"
"oh my god, ellie, can we sleep?!" she raises her eyebrows in expectation, giving you her cheek to kiss. "my stupid big baby."
you plant your hands on either side of her jaw, speaking and punctuating every few words with a kiss. "yes, i love you,"--kiss--"yes, i wanna exchange microorganisms with you,"--kiss--"no, i don't want us to sleep six feet apart,"--kiss--"...but... drinking squirt three seconds after you open your eyes is actually insane, baby."
you see in her eyes how badly she wants to throw something back at you, but her cheeks are barely containing her suppressed smile, so instead she just giggles and lays her head back on her pillow, the tip of her nose tickling yours.
"good nighttt," ellie whispers in a sing-songy tone, kissing your lips once, twice, three times before settling back in her nose-to-nose position.
"you're so cute," you blurt out, pulling the blanket up and tucking it under your chin.
her words started to slur, her syllables beginning to blend together by exhaustion. "d'you wanna order food tomorrow morning for breakfast in bed?"
"it is tomorrow—it's, like, 2:30 now."
she kisses her teeth in irritation. "you fuckin' smartass," she murmurs, a long yawn following. "do you want to or no?"
"duh i want to. i can't wait to get fat together."
she takes so long to respond that you think she's dozed off until she mutters out, "perfect," a sleepy smile taking over her face.
"can... can we get caprisuns in the cup for him, too?" she adds on nonsensically.
"baby, what?" you question, unable to make any sense of her... request? her statement? she's too tired to be speaking.
ellie's breaths slow down again, making you think she's actually fallen asleep until she hums to get your attention. you hum back at her to show you're listening, and she starts to speak.
"can we get a liter of squirt tomorrow with breakfast?"
"what the fuck. bedtime now. good night," you say, shutting down her meaningless rambling to go to sleep. right before your eyes shut, you notice her soft pout at you silencing her, but it fades off into a smile as you fall asleep.
@picklesarenice69
i dont have much to say!! gonna post now bc i have an appointment rn 😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊😊
synopsis: the king demands a mermaid. ellie knows the sea like the back of her hand, or so she thinks. because in its darkest depths is where you reside, unaware of the storm headed straight towards you.
content: MDNI 18+ content, eventual smut, fluff, angst, gore(ish), swearing, enemies to lovers, yearning, slow burn, use of y/n, usage of alcohol, violence, sexism, speciesism (note: this will be updated as i go)
word count: 2.1k
trenches masterlist | previous part
───────────────────────────────
CHAPTER 1: "𝒅𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓?"
THAT DAY STILL HAUNTS YOU.
You remember her smile, the way she talked to you like you were something precious, something to be handled with the utmost care. Something to be adored. You remember the earthy auburn of her hair, the seaweed green of her eyes. You remember the fifty-eight freckles that'd littered her gorgeous face ─ because of course, you spent your whole encounter counting her freckles instead of working up the courage to mutter a single "hello."
She held your hand like you were porcelain, a doll tethered to the tides by birth instead of zip-ties to plastic packaging. She looked at you with pure, unadulterated elation, the kind only found at the bottom of one's fifth cup of rum.
She was entranced by you.
And the best part?
You hadn't even sung to her.
That's how you knew it was real.
But that was just one step forward, what about the three steps back?
You remember the way her eyes widened when she realised what you were ─ a siren. An animal. A monster. You remember the way your claws shot out involuntarily, accidentally nicking her in the process. You turned around so fast that you whipped her with your tail, diving back into the water like a coward.
Perhaps that's what everyone thought you to be ─ nothing but a poor excuse of a siren who refused to sing to humans and scurried away whenever they got too close.
That night, you lingered nearby, eyes locked on her foot dangling in the water like some twisted sort of bait. You felt like you'd been reduced to a pathetic salmon, lured in by the promise of freckled skin and pretty eyes.
And yet.
Before you could even attempt to approach her, she was stolen from you. Heavy hands marred with dirt and sweat hauled the lifeboat back up, and her with it. You watched as the one person who truly saw you, not for the creature you were but for you, slipped through your fingers.
It's been three years since you last ─ or well, first ─ saw her.
It was cruel how such a quick glimpse of love could turn into hatred because of something as trivial as your species. Because humans were confusing beings. They categorised each and every creature into friend and foe. They abused the peaceful and murdered those with the courage to fight back. Then they had the nerve to get mad when others played into their game and won.
You, however, lost.
Lost to the pretty sailor with the even pretty eyes. Lost to the girl with fifty-eight freckles, deliberately placed there on her cheeks like Poseidon had done it himself.
So, yes. Maybe you were weak. Maybe you were a coward. A sheep in wolf's clothing.
But the humans saw you as a monster. She saw you as a monster. And if being a monster was what they wanted you to be, then so be it.
She was the sand under your claws, and after a while, that sand needs to be washed out.
And maybe, just maybe, you'd sing.
───────────────────────────────
Beneath the sweltering morning sun, the marketplace bustled with the chaotic rhythm of trade, voices rising like a storm over the scent of salt and spice. Merchants peddled their goods beneath awnings of vivid cloth, barrels of rum and glinting trinkets. The clang of blacksmiths' hammers rang out over the squawk of caged parrots and the creak of rigging of ships anchored in the nearby harbour.
It was a place alive with danger, opportunity, and the raw scent of freedom ─ where fortunes were made as fast as they were lost, and every face told a tale the sea hadn't yet claimed.
And in the middle of it all?
There stood Ellie.
There stood Ellie, all chains and buckles and sin. She was the very essence of composure, hands shoved carelessly into her pockets as if the piercing stares of onlookers were mere fruit flies. As if her black tricorne hat weighed more than their eyes of judgment ever could.
This was where she thrived ─ in the fury of men, the fluster of women, the awe of children. She was the sun and everyone else were just stray asteroids barreling straight at her, burning themselves before they could get too close.
Only one person had ever managed to.
You.
You, with your pretty eyes that she prayed she could drown in all over again. With your shimmering scales that could rival the stars themselves. With your skin as soft as the feeling of sand in between her toes─ You.
Ellie saw you in the back of her mind. She saw you in the glimpses of movement beneath the surface of the ocean. She saw you in the iridescence of stolen pearls. She saw you every time she glanced at that damn lifeboat.
It's safe to say you'd made an impression on her. Whether it was a good or bad one, she was unsure. You scrambled up her emotions like it was child's play and left without a trace.
Whenever she closes her eyes, she sees you, a light in the dark. An angel among men. She remembers the way you turned away without sparing her a glance, instead sparing her life. You crossed a line, but you were instilled in every aspect of her life.
Because now you haunt her, flashing in and out of her mind in the worst moments possible. You taunt her with your siren charms and she wonders if everything was all just an act, if your intent was to kill her this whole time.
Sometimes, when she leans against the railing of her ship, the Widow, her thumb traces the scratch you left on her hand that scarred so deep it clawed at her heart.
Ever since that day, she's vowed to hate you.
But some vows are just too easy to break.
A sharp pain erupts in Ellie's shoulder, brusquely snapping her out of her thoughts. With an exasperated grunt, she whips around to find who just bumped into her, her trusty old trench coat billowing behind her.
Instantly, her gaze lands on a newspaper boy disappearing into the crowd, clearly rushing off somewhere. She sighs. Kids. She takes a step forward, only to nudge something with her booth.
She looks down only to be met with bold, black printed letters on now-dirty parchment.
"KING ANNOUNCES MERMAID SEARCH─"
What the fuck?
She crouches down, unfolding the newspaper to read the other half of the headline.
"─FOR HEIR PRINCE LEON'S 25TH BIRTHDAY."
What sort of birthday present is that?
She's about to throw the paper away before her eyes snag on the next lines.
"King demands a mermaid, captured alive, for his son's 25th birthday. Whosoever brings back the creature to His Majesty shall receive a reward of a million coins and a lifetime supply of the kingdom's finest rum."
Holy. Shit.
───────────────────────────────
"YOU'RE NOT GOING OUT THERE, ELLIE," Joel's voice cuts through the tension of the small dwelling they called home.
The skies above churned with darkening clouds, morphing from bright, blinding blue to the colour of bruised iron. Thunder rumbled somewhere far out at sea, barely audible over the chaos of the nearby port. Street vendors shouted over one another like gulls fighting for scraps. Ships groaned against their anchors, flags whipping madly above half-rotted decks. And there, just beyond the noise, where the alleyways narrowed and shadows grew thick with salt and secrets, stood the excuse of a house that belonged to Joel Miller.
Her father. Adoptive, of course.
Joel Miller, once the most feared captain this side of the world, now wore the look of a man who'd outlived his glory days. His leathers were cracked, his beard grown out and threaded with silver, and his left leg dragged slightly when he moved ─ a limp earned when one of the king's imperial guards shot him in the thigh.
But his eyes, as cold as the Atlantic ocean, still held the force of cannon-fire.
"Why not?" Ellie asked, eyebrows furrowing. "The Widow's ready, so is my crew. If we sail at dawn, we have a better chance of getting to mermaid territory before anyone else does."
Joel scowled, stepping forward, boots crunching over planks of creaky wood. "You'll be sailing to your own death."
"I've faced death."
He shook his head. "You've faced danger, Ellie. There's a difference. These─these mermaids you're chasing─they're fucking hard to find. Nobody has ever successfully made it to mermaid territory and back, let alone capture one alive."
Ellie shrugged. "Maybe I can be the first, then."
Joel raised a brow. "What makes you think you'll make it out alive?"
"They don't have what I do."
"And what's that?"
"I have your journals," she spoke, voice growing stern. "You have information on pretty much every sea creature out there, others don't. They'll be going in blind, they won't stand a chance. We will."
Joel sighs. "That's not my point, Ellie."
"Then what is?" she asks, throwing her hands up in the air. "I've spent most of my life on your ship. You've taught me everything I know. Why won't you let me just go?"
"Because─" he started, before cutting himself off. His voice softened, shifting from pirate captain to father. "Because you'd have to pass through siren territory."
Ellie's breath caught in her throat at that word.
Sirens.
You.
Her fists clenched at her sides at she mentally held on to whatever shred of composure she could muster.
"So?" she swallowed audibly, a crack in her voice betraying her true feelings. "We survived the attack years ago─"
"Yes, but not without losing half our crew. And yes, while I trust you and the others can hold your own, I..." he exhaled through his nose. "I can't lose you, too."
"You won't," she whispered, unsure if she was trying to convince Joel or herself.
"You can't guarantee that, Ellie."
"Yeah, well, you can't guarantee that you'll be fine either," she mumbled before she caught herself. But it was too late, he'd heard her.
"What?" he asked, confusion etched into every line of his furrowed brow. "What are you talking about?"
Ellie sighed, that guilty feeling creeping up on her, the kind she got whenever she was caught trying to handle a gun at five years old. "You're─" she paused, trying to think of a way to say it that wasn't so...rude. "You're getting old, Joel."
She immediately winced at her own words, but she spoke before he could retort. "If something happens to you, if you get sick... I-I won't have enough money to help you. At least if I do this, I can get enough coins to support both of us. That way you don't have to worry about working or whatever the hell."
All the hardness in his gaze melted at her words. "Ellie..." he started but was unable to find the end of his sentence.
Silence quickly engulfed them, stealing the words from their throats. They just stood there, hearts heavy with too much care for the other, unable to fathom the thought Death taking them away.
One minute turned into two.
Two to three.
Joel looked at her, long and hard, then reached into his coat. From an inner pocket, he drew out a bundle wrapped in cheap cloth. With slow, careful fingers, he unwrapped it to reveal a compass unlike any other ─ a device ringed in obsidian, its face cracked through the center, yet still humming faintly with an inner glow.
"This was given to me by a witch in the Coral Isles," he said. "Cost me three years and the bones of a friend. The needle doesn't point north. It points... where you want it to."
Ellie took it reverently. The compass was heavy in her palm, as though it carried more than just direction. Her fingers brushed the carved symbols along the rim ─ ancient, unfamiliar, and still warm to the touch.
"You follow this," Joel said quietly, "and it'll take you where you want to go."
Ellie nodded.
Thunder cracked above them, this time closer. Louder. The smell of rain came on fast and thick, like the promise of something deeper stirring beneath the waves.
Joel took her hand in his and held it for a moment, his grip still firm despite the tremor in his fingers. "Don't let 'em make a legend of you, Ellie. Legends don't live long."
"I won't," she swallowed. "I promise."
Briefly, he wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "I love you, kid."
She managed to crack a soft smile as she pulled away. "Yeah, I love you, too."
And with that, she turned and strode into the rain, toward the pier where The Widow — sails dark, crew restless, and destiny looming just beyond the edge of the known world. Behind her, Joel stood alone beneath the sagging awning, his shadow long and trembling with the weight of everything he could not stop.
───────────────────────────────
a/n: short chapter but im running on coffee and collide heartbreak 🤧 ANYWAYSS i'm actually pretty happy with the way this turned out!!! @valeisaslut writing one chapter isnt a good enough coping mechanism i am still in shambles
taglist: @jazzyxox @rhian88 @boricuasirena25 @sleepingwasp @hyperbabes @vangoes @iluvelliewilliamsasf comment to be added!!
hi !! i just wanted to tell you your nerd!ellie series is really good keep up the good work :))
thank uu mama, i kinda stalked your page and omgg i love the theme of it or wtv 😭 tangled is one of my favorite disney movies and i had the fattest crush on rapunzel as a kid. ALSO, i saw you’re boricua! me toooo 🇵🇷 thank you for sm support, que tengas un día bendecido. 💕
synopsis: ellie always had a soft spot for the sea. until one day, she vowed to never make that mistake again.
content: MDNI 18+ content, eventual smut, fluff, angst, gore(ish), swearing, enemies to lovers, yearning, slow burn, use of y/n, usage of alcohol, violence, sexism (note: this will be updated as i go)
───────────────────────────────
PROLOGUE: "𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒌𝒚"
ELLIE WILLIAMS WAS MANY THINGS.
One ─ She was beautiful. That was a given, of course. But she wasn't your typical kind of beautiful. She was the kind that made women confused. The kind that got men furious because they couldn't process the fact a woman could pull off a man's wardrobe better than the men themselves. The kind that had guys saying, "You'd be cuter if you just wore a dress like a normal girl." Fucking bastards.
Two ─ Ellie Williams wasn't normal, and she knew that. Her parents had left her, but Joel had taken her in soon after. Growing up, she'd spend most of her time on Joel's ship, steering the helm with his hands over her smaller ones. There weren't any other kids on the ship, but she didn't mind, really. Back then, all she needed was Joel and ocean.
Three ─ She liked looking through the old books in Joel's cabin. There was just something about looking into the past that she enjoyed. Like gazing through a looking glass of smudged ink and dusty pages. One day, she stumbled upon a sooty journal of his, filled to the brim with historical creatures. That's when she found out she liked dinosaurs. Sometimes she'd look up at the night sky and stare at the brightest star, wondering if one day it'd crash down and wipe her out just like it did them. Maybe then she could see a dinosaur up close.
Four ─ She loved the sea. The faint scent of salt, the humid breeze clumping her auburn hair together, the rock of the ship, all of it. It was basically her home.
But every home has some cobwebs in the basement.
Ellie always wondered what lurked beneath the surface of the water. Sure, she knew of different types of fish, saw the occasional dolphin leap out of the water, but that barely scratched the surface. So, she did the only thing she could think of.
She asked Joel.
And heavens, was she met with a whole new wave of knowledge.
The sea, or rather Joel, had splashed her in the face in the form of a journal. There were so many things she'd never known of: turns out the Kraken was a real thing, fucking sick if you asked her. Kelpies, hydras, sea serpents, merfolk, the like. But when she finally reached the last page, one word stained the page, scratched out like a secret that'd kill her if she'd know.
Sirens.
Another thing about Ellie Williams ─ She was curious. Too curious. Curious enough to ask Joel about it.
"Joel, what're sirens?" she asked casually, legs swinging back and forth as she sat on a stray barrel.
Then, she caught it. His hands clenched around the helm, throat bobbed. But it was gone in a blink of an eye, a weary smile pulling at his lips, like a mask had been pulled over his face. And with a sigh, he folded, but only because it was her asking.
In Joel's words, sirens were angels of ruin ─ mermaids who'd lost their way. They sang their own melodies. Not your typical violin or piano. They didn't need any instruments, all they needed was their voice, luring fishermen in. Turning the tables, if you will. Sin never sounded so sweet. Not to mention how gorgeous they were.
Veiled by the sea, they were calculated, more intelligent than any other creature he'd encountered before. They didn't pounce on instinct, they waited. The creatures caught poor, vulnerable sailors off-guard. Whispered praise in their ears before hissing. Trailed kisses down their neck before sinking in, not stopping until every last bit of their souls were drained, clawed hand dragging the bodies into the sea like a secret falling upon deaf ears.
"They don't sound that intense," she said, but oh, how wrong she was. The thing about sirens was that nobody had ever witnessed them long enough without getting yanked down towards the sea floor. There was no data on them, only that they were dangerous in every sense of the word.
Shaking his head, Joel swallowed thickly. "You won't know how dangerous they are until you see 'em," he spoke, voice rough. "Now that I've said that, just promise me that you won't go looking for one, alright?"
"Yeah, yeah, I promise," she rolled her eyes. "I'm not that stupid, old man."
Joel smirked. "Oh, I'm not so sure 'bout that-"
"Hey!" Ellie narrowed her eyes. "That was uncalled for."
Another thing about Ellie Williams─
She never fucking listened.
───────────────────────────────
That was the last time she spoke to him.
That night, laying in her cabin, her eyes fluttered closed for the night.
Or so she thought.
A distant hum reached her ears, accompanying the sloshing of the waves she knew so well. It was faint, loud enough to make her open her eyes but soft enough to lull her back to sleep. And for a moment, it stopped.
Huffing, Ellie rolled over onto her side, her eyes shutting again. After a few moments, her eyelids began to grow heavier, the exhaustion of the day catching up to her-
The hum started again, louder this time. It sounded like... a woman?
Huh. Weird.
Last she remembered, the only other women on the ship got off at their last stop three days ago.
Ellie groaned, slipping her dagger out from under her pillow, She climbed out of bed, adorned in one of Joel's old dress shirts, half unbuttoned and a pair of brown trousers that hung low on her hips, both of them old and worn-in but still her favourites. Her bare feet padded against the creaky wood, groaning under her weight with each step.
She pushed open her door, the cool night breeze embracing her in a familiar hug. Her free hand came up to rub at her left eye, blurry gaze scanning the deck. "I swear to fuck, which one of you snuck your hookups onto the shi-" she cut herself off, eyes landing on a crew member ─ Owen, was it? ─ leaning dangerously off the edge of the railing as if being tugged by some unknown force.
"Hey...what the hell are you─"
"Owen, what are you doing?! We're supposed to be on watch right now."
Footsteps came rushing behind her as she turned around, finding that the voice belonged to Manny, one of the new additions to their crew. Owen and Manny had become best friends real quick, Ellie knew that much. But at the sound of his best friend's voice, Owen didn't even flinch.
"Owen?" Manny asks again, exasperated. "Come on, we need to go. Now."
No response.
Now concerned, Manny's eyebrows furrow, his voice going from annoyed to straight up confused. "Owen...? Are you alright?"
That voice Ellie heard earlier grows louder, piercing her ears with an intensity that makes her clasp her hands over them to drown it out, eyes shutting involuntarily. Like a choir had just started belting, the sound reverberates off the ship, and Ellie swears she can feel it vessel tremble. But just as soon as it starts, it stops. She winces, slowly unplugging her ears and opening her eyes, cautious. But what she sees, or lack thereof, is what confuses her the most.
Owen's...gone.
"...What the fuck?" she asks to nobody in particular, her eyes trained to the spot Owen just was. Right then, the rest of the crew barges out of their quarters and out onto the deck, eager to know what the sudden sound was.
"The hell was that?" Ellie turns her head to find Joel standing right next to her. She blinks out of her stunned stupor, her mouth opening and closing, as if trying to find the right words.
"I...I don't know. Owen was just here, then that weird sound came. And now he's gone. Manny saw it too, right Ma─" she spins around only to find Manny missing from where he was at her side. Bewildered, she searches for him, catching a glimpse of the top of his head past the crowd of crew members.
"Manny!" she calls out, pushing her way through the mass of people to get to him. When she does, she calls out again. "Manny! You saw that right?"
No response.
Okay, what in the ever-loving fuck was going on?
The voice starts again. Confused, the crew members begin to line the railings, peering into the depths below. Wanting to know what the hell was so interesting about the water, Ellie slots herself in between two people, hesitantly looking into the water.
She's immediately met with the sight of a woman's head peeking out of the water.
A mermaid.
Ellie can just barely make out her features. She can tell she's a few years older than her, or at least she looks as such, but that doesn't make her any less beautiful. Blonde waves of hair cascade down her back like a waterfall in of itself, her eyes a shade of blue that could rival the ocean's glory. Ellie's eyes trail down to the woman's long neck, to her collarbone, to─ Ellie mentally groans at herself, immediately looking away. I really am better than no man.
But then the voice starts again, each note spilling from the woman's soft lips. Ellie'd heard stories of mermaids serenading sailors in Joel's journal, but it was usually a very rare occurrence.
She blinks.
Five other mermaid poke their heads out of the water, their voice joining together in a harmony that could pass as angelic. Ethereal. Otherworldly.
Another blink.
There's easily about twenty of them in total now. And they're gradually beginning to approach the ship, like bees closing in around a flower, eager to get a taste of its divine nectar.
She blinks again.
When her eyes open again, they land on someone in the cluster of women. One of the mermaids peeks the top half of her face out of the water, only her hair, eyes, and nose bridge visible. She looked younger, perhaps her age.
Ellie's breath hitches as her eyes meet the young mermaid's, and suddenly all of her gall washes away, replaced with the kind of admiration that goes deeper than skin, that stains every inch of your soul with its caress.
Staring at you, Ellie feels as if she was drowning. But if it meant looking into your eyes longer, she never wanted to come up for air. She'd rather dive in further, weave in and out of the coral and play with the fish.
You looked like heaven incarnate, and God save her, but Ellie wanted nothing more but to reach out and touch you, just to prove this wasn't a dream. Everything from the slope of your nose to the way your wet hair clung to your face was so effortlessly perfect, as if you were carved by Poseidon himself.
"Drop the lifeboats!" she heard someone yell through her trance. Reluctantly, she tore her eyes away to catch sight of the lifeboat quickly filling up with eager sailors who wished to see the majestic creatures up close.
Without a spare thought, Ellie rushed over to the smaller boat, bare feet shuffling against the hard wood. She didn't even turn around when she heard Joel calling after her, taking a seat on the uncomfortable wooden bench as the boat gradually grew further from the sky and closer to the sea.
The boat hit the water with a splash, creating ripples in the water like silent echoes. The crowd of mermaids swam up to the boat, but Ellie was only focused on one of them in particular. Hesitantly, you approached her, the lower half of your face still submerged. You didn't sing like the others, she noticed, but paid it no mind.
You stopped just shy of the boat, peering up at her through droplet-littered lashes. You didn't speak, sing, or do anything. You just stared at her, as if intrigued by her kind. And for some reason, to Ellie, that meant more than words.
"Hi," Ellie smiled, careful not to startle you. "I'm Ellie. What's your name?"
You didn't say anything back, but how could you if your mouth was underwater?
She reached out a hand to you, your eyes tracking the motion before warily glancing towards the other mermaids. You looked scared, unsure, as if her touch would burn you.
"Hey, it's okay," she spoke with a gentleness that was foreign even to her. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
You glanced at the others again before your eyes met Ellie's. She couldn't see it, but you swallowed thickly under the water. Hesitant, you reached one hand out of the water, placing it against hers in a way that looked like you were comparing hand sizes.
You seemed to relax, Ellie noticed as your hand lost some of that tension it'd been harbouring. Another thing she noticed was that your skin was incredibly soft. So much so that she never wanted to pull away.
Your hand interlocked with hers first. You hadn't even realised you'd done it, but now that you did, it felt natural. Perfect, like you were made to fit together. A smile pulled at her lips, and though she couldn't see it, she could tell you mirrored the action from the slight crinkle of your eyes.
In that moment, the sea and the sky touched.
It wasn't supposed to happen. Hell, it wasn't even supposed to be possible. But maybe when night painted the sky black, only for the sea to mirror it, they could. Maybe they could bleed into each other despite everything against them. It wasn't often when the sea reflected the sky perfectly, but when they did, in those stolen moments, it was something magical. Powerful.
However, all good things must come to an end.
A guttural scream cuts through their little bubble beyond time. Ellie whips her head in the direction of the sound, only quick enough to get a glimpse of a familiar head of curls getting violently dragged off the boat by the blonde's hands wrapped around his neck, her teeth sinking into his shoulder. Manny. His body hits the water with a painful splash, bubbles erupting to the surface, the only evidence of his screams.
Ellie's eyes widen in realisation.
Sirens.
But when Ellie turns back around, expecting to see you, the fin of your tail is whipped in her face, the sheer force shoving her backwards and throwing off her balance. Her spine hits the floor of the tiny boat, bare, numb feet dangling in the water, bait for the sirens that none of them take, too preoccupied with silencing the screams of their own prey.
As the initial whiplash wears off, a pain erupts in her hand. Lifting it to her face, she follows the trail of blood all the way up to the source. A scratch spouts blood from in between her middle and index fingers ─ a scratch that you created before swimming back to God knows where you came from.
She doesn't know how long she lays there in that life boat, waiting for Death to take her already. It could've been seconds, it could've been hours. All she knew was that it was long enough for the crew to start shooting at the sirens and throw sticks of dynamite into the water. For Joel to pull the lifeboat back up and embrace her in a bone-crushing hug.
That night, Ellie experienced a moment of weakness.
And she figured that if she wanted to survive out here on uncharted waters, she couldn't let that happen again.
Let it be known that Ellie Williams was many things─
─And weak wasn't one of them.
───────────────────────────────
a/n: soooo, how we feelin?? 👀 this went through heavy editing barely an hour after posting but i'm finally happy with it!! ALSO GO FOLLOW @valeisaslut BC SHE IS THE SOLE REASON I STARTED THIS SERIES LIKE OML <333
taglist: @jazzyxox and hopefully more!! comment to be added <33
i’m in my last semester and schools been kicking my butt 🤧🤧 i’m an overachiever so im trying to get all As as usual. BUT DONT WORRY!! i’ll be done with school in mid to late may 🙏
cute little painfully nerdy 2000s ellie williams x popular bimbo fem reader part 3
since yall hornballs wanted smut so badly 🙄
cw : smut, public sex in class, degradation, ellie’s horny fantasies, wet dreams, plot twist kinda
the bell rings. you don’t rush to your seat—you never do. you glide in late like always, cherry gum in your mouth, tight hot pink juicy couture velour zip up barley zipped up with your black lacy VS push up bra peeking through. a boy stares. you don’t care. you’re too busy reapplying your gloss with your middle finger.
ellie sees you before you see her, she recognizes your heavy, dreamy scent of the love spell body spray from 5 miles away.
she’s already at her desk, hood up, legs bouncing under the table like she’s got an energy drink in her bloodstream. which, honestly? she probably does. her fingers are smudged with pencil and her notebooks half open, little doodles of swords and boobs peeking through the lined paper. she’s not ready. for anything.
mr. brooks clears his throat.
“alright, students. group projects. DNA replication and genetic variation. pages 94 through 99. picked your partners for you.”
groans ripple across the room. you roll your eyes, zoning out as he goes on to list random pairs of students in the class… “david and rebecca, ashley and karen, adrian and braxton, becky and jared-“ then suddenly.
“y/n and… ellie.”
you look up from your manicured hands in your lap instantly, silence. you make a disgusted look. brows furrowed, lips pouted.
but ellie? she jerks in her seat like someone pulled a string in her back. her eyes snap up and lock on you, wide behind her crooked-ass glasses. her whole face goes red—forehead, ears, even her damn neck. she freezes. then immediately starts fumbling with her the spirals on her notebook, like she thinks if she looks busy enough, maybe you’ll ignore her.
you don’t.
you sigh heavily as you take your time walking over, swinging your hips just enough to make two boys whisper. you drop your bag next to her desk. she looks at it like it’s a bomb.
you sit down.
“so,” you say, voice flat, bored, already annoyed. “you gonna write the whole thing or just f*ck yourself to it?”
she chokes. like physically chokes, hand flying to her chest, eyes bugging out. she tries to answer, fails, tries again, and somehow makes it worse.
“i—i don’t—i wasn’t—f*ck mysel-?—no—what—”
you stare. blow a bubble. let it pop, then giggle in her face.
her face is ruined. her mouth opens and closes like a fish. she looks like she wants to die. and then crawl under the desk. and then die again.
you lean in, just a little, enough for your perfume to hit her nose.
“i still remember that sketchbook from last week by the way.”
ellie flinches.
“i wasn’t—you know.. it’s for anatomy,” she blurts, which makes no sense, and she knows it. “not like, your—i didn’t mean your anatomy, just—like—the concept of anatomy, which, like, technically—f*ck—”
you tilt your head.
ellie covers her face with her hands and groans, long and low, like she’s in pain.
“do you touch yourself to those with your hoodie on, or do you take it off to set the mood?”
“please,” she whispers. “please shut up.”
you giggle again, soft and wicked.
adrian—your adrian—is three rows in front of y’all, hearing the whole thing. you haven’t even acknowledged him since class started either.
ellie peeks through her fingers. she’s twitchy. sweaty. miserable. and when you pull your chair closer, she damn near leaps out of her skin.
“we’re gonna get an A,” you hum, dragging her open textbook toward you. “you’re gonna do all the work. and you’re gonna keep your nasty little sketchbook zipped up tight.”
she nods. small. frail.
“say ‘yes, ma’am.’”
“…yes, ma’am.”
you smile. pop another bubble.
this is gonna be fun.
ellie keeps her eyes locked on the textbook. she hasn’t spoken in five minutes. not since the “yes, ma’am.” her handwriting’s shaking. her cheeks are red. her hoodie sleeves are halfway over her fingers again, clenched tight like she’s praying.
you lean back in your seat, legs spread just a little wider, flipping your hair over your shoulder. her eyes flicker for a second—just a second—to the inside of your thigh under the desk.
you catch it.
“are you even paying attention?” you ask, fake sweet. “or are you too busy trying not to cum in your boxers?”
her pencil snaps in half.
“i’m—i’m paying attention,” she mumbles, head down, the tips of her ears red like she’s been slapped. “mitosis. cell cycle. S-phase. DNA replication. i—i know it.”
you hum. press your knee against hers under the desk. she jerks back like she’s been shocked. you look down at her shaky hand on the table. long, twitchy fingers. drum and guitar callused.
slowly, you reach out. grab her wrist. guide it down.
“wh—what are you—” she tries to pull away, but she’s weak. pathetic. you’re stronger. meaner. so much prettier. you press her hand against your bare thigh, just above the hem of your skirt. warm skin. smooth. soft.
she stops breathing.
“f*ck,” she whispers, wide-eyed, voice cracking. “you—you can’t—i’ll f*cking—”
you don’t let go.
“don’t be a p*ssy,” you murmur, eyes half-lidded. “it’s just a little skin, right? nothing you haven’t seen in your nasty little sketches.”
her fingers twitch.
you push her hand higher. just a little.
the edge of your thong peeks out. she squeezes her eyes shut, like she can block it out. but her fingers stay.
shaking. burning. gripping your thigh like it’s keeping her alive. ellie whimpers.
you smile, slow and wicked and keep her hand right where it is. she doesn’t move at first.
your fingers are still around her wrist, soft but firm, like a leash she doesn’t want to escape. her palm is pressed flat to your thigh, skin burning hot, nails barely grazing you. you’re looking ahead like nothing’s happening. like you’re so fucking bored. like her hand being between your legs is just part of your routine.
ellie’s brain? completely fried. ‘f*ck. f*ck. f*ck’ she thought.
she doesn’t know where to look. her eyes are flicking between the worksheet and your lip gloss and your thigh and the window and the corner of the floor like any of it will help her not lose it.
her face is flushed. her mouth’s dry. her hoodie’s too hot and her fingers are twitching because all she can think about is—
‘she’s soft. she’s so soft. i can’t—f*ck—i can’t.’
you’re right next to her. in the flesh. warm. sighing softly. looking down, pencil in hand while pretending to read the textbook like her hand isn’t right there.
and now?
her fingers start to move.
slow. slight. like she doesn’t even realize at first. like muscle memory. like her horniness has taken over completely.
she slides the tips up, just a little.
then down.
tiny little strokes. featherlight. testing you. seeing what she can get away with.
you shift in your seat.
press your legs together.
you don’t look at her. but you don’t stop her either.
so she keeps going.
and her heart is slamming in her chest.
she’s so wet in her boxers, her clit becoming a rapid beating second heartbeat to the point it’s actually painful. ellie thinks she might cum just from this.
her fingers dip slightly beneath the curve of your thigh. under the edge of your thong. just barely.
her breath stutters.
you’re wet. not soaked. not dripping. just warm and soft and slightly damp and f*ckf*ck—
she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from groaning. her forehead hits the desk. just for a second. to ground herself.
you look at her finally. say nothing. just smirk. and she knows you know exactly what you’re doing.
she doesn’t say a word. she just keeps stroking.
slow, pathetic, desperate.
and no one can see a thing.
yet, her fingers go still when she feels it. the way your c*nt clenches as she pushes past the edge of your soaked thong.
how easy it is to slip in.
how tight you are. how f*cking warm you are.
like you’ve been waiting.
ellie lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding—shaky, low—and stares at your face like it’s the only thing that matters.
you’re still looking at your notes. like this is nothing.
like her fingers aren’t buried inside you right now, moving slow, dragging against that soft spot she’s imagined so many times her body could do it with her eyes closed.
and it kinda is.
her fingers start working in that perfect rhythm she’s practiced—on herself, in the dark, in the shower, during her breakdowns after seeing you in a mini skirt.
she curls them just right.
presses deep.
slides out slick and slow, then back in, faster.
you twitch.
your thighs shift.
but you don’t look at her.
and that’s what makes her lose it.
“f*ck,” she whispers. her head is down, lips barely moving. “you’re gonna make me cum in my f*ckin’ boxers, sh*t.”
you don’t flinch. you just turn the page in the textbook, lip caught between your teeth.
ellie’s eyes flicker to your mouth.
her fingers thrust deeper. faster. the sound is obscene but muffled by the low hum of the class, the hum of the lights, the buzz of old ac.
“this p*ssy’s so f*ckin’ warm,” she whispers, voice cracked. “you’re gonna—geez—you’re gonna ruin me.”
you pulse around her. her legs shake.
she’s gritting her teeth. trying not to grunt. trying not to moan.
“can’t believe i get to finger you in bio,” she breathes, nose brushing your shoulder. “you’re so mean to me—so f*ckin’ mean—and you’re so wet. you like this? letting the loser do this to you?”
your pencil scratches across the paper like nothing’s happening.
you’re breathing harder now. lips parted. eyes still down.
but your hips start moving—tiny little rocks forward against her fingers—and that’s when ellie knows you’re close.
she curves them deep, presses her palm against your clit, and starts pumping harder.
you clamp your thighs.
grip the edge of your worksheet.
swallow a whimper.
“good f*ckin’ girl,” she mutters, barely audible. “take it. just take it. i’ll make you cum so hard you won’t walk to 5th period.”
and you?
you turn your head just slightly.
lips brush her ear.
“then do it, perv.”
ellie’s gone. she’s imagined this so many times. in her sketchbook. in the shower. in her f*cking dreams.
you sitting on her lap, whispering in her ear, your lip gloss smearing on her neck, your tits bouncing while you ride her neon green strap—
you calling her a freak while grinding on her face—
you licking her fingers while sitting on her bed like a brat—
suddenly, she jerks awake with a sharp inhale, eyes wide, hoodie tangled around her arms, face flushed, sheets kicked off the bed.
her room’s still dark, lit only by the faint glow of her lava lamp and the blinking red light of her PS3. her sketchbook’s open next to her—flipped to a half-finished drawing of you sitting on her lap with your thong around one ankle.
her hand’s still in her boxers.
and yeah… they’re soaked.
disgusting. tragic. predictable.
ellie groans. drags her forearm over her face like it’ll wipe the sin away. mutters to herself.
“f*ck”
her voice cracks. she rolls onto her back, staring at the popcorn textured ceiling. her stomach flips. her hips twitch.
and suddenly she’s grinding her hand into her boxers again—again—because the image won’t leave her brain.
your face when you bit your lip.
your whisper in her ear.
your p*ssy squeezing her fingers like it needed her.
it’s too bad this is one of them. just another one of her pathetic dreams.
OMG, eu sou viciada em Ellie Nerd! Por favor, me alimente com mais dessa linda história (eu sou obcecada e definitivamente sonharei com ela hoje à noite).
muchas gracias. 🥹 me alegra muchísimo que te guste y que disfrutes leer mi trabajo. estoy 100% trabajando en más partes de esta historia. disfruto tanto escribir sobre ellie nerd, y se siente muy bonito ver el impacto que ha tenido desde que publiqué mi trabajo en esta app. gracias por todo el apoy. 💕
i want to know the lore, does reader like ellie back secretly? does she think it's cute? does she secretly dress up for ellie because idk... i'm so invested???
IM SOOO SORRY FOR REPLYING TO THIS LATE IVE JUST SEEN THIS!
okay so… YES! she acts all cruel to ellie, plays it off or wtv. but deep down? she thinks ellie’s cute, she likes her. she REFUSES to admit it. she pretends ellie’s all gross and annoying, mocks her, rolls her eyes. but still keeps notices every time ellie looks at her.
reader think she’s cute—but it pisses her off. ellie’s always acting so awkward, hiding under that hoodie, fidgeting with her fingers or backpack straps, sweating when reader walks by.
but she secretly think it’s adorable.
she doesn’t wanna admit it tho, doesn’t wanna admit that ellie’s desperation and awkwardness makes her feel wanted in a way adrian could never make her feel. and yes, she absolutely secretly dresses up for her.
she notices what makes ellie freeze up. the way she adjusts her push up bra in front of ellie? how she licks her glossed lips? when she bends down wearing her mini skirts RIGHT IN FRONT OF ELLIE? all intentional. she’ll act bothered about the staring, but she’s always aware of it. she walks slower past the band room just to make sure ellie sees her thong peeking above her waistband from the hallway.
and to get freaky… reader might even sometimes fantasize about ellie losing control. ellie’s always shy. nervous. but in readers head? she imagine her snapping. pinning her to her bed. gripping readers thighs with rough, drummer and guitarist callused hands and begging to make reader cum. reader pretends she’s above ellie, but secretly? reader aches for ellie to wreck her.
she might’ve made fun of ellie’s sketchbook, called it creepy but she secretly liked flipping through it. she’d do it again. she pretends to hate the attention, but would notice if it hypothetically stopped (ellie’s never gonna stop being a simp for her) and probably get upset.
reader does like ellie. not just for the attention—but for the devotion. for the way ellie looks at her like she’s something divine. it’s addicting. and secretly? It makes her feel seen in a way no one else manages.
she might call ellie pathetic, gross, a perv—but deep down? she likes that ellie would do anything for her. she likes that she’s the reason ellie can’t think straight. she likes being wanted that much. she might even like ellie—for real.
but to admit it? that would be way too vulnerable. so instead… she bullies her. wears her lip gloss. flips her hair in ellie’s face like she doesn’t care.
cute little painfully nerdy 2000s ellie williams x popular bimbo fem reader part 2
in the girls’ locker room the fluorescent lights buzz overhead. perfume clouds thick in the air. flat irons sizzle, flip phones chirp, and someone in the corner is crying over their boyfriend breaking up with them.
you’re standing in front of your locker. glossy lips pursed, sidekick phone in the pocket of your low rise jeans, your hands pulling your tank top off slow, dramatic, giving the girls (and let’s be real, mostly one girl) a show. dramatic push up, leopard print, hot pink VS bra on full display.
now that girl? ellie williams. corner bench goblin. hoodie up. knees turned in. glasses slipping, lip bitten raw, sketchbook trembling in her lap.
she’s not even pretending anymore. just fully drawing you. boobs front and center. pink glitter gel pen already on standby. there’s a little bubble by your nipples that says:
“soft?? or dangerous??”
then she gasps. you turned your head and looked at her. and because the universe hates her, her stupid clammy hand jerks—
sketchbook goes flying.
sprawled open on the tile.
right at your feet.
you look down. brows furrow. blink. then, slowly, you bend over—boobs still out—and pick it up with two manicured fingers like it’s covered in germs.
“…what the actual f*ck is this.”
ellie’s already stammering. “i-i was just—it’s for a project—i’m in—uh—figure drawing—?”
you hold up the page. “is that supposed to be me? are these my tits?”
now, the whole locker room is watching. girls whispering. dina’s jaw is dropped. someone’s filming on their pink razr.
you flip through the sketchbook. pages of you in different bras. different outfits. one of you in a bikini you haven’t even worn yet.
you hold one up. “why am i in a schoolgirl skirt with whipped cream on my chest?”
ellie squeaks. “i—it’s symbolic?”
you raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “symbolic of what? your weird little loser nut fantasy?”
she shrinks.
“geez,” you mutter. “you’re so pathetic.”
that made ellie wet as if she wasn’t already. she opens her mouth. closes it. opens it again. “i think I’m in love with you,” she says.
you burst out laughing. “no sh*t, perv.”
ellie freezes. she looks like you just stabbed her in the chest with a glittery gel pen.
“wait—hold on—please,” she says, voice going higher than her GPA’s ever been. “you can’t—you can’t keep that.”
you arch a brow, already flipping to the next page. “i absolutely can. possession is, like, nine-tenths of the law. ever heard of it?”
ellie lunges forward instinctively—then thinks better of it. hands up, like she’s in a hostage negotiation. “okay. okay. let’s talk. we can talk. that sketchbook—it’s not safe for the public. you haven’t even seen the worst pages.”
you pause, intrigued. “oh? there’s worse?”
she twitches. visibly. “page sixteen is a crime. i drew that at 3AM while watching wild things and—i wasn’t in my right mind. please.”
you start turning the page. she yelps.
“i’ll pay you!” you glance up. “with what? your lunch tokens?”
“i’ll sell my PS3. i’ll—i’ll do your homework—“ you hold up a page. “is this me… as a sexy vampire?”
ellie visibly short-circuits. “okay, that one was experimental.”
you smirk. “you gave me fangs.”
“it was a metaphor!”
“for what?!”
she just breathes. hard. ragged. “desire?”
you’re wheezing now, flipping faster. “why am I in a maid outfit on this page?”
she slaps her forehead. “that one’s not done! you’re supposed to be stepping on me!”
you look up, stunned.
“i was in a weird place, okay?!”
you cackle, stepping back as she reaches forward again. “if you touch me, i will literally call coach vera and tell her you’re having a pervert episode.”
she groans, dropping her face into her hands. “i was gonna burn it. i swear. i had a lighter and everything and then i remembered i have asthma and the fumes might kill me—”
you flip another page. pause. “is that… my bra on your head?”
she’s now just crouching behind a bench like a feral animal. “i was doing character study.”
you tuck the sketchbook under your arm and fix her with a smile that’s all teeth. “i’m keeping this.”
ellie just whimpers.
you lean in, giggle mockingly, casually evil. “i’m putting sticky notes on the ones i like best.”
she makes a strangled noise. and not in the usual creepy, horny way—this one’s real. “page seventeen has smudges—don’t judge me by that one!”
her shoulders slump. glasses fogged beyond saving. she’s blinking a lot, like she’s trying not to cry. it’s giving tragic victorian orphan. if victorian orphans wore spider-man boxers and thought about your boobs 24/7.
you pause.
“huh.”
it’s not like you feel bad, exactly. but it’s… visible. pathetic, even for her. she’s gone quiet. staring at the floor like the sketchbook was her only shot at happiness and now you’re gonna frame it above your bed like a serial killer trophy.
you sigh. loudly. dramatically. like it pains you to be merciful.
“my goodness, fine.”
you shove the sketchbook toward her chest. “take your little porn diary, freak.”
ellie grabs it like it’s a newborn baby. cradles it. whispers, “thank you” like you just pulled her out of a burning building.
“i don’t want your loser fantasies anyway,” you mutter, tossing your hair, adjusting your bra strap. “half of them didn’t even make sense. why was i riding you with a neon penis in thigh-highs?”
ellie doesn’t answer. she’s too busy clutching the book to her chest like it’s her oxygen supply.
you roll your eyes. “ugh. you’re welcome or whatever.”
she looks up at you, eyes glassy behind her crooked frames.
“…you have a really beautiful soul,” she says.
you just pat her head like a dog. “clean your glasses, williams. you’re fogging up again.”
and with that you flip your hair over your shoulder and start walking away back to your locker, muttering just loud enough for her to hear:
“sick in the head. go draw a tree or something, loser. get a grip.”
just like that, you’re gone—lip gloss shining, the kind of exit that belongs in a teen movie finale. girls part like the red sea. you don’t even look back.
ellie just stands there. silent. cradling her returned sketchbook like it’s the ark of the covenant. knees weak. boxers sticking.
she flips open to page sixteen. stares at the half-finished drawing of you in a silk robe that’s barely on, licking frosting off your finger in a kitchen that says “boobie bakery” on a pink neon sign in the back. you’re surrounded by cupcakes. in the bottom corner, ellie had scribbled in shaky handwriting:
“i’d let her eat me like dessert. respectfully. or not.”
her hand trembles. she closes the sketchbook gently. holds it to her chest. eyes wide. flushed.
you’d seen it. maybe not that one, but enough. enough to know.
and you still gave it back. called her sick in the head, sure. but didn’t kill her. ellie sinks to the bench.
her chest is tight.
her glasses are fogging again.
she’s pretty sure her boxers are ruined forever.
she whispers, “she noticed me…”
then slowly slumps against the locker, eyes wide, cheeks pink, heart doing backflips.
she’s never been more down bad in her life.
and tragically? she’s only gonna get worse.
taglist : @deliciouslydeviantsatan, @valeisaslut, @lovelessswan, and @dollinrehab. lmk if uu wanna be added. :)
Hi gorg! just dropping by to say i loved you nerdy ellie x popular reader! i see you’re a new writer, and im so happy you joined this community 💕 pls if you start a taglist add me so i can see your amazing updates, hope you have a great day <3
awww yess thank uuu. i will definitely add uu when i do a taglist. :) i hope u have an incredible day as well 💞
loser, nerdy 2000s ellie x popular, bimbo, mean girl fem!reader headcanons
authors note : just wanted to say thank uu sm for the support i’ve seen on my last post abt nerdy ellie, i fr posted it without thinking and i can tell a lot of yall like it! im taking requests for her so lmk what uu want. :)
cw : some nsfw (some of the things i put in the nsfw might be like pg13 but i still put them there anyways idk 😭), lotta jokes abt boobies, ellie’s PAINFULLY nerdy like oh my goodness. takes place in the late 2000s to be oddly specific.
— SFW
• she has fantasies of you and her in the medieval times, you being the glamorous princess and her being your daring, knight in shinning armor. she literally draws it in her sketchbook, pages filled with doodles of you in corsets or big and gorgeous low cut gowns, her holding up a sword towards your “boyfriend” adrian, who in her medieval universe is “lord adrian of valebrume”, a totally made-up kingdom name that sounds dark and full of lies. she made sure it rhymed with gloom, doom, and consume—because duh, he’s the villain.
• and her favorite medieval scenarios? saving you. you’re chained in a tower. a dragon’s outside. adrian is there, trying to “rescue” you but being a fool. ellie shows up on horseback, sword drawn, cloak flapping dramatically. she slays the dragon, pushes adrian off a cliff, and drops to one knee like: “my lady. i have come for you.” you run into her arms, kiss her hard, and whisper, “you’re all I ever wanted, sir williams…”
• she can solve a rubik’s cube in under a minute. but she will not do it in front of people because she’s been bullied enough. only her stuffed triceratops knows how smart she really is.
• she’s so soft for you it’s pathetic. you could insult her in front of the entire class and she’d still smile and go “you’re so funny…” like a kicked puppy. you could say “shut up, ellie” and she’d respond with “yes ma’am” and a full-body shiver.
• 100% draws on her converse “E + (your initial)” with a heart inside of it.
• she’s, OF COURSE, obsessed with dinosaurs. she’ll say corny pick up lines like “i think if i was a dinosaur, i’d be a simp-o-saurus. because… y’know… for you. i’m simpin’ real hard.” and then she’d probably smack herself in the head after like “what the f*ck was i thinking…”.
• even though she’s HEAVILY bullied (specifically for being a lesbian who’s obsessed with you) shes blessed enough to constantly third wheel with dina and jesse.
• quite literally owns a rubber “i heart boobies” bracelet that she insists is for breast cancer awareness, but really she just thinks boobs are awesome and it’s the only time she’s allowed to say it out loud.
• she’s knows how to skate and does it quite frequently as a source of transportation (until joel gives her his rusted up, old, monster truck that ellie isn’t allowed to get till she passes spanish).
• death note is her favorite manga. she bought the first volume from a crusty used bookstore with joel, and it unlocked something feral inside her. the intensity? the drama? the moral conflict? she ate it up. once accidentally moaned when reading a panel of misa sitting on light’s lap. would never admit that.
• she owns a fake death note she made and writes adrian’s name in it “adrian luis davis – punched in the nuts by a ghost and then falls in a porta-potty in front of the whole school. dies of embarrassment.” then she drew a tiny doodle of him slipping on a banana peel. and if another boy makes you laugh? she flips open her ‘death note’, glares over her glasses, and mutters “he’s done for.”.
• she’d be a marching band lesbian idc, she’d play percussion and have the most wrinkled up band uniform ever. and she literally never wears the hat right. it’s always tilted or falling off her head. one time it flew off during a performance and she had to kick it off the field. she was mad until she looked over and saw you laughing at her in the stands.
• still plays the guitar, (she does in every universe), and she practices every single day. after school, while watching invader zim. she zones out completely when she’s playing. it’s the only time her brain shuts up—unless she’s thinking about your boobs. then it’s just chaos. one night she was home alone and played “the only exception” by paramore after smoking weed and cried because it reminded her of you.
• she didn’t tell anyone. just laid on the floor of her living room like a snow angel in her spider-man boxers whimpering.
• she owns a jennifer’s body DVD and keeps it hidden under her bed. watches it on mute when joel isn’t home. she has the kiss scene with needy memorized (she sometimes even rewatches it and imagines it as u and her).
• she owns a chunky PS3 and plays GTA IV when she’s had a bad day, or is just like super angry as her own therapy. she’ll storm into her room, throw her backpack down, and boots up her fat, fingerprint-covered PS3. the fan’s loud, the controller’s kinda sticky from soda, and the GTA IV disc is always already in. she plays like a menace—steals a car, blasts the liberty rock radio station, and causes chaos in liberty city.
• but if she’s super mad?! like adrian calling her out in front of the whole class once again?! his arms around your waist while you just sit there?! she types cheat codes into her cracked notebook and gives niko bellic rocket launchers and infinite health. she’s full on blowing up traffic jams, launching grenades into alleyways, and driving into the water just for the hell of it.
• when joel checks on her like, “you alright, kiddo?” she just grunts “yeah,” while casually tossing molotovs at cop cars with dead eyes. but she plays minecraft when she’s just chilling. she builds the ugliest dirt houses with torches everywhere and lives like a little swamp gremlin. has one big chest labeled “STUFF” and refuses to organize it. she wears full iron armor and still falls in lava. blames lag.
• OBSESSED WITH SPIDER-MAN. she literally has spider-man bedsheets and posters in her room; one above her bed, one crooked on the celling holding on by a thread (when her fan is on too long it almost blows off), and one behind her door.
• when she writes about you in her journal she puts “my MJ <3”. she even draws it. little comic panels where she’s spidey saving MJ (you) from some made-up villain that originates from adrian. ellie gives herself abs and a six-pack. no shame.
• she also owns a knock off spider-man costume. it’s from walmart and a little too tight, with faded colors and one busted web-shooter strap. she wears it with her dirty converse and grey sweatpants and thinks she’s the coolest thing ever. wears it to the store when joel isn’t paying attention. she once got it stuck in the dryer and cried.
• only wears boxers. various different pairs that r always peaking out of her sweatpants, cargos, or jeans. her favorite pair? her prized possession? a pair of faded-ass spider-man boxers. they’re red and blue with tiny spidey logos all over. she’s had them since middle school and refuses to let them go—even though they’re worn thin, have a little hole on the thigh, and the elastic’s basically screaming for mercy.
• she calls them her “lucky boxers” and lowkey wears them on days she knows she might see you. she also owns black boxers with little green dinosaurs on them and classic plaid ones that r oversized and practically fall off her hips. the waistband’s always showing. always. at this point, it’s part of the fit. she doesn’t even care if they get bunched under her jeans—just tugs at them in the hallway like “gotta air it out.”
• if she’s nervous around you, she adjusts her boxers way too much and acts like it’s not because she’s turned on.
• and for some reason, this loser is like freakishly good at soccer? beastly good. jaw-dropping good. weirdly good. but then again it’s probably because she’s a lesbian. she’s fast, aggressive, strategic—she plays forward like she isn’t afraid to slide tackle some 6’0 dude to the ground. she gets called for fouls all the time because she plays like she’s ready to fight. her coach yells at her all the time; “williams! dial it down!”, “williams, it’s not that deep—GET OFF HER!”.
• she wears the same cleats from middle school. they’re black, duct-taped, and smell like her garage. her shin guards are always crooked, and her socks never match.
• she once tried to hit you up by calling you mamacita with the worst accent you’ve ever heard. thought it was smooth. just for you to hit her with the dirtiest look ever. let’s just say she never said that out loud again.
• her all time favorite soda is dr pepper. she drinks it a little too much… her bedroom is a crime scene of empty cans. they’re stacked into little pyramids on her windowsill, crammed into her backpack, one might even be under her pillow. joel once tripped over a can pyramid and she screamed like he destroyed a sacred monument. BUT she swears it “makes her smarter.” she’ll sip it during math tests like it’s brain juice. “it’s got 23 flavors, joel. i’m running on 23 IQ boosts right now.”.
• literally owns a faded, crusty dr pepper graphic tee. it’s oversized and has holes in the collar, but she thinks it’s high fashion. it was $3 at goodwill and she treats it like a designer item. if she’s wearing it under her flannel, it’s a special day. she also 100% has a dr pepper can tab on a necklace chain. she popped it off her “lucky can” and wears it under her shirt. when you find it one day and asks about it, ellie stutters, “it’s—it’s like, uh, for good luck. and stuff…”
• dina notices ellie in class going through her sketchbook, finds one page where your name is written next to a sketch of you in a princess outfit. next to it? ellie’s self-insert knight version—sword drawn, hearts floating around them. dina looks up slowly and goes, “ellie… have you spoken to her yet?”
• “she said ‘thanks’ when I let her borrow a pencil. we’re basically married.”
— NSFW
• she gets turned on by the stupidest things about you. the way you chew gum, the way you fix your hair, the sound of your laugh, the way you tie your shoes, the way you stretch in class and your shirt rides up a little. she’ll cross her legs in AP biology like “be cool. don’t squirm. don’t look at her boobs again.” just to take another quick glance down.
• ellie found out what a strap was from the L word. she saw shane pull it out of a drawer once and nearly passed out. didn’t even know what it was called at first—just googled “lesbian harness thing from l word” on ask jeeves. then, when scrolling online she saw this neon green strap-on with a ugly, cheap, fake leather, hideous colored harness—and for some reason, she bought it. i mean the harness was only $29.99, dildo $14.99 and with a shipping of $8 dollars, it’s not like she could afford those $90 ones. now it’s growing dust under her bed.
• her cute, hideous glasses always slide off her nose when she catches you near her in a mini skirt (or she pushes them up to get a better look at my tits) and because of this, she can quite literally draw your tits from pure memory. no reference. no glances. just pure gay brain storage. she knows the exact curve, how they rest when you’re sitting vs standing, how they look in that one white top with the scoop neckline that makes her borderline pass out.
• but even though she knows them like the back of her hand, she still sneaks glances when she thinks you’re not looking. sometimes you’re bent over the locker room bathroom mirror, adjusting your necklace or putting on lip gloss, and she’s across the room—pretending to tie her converse back on but she’s staring dead at your tits in the mirror reflection like she’s about to start drooling.
• and she’s memorized every single bra you own. color, fabric, lace pattern, where it cuts on your back, how the straps sit on your shoulders, whether the padding lifts your tits or not. she knows which ones you wear when you want to feel cute and which ones are for laundry day.
• when she’s high? forget about it. she starts rambling about the “artistic gravity” of your tits, how the curve reminds her of renaissance sculptures, and how she wants to sculpt them from memory using clay she found behind the garage. dina and jesse once walked in on this monologue and left in silence.
• she doesn’t even smoke that often—maybe once every couple weeks if someone else has it. but every time she does? she turns into a flushed, squirmy, glassy-eyed mess who gets insanely horny within ten minutes. like clockwork. doesn’t matter if it’s a chill high or a head high—ellie’s already halfway down bad the moment it hits her bloodstream.
• one time she smoked weed in dina’s garage with her and jesse. the three of them snuck out to her garage—lights off, old couch, lava lamp glowing. they pass it around like total amateurs, coughing and giggling and pretending to be cool. ten minutes in, ellie is absolutely done for.
• her knees are pulled up to her chest, hoodie sleeves over her hands, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed bright pink. she’s quiet, too quiet, until dina looks over and goes: “ellie… you good?” and ellie just mumbles, “mhm… i’m chillin’…” while clearly not chillin’.
• she’s thinking about you in a miniskirt. she’s thinking about your glossed-up lips. she’s thinking about your thighs on either side of her head. jesse’s rambling about alien conspiracies meanwhile ellie’s gripping the edge of the blanket, vibrating with how badly she needs to excuse herself. she finally blurts out “i’m gonna go… uh… bathroom. real quick.”
• she bolts toward the house, slamming the bathroom door shut. she barely locks it before her hand’s down her boxers—moaning softly into her arm, her mind spiraling with nothing but you. how pretty you are, how good you smell, how soft your thighs would feel wrapped around her flushed face.
• and her sketchbook is a problem. deep in her sketchbook, the parts she refuses to let anyone else see, are filthy. you sitting on her face, moaning. you spread open with your fingers, juice dripping down your thighs, her name scratched onto your skin. you with hickeys on your chest, teary eyes, flushed cheeks, and the exact position your mouth makes when you’re cumming.
• she’s drawn close-ups of your tits in her sketchbook more times than she can count. like full-studies. the shading, the softness, how the nipples perk when you’re cold. she knows which way they tilt when you’re laying on your side. she draws them squished under her hands. she draws them from memory and gets mad when it’s not perfect.
• and some of her sketches are drawn from scenarios she wishes happened. you sitting in her lap in just your mini skirt with your hand around her neck, you pulling her by the collar into bed with a kiss, you in the school bathroom kissing her against a stall door.
• in which ellie draws herself completely cornered against the stall door. her cheeks are flushed bright red, glasses fogged up, and her lips are shiny from your lip gloss—because you kissed it off her. in the corner of the page, ellie scribbled: “she wore juicy perfume. i could smell it all over me after.”
• remember ellie’s medieval fantasies? well let’s just say they’re not all innocent… a specific one is where she drew you pressed to the castle wall, dress lifted, bent over. ellie’s behind you, armor still on, her gauntlet clamped around your mouth while she takes you with a thick medieval strap—drawn with detailed curve and shimmer of neon green (yes, she draws the neon green strap even in fantasy).
• you’re moaning through her hand, crown slipping, legs shaking while your heels dig into the stone. she adds notes like: “told her to be quiet. she couldn’t.”, “her moans echoed through the halls.”
cute little painfully nerdy 2000s ellie williams x popular bimbo fem reader
ellie sat hunched over her lunch tray, poking at her soggy curly fries with a spork that had seen better days. her glasses were already sliding down her nose, but she didn’t care—her green eyes were glued across the room.
you were sitting with your boyfriend.
your boyfriend, who had the personality of a ‘home depot bucket’.
your boyfriend, who just smacked your ass in front of the whole table.
ellie’s pen shook in her grip as she kept doodling, her sketchbook open between her tray and a half-empty dr pepper. the drawing? you.
you in a ballgown, tits perky and glowing, eyes soft, tied to a tower.
ellie was the knight, naturally. messy armor, converse still drawn on, sword raised. saving you from sir adrian the d*ckhead.
“ellie,” dina said softly, sipping her chocolate milk like it was wine, “please tell me that’s not her again.” jesse leaned over and glanced down. “is… is that her boobs again?”
“she drew the lace detail,” dina whispered, slightly horrified. “ellie.”
“that’s the fifteenth ‘anatomy’ sketch this week,” jesse muttered. “you’re not fooling anyone.”
“she’s wearing that bra today,” ellie said under her breath, dreamily. “the pink one. the push-up. victoria’s secret. i know the straps.”
dina choked. “you memorized her bras?!”
“i don’t need to look. i see them when i close my eyes,” ellie whispered, then slowly blinked, biting her lip. “f*ck, i’m gonna nut right here.”
jesse looked away. “this is concerning.”. dina leaned in, serious now. “ellie. she is never gonna want you. babe… she’s dating adrian. she told you to stop calling her mamacita.”
“she doesn’t hate me,” ellie muttered, defensive. “she just doesn’t know me yet.”
“you said she told you to ‘stop breathing near her,’” jesse pointed out.
ellie went quiet. still staring. you were giggling at something your boyfriend said. your gloss was shining. your boobs were… goodness. ellie had to adjust her hoodie.
and then—she saw it.
adrian… was looking at another girl’s ass. right in front of you.
and not even subtly. full turn. smirk. a wink.
you didn’t see it. but ellie did.
she felt something in her chest snap.
“…f*ck it,” ellie said suddenly, slamming her sketchbook shut. “i can’t.”
dina blinked. “ellie—what are you doing?”
“she’s not staying with that meathead. not while i’m here. i swear to God.”
jesse watched her stand. “bro. please don’t.”
ellie was already halfway to your table, glasses sliding, spider-man boxers probably damp, confidence nonexistent—but the delusion?
unbreakable.
you looked up just as she approached.
she stopped right at your table. her voice cracked a little. “h- hey… can I talk to you?”
you looked up slowly, straw still between your glossed lips, sipping your strawberry milk just like the princess you are in her sketches. your lashes fluttered, eyes big and bored.
“…you wanna talk to me?” you said, raising a brow. “about what?”
ellie’s heart thudded so hard she swore everyone could hear it. her hands were jammed in the front pocket of her hoodie, sketchbook awkwardly stuffed in the back of her jeans, peeking out like a secret.
“i- uh—” she cleared her throat. “i just— i had something to say.”
adrian, your muscle-brained boyfriend, didn’t even wait. he leaned forward, smirking with some BBQ sauce on his thumb. “yo, is this the girl who wrote you that weird poem in homeroom?”
you blinked. “what poem?”
ellie turned the color of a stop sign. “i didn’t— that wasn’t—it wasn’t weird—”
“she’s the band girl, right?” adrian laughed. “what was it again—something about your ’glossed lips guiding her sword’?”
“it was a metaphor!” ellie snapped, voice cracking again.
you looked her up and down. glasses slipping. hoodie wrinkled. fingers twitching. you caught the sketchbook spine sticking out her back pocket, and your brain flickered—was that glittery gel pen on the edge?
adrian scoffed. “nah, baby, don’t waste your time. this girl’s clearly obsessed.”
“i’m not obsessed,” ellie mumbled. “i just… admire her. from afar. and sometimes from slightly less afar. but not in a creepy way.”
you blinked slowly. “slightly less afar?”
ellie swallowed hard. she could barely look at you. your push-up bra was peeking out beneath your VS pink zip up, your boobs right there and glowing under the fluorescent cafeteria light like the holy grail.
“i just think you’re, like… really smart,” ellie blurted.
you squinted. “smart?”
“yeah,” she nodded fast, flustered. “like, not just hot. you’re smart-hot. your notes in AP Bio are color-coded and your handwriting’s, like, freakishly neat. i saw it once and cried a little.”
adrian burst out laughing. “yo, this b*tch is wild.”
you ignored him. still staring at ellie. “you… cried?”
ellie pushed her glasses up. “i also drew you in medieval armor once. you were holding a staff made of lip gloss and the souls of men who hurt you. your bra was historically inaccurate but, like, it made sense narratively.”
adrian stood up now. “alright, you’re done—”
“no,” you said suddenly, sharp. “she’s not.”
adrian turned, stunned. you looked back at ellie, tilting your head.
“what was i holding again?” you asked.
ellie froze. “uh. a staff. made of—of fenty gloss and vengeance.”
you smiled. real smile. not sarcastic, not mocking. you leaned in just a little, lashes fluttering.
“and what were you wearing?”
ellie nearly passed out. “…spidey armor. i think. it had boob padding for—well. i didn’t want to be historically inaccurate either.”
you giggled. adorable, deadly. the sound of lesbo nerd death.
ellie stood frozen. your eyes sparkled. you didn’t say anything else—you just slowly turned back to your fries like it was nothing. ellie didn’t know if she’d just won or if you were about to file a restraining order.
dina and jesse were in the back mouthing WHAT THE F*CK.
but ellie? ellie walked back to her seat with her chest puffed slightly and her spider-man boxers clinging just a little wetter to her.
