#ellis oc

The past few times you had mentioned going back to your dorm, he insisted it wasn't safe. The only reason you never argued was because you didn't want to risk upsetting your own professor.

Not that you think he'd start abusing his status by marking your grades low or anything, but it's just not worth the risk sometimes.

Ellis has the audacity to look offended. "So you're telling me you'd rather endanger your own life than stay here with me? The person who gives you free clothes, free food, helps you with your school work..."

"That isn't true. I appreciate all that, really, but I also think I've recovered enough to not have to rely on you every day. I can take care of myself just fine now. You aren't my dad."

Maybe it came across as slightly rude, but it's true, nonetheless. You needed to get that point across. Hopefully it makes some sort of sense in his stubborn head.

In that moment, Ellis stiffens. "Go to your room." He points at the bedroom you're occupying.

"No! I'm a grown adult who can make their own decisions, whether you agree with it or not."

"Well, maybe you need to start acting like a grown adult, then!" he scolds.

"How can I when you're the one treating me like a baby?! Every day you coddle and fuss over me like I'm made of glass, then wonder why I might be upset! Do you really blame me for trying to sneak out just to do something normal?!"

"Don't raise your voice at me. I'll give you five seconds to march to your room. I'm not kidding."

"And what? You're going to ground me like you're my dad?"

"One."

Your breath catches in your throat.

"Two."

You blink.

"Three."

You consider staying put.

"Four."

Sighing in defeat, you spin on your heel and stomp to the bedroom you've become familiar with, then slam the door shut behind you. There, you collapse onto your mattress with an aggravated noise. What's his problem?

No, you refuse to miss that party, even if it kills you.

This is the first time your friends actually invited you to something in a while. Maybe they'd actually start talking to you again. But you know that won't happen if you don't show up.

So, you wait. And wait. And wait until an hour goes by.

Peeking out the doorway to make sure he's gone, you slowly creep past Ellis's room, holding your shoes in hand. Luckily, he must already be in bed, because there's not a sound.

Your heart races with adrenaline as you step through the front door, put on your shoes, then lock the door behind you with the key he gave you. The breeze is cold and biting, but you trudge ahead.

Finally, freedom.

...

An hour passes. Ellis can't sleep, he's been trying to read, but the argument with you has been in his mind on loop.

Sighing to himself, he closes his book and heads over to your room.

"(Y/n)?" he whispers, gently rapping his knuckles against the wooden door. No answer. "Sweetie, are you awake? I'm sorry for getting upset..." No answer. He hesitates, then opens the door, just to make sure you're okay.

But when he turns on the light, no one is laying in bed.

Fury runs through him, hot and white, then fizzles out into panic and fear.

"No, no, no." He looks inside your closet, nothing. Bathroom, nothing. The whole place, absolutely nothing.

He doesn't want to think you deliberately disobeyed him, but what other choice is there? You sneaked out. Who knows what kind of danger you're putting yourself in? He doesn't want to imagine you getting beat up again... he still feels guilty for being responsible the last time, even if it is what was necessary.

That's what he tells himself, anyway.

He picks up his phone and angrily finds your contact name. You're the only person he ever really bothers texting or calling anyways, he typically hates both phone calls and texts.

The phone rings as he paces back and forth.

No answer. He grits his teeth and tries again, only for it to lead him to voicemail.

"(Y/n)... come back home, please. Or at least call me to let me know you're okay."

...

You're a few drinks in already, and so drunk you feel sick. You glance down at your phone. You have five missed calls, and several texts.

Ellis: Please come home

Ellis: It isn't safe out at these times, sweetie. I wouldn't forgive myself if anything happened to you.

Ellis: I'm sorry for snapping earlier.

Ellis: Please call me back when you can, (Y/n).

Ellis: Just let me know you're alright.

Ellis: Don't ignore me.

Ellis: If you come home now, I won't say a word about this incident. We can put it behind us, okay?

Ellis: Come home.

You almost want to text him back, tell him you're okay and you just wanted a break for one night. He's been a bit too stifling lately, it feels like he's trying to take over every aspect of your life. At first, it seemed sweet that he genuinely cared enough to help you when you needed it, but you can take care of yourself. You just don't understand why he doesn't believe that.

"Hey, (Y/n)," one of your friends say, but they don't seem very enthusiastic.

"Hey! It's been so long since we talked," you say. "You haven't been responding to my messages."

Their expression falls. "Sorry. Look, uh, this might seem a bit... sudden, but... we should stop hanging out." They clear their throat awkwardly. "It's been fun, don't get me wrong, but things are different now."

Your face scrunches up. "What? Why? Did I do something?"

"Not exactly." They rub the back of their neck. "We tried to explain to him, but he was insistent and, honestly, kinda scary—"

"What? Who?"

They click their tongue, annoyed. "Your dad. I wish you would've told someone that your dad is literally one of the professors."

"My dad?" you gawk at them. "Ellis?"

"Who else?" They shake their head. "Told us that we were all just getting in the way of your studies. And threatened our college admission and grades if we ever associated with you. Soo... yeah. We can't talk anymore. Sorry about that."

Once they finish that spiel, they hurry away and mingle with some other people. You stand alone in shock, mind reeling and thoughts fuzzy.

You drink more, just because you don't want to think about it for too long.

...

Ellis isn't stupid. He knows you were most definitely lying about the studying thing, especially considering the threats he had given to your little friends.

So of course, he assumes you went to a party. He's disappointed and beyond angry still, but his panic comes first.

It doesn't take him long to hunt down the house the party is happening in. He sees people stumbling around everywhere. How careless.

After a bit of searching for the front door, he slams the front door open and glances around. Loud music and the stench of alcohol immediately hit him in the face. People stare at him in surprise, but they seem too intoxicated to really care.

Some recognize him as a professor, and shrink back nervously. One even pulls a cigarette out of his mouth, thinking he would scold him.

He stomps further into the house, looking around frantically for any signs of you.

And lo and behold, he sees one of your friends, staring at him in shock. "You." He glares down at them. "Where is (Y/n)? Don't you dare lie to me."

"I didn't invite them!" they quickly blurt. "But... uh, I think they're in the bathroom, throwing up. They're super drunk."

Ellis huffs angrily, storming off towards the bathroom. He twists open the knob to see you, exactly as they said. Throwing up in the toilet. His eyes soften. Oh, you poor baby, he thinks. The things he does for you.

He kneels on the floor next to you and pushes your hair away from your face. Then, he reaches over and flushes the toilet once you finish emptying your stomach of whatever alcohol you consumed.

"Oh, honey." He dampens a paper towel and wipes your mouth and nose with it. "You should've stayed home where it's safe," he sighs. "But I'll take care of you. Just like always." He strokes the back of your head affectionately. "Do you think you'll vomit again?"

"I don' think so," you answer after hiccuping. He nods, stands up, then offers his hands for you. You take them and try to pull yourself up, but it proves to be difficult, especially with how much your vision swims.

"It's okay, I got you," he says, taking one of your arms and swinging it over his shoulder. Together, the two of you walk out of the bathroom. "Deep breaths, okay? There you go."

"Aww, (Y/n), is your dad taking you home?" one of the party-goers drunkenly mocks you. "Poor baby needs their dada?"

Usually Ellis is immediate to step in, giving a glare or even yelling, but he doesn't say anything. Even though you're too drunk to think, you still have enough of a mind to know why. He wants other people to think that. He likes being thought of as your parent, having you need him like a baby. That much is obvious.

Still, you're drunk and humiliated. You can't even keep track of your surroundings well enough.

"If this little party isn't wrapped up in an hour, I can promise the consequences won't be small," Ellis hisses. He specifically eyes the several students with beers in their hands, who he knows for a fact can't be legally drinking.

With that, the party dies down quickly. He gives everyone at the party a nasty glare before leaving with you still clinging onto him.

"How could you be so irresponsible?" he quietly chastises you, helping you in the front seat of his car. You stumble several times, but he's always there to steady you. Once you buckle in, he gives your arm a light squeeze. "You made me worry sick over you." He walks over to the drivers side and hops in. As soon as he does, he turns the heat on for you. You're grateful for it. He notices you shivering, too, so he takes off his sweater vest and drapes it over you like a blanket. "Here, kiddo."

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I jus' wanted to hang out with my friends."

"They aren't your friends. They said so themselves, remember? Those ingrates don't even deserve your time. Do you know how many of them never lifted a finger to defend you when Brock and his group hurt you? Never once bothered trying to talk to you for the month you spent with me?" he snaps.

You visibly recoil.

Something about this conversation reminds you of one you had with them less than an hour ago, but you can't remember what words were exchanged.

"Yeah..." you trail off sadly.

Ellis's expression softens when he sees you upset. "Honey... its okay, though. You have me."

"That's it, though. Just you," you mutter.

He flinches as if he was physically wounded by your words. "...that's not enough?" he asks after a few seconds. "I take care of everything for you. And love you, and hold you, and make your meals..." He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. You're... you're just drunk. This is why I hate alcohol. It reeks and it causes horrible conversations like these."

Ellis focuses on driving and doesn't speak another word the entire ride back home. But his hands grip the steering wheel harder than usual.

Once the two of you arrive home, Ellis helps you to your bed. He even gets some medicine for you to help your queasy stomach and pounding headache, as well as water to cure the dryness in your mouth.

"Now, get some rest," he sternly instructs you. "Because we are going to have a long discussion tomorrow."

"W-wait..." you slur. "Please don't leave me alone."

The man blinks a couple of times, surprised. "Alright. Alright, sweetie. You want Dad to sleep here tonight?" You nod, mind too hazy to think about his words. He tuts lovingly. "Alright. Move over, then."

You scoot aside as instructed, curling up on one side of the bed. You watch tiredly as Ellis kicks off his shoes and takes his glasses off. Then, he goes to your side of the bed and crawls under the covers with you.

"There." He shifts closer and wraps his arms securely around your midsection. "That better?"

"Mhm. Thank you."

You feel warm, safe, and content being held by Ellis. You close your eyes, feeling fatigue catch up with you. His hand soothingly runs up and down your back, easing you to sleep. It makes your eyelids heavy, luring you into slumber.