#ellabs

[queenpancak]

You ship Ellie and Abby because you think they were made for one another. I ship Ellie and Abby because neither of them deserve anyone better. We are not the same.

[butchsucker]

WANNA BET?

pairing: ellie williams/abby anderson

contents: 18+ content!! bottom!ellie, service top!abby, fucking out of spite?, pussy eating, fingering, finger sucking, hair-pulling, slight edging, squirting

word count: 4,967

It’s always a fight between Ellie and Abby. Always. Not the serious kind, but the kind that feels incredibly immature and incredibly fun. And, keeping it honest, it’s pretty much always Ellie’s fault. She thrives on competition like it’s oxygen. Loves to win. Loves it even more when she can lean back, all smug and triumphant, and shove that win right in Abby’s face.

She’ll turn literally anything into a contest—arm-wrestling, five-second trivia, how long they can go without blinking. On occasion, she's even childish enough to stoop to the random breath-holding contest. The thing is, Ellie doesn’t really care what they’re doing. She just wants Abby’s full attention, undivided and locked on her, like a spotlight. She wants to feel like she’s the center of the goddamn universe, even if it means being obnoxious to get there.

Naturally, she doesn’t always win. Honestly, she suspects she loses more often than she realizes—Abby has that frustrating little half-smile she wears when she’s holding back, letting Ellie have the victory like she’s a kid who needs it more. And that makes Ellie absolutely feral. If Abby’s letting her win, it doesn’t count. It’s not real. It just lights a fire in Ellie’s chest and makes her double down, desperate to prove she’s got the edge fair and square.

Which is how she ends up in her current predicament: flat on her back at the mercy of Abby Anderson.

It had all started earlier that evening. Joel had gone off on one of his trips with Tess, and Ellie—left alone in the big, echoey farmhouse—texted Abby like reflex. Come over. I’m bored. Abby showed up less than an hour later, because of course she did.

They made dinner. Or rather, Abby made dinner while Ellie hovered, stealing bites straight from the pan and offering commentary like a backseat chef. Abby grumbled but let her do it, because she always does. Afterward, they sprawled on the couch in the den, half-watching a movie neither of them were really paying attention to. It was comfort. Familiar. Normal.

Then, inevitably, things derail because Ellie can’t help herself. It's a talent, really. One minute they’re trading stories and half-watching a movie, and the next, the conversation takes a sharp left into explicit territory. It’s just what she does. She could say it’s because she’s sexually liberated, a modern woman unafraid to talk about her desires. Abby, however, tends to chalk it up to Ellie being a huge pervert.

“I refuse to believe you’re fucking more than me,” Ellie declares, throwing her head back onto the couch with theatrical flair. “I bet you suck at it anyway. That’s why you have so many lovers.”

Abby snorts, low and indulgent. “Oh yeah?”

“Don’t feel too bad, Abs,” Ellie says, patting Abby’s arm in a mock-sympathetic gesture. And if her hand lingers just a second longer than necessary, if her fingers press lightly into the definition of Abby’s bicep like she’s taking mental notes? That’s her business. “Some people just aren’t good at making girls come. It’s a skill. Not everyone’s got it. I do, though. You be safe out there.”

Abby turns toward her, slow and deliberate. The kind of shift that feels like it changes the air pressure in the room. Her gaze sharpens, unreadable and dark, eyes narrowing like she’s solving an equation Ellie doesn’t even know she posed.

“If I didn’t know any better,” Abby says, voice calm but with just the barest edge of amusement, “I’d think you’re fishing, Williams.”

Ellie barely manages to suppress the smirk that tugs at her lips. She angles her face toward the ceiling, wide-eyed and faux-innocent. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Abby leans in slightly—close enough for Ellie to catch the faint scent of her shampoo, something clean and vaguely woodsy. Her smile is razor-sharp and wickedly patient.

“If you want me to make you come,” she says, voice dropping into something low and rich and dangerous, “you can just ask.”

And just like that, Ellie’s brain short-circuits.

A logical, intelligent person would hit pause here. Maybe consider the ramifications of sleeping with your friend—of crossing a line that once blurred won’t easily go back. But logic has taken a backseat, and her brain is currently mush. Abby’s voice has gone husky, oozing with intent, and Ellie is struggling to remember her own name, let alone any sound reasoning.

Still, she can’t give in. Not all at once. That’s not how this works. There are rules to the game. Posturing. Banter. Pride.

“As if you could make me come,” she fires back, with the kind of cocky bravado that’s meant to provoke. Because it always has to be a fight.

"Wanna bet?"

Ellie can't help the shit-eating grin that spreads across her lips. "Oh, you're on." She has never wanted to lose more in her life.

There’s a beat where neither moves, but everything shifts. And then they’re moving, like a dam’s burst open and both of them are caught in the flood.

Abby’s the first to stand, and Ellie scrambles up after her, grabbing Abby’s wrist with a breathless, “Come on,” as she tugs her toward the stairs.

They barely make it through the doorway before Ellie’s kicking aside the piles of laundry cluttering her floor. She grabs a shirt, a pair of jeans, maybe a sock—who knows—and tosses them all toward the corner in a desperate attempt at clearing space.

“Jesus, Els,” Abby says with a grin, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut behind her. “You live like this?”

“Shut up,” Ellie huffs, a little out of breath, “you’re lucky I even have sheets on the bed.”

Abby wastes no time. She crosses the room in three easy strides and suddenly she’s there—right there—crowding Ellie back until the backs of her knees hit the mattress. Her presence is impossible to ignore, all heat and height and solid muscle. Ellie swallows, defiant and breathless all at once.

And then Abby kisses her.

It’s not a soft, testing kind of kiss—it’s all confidence and hunger, her hands already on Ellie’s waist, her mouth insistent and sure. Ellie meets it with fire of her own, hands fisting into the front of Abby’s shirt like she can anchor herself there, like she needs something to hold onto or she’ll float off the planet entirely.

Abby pulls back just long enough to smirk. “Going soft already? You must really like losing.”

“I’m not losing,” Ellie snaps, cheeks flushed, lips kissed pink. “You wish.”

But her voice trembles slightly, and Abby doesn’t miss it.

“Oh, baby,” Abby murmurs, low and indulgent, brushing her fingers under the hem of Ellie’s shirt. “You’re already squirming.”

“I’m not,” Ellie lies—bold-faced, trembling, backed up against her own bed while Abby towers over her. It's a difficult sight not to be moved by. “I just didn't know you'd be so aggressive.”

Abby laughs, that slow, dangerous laugh again. “You say that like it’s a problem.”

She tugs Ellie’s shirt up and off in one smooth motion, Ellie raising her arms automatically, like her brain’s too busy short-circuiting to protest. Abby’s hands are on her immediately, calloused and warm, slow enough to be thorough, fast enough to make Ellie’s knees feel like a suggestion.

“You gonna keep running your mouth,” Abby murmurs, pressing her thigh between Ellie’s legs as she lowers her gently onto the bed, “or are you gonna let me win for once?”

Ellie grabs a fistful of Abby’s shirt, yanking her down for another kiss that’s more teeth than lips. “M'not like you. I never let you win.”

“Oh, I know,” Abby says, mouth trailing kisses down Ellie’s jaw, then lower still, “But I don’t need you to let me.”

Ellie’s breath catches. Abby grins against her skin.

“God, you’re responsive,” she says, voice low and awed and way too smug. “You act all tough but the second I touch you…”

“I swear to god,” Ellie hisses, fingers digging into Abby’s shoulders like she’s trying to anchor herself back to that last shred of dignity, “if you keep narrating—”

“What?” Abby grins, biting lightly at Ellie’s collarbone. “It’s cute. You’re cute.”

“Shut up.”

Ellie’s demand is only granted because Abby, mercifully, finds a better use for her mouth.

She closes her lips around Ellie’s nipple, warm and wet, flicking her tongue over the hardening bud with maddening precision. Ellie’s breath hitches. Her hips twitch. Abby anchors her with one firm hand splayed across her stomach, keeping her grounded, steadying her like she knows exactly how close she is to unraveling already. And maybe she does.

Her free hand trails downward, fingers tracing the bare skin of Ellie’s stomach with infuriating slowness, dancing just above the waistband of her sleep shorts. She doesn’t even slip her hand beneath them—just grazes along the edge, lazy and teasing, and it’s shameful how much that alone affects Ellie. She bites her lip hard, trying to choke down the sound trying to claw its way up her throat.

Abby hums against her skin, lips dragging to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention—this time adding a gentle bite that makes Ellie gasp aloud, sharp and helpless.

“That was a pretty sound,” Abby murmurs, her voice low and smug against Ellie’s chest, breath hot and heavy. Her fingers finally slip beneath the soft cotton of Ellie’s waistband, knuckles brushing lower. “Got any more for me?”

“Fuck you,” Ellie breathes, voice trembly and defensive and far too raw to sound convincing.

“That’s not very nice,” Abby says, straightening just enough to pout. Pout. Like she hasn’t already wrecked Ellie’s ability to form complete thoughts. “And here I am being so generous.”

Ellie opens her mouth to throw something back—something cutting or flippant or clever—but Abby’s already sliding down, mouth dragging hot kisses lower and lower, along her ribs, the curve of her belly, across the sensitive dip of her hip. Her fingers hook the waistband of Ellie’s shorts and panties, tugging them down slowly as she goes, her lips following every inch of skin revealed like it’s a damn pilgrimage.

By the time the shorts are halfway down her thighs, Ellie’s practically vibrating with tension, propped on her elbows and watching with wide eyes, like if she looks away she’ll lose her grip on whatever control she thinks she still has.

Abby kneels at the edge of the bed and makes a show of dragging Ellie’s shorts all the way off, tossing them somewhere behind her without so much as a glance. Then she slides her arms beneath Ellie’s thighs, lifting and pulling her forward with ease—like she weighs nothing, like Abby’s body was built for this exact moment. Ellie lets out a surprised, involuntary breath as her back hits the mattress and Abby settles between her legs on the floor, close and steady and entirely too composed.

“Jesus,” Ellie mutters, trying to sound annoyed instead of wrecked. “You having fun manhandling me?”

Abby grins, her hands spreading over the outside of Ellie’s thighs like she’s staking a claim. “Didn’t hear you complaining.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Ellie snaps, then immediately realizes how that sounds. “I mean—I wasn’t not—ugh, shut up.”

Abby chuckles, low and satisfied, like Ellie’s fluster is a gift. She presses a kiss to the inside of one thigh, then another, working her way in slow, teasing circles, watching Ellie squirm above her.

“You know,” Abby says between kisses, her breath hot and maddening against sensitive skin, “for someone who talks so much, you’re awfully quiet now.”

Ellie glares down at her, chest heaving, hair wild. “Maybe you should take a page from my—fuck.”

The rest of the sentence dissolves into a ragged moan as Abby licks a long, purposeful stripe through her center and buries her face like she’s been starving for this. Her arms hook tighter under Ellie’s thighs, dragging her closer with the kind of strength that makes her head spin. There’s no patience, no pretense—just Abby, utterly gone for it, moaning into her like she’s tasting something sacred, rocking slightly like she can’t help herself.

Ellie fists the sheets at her sides, back arching off the mattress. “Holy shit,” she breathes, voice cracking at the edges.

Abby doesn't let up. She’s messy with it, relentless. Her tongue works in slow, devastating patterns one second, then flicks quick and eager the next. She’s loud—obscene, even—the wet sounds, the soft groans of appreciation, the way she keeps muttering things into Ellie like she’s praying into her.

“So fucking good,” Abby mumbles, barely audible but desperate, needy. “Tastes so good, baby. Can’t get enough.”

Ellie feels like she’s going to combust. Her pride, her wit, her well-practiced bravado is slipping through her fingers like sand. She tangles one hand in Abby’s hair, tugging sharply, and Abby groans in response—like she likes that, like it only eggs her on.

Ellie tries to keep her voice steady. “You're such a try-hard.”

Abby doesn’t even look up. “You love it.”

Ellie lets out a frustrated, fractured sound, thighs tightening around Abby’s shoulders. She’s getting close, closer than she’s willing to admit, her hips rocking helplessly, chasing the rhythm Abby’s set. Her other hand clutches Abby’s wrist like a lifeline.

“God—fuck, Abby��don’t stop, don’t—”

But she does. Just as Ellie’s about to tip over the edge, Abby pulls away with a slick mouth and flushed cheeks, looking far too pleased with herself.

“Gonna come already?” she asks, smug and breathless. “Ready to lose already?”

Ellie glares down at her, panting. Her legs twitch in protest, every nerve still thrumming.

“No,” she bites, trying to sound indignant instead of wrecked. “I wasn’t.”

“Oh?” Abby’s eyes sparkle as she kisses her inner thigh again, slow and teasing. “Sounded like it.”

“I wasn’t,” Ellie insists, dragging her fingers through her own hair, trying to collect herself and failing. “You stopped before anything happened.”

Abby tilts her head, resting her chin just above Ellie’s knee. “So you’re saying I should keep going?”

Ellie narrows her eyes. “I’m saying you better.”

Abby grins, pleased beyond measure. “Say please.”

Ellie groans. “I hate you.”

Abby clicks her tongue, amusement dancing behind her eyes as she stands with a slow, predatory stretch. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, and for one harrowing second, Ellie thinks she’s going to stop. But then Abby’s gaze drops back down, dark and knowing.

“Looks like you just need a little more,” she says, voice rich with promise. “You’re not gonna make this easy for me, are you?”

“Gotta make you work for it,” Ellie fires back, trying to sound flippant—but the tremor in her voice gives her away.

That smug grin on Abby’s face only sharpens. Without breaking eye contact, she peels off her clothes with calm, deliberate ease, letting each piece fall into a careless pile. Ellie tries not to stare. Fails spectacularly. The muscle, the sheer presence of Abby is overwhelming. Broad shoulders. Defined arms. Solid core. It’s all too much and not enough all at once.

Abby climbs back onto the bed like she owns it—like she owns her—and drags Ellie with her. There’s no room for protest, not when Ellie finds herself suddenly straddling Abby’s hips, bare skin pressed to bare skin, heat radiating between them like an open flame.

Ellie swallows hard, pulse hammering in her throat. Her hands instinctively find Abby’s shoulders, clinging there like they’re the only solid thing left in the world.

Abby lifts one hand, cradles Ellie’s jaw with unexpected tenderness, thumb stroking over the apple of her cheek. “Be good,” she murmurs, voice low and intimate. “Open for me.”

She traces her finger along the seam of Ellie’s lips.

They part with a shameful sort of eagerness.

Abby’s smile deepens—something soft but wicked. “Good girl,” she praises, and Ellie nearly melts on the spot.

Then Abby slips two fingers past her lips, slow and sure. Ellie lets her, her mouth closing around them automatically. Abby doesn’t thrust—yet—just lets them sit heavy on Ellie’s tongue, warm and slick with the faint taste of her. Ellie breathes through her nose, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

Then Abby begins to move.

She fucks Ellie’s mouth with her fingers in lazy, controlled strokes—gentle at first, coaxing her open, then deeper, filthier. Her other hand rests on the back of Ellie’s neck, holding her steady, thumb brushing the nape of her neck in an oddly grounding rhythm. The whole thing is maddeningly slow, and Ellie can’t tell if she’s being teased or tamed.

“You look so good like this,” Abby murmurs, watching her with open hunger. “Mouth full. Eyes all hazy.”

Ellie glares at her—well, tries to. The effect is somewhat undercut by the fact that she’s choking slightly around Abby’s fingers, breathing hard through her nose, cheeks flushed with heat.

“Still gonna pretend you’re not into this?” Abby teases, fingers pressing deeper. “You’re dripping. I can feel it.”

Ellie whimpers, just barely, and hates herself for it.

Abby pulls her fingers free with a soft pop, dragging them slowly across Ellie’s bottom lip, wiping up a mess she made.

“There she is,” Abby whispers. “Still gonna be stubborn, huh?”

Ellie licks her lips, refusing to look away. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

Abby grins—sharp and devastating.

“Oh,” she says, voice rough with anticipation, “I will.”

At a maddeningly slow pace, Abby works her middle finger into Ellie’s warm heat. Ellie’s thighs twitch where they straddle her hips, her whole body instinctively clenching down around the intrusion.

“You’re so fucking wet, Els,” Abby murmurs, utterly transfixed by the slick glide. Her voice is low, reverent, almost awed. “You can take another, can’t you, baby?”

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, already nodding, hands clutching at Abby’s biceps. “Fuck. Yeah.”

Abby obliges, sliding a second finger in with deliberate care, watching the way Ellie reacts—her eyes fluttering, lips parting around a sharp, desperate gasp. Abby flexes her fingers inside her, curling up just enough to make Ellie jerk, her hips stuttering without her meaning to.

“There it is,” Abby says with a grin. “Thought I felt that spot.”

She keeps her fingers still for a moment, just inside, letting Ellie get used to the stretch—but also letting the anticipation build. Her free hand travels up, calloused fingers skating over Ellie’s ribs before cupping one breast, thumb brushing lazily over the nipple.

Ellie moans—quiet, but unmistakable.

“Ride ’em,” Abby says, her voice slipping into something firm. Commanding. “C’mon. Show me how bad you want it.”

Ellie hesitates for half a second—then obeys, sinking down onto Abby’s hand with a shaky breath. The stretch, the fullness—it’s too much and not enough, and the angle has her grinding forward without even thinking. She rocks her hips again, then again, building a rhythm that makes her whole body tremble.

“That’s it,” Abby coaxes, her thumb pinching Ellie’s nipple just enough to make her gasp. “God, you’re so fucking hot like this.”

Her other hand slides between them, finding Ellie’s clit with a practiced touch that’s almost cruel in its precision. The moment she brushes it, Ellie’s hips falter, a broken whimper escaping her throat.

“Sensitive, huh?” Abby teases, fingers curling again deep inside her. “Thought you were gonna win, baby.”

“I—shut up,” Ellie pants, aiming for stern. Her breath is coming in uneven bursts now, every nerve in her body strung tight.

“Oh, I like you like this,” Abby whispers. “All loud and needy. So much for keeping quiet.”

Ellie chokes on a sound that might be a moan or a curse—she doesn’t even know anymore. Abby keeps up the pressure, circling her clit in time with the thrust of her fingers. Every curl inside her makes her thighs shake. She tries to keep control, tries to hold on, but it’s slipping—fast.

“Abby—fuck—Abby, please.”

Abby’s lips curve in smug delight. “There she is. Begging already.”

“Shut up,” Ellie groans, but it’s breathless, wrecked, her hips chasing Abby’s hand like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth. “Don’t—don’t stop.”

“Say it again.”

Ellie shudders, her pride crumbling around her. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

Abby rewards her with a rougher thrust, curling her fingers deep and brushing right up against that devastating spot inside her. Ellie cries out, head thrown back, mouth open.

Ellie’s rhythm starts to stutter, her breath catching with each snap of her hips. Abby’s fingers are relentless now—slick and steady, curling just right, rubbing against that unbearable spot inside her while her thumb circles her clit with maddening precision.

“You close, baby?” Abby murmurs, gaze locked on Ellie’s flushed, wrecked face. “You gonna come for me?”

“Fuck...you,” Ellie gasps, which isn’t a no.

Abby grins, cruel and delighted. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Ellie tries to hold on. She wants to hold on. But her body betrays her—hips jerking erratically, thighs trembling, a guttural sound clawing its way out of her throat as her climax tears through her. She crashes forward into Abby, moaning into her shoulder as she rides it out, her whole body taut and shaking.

Abby slows her hand, easing her through it, fingers still buried inside her. When Ellie finally collapses, boneless and breathless against her chest, Abby chuckles low in her throat.

“So,” she says, cocky as ever. “Looks like I just made you come.”

Ellie lifts her head, hair wild, eyes still half-lidded and hazy. “Nu-uh.”

Abby blinks. “What?”

Ellie smirks, voice hoarse but triumphant. “You can't prove it.”

Abby narrows her eyes. “You cannot be serious.”

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Ellie says, trying to shrug even as her limbs are jelly. “It's your word against mine.”

Abby withdraws her fingers slowly—so slowly that Ellie shivers at the loss—and holds them up between them. They glisten in the low light, absolutely soaked. Abby raises one brow as she licks them clean, savoring the taste with an exaggerated hum.

“Well,” she says, tone dripping with faux sweetness, “this tastes like someone came.”

Ellie bites her lip, not quite hiding her blush. “Well, when you really think about it, I was the one doing the riding. That orgasm was pretty much self-inflicted.”

“Oh, is that right?”

Before Ellie can blink, Abby grabs her by the hips and flips her over with terrifying ease, pinning her to the mattress with one strong arm braced above her head. Her body hovers over Ellie’s, all heat and muscle and unyielding presence.

“You just love making things difficult,” Abby growls, dipping her head to nip at Ellie’s jaw. “Guess we’ll just have to go again.”

Ellie stares up at her, lips parting like she’s about to protest—only to let out a breathless squeak as Abby presses her back into the mattress with her hips, grinding slow and heavy against her still-sensitive core.

“I'm not stopping until you know it was me,” Abby whispers, grinning against her throat. “No more technicalities.”

Ellie swallows hard, already breathless again. “Fine,” she mutters, trying to sound unaffected.

Ellie doesn’t even get the chance to gather her breath before Abby’s trailing kisses down her body, slow and deliberate, all heat and teeth and quiet little promises. Ellie tries to keep her face neutral, tries not to look as undone as she feels, but her heart is hammering and her thighs are already trying to close.

“Don’t even think about it,” Abby warns, pushing them apart with ease. Her strength is casual, effortless, but Ellie feels it like a pulse in her core. “You wanted to be stubborn. Now you get the full treatment.”

Ellie snorts, or tries to. It comes out as more of a shaky exhale. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And you’re so wet,” Abby shoots back, dragging her tongue along Ellie’s inner thigh. “Which means I get to be.”

She licks a path up, purposefully avoiding where Ellie wants her most. Ellie groans, rolling her hips upward in a silent plea, but Abby presses a firm hand to her stomach to keep her pinned.

“Nu-uh. Use your words.”

“Are you serious right now?” Ellie huffs.

Abby gives her a look. “I haven’t even started being serious.”

Then, without warning, she leans in and finally takes Ellie into her mouth. She flattens her tongue and drags it slow and heavy up through her folds, lingering on her clit just long enough to make Ellie whimper.

Ellie’s hand flies into Abby’s hair, fingers tightening, not guiding so much as holding on for dear life. Abby moans against her, the vibration shooting straight through Ellie’s spine.

Then, just as Ellie’s starting to fall into it, Abby pulls back.

“Beg.”

Ellie blinks down at her, eyes wide. “Are you kidding me—”

Abby raises a brow, her fingers already teasing at Ellie’s entrance. “You wanna come again?” she asks, all saccharine cruelty. “Then tell me what you want.”

“You are such a fuckin' asshole.”

“That’s not a request.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Abby please make me come with your stupid mouth and your big, stupid fingers.”

Abby looks at her for a long moment, clearly not amused by her lack of effort. Heat rises to Ellie's cheeks as she chokes down what little bit of her pride remains. "Abby," she says, voice impossibly soft. "Please...please make me feel good. I want you to make me come."

Abby grins, savage and satisfied. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

And then she’s on her again, mouth latching onto Ellie’s clit with unrelenting purpose. Her fingers slide in—three this time, easy from how wet Ellie is—and immediately curl, hitting that same devastating spot that made her fall apart the first time.

Ellie’s whole body arches off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from her lips. Abby keeps the pressure perfect, sucking and flicking her tongue while her fingers work a steady rhythm that has Ellie falling apart at the seams.

“Abby. Abby. Abby! Don't stop...fuck, please don't stop.”

Abby doesn’t. If anything, she doubles down, one arm thrown across Ellie’s hips to hold her down as she fucks her with mouth and fingers in perfect, brutal tandem. Every flick, every thrust sends sparks up Ellie’s spine, her vision going white at the edges. She feels like she's going to die.

“Abby—Abby. Fuck, I can’t—”

“Yes you can,” Abby growls, pulling back just enough to speak. Her breath is hot and damp against Ellie’s skin. “You’re gonna. Come on, Els. Give it to me.”

That’s all it takes.

Her hips buck, legs trembling violently as her orgasm hits like a tidal wave. It’s too much, her body going tight, then loose, then tight again as a gush of wetness spills out around Abby’s fingers. Abby groans, watching it happen like she’s witnessing something holy, and doesn’t stop until Ellie is gasping for air, her voice hoarse and broken, hands fisting the sheets.

Abby finally slows, drawing her fingers out gently and licking them clean without shame.

“Well,” she says smugly, collapsing beside Ellie with a self-satisfied sigh. “I think that one was definitely me.”

Ellie, still blinking up at the ceiling like she’s trying to remember what year it is, manages a breathless, “...Fuck...my sheets.”

But her voice is ruined.

Ellie isn’t sure how long she’s been lying there, half-sprawled and vaguely boneless, but she's more concerned with corralling her soul back into her body.

Abby finally climbs off the bed, tugging on a pair of sweatpants and walking like she just won the fuckin’ Olympics.

“Stay put,” she says, voice a low rumble as she leans down and presses a kiss to Ellie’s forehead. “I got you.”

Ellie hums something between a groan and a purr as Abby disappears into the bathroom. She hears water running, a drawer open and close, and then Abby’s back—gentle, focused, and annoyingly competent as she helps Ellie clean up with a warm, damp cloth and soft hands.

“I can do that,” Ellie mutters, face burning even as she melts under the attention.

“Yeah?” Abby raises an eyebrow, dabbing at Ellie’s thighs with exaggerated care. “You seemed pretty out of commission a second ago.”

Ellie flips her off weakly. Abby grins and kisses the tip of her finger before heading back to the bathroom.

When she returns, she tosses Ellie a cold bottle of water. “Hydrate or die-drate.”

Ellie fumbles it but gets it open. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to hit you with this.”

“I’ll take that as gratitude.”

Ellie doesn’t answer. She’s already rolled off the bed and curled herself into the squishy embrace of her oversized beanbag chair, wrapped in nothing but Abby’s shirt—which swallows her whole and still smells like detergent and sweat and Abby.

Abby starts stripping the bed of its very damp sheets without complaint, balling them up and tossing them into the laundry bin in the corner like this is just…everyday shit.

“Jesus,” Ellie mutters, watching her. “You’re so domestic.”

Abby glances over her shoulder and winks. “Just for you, Els.”

When the bed’s remade with fresh sheets and everything’s clean again, Abby scoops Ellie right out of her beanbag like she weighs nothing. Ellie squawks but doesn’t fight it, just buries her face in Abby’s shoulder and lets herself be carried like a very grumpy, very pleased kitten.

They settle under the blanket, tangled together, and it’s warm and quiet and soft. Abby stretches out on her back, Ellie half on top of her, tracing idle lines on her stomach with one finger.

“Just admit it,” Abby murmurs, her hand brushing lazily along Ellie’s spine. “I won.”

Ellie snorts. “You’re really proud of yourself, huh?”

“Extremely.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Oh?”

Ellie shifts, just enough to glance up at her. There’s still heat in her eyes, but now it’s tempered by sleep and something that might be affection. “I could probably make you come harder.”

Abby’s eyes spark with interest. “Wanna bet?”

Ellie grins, slow and sharp and sleepy. “Always.”

[starlightmoon08]

the ellabs tag is actually active. the world is healing.

[dzmaylon]

One day my brain was like „well, Ellie and Abby screwed up each other’s life’s but ultimately they have similar goal, and under other circumstances they would have been friends… And now they have a history behind them, and probably in a future they could unite against common enemy…and they would trust each other”

that’s how I started unironically ship Ellabs lol

and here is post canon Ellie and Abby

(abby is submissive though 💅)

also here is another sketch with abby

[lovergirl-co]

Ultraviolence

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘳𝘺

𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘦

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘦

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘰, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘦

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰

𝘉𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘐 𝘤𝘳𝘺

————————————————————————

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺:: You wanna leave. God, you really want to. But she’s like a magnetic force, and your being forced towards her.

𝘛𝘢𝘨𝘴:: Slapping, Ellie is mean asf (is it weird to say I’m turned on), strap usage, “bitch” being used a bit, crying. ELLIE AND ABBY MENTIONED SMD IF YOU DONT LIKE IT🙄, Ellie is cheating.

𝘈/𝘕:: This has so many Lana del Rey song references like: white mustang (why am I staying; the lyric), pretty when you cry, and ultraviolence. Also I love Ellie js letting you know (and you guys to.. ig)

ALSO OTHER NOTE, I WROTE THIS IN MY NOTES APP WHILE I WAS CLEANING MY ROOM SO ITS IN BOLD💔

(Not proofread.)

Men & Minors DNI

————————————————————————

Why are you staying? 

Cause ellie would always tell you ‘you’ll never find anyone like me again’ or ‘ I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, right?’ While she was practically touching your gut. Well one day, you completely lost it while you guys were arguing, of course Ellie always hit you with the classic line “you will never find anyone like me again if you leave.” and in return you raised your voice at her “your right, I can find better than you” oh, that sent Ellie off the fucking rails. She then slapped you so fucking hard you thought you saw God inviting you to heaven. It actually genuinely knocked you off your feet. You tried to get up before Ellie stopped you by standing above you and crouching down placing one finger under your chin lifting your head to see your tears, she chuckled “you know, you look so pretty when you cry” you clenched your jaw. Ellie sighed “get to the bedroom, now.” She demanded. Now you were on your back with your legs spread wide open, and your feet hanging off of Ellie’s shoulders. 

Ellie brought the back of her hand to her forehead wiping the sweat dripped down her forehead you moaned and whined at the base of the strap hitting your cervix, tears spilled out from the corners of your eyes “ e-Ellie it’s too much” you cried out  you guys have been going at it for fucking hours ellie smirked and grabbed your face in an aggressive manner “you can take it bitch, can’t you? You wanted this right?” She snarled at you. Then in an instant she landed a slap across your face “fucking answer me” you nodded aggressively “y-yes” she let go of your face and began whining as her own orgasm begin to build up “fuck” she whispered before a guttural moan spilled from her throat and she threw her head back her hips spurted.  She stayed inside you for a bit before she pulled out of you, took off the harness and threw it somewhere. She climed off you and layed on her back next to you. “Make me something to eat, I’m hungry” she groaned. Then she got up and started walking towards the bathroom. “Wait— you paused before she snapped her head towards you “what?” “What do you want to eat?” You stuttered. she looked at you cold before answering “ whatever, you know what I like” she didn’t care about you, or anything that has to do with you. She walked in the bathroom before slamming the door and putting her palms face down on the counter looking in the mirror. For a moment, she felt bad,  she didn’t know whether to apologize or just leave you. Whatever, she had better things to do than worry about you, and better people to talk to.

Abby

Can I see you tonight? Or is your gf still over.

Ellie answered fingers working fast against the screen

No, shes at a friends. Im coming over, be ready.

she smiled looking the notification. She walked out the bathroom and into the kitchen where you now were turning on the stove and pulling out a pot. She walked past you fastly and headed towards the door sliding her converse on. You snapped your head towards the door where she was “Ellie, where are you going?” She turned her head slightly before she gripped the door handle “don’t worry about it, I’ll be back before tomorrow” “uhm, okay bye, I love you” then the door slammed. It was 1 in the fucking morning. She wasn’t gonna be in your bed tomorrow and you knew that. You bit your lip fighting back the tears. This was your life now. Accept it. You didn’t leave this relationship.

Now it’s your fault. 

────୨ৎ────

A/N: agian not proofread. Something quick. NO PART TWO WILL BE ADDED UGH🙄🙄

@lluxentzz @look-me @graciedollie @liliofabby @korn-dawg @eddiesdrummergf @cassieyapsz @firefliesfade @ellieswife4ever @mewl3tte

[ibeatittotoxicyurifics]

[pileasun]

in my head ellabs belong so much to each other that the idea of a reader trying to fuck them is pissing me offff no threesomes they're obsessed with EO!!!!!

[elliespassagerprincess]

Can you do a just like her part 2 please? With a special appearence from muscle mommy herself?

Just like her (2/2) - ellie, dina & abby x reader

hi anon. i deadass couldn't find a pic of all 3 of them but i hope you enjoy!!

pairing: ellie williams, abby anderson, dina x fem!reader

requests are open, send me your thoughts:)

HUGE WARNING: psychological manipulation, bsession / stalking behavior, emotional coercion, gaslighting, fear-based tension, emotional pressure / guilt-tripping, toxic relationship dynamics, kidnapping, Violence, threats of harm, captivity

summary: You're seeking peace and anonymity, and you pretend to be straight to avoid the growing, unsettling attention from Ellie and Dina. The lie works—until they see her kissing another girl, Cat.

masterlist

part 1

Please read with caution. This fic is dark for a reason and should not be romanticized in real life. This story contains dark and emotionally intense themes—please read with care. You are responsible for what you consume online. Please read the warnings before reading.

You ran. You ran like the forest might open up and swallow you whole if you dared to stop.

The last thing you remember from Jackson was Ellie’s breath on your neck, her hand twitching like she wanted to touch your cheek but knew she’d break something if she did. Dina behind her, silent. Watching. Knowing.

Took nothing but your coat, your knife, your aching heart. You left in the dead of night and hoped the snow would cover your tracks. But Ellie’s a hunter. Dina’s a shadow. You don’t know how long you’ll last.

You don’t look back when you leave Jackson.

You don’t pack much either — a torn bag stuffed with whatever food you could swipe from the mess hall, a battered knife, and the memory of Ellie’s voice, low and razor-sharp behind your ear: “You’re not fooling anyone, you know. Least of all me.”

That voice haunts you now as your boots crush wet leaves, stumbling through fog-drenched woods far past the northern edge of the patrol routes. Every branch sounds like a whisper, every gust of wind a breath too close. But you run anyway, legs trembling, breath hitching, like if you stop now, they'll find you.

Ellie — who looked at you like she could swallow you whole.

Dina — who smiled with her mouth but never with her eyes.

You told them you liked boys. It wasn’t.

You’re half-starved by the time you reach the old firehouse turned outpost. It’s abandoned now — the snow kicked up against the broken doors, the inside bitter cold. You curl up against the cracked brick wall, fingers aching, and think about how badly you just want to be left alone.

You make it five days. Five fucking days out in the cold, scrounging off stolen rations and water that tastes like rot, before your knees give out. Before your vision starts blurring around the edges, body exhausted and feverish.

But you’re not alone. Not for long.

The sound of footsteps comes first. Confident. Heavy. No hesitation. Not like Ellie, who crept like a wolf. Not like Dina, who slithered into rooms so quiet you never noticed until her breath was on your neck.

No — this one stomps.

You grab your knife with frozen fingers, back to the wall, heart hammering. And then you see her.

Tall. Blond. Muscles that shift like steel beneath a torn tank top. She’s got blood on her knuckles and sweat on her brow, but her blue eyes soften when they land on you like she’s seeing something precious. Breakable.

You don’t even get the knife up in time. She crouches in front of you, voice rough but low.

“Hey. You hurt?”

You flinch when she reaches for you. She pauses, both hands up like she’s taming an animal. “Easy. You look like shit. I’m not here to hurt you.”

You don’t believe her. But you let her help you anyway.

Her name is Abby.

She tells you that she used to be with the Fireflies. That she’s been alone for a while now. That she knows what it’s like to run from people who make your skin crawl.

You don’t tell her about Ellie. Or Dina. Not yet. Because she’s warm.

She lights a fire in the fireplace. She gives you her coat. She lets you eat first even though her stomach growls like an animal. And when she sits across from you, watching you like you might disappear, you feel something tighten in your chest.

Maybe this is what safety feels like.

But safety doesn't stare quite so long when you're sleeping.

You wake up to her watching you. Pretending not to. Her hands flex on her knees, like she wants to reach out and pull you into her lap.

You don’t say anything.

The second night, she doesn’t pretend. She asks if you want to sleep closer to the fire. When you agree, she pulls you gently to her side — strong arms circling your shoulders like steel wrapped in warmth.

You try not to cry. Because it feels good. Too good.

And you know what happened last time.

On the fourth night, you whisper it. All of it. Ellie. Dina. Jackson. What they did — what they almost did. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until Abby cups your face in both her hands and looks at you like she might break in two.

“They don’t get to touch you again,” she growls. “I won’t let them.”

You believe her. That’s your first mistake.

A week passes. You haven’t left her side.

She won’t let you hunt alone. Won’t let you sleep far. She cuts your food for you sometimes. Insists you don’t strain yourself. Kisses your forehead when she thinks you’re too tired to notice.

It’s gentler than Ellie’s obsession. Less sharp than Dina’s manipulation. But it’s the same hunger, wrapped in silk.

You try to leave on the tenth day. Just to walk. Just to breathe.

But she’s already there when you open the door, arms crossed, lips a flat line.

“Where were you going?”

Your mouth goes dry. “Just outside. Just for a minute—”

She takes a step forward.

“Without me?”

You shake your head. “I didn’t think—”

“That’s right,” Abby says softly. “You didn’t think. You don’t have to. I’ll do the thinking for both of us now.”

You freeze when she cups your chin again, but this time her fingers tighten slightly — a warning.

“You ran from them,” she whispers, breath warm against your lips. “You’re not gonna run from me too.”

That night, she keeps your knife. You pretend not to notice. And in the silence between the fire’s crackle and the slow drag of her fingers through your hair, you wonder if Ellie was right.

Maybe you aren’t fooling anyone.

Maybe you were made to be wanted like this.

She doesn’t pretend she’s not keeping you there.

She says it’s “for your safety.”

“You were being followed,” she tells you on the third day. Her eyes are serious. Her mouth set in a firm line. “Two girls. Armed. You know them?”

You go still.

She studies you. She knows.

“I’ve been watching them for days,” she continues. “They’re close.”

Your stomach twists. “Why… why are you helping me?”

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “Didn’t like the way they looked at you.”

You shiver.

She kneels beside the bed. “You’ve got someone now.”

You start to notice things. Your coat? Gone. Knife? Nowhere.

The cabin? No windows that open. One door. Always locked unless she’s inside. And she touches you like she’s allowed to.

A hand brushing your hair. A finger grazing your jaw. You pull away at first. She apologizes. But later, it happens again. Longer. Slower. Her touch lingers.

You tell yourself it’s kindness. You try to ignore the heat in your belly that comes with it. The shame. The betrayal of your own body.

You dream of Ellie’s voice at your ear, whispering mine. You wake up sweating.

Abby’s there with a wet cloth, wiping your forehead. Eyes dark.

“You cry in your sleep,” she says. “Do they still scare you?”

You nod.

She smiles like it comforts her. Like she likes that you're scared — just not of her.

Weeks pass.

She teaches you how to shoot.

“It’s just in case,” she says, guiding your hand over the grip. Her chest presses to your back. “I’d never let anyone touch you again.”

You wonder what she’d do if they found you. If Ellie showed up at the door, blood on her hands, wild and furious and shaking.

You ask her.

“What if they come?”

Abby doesn’t blink.

“I’ll kill them.”

You don’t ask again.

You try to leave once. Just once.

She’s gone hunting. You see the chance and you run. The door wasn’t locked this time — you think she’s getting too comfortable. You make it to the woods. Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.

You hear her before you see her.

“Y/N—!”

The shout tears through the trees. You freeze. Then she’s on you.

Tackling you into the snow. Her breath ragged. Her hands gripping your shoulders like she’s afraid you’ll shatter.

“You’re not leaving me.”

“I was just—”

“I found you,” she snarls. “They were going to break you.”

“I don’t belong to you!”

Silence.

Then:

“You will.”

That night, she doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t even speak. She locks the door again. You lie in bed, heart racing, skin crawling.

But part of you — the smallest, sickest part — wonders what would’ve happened if you begged her to make you hers.

And if she would’ve said yes.

A week later, she brings back news.

“They’re getting closer.”

You hear them before you see them. Boots. Branches snapping. That strange static in the air like a storm about to break.

Abby stands in front of you, still as stone, jaw clenched. Rifle in hand, eyes tracking the treeline like she feels them breathing out there.

“They’re here,” she says.

You already know.

You feel it in your bones. That aching itch. That pull.

Ellie.

Dina.

It was never going to end.

Abby doesn’t ask you to hide.

She just pulls you behind her, presses her hand to your stomach, and murmurs, “Don’t move.”

The gunshot comes fast. Cracks through the woods like lightning. Abby shoves you behind a tree and returns fire.

You fall to your knees. Everything is noise. Pain. Heat.

And then you hear her.

Ellie.

That voice. Rough, ragged, shaking with something almost feral.

“GIVE HER TO ME.”

Your lungs seize. You haven’t heard her voice in over a month, but it’s like it’s under your skin.

You peek around the tree.

She’s there. Blood on her sleeve. Bow in hand. Face wild. Dina beside her. Steady. Silent. Her eyes are on you.

They look like they’ve already won.

Abby doesn’t hesitate. She fires again. Forces them back. You scream her name, but she’s already moving — low, fast, sharp. Her body is a weapon and you realize, horrified, that this is what she was made for.

Protecting you.

Fighting for you.

Owning you.

Ellie gets close first. She slams into Abby, knife flashing. The two hit the ground hard, rolling through mud and snow.

You’re screaming, begging, crying — none of them hear you.

Dina moves around the fight. Comes to you. Her voice is soft. Familiar. Soothing.

“Hey,” she says. “You okay, baby?”

You shake your head, crawling backwards. “No. No. You can’t—”

She kneels in front of you. Her fingers reach toward your cheek. You slap her hand away.

Her face falls. But only for a second.

“Still fighting?” she murmurs. “That’s okay. We like that.”

Abby roars. You hear the snap of someone’s shoulder dislocating. Then silence. Ellie collapses to one knee.

Blood runs down her cheek. She’s smiling.

Abby stares at her, panting. “Stay the fuck away from her.”

Ellie spits blood. “Why? So you can lock her up in your little cabin? Feed her lies and play pretend?”

“She chose me.”

“She didn’t even know you!”

Dina steps between them. Her voice is calm. “All of you are forgetting something.”

They look at her.

She tilts her head at you. “She belongs to us.”

It happens fast. Dina grabs your wrist. Yanks you up.

Abby lunges, but Ellie tackles her down again, screaming, “RUN!”

You break free from Dina’s grasp. Sprint into the trees. Your lungs burn. Your legs are failing. Every part of you hurts.

But you don’t stop.

They’re chasing each other.

They’re chasing you.

They’ll never stop.

You make it to a clearing. Drop to your knees. Breath ragged. And then — all of them appear.

Abby. Ellie. Dina.

Bloodied. Dirty. Staring at you like you’re a fire they’re ready to walk into.

You scream, “Stop!”

They do.

Just for a second.

Then Abby steps forward. “Come home.”

Ellie: “You were never meant to leave.”

Dina: “You don’t have to choose. We’ll take care of everything.”

You shake your head. Tears stream down your face.

“I’m not yours.”

They don’t even flinch.

Abby kneels. “Then whose are you?”

You choke on the answer. Because you don’t know anymore.

They make a deal. Split custody. That’s what Dina jokes. Ellie doesn’t laugh. Abby doesn’t even blink.

They bring you back to the cabin. Together.And everything after that is soft. Too soft.

Blankets. Baths. Bruises cleaned in silence.

They take turns holding you. Feeding you. Whispering in your ear. Telling you it’s okay now. That it’s over. That you’re safe.

But you’re not.

You wake in the middle of the night and find Ellie tracing your spine with her fingertip.

You pretend to sleep.

She leans down. Breathes you in.

“You smell like her,” she whispers. “I fucking hate it.”

In the morning, Abby brings you coffee and a kiss on your wrist.

Later, Dina braids your hair and hums to herself like it’s normal.

You’re not allowed outside anymore. You don’t even ask.

Because when you try to run again, Abby breaks your radio.

And Ellie breaks your trust.

You’re not scared anymore. You’re numb.

They argue sometimes — over who gets to hold you. Who gets the bed. Who touched you last.

But they always circle back.

To you.

You’re the center. The reason. The obsession. And it should terrify you.

But some part of you — broken, hollow, shaped by them — is starting to like the way it feels.

To be watched. To be wanted. To be owned.

You stop trying to escape. Let them believe they’ve won. You smile more.

Say thank you when Abby brushes your hair.

Kiss Ellie’s bruised knuckles.

Curl into Dina when she whispers promises in your ear.

They melt. You rot.

But you learn something in that silence. In those slow, sick days between their arms.

They don’t want you free. They want you to be theirs.

Which means — you own them too.

Ellie is the first to break.

You start with something small. A flinch when she touches you. A sigh. A pause before you kiss her back. It drives her insane.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

You blink slowly. “You don’t trust me?”

She’s wrecked for days.

Draws pictures of you obsessively. Sleeps outside the bedroom door like a dog. Won’t eat unless you do.

Perfect.

Then Dina. She’s the emotional one. So you start crying at night. Silent. Just loud enough for her to hear. But when she touches your face —

“Don’t,” you whisper.

“Baby—”

“I’m fine.”

But you don’t sleep.

You curl up on the floor. You pretend to shiver. She panics. Tries to wrap you in her arms. You flinch again. She doesn’t sleep after that. Keeps vigil. Like a priest. Like a sinner.

You let her pray.

Abby takes the longest.

She’s strong. Solid. Rational.

So you unravel her by choosing the others first. A hand on Ellie’s thigh during dinner. A longer kiss for Dina.

A quiet, “I’ll sleep with them tonight, okay?” after Abby’s made the bed.

You see the cracks forming. She gets shorter. Quieter. Cold. Until one night you let yourself into her room and climb into her lap, straddling her.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

Her hands tremble. And you know you’ve won.

It becomes a game. Who gets your affection today. Who earns a kiss. A smile. A soft moan in the night.

They try to pretend they’re still in control.

That you’re still theirs.

But you see it in their eyes. You’ve become god.

You start setting rules.

“I don’t like yelling,” you say sweetly, after Ellie screams at Abby.

They all go quiet after that.

“I don’t want to be touched unless I ask.”

Hands retreat like fire burned them.

“You’re not allowed to fight over me anymore.”

They make eye contact. Nod. Shake hands. They don’t see the smirk you hide. You’ve bent them to your will. Tamed the monsters with a single whispered prayer.

One night, Ellie gets bold. Tries to slip her hand between your thighs while you’re half-asleep.

You grab her wrist. Hard.

Her breath catches. Her pupils blow wide.

“Do you want me to cry again?” you ask.

Her hand retreats like it was scorched. The next morning, she kills a deer and leaves it at the cabin door like an offering.

You don’t even eat it.

Dina writes you songs now. Leaves them on your pillow. Love letters carved into guitar strings.

Abby trains harder. Lifts heavier. Just so you’ll look at her with a glint of awe.

And Ellie — poor, broken Ellie — carves your face into wood.

You burn one of the carvings in the fireplace just to watch her weep. She thanks you afterward. Says she deserved it.

You wear white now. They say it makes you look angelic. You let them believe that.

You braid your hair and sit on the porch and hum like you’re peaceful, when really, you’re remembering the way Dina trembled when you kissed her then turned away.

You’re remembering how Abby whimpered when you cried in her arms, then didn’t speak to her for days.

You’re remembering how Ellie sobbed in your lap when you told her you didn’t know if you loved her anymore.

And how you kissed her forehead and whispered, “Maybe tomorrow.”

You’ve turned captivity into kingdom. You rule them. Not with fists or knives. But with silence.

With tears. With restraint.

Because they taught you to survive by being quiet.

Now you survive by making them scream.

You’re not running anymore. Why would you? They never wanted freedom.

And now — neither do you.

tagged: @incog-nizo @abigaillovestoread

[ssupanova]

Dont bite the hand that fingers you, or whatever they say

[yokedtablet]

Do you guys think Abby plays guitar for Ellie when she can't because she's missing two of her fingers...? Hmm

[misaerabl]

UNDER THE SURFACE

ellabs fucking you in a pool

CW: pool sex, bff ellie and abby, strap on e! giving r! receiving, a! finger fucking you, playing with ur clit, making out with a! while e! fucks you, threesome, ellie and abby kiss, pure smut, not proofread (I'm horny and drunk)

The water’s warm, but not as warm as the way Ellie looks at you.

You’re both floating lazily in the deep end, the sun long gone, leaving only the glow of the pool lights to reflect across her freckles. Abby’s sitting at the edge, legs dangling in the water, wet hair slicked back as she watches you two with that same quiet amusement. It’s peaceful—almost too peaceful for the tension crackling beneath the surface.

You’re talking about nothing at first. Childhood stories. Favorite snacks. Embarrassing dreams. The kind of things that feel safer said in water, like the pool swallows secrets better than silence ever could.

But then Ellie swims closer, her voice dropping, more honest. Abby shifts behind you, closer too. And you realize it’s not just conversation anymore. It’s eye contact that lingers. It’s knees brushing under the water. It’s Abby’s voice low in your ear asking if this is okay.

It’s heat building despite the water.

Ellie drifts closer until her shoulder brushes yours. You don’t pull away.

“You ever kiss someone in a pool before?” she asks, voice low, like it might break if she says it too loud. Her eyes are half-lidded, lashes wet, freckles kissed by the glow of the water. There’s a smirk tugging at the edge of her lips, but her voice is careful. Almost shy.

You blink at her, then at Abby—who’s now slipped into the water behind you, her hands brushing your waist, slow and deliberate.

“No,” you say. “But I’m not exactly opposed.”

Ellie laughs under her breath. “Good.”

Her hand finds your jaw first, thumb soft beneath your chin. Abby’s fingers grip your hips more firmly now, grounding you as Ellie leans in and kisses you—warm, wet, open-mouthed. It tastes like chlorine and something sweeter, something that makes you want more.

You barely have time to gasp when Abby presses closer behind you, her mouth grazing your neck. Her voice is a murmur against your skin. “God, you’re so responsive.”

You shiver in the water, not from the cold. Ellie’s lips move to your ear. “You like when we do this together, huh?”

You nod, barely, and Ellie bites your earlobe just enough to make your stomach twist. Abby’s hand trails beneath the water, fingers slipping past your waistband, teasing, slow. Your breath catches. The heat between your legs rises with the ripples of the water, and you can feel Ellie watching you fall apart.

“You’re gonna be good for us?” Abby asks, low and husky against your throat.

“I’ll be good,” you whisper, already dizzy from their touch.

Ellie’s hand joins Abby’s under the water, and it’s overwhelming—two sets of hands, two mouths, all focused on you. Abby holds you up when your legs threaten to give out, Ellie kisses you like she’s starving, and you let them wreck you slowly, thoroughly, right there in the water.

Abby’s hand glides up your ribcage, gentle, but firm enough to guide you. Before you can process it, she tugs you toward her, and your back collides with someone—Ellie.

You gasp, turning your head just enough to see her grin against your shoulder, her breath hot against your skin. Her hands settle on your hips, possessive. Abby’s now in front of you, her blue eyes darkened, focused, the pool light shimmering off her skin.

“Thought I’d let Abby have the front for a bit,” Ellie murmurs, voice slick with suggestion. “That cool with you, baby?”

You nod, lips parted. But then—you feel it.

Something hard and unmistakable pressing against your lower back, beneath the water.

Your eyes shoot to Abby’s, and she just smirks knowingly. “Yeah,” she says, reading your reaction. “Ellie brought a little something.”

Ellie chuckles behind you, slow and wicked. “Didn’t want to waste the chance. You just looked too good in that suit.”

She rolls her hips forward just enough to make sure you feel all of it.

Your breath stutters, hands flying to Abby’s shoulders for balance. “Fuck,” you breathe, overwhelmed.

Abby cups your face, kisses you slow while Ellie presses flush behind you. Her strap nudges between your thighs, and the sensation of being sandwiched between them—Abby’s soft lips, Ellie’s teasing thrusts—is intoxicating.

“Let us take care of you,” Abby whispers, her forehead resting against yours.

Ellie’s teeth graze your shoulder. “We’re not stopping till you’re shaking.”

The first push of Ellie’s hips is slow, almost teasing. You feel the drag of her strap beneath the water, nudging between your thighs and pressing into your heat with aching precision. It’s not even fully inside—not yet—but the pressure makes you gasp, clutching tighter onto Abby’s shoulders as she watches your face with a hunger that’s anything but gentle.

“Relax,” Ellie murmurs from behind you, her lips brushing your ear as she inches deeper, a fraction at a time. “Let me in.”

And you do. You melt into it.

The stretch burns just a little, but you welcome it, tilting your hips back instinctively. She sinks in with a slow, firm thrust, inch by inch, until her hips press flush against your ass and your breath hitches in your throat.

Abby leans in and kisses your parted lips, slow and grounding. “That’s it,” she whispers, her thumb stroking your cheek. “Doing so good.”

The water rocks around you gently as Ellie pulls back, then pushes forward again—establishing a rhythm, steady and deep. It’s a slow grind at first, deliberate, like she’s testing how much you can take. And then Abby’s hand dips beneath the water again, her fingers finding your clit, working lazy circles as Ellie thrusts from behind.

Your moan escapes into Abby’s mouth, and she swallows it greedily.

Ellie’s hands slide up your waist, gripping your ribs, pulling you back into every movement of her hips. Her thrusts grow deeper, the sound of water shifting around the three of you setting a pace that feels endless and all-encompassing.

And then Abby leans in closer, chest pressing against yours, lips brushing your cheek. Her voice is low, close, intimate. “Can feel her inside you,” she says, eyes locked on yours. “You’re taking her so well, baby.”

You nod, unable to find words, your mind unraveling with each thrust, each circle of Abby’s fingers, each breathless kiss they steal from you.

Then—Abby shifts forward, glancing at Ellie over your shoulder. “Come here.”

Ellie slows, her thrusts pausing as she leans in, their faces inches apart just above your shoulder. And then you see it—their mouths meeting, slow at first, then desperate. It’s a kiss thick with need, lips crashing, tongues tangling. You feel Ellie groan into Abby’s mouth, feel the way her hips stutter forward before regaining rhythm, faster now. Needier.

Their kiss is hungry and unrelenting, a tangle of heat and wet breaths exchanged between them as you’re caught between their bodies. Abby's hand never leaves you, her fingers still circling your clit with purpose, while Ellie drives into you harder, her mouth still fused with Abby’s.

Abby pulls back with a grin, breathless, her lips pink and swollen. She murmurs against Ellie’s mouth, “Don’t be greedy. She’s still mine too.”

Ellie chuckles, chest heaving, hips snapping forward again. “Then let’s ruin her together.”

You barely get a second to process that before Abby kisses you again, just as Ellie angles her thrusts deeper, harder now—still controlled, but with that edge of urgency.

Every inch of you feels touched, devoured. Abby’s hand tightens on your jaw, her fingers rubbing faster, in sync with Ellie’s movements. Your thighs tremble in the water. Your breath stutters.

But they don’t let you fall yet.

Ellie presses forward, her chest against your back now, her lips at your neck. “You’re gonna take more, right? Gonna be a good girl for us?”

Abby hums in approval. “Let her feel it. Let her beg.”

You whimper, helpless between them, aching for release but held at the edge by their pace—so patient, so cruel in how good it feels.

Your body’s caught in the rhythm they’ve created—Ellie’s steady, deliberate thrusts from behind, the firm drag of her strap hitting that spot over and over; Abby’s fingers rubbing tight, precise circles against your clit, her mouth never far from yours, whispering how good you are, how perfect.

“Just like that,” she breathes, her voice thick. “Keep taking it, sweetheart.”

Ellie groans against your neck, her thrusts growing deeper, needier. “She’s fucking dripping for us.”

She’s not wrong.

You’re soaked, and it’s not just the water. The stretch, the pressure, the way they look at you—it’s everything. You’re sandwiched between them, held, handled, worshiped. Every little sound you make seems to drive them harder. Ellie’s pace begins to shift, no longer teasing. Each thrust lands with more intention, more weight, the kind that makes your legs feel like they’re barely yours anymore.

Abby notices.

Her hands slip under your thighs, lifting you just slightly, adjusting your position so you’re floating—helpless in their hold. The movement changes the angle, and Ellie sinks in deeper. You cry out, the sound breaking against Abby’s mouth.

“Yeah,” Ellie growls, her grip tightening. “That’s it. Let us hear you.”

She thrusts harder now, faster, the water splashing against your hips. Abby’s fingers never slow, working you in perfect time, and her lips trail down your jaw to your neck, kissing, sucking—marking.

“You’re so close,” she whispers, and you are.

Everything’s too much. Too good.

Your body arches against them, trembling. Ellie leans in, her breath hot at your ear. “Come on, baby. Give it to us.”

And you do.

Your orgasm crashes through you—sharp, blinding, unstoppable. Your thighs quake, breath hitching, mouth falling open in a soundless gasp that Abby catches with a kiss. Your body spasms between them as Ellie keeps fucking you through it, each deep thrust making you fall harder, longer, while Abby rubs you with unrelenting focus, guiding you through the waves.

They don’t stop touching you—not until the aftershocks fade and your body melts, boneless, floating between them.

Ellie finally slows her hips, breath ragged against your shoulder. “Fuck. That was…”

Abby grins, brushing your wet hair from your face. “Yeah. She’s ruined.”

You can’t even speak, just slump into Abby’s arms while Ellie kisses your shoulder, your neck, your spine—soft, tender.

They cradle you there, holding you above the water, like they just pulled you out of something deep and sacred.

Because maybe they did.

[butchsucker]

MAKE IT REALITY (or ellie's cool, popular college roommate finds some incriminating journal entries and makes them come true)

pairing: ellie williams/abby anderson

contents: mean!abby x loser!ellie, college au, perv!ellie, dominant bottom abby, submissive top ellie, they switch a little at the end tho, pussy eating, tit slapping, hair-pulling, spanking, doggy style, strap-on usage, choking, biting and scratching, overstim, multiple orgasms, abby like it rough basically.

word count: 7,018 (jesus christ)

Ellie thinks about Abby slightly more than the average amount that could be considered healthy. But she’s got a million little ways to justify her insatiable need to dwell on all things Abigail Anderson.

The most convenient excuse is that Abby’s impossible to ignore. She’s huge and walks around campus like it’s hers by birthright. Loud too, always laughing like she’s never once been embarrassed, always roughhousing with her teammates like a golden retriever in human form.

Also, she’s Ellie's roommate.

Which, okay, is not the end of the world. Abby’s usually off with her volleyball cult and that leaves the dorm quiet in a way Ellie likes—just her and her laptop and the vague scent of weed clinging to the window curtains. She can lounge around in nothing but boxers, spine curved like a shrimp, typing or doom-scrolling or watching whatever depravity the internet spits out at her without worrying if she looks hot doing it. She can smoke, blow the evidence out the window, and jerk off without headphones.

That last part (Ellie spending a frankly alarming amount of time watching porn) is a recent development. Directly tied to the fact that Abby exists the way she does. In shorts that barely count as clothing. In shirts that don’t even bother with sleeves. Smelling like something sinful and soft, vanilla and cashmere, which Ellie figured out from the perfume bottle Abby left on the desk like she wants Ellie to fantasize about that scent clinging to her.

Something about already being high and relaxed and then seeing Abby breeze in—sweaty, smug, muscles flexing like she lives to be admired—just hits the kill switch in Ellie’s brain. Even when Abby sneers or tosses out some bitchy comment about Ellie’s chronic bed-rotting, it doesn’t help. Or rather, it helps in exactly the wrong way. Makes Ellie’s stomach clench. Makes her want things she probably shouldn’t want.

She likes that Abby’s mean. It gives her fuel for all kinds of delusional fantasies. Ones where Ellie gets to flip the script, shut her up with a hand between her thighs, bend her over the mattress and fuck her just right until that smug little smirk disappears.

Not that Ellie’s that guy. She doesn’t have the stamina, emotionally or physically, to break a girl like Abby Anderson. Hell, in the handful (and “handful” is generous) of sexual experiences she’s managed to collect, she’s always the one on her back. Always the one panting and whining and asking for more. Not that she’s complaining. She still gets there.

The harmless thoughts and the occasional (read: extremely frequent) jerking off aren’t really the problem. Ellie’s true crimes live in the bottom drawer of her bedside table.

First: the strap-on. A panic purchase, made during what Ellie can only describe as a bout of sudden-onset insanity. She’d been high—obviously—and something about that thick, purple dildo screamed this is what you’d use to ruin Abby Anderson. Small snag: she’s not actually fucking Abby. Bright side, the harness has a built-in pocket for a bullet vibe. So whenever the mood hits (which is often), Ellie cranks the thing to max, closes her eyes, pumps into her fist, and lets herself pretend. Pretend it's Abby.

A deeply pathetic display.

Then there’s the underwear. A pair of panties Abby accidentally tossed into Ellie’s laundry pile: sheer crotch, baby blue, little white heart print. They were immediately rescued and hidden away like stolen treasure. It took Ellie a full day to work up the nerve to bury her face in them. And when she finally did—well. To this day, she has never come harder than with Abby’s panties clutched in one hand and the other between her legs, imagining Abby walking in on the whole sordid scene. And somehow, that’s still not the worst thing in the drawer.

That honor goes to the journal.

Important context: Ellie has a lot of journals. Sketchbooks too. One for daily brain rot. One for serious thoughts. A couple for class notes. One for landscapes. One for portraits. All very organized. Very normal.

Then there’s that journal. The one that never leaves the drawer. The one reserved for every foul, depraved fantasy she’s ever had. Most of them—okay, all of them—involve Abby in some capacity. There are entries about wanting to bite and slap her tits until they’re puffy and red, nipples raw from too much attention—directly inspired by Abby wearing a tank top with no bra on one unreasonably chilly morning. Or the one where Abby is sitting full on Ellie’s face, thighs locked around her skull, and Ellie’s arms are wrapped tight around her waist, determined to keep her there until she’s had her fill and then some. Pages upon pages of shit that should probably get her institutionalized.

As long as Ellie keeps everything carefully under wraps, none of it really matters. Or at least, that’s the philosophy that’s gotten her this far living alongside Abby fucking Anderson.

But all that careful secret-keeping starts to fall apart on Friday.

She hears Abby coming before she even hits the door, which gives Ellie just enough time to crush her roach into the ashtray and shove it—along with her journal—back into the bottom drawer where shame lives.

The door swings open and Abby strides in like a force of nature, her friend Nora trailing behind. Both of them are in their volleyball uniforms, which means those microscopic shorts that make Ellie want to slam her head against the desk. There’s more to the uniform, sure, but Ellie can’t see past Abby’s ass. It should be illegal. She clenches her hands into fists in her lap and drags her eyes back to her laptop like it owes her something.

Abby and Nora are chatting about something—fast, loud, chaotic. Way too much for Ellie’s weed-fogged brain to track. She keeps pretending she’s working on the assignment due by midnight, but let’s be real: she’s not getting a single coherent thought down while Abby is in the room, much less half-naked and glowing from practice.

“Ellie, gimme your lighter,” Abby says, sharp and already annoyed, like Ellie’s been denying her something on purpose. “I know you have one.”

“Huh?” Ellie blinks up, the world's lamest reply.

Abby looks at her like she’s the stupidest girl alive. Which, fair. “Jesus,” she mutters, shooting Nora a look that makes her laugh behind her hand. “Lighter. Give me.”

Ellie freezes. Her lighter’s with all her weed stuff...which is also sitting in the same drawer as her strap-on, Abby’s stolen panties, and her pervert journal. Not ideal.

“I, uh, don’t have one,” she lies, voice too high. “And I was just about to head out so…yeah.”

She slams her laptop shut with a little too much force, scrambles to grab her keys, phone, and her weed pen like she’s suddenly got very important plans. She doesn’t.

“You cannot be fucking serious right now.” Abby plants her hands on her hips, exasperated, and Ellie’s brain short-circuits just long enough to notice how her biceps flex with the motion. Like that helps.

Then Ellie’s out the door with absolutely nowhere to be.

Ellie ends up on Jesse’s beat-up couch, slouched low with her legs spread like she owns the place. Dina’s curled into the other corner with a blanket around her shoulders. Jesse’s on the floor, playing DJ with the speaker that only works if you smack it a little. The room smells like weed and leftover takeout and whatever cologne Jesse keeps pretending isn’t Axe.

The pen gets passed around in a lazy circle, and by the third go Ellie’s got that nice, floaty kind of high where everything feels a little less urgent. Less humiliating.

“Okay,” she says, exhaling slow. “I am calling upon my round table for their sage wisdom. I may have a crush that is ruining my life.”

“Oh boy,” Jesse mutters immediately.

Dina raises her eyebrows, amused. “On who?”

Ellie shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Just Abby.”

Jesse barks a laugh, already halfway choking on his next hit. “You mean, monster on the court, bicep bigger than your head, super scary Abby?”

“Oh come on, man,” Ellie grumbles, stealing the pen back. “She's not that scary.”

“She could bench-press you and me,” Jesse says. “At the same time. For fun. And doesn't she, like, hate you?”

Dina’s still watching Ellie with a look that’s way too knowing for comfort. “You’ve been totally perving on her, haven't you?”

“I do not,” Ellie lies. “She’s just…hot. Like, objectively. And I live with her, so it’s kind of hard to not notice, y’know?”

“Again, she hates your guts. And you live with her,” Jesse repeats, pointing like it’s a discovery. “I know you're allergic to making good choices, but that's a terrible idea for even you.”

“Bold of you to act like you’ve ever had a good idea,” Ellie fires back.

Jesse shrugs. “Fair.”

Dina shifts a little, setting down her drink. “Look. You should go for it if that’s what you want. No point sitting around pining forever.”

Ellie blinks at her. “Wow, thanks for the groundbreaking advice.”

“I’m serious,” Dina says, smile softening. “But, you know, be careful. She looks like she’d chew you up and spit you out.”

“Oh, sick,” Ellie groans. “Thanks for the support.”

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be fun,” Dina adds with a smirk. “Just that you might die.”

They pass the pen around again, laughing too loud at dumb jokes and mocking each other during a couple rounds of Mario Kart that end in violent betrayal and a lot of middle fingers. At some point, Jesse heats up leftovers and calls it dinner. They all eat on the couch, barely avoiding spills, plates balanced on their knees like the functional adults they definitely are not.

It’s easy, being with them. The way it always is, no matter how many failed relationships they’ve all circled through. Too much history. Too much love.

Eventually, Ellie checks the time and sighs. “I should probably head back. Assignment’s due.”

Jesse snorts. “You haven’t started it, have you?”

Ellie flips him off on her way out the door.

Pretty soon, Ellie finds herself practically floating back to her room. She feels good and the thought of just laying face down in the dark feels like the best idea she's had in years.

When she pushes the door open, however, she finds Abby sitting on her bed with her stolen panties dangling from one finger and Ellie's journal open on her knee, lazily flipping through the pages with a terrifyingly neutral expression.

Ellie considers her options: run away, kill Abby, kill herself. All good choices. Some more feasible than others. Slowly, she starts to pull the door back shut. She can sleep somewhere else for the night. And the rest of her nights for the rest of her life. Maybe Joel won’t be too upset if she drops out of college. Who needs college anyway.

“Ellie. Get in here and shut the door.”

The voice is calm. No edge. No raised volume. Which, somehow, makes it ten times worse.

Ellie’s stomach drops straight through the floor. She steps in, legs moving on autopilot, and closes the door behind her with a soft click. It might as well be a prison cell.

Abby’s still sitting on her bed, one leg crossed over the other, completely at ease. Her massive arms are bare, tank top clinging to her like it was vacuum-sealed on, and her expression is... unreadable. That same damn pair of blue panties dangling from her finger like she’s weighing their value at an auction.

“Had a fun night?” Abby asks, tone light. Almost bored.

Ellie swallows. Her tongue feels three sizes too big. “I...uh. Yeah. Kinda.”

Abby flips another page of the journal. “Cool. 'Cause I’ve had a pretty interesting one myself.”

Ellie takes a shaky step forward. “Listen, I—okay, I can explain—”

“You can explain,” Abby echoes, lifting her eyes at last. “By all means. Explain why you’ve got a journal full of notes on my tits and my ass and 'fucking the attitude out of me'?”

Ellie makes a noise. A pathetic, dying animal kind of noise.

“I mean, full-on thesis-level analysis,” Abby continues, reading from the page without shame. “‘Want her bouncing and sobbing on my shit.’” Her voice is flat. Deadpan. “Real poet, huh?”

Ellie wants to melt into the floor. “Jesus Christ.”

“No, Ellie, that was you.” Abby tosses the panties onto the bed like they’re nothing but evidence bagged and tagged. “Didn’t realize I needed to put a lock on my laundry.”

“I didn’t! It was an accident,” Ellie croaks. “You threw them in my hamper. I—I was gonna give them back, but—”

“But you decided to jerk off to them instead?”

Ellie flinches like she’s been physically hit. “I didn’t mean—God, okay, I know it’s weird, I know—”

“Oh, it’s weird,” Abby says, almost cheerfully now. “But not shocking. I mean, you stare at me all the time. You think I don’t notice? You practically burn a hole through my ass every time I walk past.”

“I don’t—” Ellie’s voice cracks. “I really—I didn’t think you—”

“Knew?” Abby’s eyebrows lift. “Ellie. I’m not blind. And you’re not subtle.”

Ellie’s mouth opens but no words come out. She watches as Abby flips through another few pages, eyes skimming across the lines like she’s reading a grocery list.

“‘Want her to sit on my face until I pass out.’ That’s bold,” Abby murmurs. “‘Would thank her for being mean to me.’ You got a thing for being humiliated, or what?”

“I’m sorry,” Ellie blurts. Her voice wobbles, thick and shaky. “I’m sorry, I—I know this is fucked up. I don’t know what���s wrong with me, I just—” Her throat clamps up. “I was high, and stupid, and I wasn’t trying to—"

Abby looks up sharply.

“You weren’t trying to what? Fantasize about me while I’m asleep five feet away? Steal my underwear? Speak. Now.”

“I just—!” Ellie squeezes her eyes shut. “I didn’t think you’d ever know, okay?! I didn’t think—” Her voice chokes, breaks. “I didn’t think it mattered. I wasn’t gonna do anything. I swear to God, Abby, I wasn’t gonna—”

“Touch me?” Abby asks coolly.

Ellie nods frantically, eyes glossy. “Yeah. Yeah. I swear. I would never. I mean, I—fuck, I’m so sorry. I’m—”

She’s full-on crying now. Not loud sobs, not drama, just those quiet, helpless tears that slide down fast and uncontrollably. Her voice is a whisper: “I’m so fucking sorry.”

There’s a silence. Long and thick and impossible.

Abby doesn’t say anything right away. She just closes the journal and sets it aside on the bed, her fingers lingering on the cover. Something in her jaw tightens, just for a second.

And then she sighs.

“Sit down.”

Ellie blinks, confused through the blur. “What?”

Abby gestures to her desk chair. “Sit. Before your knees give out.”

Ellie obeys without thinking, dropping into the chair like a puppet with its strings cut. Her heart’s still trying to punch its way out of her chest.

Abby leans forward, elbows on her thighs, gaze locked on Ellie’s. Her voice is quieter now. Still firm. But no longer cruel.

“You’re a little freak, y’know that?”

Ellie lets out a broken laugh, hiccuping through it. “Yeah. I know.”

“I should be pissed.”

“You should. You absolutely should.”

“And I am,” Abby adds. “But also—" She pauses. "You could’ve just said something. Been a normal fucking person. Instead of…” She gestures vaguely toward the journal and panties like they’re part of some performance art exhibit. “...this.”

Ellie wipes at her face, sniffling. “Didn’t think I could. You scare the shit out of me.”

Abby smiles. Just a little. “Good.”

Ellie shakes her head, still miserable. “God, I’m never gonna live this down.”

“No,” Abby agrees. “You’re really not.”

Then, somehow, they’re both laughing. Just a little. Just enough to break the tension.

Ellie’s chest feels light and hollow in a way she can’t describe. A mix of devastation and relief and something else she doesn’t want to name.

Eventually, Abby stands, grabbing her water bottle from the dresser like they didn’t just have the worst conversation of Ellie’s life.

“I’m going to Nora's,” she says. “When I get back, my panties better be exactly where they belong.”

Ellie nods quickly. “Yes. Absolutely. Consider it done.”

“And we’re gonna talk more about this.” Abby jerks her chin toward the journal. “When I feel like it.”

Ellie swallows hard. “Okay.”

Abby lingers in the doorway, one hand braced casually against the frame, like she owns the place. Like she owns Ellie.

“I like your strap, by the way,” she says, voice low and infuriatingly amused. “Purple’s my favorite color.”

Ellie lets out something between a laugh and a sob. “Oh my god, kill me.”

Abby just shakes her head, her smirk crooked and shameless. Then she’s gone, down the hall, off to go bench press a car or something.

The silence that follows is unbearable.

Ellie stares at the door for a full minute, then at the bed. The journal still lies where Abby left it. And those panties. Still there. Taunting her, almost.

She should just give them back. Toss them into the laundry where they belong. Be a grown-ass adult about this.

Instead, because she’s a monster with zero self-control and the moral integrity of a half-crushed soda can, she ends up clutching them in both hands, holding the soft fabric close under her nose. They still smell like her. Like lavender detergent and sweat and something darker, something that punches straight through Ellie’s brainstem.

Abby had been on her bed. Right there. Reading her filth like scripture. With that calm, unreadable face.

Ellie comes with a broken cry, trembling and flushed, her whole body curling tight around the aching heat in her gut. She passes out with her hand still tucked between her thighs, her clit pulsing like it’s trying to send out a distress signal.

After that night, Abby quickly becomes the worst person in the known universe.

She starts hanging around the dorm more than ever. Just always there. Breathing the same air. Existing in the same shared space like it’s normal. Like they didn’t just have that conversation.

Where before her presence would’ve been a dream—Ellie’s private little fantasy to nurse in silence—it’s now Ellie’s own personal hell. Every moment is a minefield. Every glance a catastrophe waiting to happen.

Abby isn’t shy. Fun fact about her.

She changes right in front of Ellie like modesty is a myth. Yanks off her shirt and shimmies out of her shorts after practice, muscles flexing, skin slick with sweat. Ellie’s brain goes offline every single time. She tries not to look. She really does. But the damage is done by the time she even blinks.

And Abby knows it.

She smirks. Right at her. Holds eye contact as she peels off her sports bra. Stretches.

Ellie is going to die. For real this time. Her cause of death will be “brain explosion from overwhelming lust.”

Abby takes to sprawling out on her bed like she’s modeling for a pin-up calendar. Post-practice, hair damp and messy, shirt pulled halfway up her stomach. Ellie thinks about how easy it would be to press their bodies together, slide one leg between hers, bury her face in Abby’s neck and never come up for air.

But instead, she just…watches. Like a creep. Like she always does.

Abby giggles on the phone sometimes, her voice light and happy in a way Ellie hates loving. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger while she talks. Ellie wants to grab that hand, pin it above her head. Wants to bury both of her fists in that hair and tug just to hear the noise Abby would make.

And the worst part?

The outfits.

Every time Abby goes out, she asks for Ellie’s opinion. Every time.

“Too much cleavage?” she’ll say, turning to face her, arms lifted to braid her hair.

“Think these shorts are too short?” she’ll ask, bending down to pull her sock back up on her calf, giving Ellie an absolutely soul-destroying view of thighs and ass.

Ellie wants to say, Too much? Not enough. I’d peel you out of that whole outfit with my teeth if you’d let me.

Wants to say, Don’t go. Stay here. Let me worship you.

Instead, she stammers out the same pathetic reply every time:

“You look nice. Uh…pretty.”

Pretty.

Jesus Christ.

Abby just smiles, slow and knowing, like she’s reading the unspoken part loud and clear.

By the end of the week, Ellie is tense enough to bite cleanly through a steel beam. She can't even touch herself like she wants to so she's just...pent up. Ellie comes back from class, tired, hungry, emotionally hungover from simply being, and she knows Abby is probably inside waiting to drive her to the brink.

As she pushes open the door, Abby’s on her bed again.

On her back.

Wearing nothing but an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of fuzzy gray socks with little smiley faces at the ankles. No pants. Because why would she wear pants? Legs bent at the knee and her thighs pressed together.

And in her hands is yet again Ellie's journal. It doesn't make her nearly as anxious as before because she hasn't had time to put anything new in there.

Abby doesn’t even look up when Ellie freezes in the doorway. She’s flipping through the pages with far too much familiarity now, like she’s really reading it this time, not just teasing her. Like she’s digging in, hunting for the filthiest parts and savoring them.

Ellie’s throat goes dry. Her whole body locks up. Every nerve stands at attention.

“Abby,” she says, voice too high, too thin. “Give it back.”

Abby turns a page. Smirks. “You really are sick, y’know that?”

“Give it back.” She steps forward, weakly, like she might actually do something about it. Like she isn’t trembling with humiliation.

Abby closes the journal slowly, fingers sliding across the soft leather cover like it’s something precious. “You want it?”

“Yes.”

“Then come take it.”

Ellie doesn’t think. She lunges.

The next few seconds are a blur of limbs and grunting and indignity. She manages to grab the corner of the journal, but Abby’s bigger, stronger, and way too used to this kind of shit. She laughs as they wrestle, like it’s funny, like she isn’t actively ruining Ellie’s life.

And then suddenly, inevitably, Ellie’s on her back. Flat against her own mattress. Abby straddles her hips, pinning her down with unforgivable ease. Her knees frame Ellie’s thighs. She’s still holding the journal.

Still smiling.

Ellie bucks beneath her, face burning. “Get off me.”

Abby just opens the journal to a bookmarked page. Clears her throat.

“‘Sometimes I think about tying her up—just her wrists, nothing crazy—and sitting on her face until she cries. Not because she can’t breathe. Because she likes it so much it hurts.’” Abby lifts a brow. “Wow.”

“Abby, please.” Ellie thrashes underneath her, hands pushing at Abby’s thighs, her chest, anything she can reach. “You're being mean—”

“‘I wanna lick her until she forgets her own name. I wanna ruin her for anyone else. I wanna be the only thing she ever thinks about when she touches herself.’” Abby’s voice goes a little quieter. A little hoarser.

And that’s when Ellie notices it.

The shift.

Abby’s hips press down a little harder. A little more rhythmically. Her breath hitches.

She’s grinding on her, entirely shameless.

Ellie freezes. Possibly dies for a second.

Abby flips the page. Doesn’t look up. Doesn’t stop.

“‘She’d taste so good, I know it. It'd be so easy to pull those tiny little shorts to the side and just fuck her with my tongue—’”

“Abby…” Ellie whispers, half plea, half wonder.

Abby doesn’t answer. Her thighs tighten around Ellie’s hips. Her sweatshirt rides up an inch, then another, revealing just the barest hint of underwear—dark gray cotton, high on the hips.

“‘I’d beg. I’d get on my knees and beg just to make her come once. I’d let her use me however she wanted. I’d—’”

The rest is cut off by a shaky inhale. Abby finally looks down, eyes dark, lips parted.

“Ellie,” Abby says, looking down at her like she's a prey animal. “You’re fucking insane.”

Ellie swallows hard. Her voice barely makes it out. “You’re still on top of me.”

“Yeah,” Abby murmurs, unmoving. Her grip on the journal stays iron-tight, knuckles bone-white. Thighs squeeze around Ellie’s hips, grind down with just a hint more purpose. “I am.”

Ellie stares up at her. “Are you fucking with me right now?”

“I was thinking more like you fucking me,” Abby says, breath catching. “If I let you, would you actually do all the filthy shit you wrote in this book?”

Ellie lets out a breathy, borderline unhinged laugh, disbelief painted across her face. “I mean…I’ll do my best,” she says, grinning because her face doesn't know what else to do in the moment.

Abby doesn’t waste a second. She crawls up Ellie’s body, slow and deliberate, until the damp crotch of her panties hovers just above Ellie’s mouth. “Try not to disappoint me, El.”

Ellie tugs the fabric aside, runs a reverent finger through the slick heat between Abby’s thighs, and feels her higher thought processes flee. She wraps her arms around Abby’s legs like they’re lifelines and gazes up, eyes wide and pleading, lashes wet. “C-could you, um… sit? Like… all the way?”

Abby laughs mean and affectionate, all in one breath. “You’re such a fucking loser,” she says, fond as hell, before sinking down and robbing Ellie of every coherent thought she has left.

The scent of Abby floods her senses—sweat, heat, something sharp and sweet—and Ellie moans into it like prayer. She tongues at her pussy greedily, desperate, like she’s starving and Abby’s the only thing she’s ever wanted on the menu.

Every sound Abby makes spurs her on. Every gasp, every curse, every stuttered breath is fuel. Ellie works harder, sloppier, like she might lose her chance if she slows down for even a second.

Abby grinds down recklessly, chasing it, using her, and Ellie lets her—wants it. She’s dizzy, floating, high on the weight of Abby and the wet sounds of her falling apart.

“Fuck, you’re good at this. I can’t—fuck—can’t believe this,” Abby pants, fingers twisting in Ellie’s hair. “Baby. M’so close.”

Ellie just moans in response, helpless beneath her, clinging tighter. She lets Abby ride it out, lets her rut along her tongue, her nose, her chin. Whatever Abby wants, she can have. Ellie’s lost in it, wrecked and grateful for it.

Abby starts to tremble. Her hips jerk, fingers scrabbling at the wall for balance. Ellie looks up, dazed, and nearly comes from the sight alone—Abby flushed, lips parted, hair tumbling over her shoulder like some wild goddess.

She’s still staring, dazed and worshipful, when Abby says something. It takes Ellie a second to process it.

“Don’t tell me I broke you,” Abby drawls, smug and a little cruel. She leans down, cupping Ellie’s cheek. “I’m not done with you yet.”

Ellie snaps out of her daze like something’s broken loose inside her. She pushes up with a strength she barely registers and flips Abby onto her back in one clumsy, hungry motion. Abby grunts in surprise, but it’s short-lived. Ellie’s already yanking Abby's sweatshirt up, tugging it over her head with shaking hands, baring her down to just her bra.

“Fuck,” Ellie breathes, like it’s been punched out of her. She dives in without waiting, mouth hot and open as she latches onto Abby’s tits through the fabric. Her tongue swipes broad and wet, dragging across the thin cotton, soaking it.

Abby hisses, hips twitching. “Jesus, El—”

Ellie doesn’t answer. She’s busy mouthing at one nipple, then the other, running her teeth along each one until the fabric clings to them, pebbled and needy. She bites, gentle but firm, and Abby shudders hard beneath her, breath catching in her throat.

“You're so pretty,” Ellie mutters, almost to herself, voice thick with awe. “And so sensitive. Just like I thought.”

Abby whimpers. It's an incredibly cute noise that Ellie has only ever dreamed of hearing. And that sound breaks something final in Ellie.

Her hand scrambles down with no grace whatsoever and slips her hand under Abby’s waistband. Her fingers brush slick heat, and she actually moans. “Oh my god, you’re—Jesus, Abs, you’re soaked.”

She starts to rub slow, deliberate circles over Abby’s clit, watching her fall apart with an almost feverish fixation. She’s obsessed with the way Abby’s hips stutter, how her legs twitch, how her hands curl uselessly into the sheets.

“Look at you,” Ellie says, breathless and wide-eyed. “You’re fuckin’...you’re perfect.”

But Abby’s not content to let her have the upper hand for long. She threads her fingers into Ellie’s hair, yanks her head back—not too rough, but firm enough to make Ellie gasp.

“Look at you,” Abby says, voice like gravel, fucked-out and cruel. “You look stupid. Let you suck on my tits and your dumb little brain broke.”

Ellie’s pupils blow wide. Her mouth parts, jaw slack, and she doesn’t even try to deny it. She just nods, eyes shining, and reaches behind Abby to unhook her bra with shaking hands. She tosses it somewhere she doesn’t care to track.

Then she’s on her again, mouth latching back onto one nipple while her hand keeps working Abby’s clit in slow, filthy rhythm. She pays equal attention to each breast, switching back and forth like it’s a competition. Her tongue swirls, her lips suck, her teeth scrape, and Abby is gone for it. Writhing, moaning, making these high, broken little sounds Ellie wants to bottle and keep forever.

Abby clutches at the sheets, her body taut with tension, and Ellie—half out of her mind—remembers Abby wants her doing shit from the journal.

Ellie pulls back slightly, eyes locking on the flushed swell of Abby’s breasts. She lifts her hand and delivers one quick, experimental slap to one of her already sensitive tits—nothing too hard, just enough to sting.

Abby arches off the bed like she’s been shocked. “Fuck!”

Ellie stares, stunned. “Holy shit, that—did you—fuck.”

Abby’s breathing ragged, head thrown back, lips parted. “Do not stop,” she snarls, but it’s weak, ruined, a plea in disguise.

Ellie places a kiss to her swollen nipple before nipping at it. "Told you, I'm gonna do my best." The words come out leagues more stable than Ellie feels.

Ellie’s trembling when she climbs to her feet, legs unsteady, mouth shiny, eyes wild. She strips fast—shirt yanked off, jeans kicked away—until she’s down to nothing but her black briefs, waistband riding low on her hips. Her skin is flushed, her hands shaking slightly as she rifles through her drawer for her harness and strap.

Behind her, she hears the rustle of fabric—Abby peeling off her panties with slow, deliberate motions. Ellie glances over her shoulder and nearly chokes.

“Jesus Christ,” she mutters, turning away too fast, cheeks hot, fumbling with the straps. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She gets the harness on, barely managing to click it into place while her hands work in frantic little jerks. Her heart’s racing, everything spinning around the thought of what she’s about to do. What Abby’s letting her do.

“On all fours,” she says, a little hoarse. “P-please. Please get on all fours, if you want to.”

Abby raises a brow, clearly amused, but obeys. She gets into position, slow and taunting, ass up and legs spread just enough to drive Ellie insane.

Ellie steps closer, running a reverent hand along the curve of Abby’s hip before delivering two sharp slaps to her soaked pussy. The sound is obscene. Abby twitches, gasps then growls low in her throat.

“You’re getting cocky,” she says, voice full of warning and something else. Something whinier.

Ellie doesn’t back down. Not now. She grips her strap and lines herself up, brushing the slick head against Abby’s folds, then easing in slow and careful. She watches with rapt attention as Abby's pussy stretches to accommodate the girth, revels in the filthy squelch as she bottoms out. She watches the muscles of Abby's back tense, groans low as pulls out maddeningly slow and Abby slams her ass back against her with a punched out moan.

Abby snarls, pushing back. “I’m not fucking fragile. Fuck me like you mean it, Ellie. Like you've always wanted to.”

Ellie groans. “O-okay.”

She drives in harder, a sudden snap of her hips that makes Abby cry out and drop her head to the mattress. Ellie sets a brutal rhythm, slamming into her again and again, her fingers sinking into the meat of Abby’s ass, gripping so tight she knows it’ll bruise.

Abby takes it, takes everything. Her mouth open, cheek pressed to the bed, her voice reduced to little gasps and broken sobs of pleasure.

Ellie’s completely, irreversibly gone. She grabs a handful of Abby’s hair, yanking her up just enough to use the leverage, pulling her back onto the strap, forcing her to take every inch.

“Wish you could see what I'm seeing,” Ellie pants, watching where they meet, utterly transfixed. “Fuck, Abs. You’re—fuck, you’re taking it so good.”

Abby comes with a strangled moan, her whole body tensing and shaking as Ellie fucks her through it, never slowing down. She doesn’t give her a second to catch her breath—just keeps going, relentless, her hips snapping with brutal purpose.

But then Ellie slows—just enough to slide out and flip Abby onto her back.

She freezes.

Abby’s eyes are glassy with unshed tears, lips kiss-swollen and parted, chest heaving. Her whole body’s trembling, wrecked and perfect. Ellie nearly passes out from how much she wants her.

“Holy fuck,” she whispers. “You’re so—”

But before she can finish, Abby grabs her by the harness and pulls her down, wrapping her arms around Ellie’s neck like she can’t bear to let her go. Their mouths crash together in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and desperation, like they’ve both been starving for it this entire time.

Ellie groans into it, swallowing every sound Abby makes, hands roaming over her thighs, her waist, her tits—trying to touch everything at once.

Abby bites her bottom lip as they break apart, just enough to sting, and whispers against her mouth:

“Keep fucking going.”

Ellie hitches Abby’s legs up and back, folding her open like a prayer, tilting her hips to get that perfect angle. She doesn’t slow—if anything, the new position lets her fuck in deeper, harder, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing sharp and wet through the room.

Abby gasps, head rolling back, her spine arching clean off the mattress. Her voice is wrecked, half-gone, but still she hisses between gritted teeth, “That all you got, loser?”

Ellie growls. Actually growls.

She dips down and sinks her teeth into Abby’s throat, biting hard enough to leave a mark—then another, and another, dotting her collarbones, her tits, anywhere her mouth can reach. She sucks until bruises bloom under her tongue like flowers.

“Y-you love this,” Abby stammers, breath stuttering. “You love being my—my little toy. So fucking desperate to make me come again.”

Ellie pants against her skin, flushed and wild-eyed. “Yeah,” she breathes. “Fuck yeah, I do.”

Her hand slips between them again, zeroing in on Abby’s clit like it’s instinct. She rubs tight, merciless circles, fast and filthy. Abby arches again, palms cupping her own tits now, needing the pressure.

Ellie watches through half-lidded eyes, totally gone on the image of Abby playing with herself, whining and squirming and needing her.

“Pinch them,” Ellie orders, voice cracking with power she’s never felt before.

Abby obeys with a sharp moan, rolling the sensitive peaks between her fingers, teeth bared as her legs shake harder.

“Now come,” Ellie demands, low and ragged, fucking her through it. “Fucking come for me, Abs.”

Abby breaks.

She screams, and Ellie catches it with her mouth, swallowing the sound in a bruising kiss as Abby falls apart beneath her. Her body locks, then jerks in waves, legs trembling violently, toes curling. Hot tears streak her cheeks, almost silently.

Ellie pulls back just enough to see them. “Oh—shit, baby, you’re—”

She leans down, licking the tears away from Abby’s flushed skin, soft and reverent like it’s the only worship she knows. Her cock slips out as Abby’s muscles clamp down and spasm around nothing, and Abby shudders hard, a broken sob catching in her chest.

“Shh, hey—hey, it’s okay,” Ellie whispers, wide-eyed and frantic, brushing sweaty hair from Abby’s face. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. Just need a little more, okay? Just a little more.”

Abby whimpers. “I can't. I'll literally die."

“You can,” Ellie croons, kissing the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her neck. “You’re so strong, Abs. So fucking beautiful. I swear, I’ll be gentle. Just one more. Just one, baby.”

Abby just makes this helpless noise in the back of her throat, but then, barely, a nod.

That’s all Ellie needs.

She reaches over and grabs the bullet vibe from the nightstand—the one made to fit snug in her harness—and slides it into place. It hums to life in her hand, quiet but deadly, and Ellie lines herself up again, this time slow, reverent.

She presses back inside, inch by inch, watching Abby’s face the whole time. The way her brows pinch, how her mouth opens in a silent gasp, how her legs twitch with overstimulation already setting in.

“Doing so good,” Ellie murmurs, fucking in slow, her arms trembling as her own orgasm sits just on the horizon. “Just a little more. Let me make you feel good.”

And Abby, wrecked, soaked, trembling, lets her.

Ellie rocks into her slow, the harness snug against her hips, the soft hum of the bullet vibe already making her breath hitch. It’s not even at full power and it’s already buzzing deep, curling heat low in her belly. But she doesn’t focus on that yet. No. Abby is still the center of the universe.

Abby’s shaking, her whole body a twitchy, overstimulated livewire. Every time Ellie thrusts in, she makes this soft little broken noise like she can’t decide if she wants to pull away or beg for more.

“Still with me?” Ellie murmurs, forehead pressed to Abby’s, sweat sticking them together.

Abby nods. Barely. “F-fuck—Ellie, I—”

“I know.” Ellie kisses her again, messy and open-mouthed, full of tongue and teeth. “You’re doing so fucking good.”

She picks up the pace, the vibe dragging against her own clit with every thrust. Her hips stutter, the pleasure ratcheting up fast, too fast. She chokes on a moan, grabs hold of Abby’s thigh and pulls it higher, spreading her wider, deeper.

Abby claws at her back like she needs something to ground herself—nails dragging angry red lines down Ellie’s spine, then digging in as she trembles apart all over again.

“Fuck. Shit. Fuck,” Ellie pants, fucking into her harder now, voice wrecked. “Come for me again, baby. Give it to me. I know you got one more.”

Abby shakes her head, even as her hips start grinding up, even as she cries out when Ellie angles her hips just right. “I c-can’t—fuck—I can’t—”

“You can,” Ellie snarls, gripping Abby’s face and kissing her like she means to consume her. “You will. Wanna see you break for me. One more time. Just one more, Abs, c’mon.”

And Abby does.

She sobs—full-body, raw-throated sobs—as her back arches clean off the mattress, legs locking around Ellie’s waist. She comes with a broken cry, like her body is just buckling beneath the weight of it. Her nails bite into Ellie’s skin so deep it stings, and that only spurs Ellie further along.

The vibe is grinding into her just right with every thrust, tight heat coiling sharp and unbearable. Ellie chases it like it’s the only thing that matters, fucking through Abby’s aftershocks until she’s shaking too, her moans dissolving into ragged whimpers.

Then it hits her—white-hot and blinding. Her legs lock, her stomach clenches, and she comes with a low, punched-out cry against Abby’s neck. It rolls through her in thick, unbearable waves, everything overstimulated and twitchy and too much.

She slumps forward, trembling, both of them gasping like they’ve just run miles. Ellie can’t move. She’s half-splayed over Abby, harness digging into her hips, her whole body trembling with aftershocks.

Abby’s arms wrap around her, pulling her close even though her own limbs are twitching with exhaustion. She’s still crying a little—quiet, raw tears that smear into Ellie’s hair as they cling to each other.

Neither of them speaks for a while. Just the sound of panting, the quiet whine of the toy shutting off, the sticky slide of skin on skin.

Eventually, Ellie lifts her head, blinking like she’s waking up from a dream. She brushes the hair back from Abby’s face, touches her cheek gently with the backs of her fingers.

“You okay?” she whispers, voice hoarse and cracking.

Abby nods slowly, eyes heavy-lidded and glassy. “Yeah. Yeah. I feel like a new woman.”

Ellie lets out a quiet, shaky laugh. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Abby rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling—soft, lopsided, fucked-out. “The power of good pussy, I suppose.”

Ellie grins, kissing her again, slow and sweet and lingering. "You know, I've got a bunch more stuff I didn't get to do this time..."

"Oh, naturally, you've got a fucking novel's worth of it," Abby says, running her fingers through Ellie's hair. "I guess I'll just have to keep fucking you. For the safety of the general public, of course."

"Right."

"I'm serious. Who else could handle a disgusting little pervert like you?" Abby sighs dramatically like she's been put upon. "Looks like I'm the only one for the job."

Of course, that's just fine with Ellie.

[ellieabbyy]

am I the only one who never saw this official art? It’s from a limited edition vinyl release from 2020. they both look so hot

[andersonsgirl]

THE MAID AFFAIR.

ellie williams x afab!reader

.ᐟ i don’t condone cheating, this is just a fic. don’t do it. 😁😁

— boss!ellie who couldn’t stand her wife’s demands and non stop bickering over how messy the pantry was left unorganized. that’s when she thought it’d be a perfect idea to hire a maid, and oh how much more of a mess it would leave for her.

— boss!ellie thanked you in every way she could for managing a clean, more organized house with your help.

— boss!ellie who couldn’t stop but overhear how awful her wife was treating you behind closed doors. so she would always check up on you and give you a day off the next day.

— boss!ellie who’d never skip a day without a morning greeting. her wife would give ellie a strong eyeroll telling her to stop the friendliness, but she didn’t know how “friendly” the two of you actually were.

you remembered when the affair started. from short glances across the room to making out in their guest bedroom you were staying at while ellie’s wife was sound asleep.

“this is.. not good.. i don’t know..,” you say in between kisses but you both were too far gone, “we need to stop miss-“

“miss?” she chuckles, “so formal of you when you’re already crossing so many boundaries.”

— boss!ellie who was such a pervert around you. peaking at how you were bent over scrubbing the already pearly white tiles, seeing how your uniform raised a bit as you reach for the dining plates, and watching you change in the guest bathroom when you spilled juice on yourself.

“you need any help there?” ellie’s voice creeps up behind you as you unbuttoned the wet sheer uniform sticking on to you skin. ellie’s eyes landing on your nipples just poking through the thin fabric.

— boss!ellie hides her tips in a fun way. like sticking a $50 bill behind your bedroom door, sneaking them in your pockets, or pulling them out of your ear like some magician.

— boss!ellie never declines anytime you need a stress reliever. she would be lying if she didn’t like the adrenaline of getting caught.

“keep quiet understand?” ellie’s slender fingers curling inside of your clit, “and say my fuckin’ name this time.”

“yes.. ellie please..” you pleaded.

“fuck, you always listen so well.”

— boss!ellie would be the one asking for your opinions on home decor rather than her own wife.

“duke blue or yale blue?” the girl holds up the sample cards through facetime while you’re too busy making the bed.

“miss, i thought i was in trouble or something!”

“c’mon princess, pick. i trust you with these things.”

— boss!ellie who couldn’t stop thinking about you even when you’re not at the comfort of her own home. she missed you so much, she wanted to make sure you were alright by sending you a bouquet of multicolored tulips signed by her name.

“this house feels empty without you. call me tonight and i will arrange something for us privately. p.s my wife’s an narcissistic idiot, don’t take it to heart. love, ellie”

— boss!ellie who later that night was thrilled to receive a call from you. the girl booked out a candle lit dinner at one of her favorite restaurants. considering this was your first time alone with your boss while her wife is out of town.

“i’m sure you have taken your wife here before,” you adjusted yourself uncomfortably in your seat.

“actually i came here since i was a kid.. i always loved the view from here and now i’m sharing it with you.”

her words were so sweet yet so wrong. you didn’t want to be a homewrecker.

— boss!ellie placing soft kisses on your neck, ready to have you all to herself alone once the night ended. you took her back to your small apartment, alot different than ellie’s penthouse. but she didn’t mind it at all. she loved how simple and unique your taste in home decor, hating the fact that nothing in her own home reminded her of you.

— boss!ellie gifting your own customized maid uniform with your name embroidered.

— boss!ellie practically giving you a week off but still paying you. she was just grateful to finally spend time with you.

that whole week felt so surreal as if you two were the ones married, unable to realize how incautious the whole situation became one her wife was back.

“why the hell are you sending that servant flowers?” her wife turns the laptop, showing ellie’s emails and credit card statements.

ellie fucked up and she knew it.

“she deserves it after all the shit you’ve put her through,” ellie argued, “i’d rather be with someone who doesn’t treat people like garbage and act like they are so above and beyond than others.”

— boss!ellie fell more deeply in love with you as the time passed. after that argument, her wife decided to fire you and sent ten grand for cutting contact from them. you had no choice anyway. unfortunately for ellie, being stuck with the person she truly didn’t love was her karma for all of this.

you remembered when the affair ended, hoping to cross paths with ellie again..

[madewithsilk]

dark abby fucking Ellie’s sweet girlfriend PLEASE

ᴅᴀʀᴋ!ᴀʙʙʏ ᴀɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴏɴ x ᴇʟʟɪᴇ'ꜱ ɢꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (pt2)

— ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ; ᴀʙʙʏ ɪꜱ ᴛɪʀᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ɢᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ, ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ꜱʜᴇ ᴀʟꜱᴏ ɴᴇᴇᴅꜱ ᴀ ᴛᴀꜱᴛᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴇʀꜱ. ʏᴇᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡᴀʟᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀᴄᴇᴅ ᴀɢᴀɪɴꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡɪʟʟ, ꜱʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ᴀ ʜᴀʀꜱʜ ᴛʀᴜᴛʜ

— ᴄᴡ; ᴅᴜʙ ᴄᴏɴ (?), ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ ᴜꜱᴀɢᴇ, ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ, ʙᴏɴᴅꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʏɪɴɢ, ᴠᴏʏᴇᴜʀɪꜱᴍ

Ellie knew something was up since the moment she stepped foot into her house. The unusual silence as she took off her shoes and then the slight whimpers once she started walking down the hallway. Ellie's brow cocked, making her way to the bedroom where she was meet with stifled moans and shushing. Ellie twisted the door knob, your figure ass up, face down, hands tied behind your back and forced into an arch by Abby's hand.

Ellie shook in anger, staring at the same woman who ruined her life about to ravish her girlfriend. Your eyebrows were knit together, look so sweet, Ellie had the urge to save you. Cause it had to be forced, right? She tried to step closer to Abby, yet when Abby's gun pressed harshly against the back of your head, Ellie froze. You whimpered, "Abs'!" You complain, as if this wasn't what you agreed to, fear trembling through you. "Stay where you are, and I won't hurt her. Got it?" Abby demands, watching Ellie shift on her feet, itching to get you yet stays in place.

Abby keeps your wrists in place, digging her hand now into your hair, releasing the gun. She tugs, groaning at your little whimpers. Her strap was buried to the hilt inside you, her pelvis against your ass. "Let me— fuck– tell you how I got your pretty girlfriend to let me fuck her." Abby says, thrusting slowly in and out. You were a babbling, incoherent mess beneath her. Practically a dumb toy, allowing Abby to pull your hair and fuck your velvety cunt. Abby smacked your ass, already a bunch of red marks from before Ellie got home. "Told her a whole fuckin' sob story, and this sweet lil' girl let me pin her down in no time." Her pace quickens, fucking you stupid as Ellie watched.

Ellie practically growls, vision narrows at the scene. "Get your hands off her, Abby." She speaks yet it falls on deaf ears, Abby's grip on your hair becoming tighter to lift you up and rub lazy circles into your clit. Abby chuckled at Ellie desperately wanting to look away but too afraid that even in a split second you'd be harmed. "Stop fuckin' actin' like I forced her, she stripped for me, sucked my strap for me," Abby let go of your hair, face planting into the bed, your drool gathering on the sheets. "Always gettin' everything, even a sweet girl with a tight and willing cunt." Abby complained, cooing into your ear as she fucked you with an overwhelming force.

"Fuckkk— fuck fuck–" You babbled, eyes rolling to the back of your head, hardly able to make eye contact with Ellie. Abby grabbed your nape this time, hand circling your throat and pressing against your airway firmly. She lifted you by your neck, hardly breathing as she spoke right into your flushed cheeks. "Too bad she's a damn slut, huh?" Abby degraded, slapping you harshly against your cheek, hips still pistoning against yours. "Huh?" Abby emphasized once again, spitting on your red cheek this time. "Did you know how fucking greedy she was, Williams?" Abby asked, her lips parted, kissing down your exposed neck, still not allowing you to breathe.

"She jus' felt so bad for me, guess i'm pretty damn persuasive." Your lack of senses was overstimulating, hands tied along with your eyes blurry from tears. Ellie didn't respond, just watching how you moaned in response to every little movement. Your face was turning pale, hardly any oxygen in your system. "Stop doing that! Let her go—" Abby released your neck, allowing you to collapse again. "Cu— cumming-" Abby tugged your hair, movements away from giving you whiplash. Your orgasm crashed over you, eyebrows furrowed and squinting through your peripheral to see Abby's pulling her strap out of you with a filthy noise, your sopping cunt clenching around nothing.

Abby got up, unbuckling her harness and laying it ontop of your back. Watching you pant, the silicone tip painting your back muscles with your own cum, Abby wipes sweat off her forehead. "Sweet girl, bet Ellie neglects you huh?" She swipes drool off your chin. "Doesn't treat you as nasty as you deserve to be treated." You don't respond, simply murmuring and wiggling your ass. She grabbed her gun, shoving it into Ellie's chest. Ellie panicked slightly, eyes wide, resentment coursing through her veins. "Fuck her, or kill her. Either way works." She whispered before leaving.

The mess you were left in was picturesque. Her spit, your drool, your tears. Hands tied behind your back. Cum running down your back and lovely red mark on your cheek!