pickle

crystal, 20

[baeholic-deactivated20260306]

need abby Anderson to choke me with her biceps. not even sexually necessarily but I'm 1000% sure it'll shut my brain up

tags : choking / headlock , dom!abby , sub!reader , dacryphilia , dirty talk , includes mirror

Abby was merciless as it was in bed and you were gasping, grabbing the mirror with your sweaty hands— trying desperately to what? Escape? There was no fucking escape.

She saw it, she laughed. “Come on, baby, you’re the one who wanted to get broken in, why are you crying now?” She asked, her voice was condescending. “Now clench.”

You bit your bottom lip hard and clenched on her strap, she watched the way your pussy fluttered and tried to squeeze her dick— the sight made her smirk deepen. She kneaded your ass, slapped it once before looking at your reflection.

“Oh, my princess.” She cooed, faux sympathy dripping like honey from her words.

She leaned forward, her muscles flexing before she slowly and very gently wrapped her bicep around your neck.

Your eyes widened and you squirmed, “Abs—”

“Shhh…” she pulled you back in a headlock making you choke against her arm, face starting to get redder from the sudden cut of oxygen to your brain.

You were whining and moaning at the same time.

“Now, see, now you’re starting to clench real fucking good.” She thrusted— schlik! “That’s the sound I was hoping for. Good girl. My good slut.”

She slammed her hips forward and earned a cry from you.

Your hands let go of the mirror and scratched at her bicep, “Abby, please, please! I’ll do whatever you want, please!” You said desperately.

“Anything?” Abby chuckled under her breath, slapping your ass with her other hand before she slammed her dick inside you so hard— your cheeks squished against the mirror. “Cum. Cum on my dick while I choke you out.”

[giveherswords]

BOUND

ellabs kinktober rope bondage oneshot | 3.8k wc

Ellie ties Abby the way some people pray—methodical, reverent, exact. She’s the one holding the rope, patient and merciless, teaching Abby how to come apart one knot at a time. It’s heat, it’s reverence, it’s the kind of surrender that looks like worship. Contents: Top!Ellie, bottom!Abby, rope bondage (shibari), fingering (Abby receiving), oral sex (Abby receiving), aftercare. WC: 3.8k

There’s something unbearable about a body like Abby’s being made to wait—every inch built for movement, for power—and now held in place.

That’s what Ellie loves most: submission on someone who doesn’t know how to surrender gently, who needs something to push against before she can let go.

The bedroom is dim on purpose. Two lamps. One off. One turned low so it makes edges without giving anything away. Night pushing the window into a black square. The air is warm enough that the sheets keep their shape when Ellie moves them, warm enough that skin shines.

Abby kneels on the bed, legs tucked so her ankles touch her own hips. Hands behind her—bound. 

The chest harness sits clean over her sternum: diamond front, doubled wraps framing her breasts, lines crossing high along collarbones and angling under arms to the knot Ellie set between the shoulder blades.

The jute is dark red; it looks almost brown in this light. It bites a little at the edges where the rope changes direction, and that’s on purpose. The cinches around her upper arms gather triceps to bone. Forearms parallel, wrists crossed, an extra turn locking them together—no escape without help. The structural lead drops from the harness down her spine, a vertical that keeps her lifted.

Abby breathes against it.

Her shoulders work under skin—tiny adjustments, just enough to keep balance. Her blonde braid is messy. It was tight half an hour ago. Now it’s split down one side, a shallow rope of gold and loose strands sticking to her neck. Ellie knows it’ll be undone by the end of the night.

Knows because she’ll be the one to undo it.

“Breathe,” Ellie says. Soft. More instruction than order. 

She circles the bed. The floor is cool. Her hands feel too warm; they always do on nights like this—brain crowded, noise in her jaw, electricity chewing the back of her teeth until she gives it somewhere to go. 

Abby turns her head a little, offering that clean line of nose and cheek. She looks, not asking exactly—Abby doesn’t ask—but making space for the answer.

“Good,” Ellie says. It lands low.

She drags a fingertip from the hinge of Abby’s jaw down the slope of her neck. Heat. Damp. The faint tack of skin. Abby shivers. Not away—down. A quake that goes through her ribs and settles in her belly. The harness tightens at her inhale and gives at the exhale, a measured range.

Ellie’s finger ghosts over the top rail of rope that rides Abby’s collarbones, then across the sternum diamond. The lines cup small breasts up and in; the geometry makes them look more deliberate somehow—held, presented. A bead of sweat drips from the hollow of her throat to between them. She memorizes the path. Later.

“Second you got home,” Ellie says, more to herself than to Abby. “You had that look.”

Abby swallows. “I know.”

It was there in the doorway: the set mouth, shoulders squared too hard for a living room. The kind of day that compresses a person into angles. 

Ellie had taken her hand. Bedroom. Lights. Rope box. They both know how it goes. Not the cotton. Not tonight. Jute that keeps its shape. Ellie remembers the slip of the first lark’s head around Abby’s chest, the drag of grain over skin, the satisfying seat of a square knot settling. The instant feedback loop in her own head easing: do this, then that. Order where there wasn’t any.

Now she stands at the edge of the mattress and pulls once on the spine line, testing. The harness lifts Abby’s posture by degrees until her ribs widen under Ellie’s palm. The knot at the base of her neck is neat, compressing just enough to remind her to keep chin up.

“Too tight?” Ellie asks it like a kindness. She means it as a kindness.

Abby’s voice is already a little thinner. “Feels good.”

Ellie hums. She moves onto the bed and kneels behind her—one knee down by Abby’s heel, the other near her hip so her own chest hovers just behind Abby’s shoulder. She slides a hand up Abby’s side, palm mapping hip to rib. Skin shifts under touch. The harness creaks a breath. 

The blonde braid sits against Abby’s spine like an invitation. Ellie takes it near the nape, close to where the rope crosses. Abby’s head is already tipping back, like her body remembered the motion before the cue. Ellie firms her grip and draws, slow.

The arch that answers is hot and simple: sternum up, shoulder blades bite into the knot, chest against the rails. It changes the whole shape of Abby’s breath. The line down the center of her ribs appears and disappears as she works to keep it even.

“That’s it,” Ellie says. “Breathe with it.”

Her other hand slips to the lowest rung of the harness, the rope that splits between Abby’s legs and ties off in a knot pressed tight against her clit—she tugs at it, more promise than threat. Abby makes a small sound—more gasp than anything—and Ellie feels it all the way through her own hands. 

The rope marks are already faintly raised; they’ll be brighter later. Hours later they’ll be pale outlines like tributaries on a map.

“More?” Ellie asks, voice low. The question is real but the answer’s already chosen. The truth is she wants the yes and the no, wants the responsibility for both.

Abby’s mouth opens. “I—”

Ellie releases the braid and the lower tie at the same time and puts one flat palm between Abby’s shoulder blades. One firm push.

Abby goes.

A little gasp as she tips, no hands to catch herself; she twists on instinct to protect her face and lands soft, cheek to sheet, arms pinned uselessly behind her, legs tucked. The harness holds the shape of her chest; the rope kisses her shoulder with a quick burn where it slides.

Ellie pauses. 

Because this is the sight she likes best. Because it stills something in her—the last frantic piece falling quiet.

Abby isn’t held down. She’s laid out by choice—face down, ass up, arms bound tight behind her, legs parted just enough to tempt. The kind of openness that blushes under its own weight. She’s trying to look back at Ellie, but it only makes her look more wrecked.

Ellie takes her in slowly, like a scan.

The slope from Abby’s lower back into her hips is the same argument Ellie always loses: strength yielding to softness. A gradient her hands already know by heart.

Here, the muscle rides close to the surface—taut, legible, honest. There, the give: the plush rise of her ass, shaped by pressure and intention, perfect for catching a palm and holding it there. The rope rides the curve of her ass, cutting a path through softness, taut and deliberate, disappearing between her legs with the kind of promise that doesn’t need to be spoken.

Not showy. Not kind. Just sure of itself.

It makes a frame of her. Draws the eye. Holds it.

Ellie’s hands flex, empty. She exhales. Not proud of what she wants, but wanting anyway. 

“Good,” Ellie says, and feels Abby loosen a degree she couldn’t have managed on her own.

Ellie skates one hand down the outside of Abby’s thigh and then up the inner, slow, just pressure and heat. It’s not a tease so much as a checklist—here, here, and here—confirming what she already knows: Abby’s body is listening.

“Ellie.” It’s not a plea, not really. Abby doesn’t plead. It’s the sound of someone putting their weight into the rope.

“I know.”

She finds the tie at the end of Abby’s braid and works it loose, slow on purpose. She combs the strands apart with her fingers until the hair falls. At the nape, where damp wisps stick to her skin, Ellie presses a kiss. Then another. 

“You’re doing so well,” she says into skin.

The word lands like a permission. Abby melts by degrees—no collapse, nothing dramatic—just an easing that is its own kind of surrender. 

“Ellie,” Abby tries again, softer, not an ask, not an argument. Just the shape of please.

Ellie eases her forward an inch, steadies her with a palm low on her back, and stays close—her own body a brace. She thinks of how touch used to be noise, until she learned the quiet in it. Until she learned that a body—Abby’s body—could be read like this: weight distributed, muscles slackening under permission, breath syncing to her hand. 

Kept there not by force, but by choice.

“Perfect,” Ellie says. The praise lands the way it always does: right under Abby’s ribs, right where the rope crosses to keep that breath inside.

“Please,” Abby says, and it breaks a little at the end.

Ellie smiles. “Not yet.”

Abby’s body answers to not yet like it’s a yes. Her legs try to find each other, a reflex to close around sensation, but Ellie’s thighs are there—firm, unyielding—so the moment stays open. So does Abby. The tremor that moves through her is small, almost imperceptible unless you're looking for it. Ellie is.

When she finally leans in, it’s not to take but to deepen the waiting. She kisses the back of Abby’s shoulder where rope and skin meet, then the center knot at her spine,then the soft fall of hair pushed to the side, warm against the nape.

“Tell me what you need,” Ellie says, not because Abby gets to choose, but because the saying of it is part of the laying down.

“To be yours,” Abby says, fast, like she’s been holding it in her teeth.

Ellie hears it: not a confession, not a demand. A declaration. One that roots itself right under her breastbone and holds.

She exhales slow. Her hands are steady. Her eyes are hungry.

She shifts back on the bed and takes in the sight—Abby laid out before her, spine long and gleaming, the flicker of lamplight catching on the arcs of her shoulder blades, the curves of her ass, the subtle twitch in her bound arms where she’s still testing the edges of her restraint.

The rope curves under her cheeks and disappears between her legs. It’s not showy. It’s structural. But Ellie looks anyway. Lets her gaze follow the line from Abby’s knees, spread just enough to give space, to the long inner thighs—muscled, trembling slightly, the skin there already flushed.

Higher.

Ellie sees it—the shine first. A glint caught in the low light, right where Abby’s thighs part. Wetness, unmistakable, slick on skin. Not imagined. Not suggested. Just there.

Abby’s cunt is already open, lips plush and swollen, flushed dark with heat. The rope runs just shy of where she wants to look, taut across soft skin, framing it like it knows what it’s showing off.

It’s fucking obscene.

Her own thighs tighten first—anticipation caught low and hot—before she even moves. Then she shifts, slow and certain, moving behind Abby. The bed gives beneath her knees, and Abby’s spine answers with a soft arch, as if her body already knows who’s coming for it.

Ellie doesn’t touch. Not yet. Just leans in, close enough to let her breath chase the rope’s path—down the small of Abby’s back, over the soft weight of her bound hands.

Then she brings her hips forward, closer, until her cunt presses directly against the crossing of Abby’s wrists—skin to rope, rope to skin—hot and unmistakably wet.

She holds there. Rocks once, a shallow grind, enough for Abby to feel the soaked heat, the tension behind it. Ellie’s breathing catches on the exhale.

Abby gasps. A sound that isn’t language but recognition.

Ellie rolls her hips again, slower. Controlled. Letting Abby feel every part of it: the pressure, the slick, the proof of just how tightly wound she already is.

And then she pulls back. 

Abby makes a quiet, broken noise. It slips out before she can stop it. “Ellie,” she says, breathless. “Fuck. You’re so wet. Let me—”

Ellie shuts her up with a touch. Not a rush, not a grab—just the slow, devastating slide of her hand from Abby’s hip to the place where heat has gathered thick and urgent between her legs.

Abby gasps like she’s been struck. Her whole body locks up.

The rope is wet where it runs between her thighs—slick with arousal, the fibers darkened and gleaming. Ellie lets her fingers hover there, not quite touching yet, just mapping the damp tension, the tremble beneath it. Then she presses, firm and unforgiving, against the center knot. The one bound tight against Abby’s clit. A jolt moves through Abby, her hips twitching in reflex.

Ellie’s mouth curves. She circles her fingers around the knot once, twice, feeling the way Abby’s body reacts before she ever gives sound. Then she slips beneath. Finds Abby’s warm, swollen clit.  

And rubs.

Slow, tight circles. Pressure steady. The kind that doesn’t ask, only takes.

“Let you?” Ellie murmurs, voice pitched low, dangerous, amused. 

Abby’s moan is wrecked, involuntary, desperate.

Ellie leans in, the edge of a smile in her tone. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be making any demands.”

Abby’s hips arch. Her ass pushes back, presenting without shame, trembling slightly with every breath. Ellie watches the way her thighs spread wider, the tension in her calves, the sheen of sweat beginning to gather in the small of her back.

Ellie doesn’t rush.

She wants to feel everything: the give of Abby’s body, the way heat rises off her skin, the tremor that flickers along her inner thigh. Her hand moves with intent—sliding from hip to the slick entrance at the center of her, pressing slow, precise.

Abby gasps—sharp and sudden—shoulders tightening where they’re bound, the rope pulling taut across her back. But her hips never pull away. They tip back instead, open and offering.

Ellie lets her fingers ease inward.

The resistance is brief. Then it breaks. And Abby takes her like she means it.

It’s the warmth that gets Ellie first—deep, immediate, overwhelming. The sensation of being swallowed, of being claimed back. Her knuckles glide past that first press, into slick heat that pulses around her in a rhythm Ellie feels everywhere.

Abby breathes like she’s trying to keep still but can’t. A broken inhale, then another, like each movement stretches something raw inside her.

Ellie leans forward, bracing herself against the bed beside Abby’s hip. The position gives her leverage, control. Inside, Ellie curls her fingers—just slightly—and feels the whole body beneath her tremble.

“There you go,” she says, low, steady. “That’s it.”

Abby moans into the mattress, the sound muffled but unmistakable. Her legs tense, try to draw closed—seeking escape or more—but Ellie’s thigh is still there, slotted between hers, immovable. Holding her open. Holding her still.

Ellie deepens the rhythm, just enough. A subtle shift. More pressure where it counts.

Abby groans, breath catching, hips twitching in place. “Fuck—Ellie.”

Ellie leans forward, drawn in like gravity, her breath a soft exhale across damp skin. “Like that?” she murmurs.

A frantic nod.

“You want more?”

The answer is a wrecked noise—somewhere between a sob and a plea, frayed at the edges.

“Please.”

Ellie fucks her slow. Deep. Works the curl of her fingers against the inner wall until she finds that place—the one that makes Abby’s hips jerk, the one that steals language. Abby makes a low sound in the back of her throat, the kind that suggests she’s forgotten how to keep quiet.

Ellie keeps her knee between Abby’s to hold her open and shifts her hand faster. She wants the sounds. She wants to hear what Abby gives up when everything else is stripped away.

“Just like that,” she whispers. “Let me feel you.”

Abby’s voice frays.

Her cunt clenches around Ellie’s fingers, and the sound that comes out of her now is raw, a moan cracked wide at the seam. Her thighs shake. Her spine locks.

And then she comes—full-body, brutal. Her hips roll, her back bows, her cunt pulses wet and hard around Ellie’s fingers as if trying to keep them there.

Ellie doesn’t move at first.

She keeps her fingers buried, palm flush against the curve of Abby’s body, feeling the aftershocks in real time. Not just the pulsing grip around her hand, but the full-bodied collapse that follows—the wet shiver of thighs, the hiccuped breath, the way Abby’s hips stagger forward just slightly and then still, like she doesn’t trust her knees to hold anymore.

And still—Ellie stays.

One breath.

Two.

Abby’s body opens a little further with each. No longer from desire. From aftermath. From the slackening of whatever had been held, braced, endured.

Ellie slides her hand out slow, slick knuckles dragging across heat. Abby jerks at the loss, breath hitching—but Ellie’s already moving. She rises to her knees, nudging Abby’s hips up with both hands, guiding her into place. It’s not rough, but there’s no mistaking the intent: stay open. Stay mine.

Abby obeys like she’s weightless.

Now Ellie has the angle she wants. She braces a palm to the small of Abby’s back, steadying her. Her hands spread Abby’s cheeks apart, exposing everything: slick folds, swollen and flushed; the soaked rope tucked tight.

She groans low at the sight. Her thumbs brace to either side of the rope and she leans in.

Her mouth finds the soft underside first—the delicate cleft where Abby’s folds part. Tongue pressed flat, she licks up the length of it, tracing the glistening heat of her, wet and still fluttering around absence. Abby gasps into the sheets, her whole body twitching.

Ellie does it again—slow, anchoring her face there. Her nose brushes the rope, the scent of Abby thick, dizzying. She tongues the slick entrance again, then presses in just a little, tasting the echo of her own fingers.

Abby chokes on a moan, hips tilting higher. Ellie takes the invitation—draws the lips apart with both thumbs now, deeper angle—and buries her mouth to the hilt.

The rhythm is shallow at first. Tasting. Pressing. She listens for the change in Abby’s breath. The way it stutters. The flex of her feet. The way her thighs go rigid, then slack, then rigid again.

Ellie loves this part.

How she can taste the surrender before it happens. How it builds. How Abby holds herself together by will alone, and how that will begins to shake under her tongue.

She adds her hands.

One stays at the small of Abby’s back, fingers splayed, grounding her. The other reaches under—threading up between her legs, moving slow, up the slick crease where thigh meets thigh, finding the source of her pleasure there.

The first circle she draws is nothing. A whisper. But Abby jumps like it’s everything.

Ellie moans. Does it again.

She times the rhythm of her mouth to the movement of her fingers. Pressure building at two points—one low, one higher. Abby moans, high and wrecked, hands bound and useless behind her. Her head presses into the bed, jaw slack. A whimper escapes her, bitten off by the pillow.

Ellie presses deeper. Her tongue pushes. Her fingers tighten the pattern below.

And then the sound breaks out of Abby: not a moan, not a word—something involuntary. Head turned, mouth open, trying to breathe around it. Her cheek sticks to the sheet with sweat, her bound hands flexing behind her as if they still think they can reach for something, someone.

They can’t. That’s the point.

“Ellie—” she breathes, and Ellie moans against her, deliberately.

That does it.

The tremor starts low. Ellie feels it in the way Abby’s thighs shift—instinct before control. Then her moan changes. Sharper. Less air, more heat. The way her hips buck, uncontrollable now. One more circle of tongue, one more well-placed press and Abby is coming again.

It’s messier this time. Less focused. Her body jerks, collapses, tries to get away and doesn’t. Her cunt pulses against Ellie’s mouth and Ellie takes all of it—tastes it, breathes it, buries herself deeper until Abby whines brokenly and finally tries to twist away, too sensitive now to take more.

Only then does Ellie stop.

She pulls back slow.

Her face is wet. Her chin slick. Her lips tingling from the effort. She presses a kiss to the crease where thigh meets ass. Then another, higher. 

And then—

Then comes the next part.

The part Ellie loves just as much.

Untying.

She draws herself upright, moving slow. Her knees creak against the mattress. The room has gone quiet again—just their breathing, low and uneven. Abby is curled slightly now, instinct still trying to preserve itself. Her back rises and falls in shallow waves. Her wrists are tucked beneath her, hands still bound.

Ellie’s eyes move over the full shape of her. The aftermath of it.

Then she reaches for the first knot.

Her hands are steady. Her brain has gone smooth again, blank in that specific way touch makes possible. She doesn’t rush. This part has always felt like ritual—like prayer in reverse. Fingertip and tug, then slide. She watches the rope loosen. Watches each segment bloom apart like something unspooling from inside the skin.

The red marks remain. Raised, clean, declarative.

She undoes the coil across Abby’s lower ribs first. Then the cross-body wrap at her navel. Then the anchor that rode down the crease of her thighs. When she reaches the rope between Abby’s legs, she hesitates.

It’s dark with slick. Warm. Glossy. Her fingers lift it.

Instinct draws it to her mouth.

She doesn’t think—just takes it between her lips and sucks, slow. Her tongue finds the heat in it, the taste. Her body shudders once, and sharply.

Abby hasn’t moved.

Ellie breathes out, steady again, and finishes the final knots. The wrist bind comes last. She works the twist loose, careful of the burn there, and catches Abby’s hands as they fall forward. A low groan escapes her. Her fingers twitch and flex on instinct, blood rushing back fast and hot. Her shoulders round, then drop.

Ellie is already moving—sliding in behind her, bare now, body still damp from the heat and the work of restraint. She fits herself close, arm curling around Abby’s center, palm resting over the space just above the soft slick between her thighs.

Not touching. Just there.

She feels Abby breathe.

The braid is undone—her hair soft, damp, clinging to the nape. Ellie brushes it back, kisses the newly exposed skin. One kiss, then another. Grounding. Marking.

“You’re okay,” she says. Not a question.

Abby hums. Her voice is low, roughened at the edges.

Ellie touches the marks left behind. Rope tracks. Sweat lines. The faint memory of her own hand. She traces them with the reverence of a cartographer—someone recording the body as evidence, not of conquest, but of care.

Not claiming. Just witnessing. Just holding.

The room is warm. The air dense with salt and the shadow of steam. Sheets pulled, pillows crooked. The bed tells on them. So does the quiet.

That raw, liquid stillness that only comes after the breaking.

Ellie tightens her arm.

“Still want to be mine?” she murmurs.

And Abby—no pause, no hesitation: “Always.”

Ellie kisses the curve of her freckled shoulder.

She doesn’t say anything else.

She already has her.

[giveherswords]

date idea: you’re a butch lesbian. you hold yourself like a fortress, always braced, always the one who stays steady. I see the way your jaw stays tight even when you’re laughing. I take you out to dinner, somewhere dim and warm where you don’t have to scan the room. under my dress: lace, heels. my nails are painted, my hands cool and soft when I reach for you across the table. everyone assumes you’re in charge; I let them.

later, when I take you home, I undo you slowly. your jacket slides off your shoulders, buttons open like a prayer. I kiss you until your breath catches, until the guard you keep welded shut begins to slip. I touch you with my whole attention, my whole patience, until you’re trembling and begging for me. that’s my favorite part—the way you go quiet, the way your strength folds back into my hands.

when you give it up, it isn’t weakness. it’s trust. it’s proof of how hard you’ve fought to hold it, and how much you’ve decided to place it in me. I fuck you until thought becomes sound, until your body speaks in tremors, until you forget all the reasons you became so tough in the first place. and then I whisper thank you—thank you for your bravery, for your strength, for letting me be the place you finally rest.

[gardengnosticator]

ellie bites the hand that feeds, the hand that reaches out in the dark, be it in kindness or anger. but it's alright, abby is strong. she'll let ellie sink teeth into flesh and hold on for dear life until she acknowledges abby is not leaving.

[dykeriver]

𝐜𝐰 ； panic attack, dellabs sexual and nonsexual intimacy, comfort sex, submission and subspace, crying during sex.

so like. ellie has a hard time letting people take care of her. we know that. she feels a lot and doesn’t know how to let people help her. and so, years after everything happens and the three of them — ellie, dina, and abby — are living at the farmhouse together, ellie finds herself falling back into the natural role of the caretaker. it’s just her, who she is. she loves taking care of dina. things with abby are still… complicated. the two of them are rather hesitant, unsure with each other.

one day, ellie just has this god fucking awful time. with every step, her feet sink to the ground like lead. her chest is heavy, tight, clenching. ellie’s in the kitchen when the dread hits her, pulls her down to the floor and makes the world spin around her. she can’t get enough air into her lungs, and her hands fucking ache. there’s no particular reason for it. sometimes it just happens. usually, it’s a little easier to handle. a little easier to mask with a headache. usually, it doesn’t bring her to her ass. dina and abby are both on her almost immediately, concerned, and the taller woman has a rather tentative expression on her face. it takes a lot of persuading, especially on dina’s end, but ellie lets them take her to the bedroom. when she sits on the bed, she can’t help but sigh out this defeated, shaking noise that ellie feels downright shameful for. dina goes to step forward, but before she can even move, abby is upon the freckled woman. dina watches her girls, a thoughtful look gracing her beautiful face.

abby sits on the bed, soft and worried. slowly, abby lifts a large hand. she cups ellie’s cheek so fucking gently, and ellie wants to tell her she won’t break, but suddenly she’s unable to talk. she leans into her hand. this shuddered breath of relief comes out of her, completely uncontrollably. ellie just. she just feels so. relieved. all of a sudden. she leans even heavier on abby’s strong hand, sagging against her wide shoulders. abby lays ellie down gently, holding her above the blanket. dina feels — so feels so fucking full, as they lay there, all together. she lays down on the other side of ellie, wrapping an arm around her small waist and kissing her shoulder blade.

they lay together for a while, before ellie’s hands start wondering. she wants something to make her feel tethered to the world, wants to be… she doesn’t completely understand what she wants, let alone how to communicate it. but naturally, effortlessly, they understand her. “oh, baby girl,” dina coos, voice soft and nurturing, “let us take care of you.” and the sound the comes out of ellie is primal, absolutely devastated. and soon, she’s naked, pressed up to dina’s chest, the smaller woman’s soft hands rubbing against her sides. with a nod of permission from ellie, dina tucks her hand low, low, lower, until she’s reaching ellie’s center. and god, the way ellie keens. abby’s at their closet, pulling on the little harness that dina got as a joke years ago, the one they were all usually a little too shy to use on each other. dina begins to stretch ellie out as abby watches, and then the blonde kneels between ellie’s open legs. she kisses her, pressing her lips to ellie’s ever so tenderly.

when ellie’s finally ready for it, abby raises her thigh up a bit. dina’s heart is thudding away a mile a minute. she stares down the soft plane of ellie’s body as abby presses in, carefully, carefully, stopping as their youngest girl drops her mouth open. abby takes things ever so slowly, not wanting to hurt her the first time they… the first time they do something that holds so much intimacy. dina is kissing up ellie’s neck, fingers sweetly grazing against her dusty pink nipples. when abby bottoms out, ellie’s mouth drops open again, head falling back against dina’s shoulder. “i, i, hhh, uhm, i,” she stutters, overwhelmed and the most full she’s ever been. “abby, i- full,” ellie squeaks. her voice is high, breaking, nasally. and for once in her life, she can’t bring herself to feel embarrassed about being so very vulnerable. she feels too utterly loved. she feels so hazy, vision spinning a little bit, comfortably fuzzy like she just hit a joint or something.

abby kisses ellie’s forehead before she starts moving. at first, ellie truly doesn’t know how to feel. it’s such a new, unfamiliar feeling. she doesn’t usually take it, always a giver when it comes to like… stuff inside, and so to feel the wet slide of the soft, realistic cock in her was a little rattling. but… but the feeling started to build, and the angle abby’s at makes the toy rub against ellie’s clit, and she can’t help it when she chokes out a surprised moan. dina reaches back between ellie’s legs, rubbing slow circles over her clit. ellie gasps, eyes jamming shut and chest arching up a little bit. “no,” dina says, voice tender but firm, “i want you to look into each other’s eyes.” and the way abby whimpers, immediately making eye contact with shy, watery moss green. it doesn’t take long for ellie to get there, especially when abby starts hitting that spot, the one that she can’t even get herself to focus on while she pleasures herself. ellie’s letting out all these throaty, loud moans, fuzzy and so, so far gone. “cum,” dina commands, and ellie didn’t even realize she was that close but her orgasm hits her like a wave in the ocean during a thunderstorm. it rolls through her body in a harsh, all consuming way. abby halts her movements, buried deep inside of ellie, but dina keeps rubbing firm, deliberate against her swollen bud. ellie really does start to cry, now, fat tears rolling down her face as she cums, desperately clenching against abby’s cock. dina pulls away eventually when ellie whimpers in overstimulation. she murmurs soft, encouraging words to both of her girls, affectionate, in love.

they all hold onto each other for a long time after this.

thank @yokedtablet for this y’all. i started typing and then i Couldn’t Stop.

[giveherswords]

abby fucking ellie while making her wear a strap too—just bouncing there, tapping soft against ellie’s stomach with every one of abby’s thrusts. ellie’s red-faced, squirming. abby won’t stop teasing. ellie won’t admit she loves it.

[swantonbomb]

lesbian masculinity is literally one of the hottest and most attractive things in the world sorry.

[giveherswords]

Good Puppy

Ellie doesn’t want to be praised. She wants to be told where to kneel. She asks to be collared not to play, but to disappear—into punishment, into obedience, into something that doesn’t have to think. A study in submission, humiliation, and the quiet violence of needing to be owned. Authors note: This fic explores a negotiated D/s dynamic between two consenting adult women who know exactly what they want—and ask for it. Contents: Modern setting, Ellie/Abby, sub!Ellie, Dom!Abby, D/s dynamics, puppy play, crawling, drooling/spit, strap-on blowjob, strap-on sex, spanking, fingering, orgasm control, pussy slapping, humiliation, no written aftercare. WC: 3.1k

Ellie had been trying to solve it for hours.

It wasn’t even one thing—just a tangled mess of half-failed plans, unread emails, stupid logistics she should be able to figure out. Nothing life-threatening. Nothing dramatic. Just that familiar ache of her own mind grinding against itself, wearing down all the sharp edges trying to force an answer that wouldn’t come.

She sat on the floor with her back to the couch, legs bent, laptop on the coffee table. The screen glared at her. Her temples pulsed. She hadn’t moved in—God, an hour? Two? Her hand ached from gripping the pen too tight. Her jaw, worse.

Abby hadn’t interrupted. Just moved through the apartment like she always did—quiet, warm, a steady presence at the edges of Ellie’s awareness. Noticing. Waiting. Watching from the armchair across the room.

Ellie hated that she wanted her to notice. Hated that her shoulders relaxed, just a little, every time Abby passed by. Hated even more that it didn’t help.

She kept trying. Clicking between tabs. Re-reading the same paragraph five times. Digging herself deeper.

She only realized she was breathing too fast when she tried to take a deep one—and couldn’t.

Ellie slammed her laptop shut. Too loud. Too sharp. Her hand curled into a fist before she could stop it. Her throat locked. She didn’t cry. Didn’t even blink. Just stared ahead while her pulse skittered like it was trying to escape.

A pause. Then the sound of Abby shifting in the chair.

“You don’t have to fix it right now,” she said—low, level.

Ellie didn’t move. Her body had gone hot and tense, her knees still pulled up, spine locked like a rifle stock.

There was a long silence. And then: “Come here.”

Ellie started to stand.

“No,” Abby said. Soft, but final. “Crawl.”

The word clicked into place like a key in a lock.

Ellie froze.

Something inside her snapped to attention. No—it dropped. Like a switch flipped. Like a circuit was severed and suddenly everything inside her went blessedly, miraculously quiet.

She was no longer a person trying to solve anything. She wasn’t trying to prove she could keep up, that she was good, capable, worthy. She wasn’t trying at all.

Ellie turned and crawled.

Knees to the floor. Palms down. No thinking, just movement. Her breath came easier the moment her hands touched the wood. Her limbs moved without hesitation. She didn’t feel less. She felt put away. Like a knife in its sheath.

Abby was waiting in the chair. Legs spread, arms resting on the armrests, gaze steady and unreadable. She didn’t reach for Ellie. Didn’t smile. Just watched her come.

By the time Ellie reached her, something in her was already gone.

And Abby knew it.

She leaned forward, slow and deliberate, and held out her hand.

Ellie didn’t hesitate. She pressed her cheek into Abby’s palm like it was the only stable surface in the world.

“You hate feeling small,” Abby said. “And you keep chasing it.”

Ellie’s throat burned.

“You want to be told what you are.”

A nod. Quick. Humiliated.

“Say it.”

Ellie’s voice barely worked. “I want to be collared.”

“Why?”

Because it emptied her. Anchored something that kept slipping. Made everything quiet. Made it so she didn’t have to try so fucking hard.

“Because I’m better like that,” she whispered.

Abby’s fingers threaded into her short auburn hair.

“Say please.”

Ellie shivered. Her skin lit up like a live wire. “Please collar me. Please.”

Silence.

Then Abby stood. Stepped away. Ellie held still, heart hammering.

When Abby returned, she held the collar in one hand like a sentence. Black leather. Simple. A small silver tag swung from the ring. Puppy, etched in clean block letters. No other name. No ambiguity.

Ellie’s breath caught. Not because it was cruel—but because it was exactly right.

Abby didn’t say anything. She buckled it on slowly, methodically, fingers brushing the back of Ellie’s neck, knuckles grazing her spine.

It closed around her throat like a verdict.

And the relief was instantaneous.

Like something unspoken had finally been decided for her. No more guessing. No more scrambling to be enough. The collar didn’t just quiet her—it rewrote her. Made her into something easy. Knowable. Good.

“On all fours.”

Ellie obeyed.

Her breath slowed. Her chest ached with how quickly everything loosened inside her—like her spine could finally settle, like the noise in her head had been replaced with quiet.

The floor was cold. Her knees already ached. She didn’t care. She kept her head low, back straight, the leash slack where it trailed from her throat.

“You needed this bad, didn’t you.”

“Yes,” Ellie said—quick, automatic.

“You gonna bark for me tonight, or just whine?”

Ellie whimpered before she could stop it.

Abby knelt beside her, slow and heavy. One hand found the back of Ellie’s head and pressed—firm, unyielding—until her face was flush to the floor.

The wood was cool against her cheek. Not smooth—just slightly uneven, a faint ridge running beneath her jaw. It grounded her harder than any words could. Just grain and breath and pressure.

Her body trembled, but her mind was still. Held.

“Good puppy,” Abby murmured, voice warm against the cruelty of the gesture. “Let’s see how far gone you are.”

Ellie shuddered.

She didn’t want praise. Praise meant she was doing fine. It meant she had choices.

She wanted control—taken from her.

To be moved like furniture. To be used like something Abby already owned.

She wanted Abby’s disapproval—not because it hurt, but because it meant Abby was watching. Because it meant there was still more to take.

The leash snapped taut—sudden, brutal—jerking her head back from the floor by the collar.

Ellie gasped, arching into the pull. The sound she made halfway between a moan and a whine.

Abby chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

The hand slid lower. Down her spine. Pausing at the waistband of her jeans.

“You’re mine tonight,” Abby said. “Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“Not like that.”

Ellie breathed hard. “I’m yours. I’m your toy. I’ll be good.”

“That’s better.”

The leash tightened again, sharp and sure.

Ellie’s hips rocked back instinctively. She needed. She ached. She didn’t care what she looked like.

Abby leaned in close, voice low against her ear.

“You want to be broken down, puppy?”

“Yes.” It came out like a sob. “Please.”

Abby stood. “Stay.”

Ellie didn’t move. Couldn’t. Her body buzzed with anticipation, nerves sharp and sweet.

She didn’t want to be Ellie tonight. She didn’t want to think about how she wasn’t enough.

She wanted to be told where to kneel. Where to beg.

So she stayed. Back arched. Knees burning. Breath shaking in her throat.

Her nails scraped against the floor to ground herself as the leash snapped again, sharp and sudden. There was nothing in her brain but heat and static and the word mine reverberating like a struck bell.

Abby circled once. Boots heavy. Slow. Deliberate. A predator’s orbit.

Ellie’s pulse was a drumline under her skin. She wanted—God, she didn’t even know what she wanted. To be undone with purpose. To be unmade by someone who knew exactly how.

A hand ghosted over the swell of her ass. No pressure. Just a pass. Ellie shivered.

Then a sharp slap—crackling and mean. Not hard enough to hurt, but precise enough to make her jolt.

“You beg me to collar you,” Abby said, “and you think I’m going to fuck you first thing?”

Ellie’s breath stuttered. “No—”

“Of course not.” Another slap. The sting traveled like wildfire. “You want release before you’ve earned it?”

“No!”

“Then why are your hips moving like a bitch in heat?”

Ellie whimpered.

The shame hit hard. It sank into her spine, a flush that made her belly twist with something worse than want: need.

She wasn’t trying to be good. She was trying not to break.

Abby leaned down, voice close and low and terrible.

“Are you wet?”

Ellie nodded, barely.

“Use your words.”

“Yes.”

“How wet?”

Ellie squeezed her eyes shut. “So wet it’s dripping down my thighs.”

“Pathetic,” Abby said, her voice low and warm. “You’re not even being touched.”

The leash tugged hard. Ellie gasped and nearly lost her balance.

She heard the zipper next. But not hers.

Abby crouched in front of her. One hand on the leash, the other guiding her own cock—thick silicone, dark, strapped tight to her hips. It jutted forward like a threat.

“Eyes on me.”

Ellie lifted her head. Her mouth fell open before she even thought about it.

“Look at you,” Abby murmured. “Already drooling.”

“I’m sorry—” Ellie whispered, but Abby cut her off with a tug that choked the apology in her throat.

“No, you’re not. You love this.” Abby’s thumb dragged across her cheek. “You love crawling for it.”

Ellie nodded helplessly.

“You’ll get your reward later. If you behave.”

Abby leaned in, letting the head of her cock drag across Ellie’s parted lips—hot breath between them, all promise and no relief.

“Put your tongue out.”

Ellie obeyed. The silicone pressed against it, heavy and rubber-slick. Her whole body tensed.

“Don’t suck. Just hold it there.”

Ellie whimpered. The weight of it rested on her tongue, unmoving. She wanted to close her lips, to worship it, to be used.

But Abby just waited. Let the silence stretch.

Saliva pooled fast. Ellie could feel it gathering at the corners of her mouth, then slipping down—hot and slow—past her chin.

She didn’t move. Didn’t dare wipe it.

The first drop hit her chest.

Then another.

And Abby smiled.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “Can’t even hold my cock in your mouth without making a mess.”

Ellie flushed, humiliated—but her thighs clenched, her breath hitching.

Abby let the toy rest heavier on her tongue, like it meant something.

Heat stung behind her eyes, sharp and sudden. Lower, her cunt throbbed—needy, aching, already gone.

Abby pulled back. The toy slipped from her tongue, leaving her mouth open and wet.

“You’re desperate, aren’t you.”

Ellie nodded, choked. “Please—”

“Please what?”

“Touch me. Please touch me. I need it—I’ll do anything—”

“You already are doing anything,” Abby said, standing. “But that doesn’t mean you get what you want.”

A pause.

Ellie heard the soft shuffle of movement, the creak of the floorboard behind her. Then warmth—Abby’s presence at her back, looming.

And then she felt it. Cool fingers found her waistband. A pause.

Then they tugged—firm, impersonal—and her jeans began to slide down her hips. Slow. Unforgiving.

It felt like being dismantled. Exposed piece by piece, until she wasn’t a person, just something Abby was getting ready to use.

The denim rasped down her thighs, slow and rough, pooling at her knees. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Just breathed through it—through the exposure, the stillness, the way her body went hot all over.

Her panties stayed on.

Thin. Damp. On display. Proof of how badly she wanted this—wanted to be reduced, arranged, undone.

A hand ghosted over them, slow. Pressing against the soaked fabric.

Her skin prickled. Her breath caught. She felt the flush rise from her chest to her face like heat drawn to the surface. A pained, animal sound broke from her throat.

“Messy,” Abby said. “And all from begging.”

“I can’t—” Ellie swallowed, shuddering. “I can’t take it.”

“Yes you can.” A slap between her legs. Sharp. Cruel. Perfect.

Ellie’s hips jerked, a full-body tremor radiating from the sting as she moaned into the floor.

“You can take a lot more.”

The panties were peeled aside. Abby didn’t fuck her. Didn’t even slip a finger in.

She just... petted.

Barely. A fingertip tracing the slick outer edge of her, slow as oil.

Ellie’s whole body convulsed—hips jerking, thighs trembling, her breath caught in a high, stuttering whine. The muscles in her stomach clenched hard, her spine arching without permission.

Her voice was wrecked, shredded raw. “Please—please, I can’t—”

“Not until I say.”

The petting stopped.

Ellie sobbed.

It wasn’t a sound she was proud of. It broke something in her throat. She pressed her forehead to the floor like it was prayer.

“You gonna come without permission?”

“No—” she choked.

“Even though you’re soaked and empty?”

“Yes—”

“You want to come?”

“I—I want you to ruin me.”

The silence after that was awful.

Then Abby’s hand slid between her legs again—this time two fingers, deep, sudden, no warning.

Ellie jolted. Her whole body seized around the new pressure, heat flooding up her spine so fast it made her vision blur. She almost came. Fuck, she almost came from that alone. But she held. Locked every muscle tight. Clenched her fists. Bit down on the sob rising in her throat.

She stayed still—not because she wasn’t falling apart, but because Abby hadn’t given her permission to fall.

Abby grinned. Ellie could hear it in her voice.

“Good puppy.”

She was bare now. Exposed. Spread wide and trembling, caught in the thick, quiet ache between humiliation and need.

Abby crouched behind her.

“You’re soaked,” she muttered—not to Ellie, not really. It was meant to sound clinical, detached. Like she was stating a fact. But her voice caught on the last word. Just slightly. Enough to give her away.

“What a filthy little bitch.”

Ellie whimpered, the sound thin and desperate, her thighs already trying to press together, her body betraying her all over again.

Then the leash jerked—sharp, practiced—snapping her head back just enough to make the collar bite.

A reminder. Not just of who she belonged to. But that she did.

“You wanna come like this?” Abby said, fingers dragging slick and lazy between Ellie’s thighs. “On the floor, panting, desperate? Is that what you need?”

“Yes—yes—please, I’ll do anything, I’ll be anything—”

A sharp slap across her cunt cut the sentence off mid-sob.

“Stop begging,” Abby growled. “You had your chance to ask.”

Ellie cried out. Her body bucked forward, and Abby grabbed her hips—hard—holding her in place like something that had been caught.

“Every time you flinch,” Abby said, “you earn nothing.”

Then she leaned in—heavy, solid, the press of her body a quiet threat. Ellie could feel her heat at her back, the controlled weight of someone who could pin her down without trying.

Abby’s breath ghosted over her spine. Low. Steady.

“You wanted to be ruined?” she murmured. “Then stay still.”

Two fingers thrust into her—deep, unceremonious, perfect. Ellie gasped. Her back arched like a bow. Her cunt clenched hard around the sudden stretch—tight, pulsing, needy.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful.

It was exactly what she wanted.

She moaned—high and helpless—already trembling.

Abby fingered her slow. Ruthless. Like she was tuning something out of her. Every stroke hit too deep, too right. Her breath fractured against the floor.

“I could keep you like this for hours,” Abby said. “Just open. Slutty. Leaking all over yourself.”

Ellie’s whole body twitched. She was close already—so close she was afraid it was going to happen without permission.

But she held.

Barely.

“Fuck,” she choked. “Please—I’m gonna—I can’t—”

“You can.”

The fingers pulled out and Ellie nearly sobbed.

But then she heard it—the low click of a harness being adjusted. The sound of Abby’s zipper. The drag of silicone across palm.

Her whole body stilled.

“You think I’d fuck you just because you begged for it?” Abby said. “You think I’d let you come because your body can’t stop shaking?”

Ellie nodded. Then shook her head. She didn’t know the answer.

She just needed.

Abby’s cock pressed against her entrance. Not gentle. Just there. Heavy. Insistent.

“You’re gonna stay still,” Abby said. “You’re gonna take what I give you. You don’t get to ask anymore.”

Then she thrust in—all at once.

Ellie moaned—low and broken—but bit it down, the sound catching behind her teeth like a secret. Her palms pressed flat to the floor, arms shaking. The stretch filled her—deep and deliberate—until her breath stuttered and her whole body leaned into it.

Her cunt clenched around the fullness, aching in a way that steadied her. It felt like being settled into, shaped around, kept. Pressure coiled low in her belly—hot, tight, already building. The stretch, the weight, the way Abby claimed her—this was what she wanted. What she begged for. 

The pain wasn’t a barrier; it was the point.

Her body took it like it had been waiting. The stretch made her eyes roll. The pressure pinned her flat. Abby didn’t fuck her sweet. She fucked her like she was reclaiming her. Like this body didn’t belong to Ellie at all. 

She grabbed Ellie’s hips and pulled her back onto her cock, slow and steady, until she was bottomed out.

“You’re mine,” Abby growled. “Say it.”

Ellie gasped, “I’m yours, I’m yours—please—”

The first real thrust knocked her forward—slow, blunt, deep.

Then another.

And another.

Abby fucked her with rhythm, each stroke steady and certain, like she was molding Ellie to fit around her.

Every time Ellie’s breath caught, Abby pushed deeper. Every time she tried to beg, Abby gave her more—harder, heavier, inevitable.

“I want you wrecked,” Abby gasped out. “I want you ruined from the inside out.”

Ellie sobbed. Her thighs trembled, slick and straining, muscles shaking from the effort of holding. The heat was everywhere—tight in her belly, crawling up her spine, spilling behind her ribs.

She was filled to the edge of breaking—stretched wide, held deep, every inch of her body drawn tight around the pressure. The sensation pulsed through her, rhythmic and unbearable, like her body didn’t want to let go, didn’t know how.

Every thrust made her pulse stutter. Every breath came ragged. She was unraveling by the second, strung out on the edge of something she wasn’t allowed to touch.

The pleasure wound tighter. Hot. Sharp. Endless.

“Please—” she gasped. “I need to come—please, I’m—”

Abby grabbed the leash, yanked her back—hard, final.

“Come.”

Ellie shattered.

She wailed—loud, animal, obscene—body convulsing as her orgasm tore through her. Her thighs trembled. Her cunt clenched hard around the cock still buried inside her. She didn’t just come—she broke.

Abby fucked her through it. Didn’t stop. Didn’t slow.

Ellie collapsed. Down to her elbows, then her chest, cheek pressed to the floor, mouth open and panting like a dog.

Only then—when she was limp, slick, and emptied out—did Abby pull out.

The air rushed in.

Ellie sobbed once, sharp and broken, then went quiet.

The collar was still tight around her throat. Her body hummed with the ache of being taken apart and put back together.

She didn’t know what time it was. Or where they were. Or what she was supposed to be after this.

She just knew she could breathe again.

Abby leaned over her. One hand on her back.

“Good puppy,” she said.

And Ellie—ruined, raw, claimed—smiled into the floor.

[gardengnosticator]

ellie has been such a brat today. snippy, mouthing off every chance she gets, blunt, purposefully ignoring abby AND dina's attempts at coaxing what was wrong out of her. there wasn't anything wrong. nothing really causing ellie to be rude, just a subtle burning ache inside of her, the crass desire to break abby, to break dina, to get them to drop those polite loving masks and treat her like the unruly dog she was.

she can't quite recall what caused it. maybe it was when she got a smidge too sarcastic with dina, when she saw the warm smile on her face sink into an exasperated frown and abby, seated just behind dina went tense. jaw clenched, shoulders up, the veins in her arms begining to pop as she tensed and untensed her hand as if working an imaginary stress ball.

ah! ellie thinks, gotcha.

that's how she has ended up here, pressed into the firm cushions of their couch, her clothes all but torn off her, four hands making for quick work at stripping her bare, with dina looming over her face, hands firmly clenching ellie's shoulders to hold her in place and abby... well abby was right between ellie's bare legs. of course she was packing today.

maybe that's what brought all this on. the sight of that just too perfect bulge in abby’s jeans was the forbidden fruit, and ellie had sinned her way right to it. sinned her way into watching as abby's hands grasped her ankles, forcing her knees to her chest as she grinds the length of her shaft up and down over ellie's cunt. ellie gasps, back arching off the couch to try and coax more and more friction from abby, but the only thing such desperation gets is abby retreating.

"you've been mouthing off all day els, you really think you get to call the shots here?" dina hums, leaning down and pressing a kiss to ellie's forehead as abby teasingly presses forward, tip of her strap just so cruelly pressing into her hole.

"i'll fuck you alright ellie, when i want to. and i'll stop when i want to." abby relieves her grip on one of ellie's legs just to reach down and, in a particularly cruel manner, slap the length of her faux-cock down onto ellie's leaking cunt.

ellie rolls her head to the side, eyes clamped shut as she motor-mouths apologies, hips shaking, legs trembling, her need so completely overwhelming her mind that she begs. "please please please please abby, i'm sorry, just please fuck me, please fuck me like you mean it."

abby just laughs, chest heaving as she stares down at ellie, so supple, so soft, bare chest bobbing up and down in a hypnotic fashion as she begs abby for her cock. "think our girl needs a little gag, can't quite say i'm in the mood for your demands ellie." abby looks up at dina, and dina, eyes sparkling in glee just nods.

ellie feels unbearably light for a second. dina's hands leaving her shoulders but before ellie can complain, can beg for dina to return she opens her eyes and is rendered silent. dina hovering over her, bare thighs nestled on either side of ellie's head to hold her in place. her mouth goes wide, and dina seizes her chance, diving down and seating herself right atop ellie's mouth.

"ohhhh, this is a far better use for that rude little mouth of yours, ellie." dina groans, hands reaching out to take hold of abby's shoulders, steadying herself as she rolls her hips down into ellie's face. "much-much better." abby chuckles, shifting forward to plant a hungry kiss against dina's lips, all while she finally slips her hips forward, fully hilting herself inside ellie with one powerful thrust.

ellie squeals, mouth parted as she laps her way through dina's folds, the heft and weight of abby's length pushed so deep she swore she could feel it in her very guts and all ellie can think, as both of her halves are used, is that she should act up more often.

[misaerabl]

Beso De Tres

ellabs x reader

CW: three-way kiss, ELLABS MAKING OUT (insert loud, unhinged cheering), sexual tension, oral sex, threesome, sexual exploration between "friends", orgasm

The thing about Ellie and Abby is that they’ve always had… a thing.

Not the romantic kind. Not even the flirty kind. But something crackling and combative, loud and close enough that it loops back around into intimacy if you tilt your head and squint.

Right now, that something is echoing through the Airbnb’s living room. You’re all post-beach lazy — still sun-warm and sandy in clothes that don’t quite belong to any of you. Abby’s tank clings to her back, damp at the spine. Ellie’s wearing your shorts.

They’re arguing again.

“Just say it,” Ellie says, smirking over the lip of her beer. “You were wrong about the fight choreography.”

Abby rolls her eyes. “No, I said it looked good. I didn’t say it made sense. A guy doesn’t just get up after taking a rebar to the ribs.”

Ellie shifts where she’s sitting on the couch, her knee pressing into yours as she turns toward Abby. “Jesus. It’s a movie. Suspend your disbelief for five seconds.”

You snort. “Okay, mom and mom, calm down.”

They both look at you. Their brows raise in almost-perfect sync.

You grin, a little tipsy, a little mean. “I’m just saying… if you fight any harder, you’re gonna end up making out.”

There’s a beat.

Then Ellie huffs, looking away, but not before you see the way her ears turn red. Abby’s expression shifts. It was faint, but noticeable if you know where to look. Less annoyed. More… curious.

You sip your beer again, lips tugging upward. “Honestly? Just kiss already. Might shut you both up for once.”

Silence.

Then Ellie looks at you, eyes narrowed. “Don’t be weird.”

You shrug, fully leaning into it now. “What? You don't think she’s a good kisser?”

That earns you a scoff from both of them. Abby leans forward, her forearms resting on her thighs. “You really want us to kiss? Is this like… a fantasy thing for you?”

You blink. “I was joking—”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Ellie mutters, watching you over her bottle. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“That one.” Her voice is quieter now, but not softer. Her eyes flick down to your lips.

Your stomach flips.

“I dare you,” you say, tone light but heartbeat anything but. “Prove me wrong.”

More silence. Tension thick enough to swim through.

And then Abby turns to Ellie. “Well?”

Ellie licks her lips. She looks between the two of you. Her eyes dark, unreadable. Then she mutters, “Fuck it,” and leans in.

Their mouths meet in a kiss that’s not tentative, but not gentle either. It’s exploratory. Firm. Abby’s hand moves up to cradle Ellie’s jaw, her thumb brushing the edge of Ellie’s cheekbone. Ellie lets out a soft noise — surprised maybe — and tilts her head.

It’s a real kiss.

And your throat goes dry.

They pull back slowly. Ellie’s lips are pinker now. Abby doesn’t move her hand.

You can’t breathe. You’re flushed down to your toes.

Then Ellie turns to you. “Still think it’s just arguing?”

You blink. “I mean—”

Abby moves first. Her hand drops from Ellie’s cheek and brushes your thigh instead, featherlight. Her gaze is unreadable, curious but restrained. “You’re the one who brought this up.”

You look between them. The air feels different now. Not heavy, exactly, but charged. The room tilts on its axis, slow and sure.

You swallow. “You don’t have to—”

Ellie cuts you off by crawling toward you, closing the space so naturally it barely registers as a decision. “You think we haven’t noticed how you look at us?” she asks quietly, face so close you feel her breath.

Abby’s behind you now, knees pressing in at either side, her warmth steady at your back.

“You’re not that subtle,” she murmurs against your neck.

You let out a shaky exhale.

“I—” you start, but Ellie kisses you before you finish the sentence.

Her mouth is warm and insistent, lips parted just enough that you fall right into the rhythm of it. Your hand flies to her waist, holding tight. Her kiss isn't slow nor fast, just close.

Then Abby’s mouth brushes your shoulder. You shudder.

And when Ellie pulls back slightly, Abby tilts your chin toward her and kisses you too.

It’s different. Heavier. She tastes like citrus and sunscreen. Her hand cups the back of your neck and holds you in place like you’re something precious... or something she’s finally allowed to touch.

You’re breathless when she pulls away.

They’re both watching you now. Ellie’s thumb is stroking lazy circles along your thigh. Abby’s lips ghost your jaw.

You barely have time to catch your breath before both of them lean in.

Their mouths find yours at the same time. Clumsy at first, but eager. It’s heat and breath and the low sound of someone moaning into someone else’s mouth. You can’t tell who.

You’re caught between them. One hand in Abby’s hair, the other gripping Ellie’s arm. Their tongues brush over yours, over each other’s. It’s messier than you expect, wetter, hotter, and entirely consuming.

You lose yourself in it.

You’ve kissed people before. You’ve even been reckless before. But never like this. Never sandwiched between two women who had wanted to fight just to get here.

And somehow, despite how chaotic it all feels, the three of you fit.

Like the kiss had been waiting for an excuse.

You don’t know whose hand moves first — Abby’s, maybe — brushing under your shirt, fingers skating over your ribs like she’s mapping new territory. You suck in a breath, your back arching into her touch. Ellie shifts closer, sliding between your legs, her knee pressing up and into you just enough to make your thighs tighten.

It’s dizzying. Their mouths trading places, Abby kissing down your neck while Ellie finds your lips again. She kisses softer this time. Focused. Like she wants to memorize the shape of you.

Your hands move without thought. One buried in Ellie’s hair, the other splayed on Abby’s thigh behind you. It’s instinct, to hold, to anchor but it only fuels the fire spreading beneath your skin.

“You’re warm,” Abby murmurs into your shoulder, voice low and wrecked. Her teeth graze just beneath your collarbone. “So fucking warm.”

Ellie’s hands are bolder now, dragging up beneath your borrowed shirt, her shirt. Until her thumbs brush the underside of your bra. She waits, watching your face. When you don’t stop her, she slides her palms up, cupping you over the fabric, and you gasp into her mouth.

“You good?” she asks, voice barely audible.

You nod — desperate, breathless. “Yeah. Please—”

That’s all they need.

Ellie tugs your shirt up and over your head, her knuckles brushing your sides, and Abby makes a soft sound when she sees you, equal parts reverent and hungry.

“You’re beautiful,” she says. Quiet, but certain.

Then her mouth is on you, open and slow, kissing over the top of your breast as her fingers work the clasp of your bra. Ellie’s still between your legs, still watching, her hands smoothing up your thighs.

The moment your bra slips off, Ellie leans in, kissing just above your sternum, her breath hot as she moves lower. Abby's mouth moves to the other side, and suddenly you’re surrounded. Lips and hands and heat everywhere at once.

Your head tips back. Your hips rock forward without meaning to.

And they groan. Together.

Ellie hooks her fingers into the waistband of your shorts and glances up. “Can I?”

“Yes,” you breathe. “God, yes.”

They undress you slow, like they’re savoring the process. Like every new inch of skin is a reward.

Ellie leans in to kiss the inside of your thigh, and you twitch, the sensitivity already unbearable. She smiles against your skin.

Abby slides a hand between your legs, cupping you through your underwear. “So wet already,” she says, almost to herself. “Shit.”

You whimper when she rubs slow, teasing circles against you and your hips lift, chasing more.

“Lie back,” Ellie murmurs, her voice soft but commanding. You do. You’d do anything right now.

Abby shifts beside you, kissing your temple while her hand slips beneath your underwear. Ellie lowers herself between your thighs, exhaling hard the second you’re bare to her.

“Fuck,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to the crease of your thigh. “You smell so good.”

Then her tongue is on you, slow and deliberate. One long, flat stroke that has your whole body tensing. Abby kisses you to swallow the moan that escapes your throat.

“Relax,” she whispers.

Ellie eats you like you're the answer to her hunger, her hands gripping your thighs to keep you still. Abby’s fingers find your breast again, rolling your nipple between her fingers while her other hand strokes your hair, her lips never far from yours.

You writhe between them, pleasure building fast and thick in your stomach.

Ellie moans against you, the vibrations sparking through your core and you cry out. Your hips buck, your thighs shake, and Abby holds you tighter.

You’re so close you’re barely breathing.

“Ellie—” you gasp, but your voice is gone.

She looks up, lips shiny, eyes dark. “Come on.”

Then she sucks your clit and you fall apart.

Your whole body locks up, white heat pulsing from your core outward. You cry out something. Maybe a name, maybe both. They keep going, slow and gentle now, drawing it out, letting it crest and fall and bloom again in aftershocks.

You’re floating. Boneless. Sweaty and trembling and fucked-out in the best way.

They kiss you after — Ellie from below, Abby from the side — their lips soft now, reverent.

You taste yourself on both of them.

Eventually, Ellie flops beside you, her hand finding your waist. Abby curls against your back, wrapping her arm over your stomach.

None of you say anything. You just breathe.

And smile.

[les4elliewilliams]

trigger warning: no happy trail.

[ellies-moth-to-a-flame]

canon ellabs🙏🏻

ellie is such a loser for abby and i stand by that!

[ellies-moth-to-a-flame]

ermmmm i don’t even know anymore, don’t ask me anything my brain is rotted

@gardengnosticator 😜‼️

[giveherswords]

pathetic sub Ellie will always do it for me.

Snippet from The Roommate Condition, Ellabs academic rivals/roommates-to-lovers-college AU, about to hit 100k word count on Ao3.

[beanlot-deactivated20260403]

HATEMAKING

you thought they hated eachother, turns out abby was much fonder of ellie than you’d anticipated.

wc: 2.8k (smut)

ellie x reader x abby inspired by this - content includes threesome, voyeurism, spitplay, oral (r! eceiving), humiliation

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

you wouldn’t know how to explain it, it just happened.

it would be friday night, r&b backdrop and flickering through the pages of ellie’s sketchpad. neurons and faded cells from biology, some of which had been scribbled out of ire as you proceeded through the papers. “this is good.” you mumble to her, adjusting the bedsheets between you.

“biology? surprised you made it through college.” abby chips in, skin emitting enough humidity that wyoming winter condensated to basaltic arizonan sun under the covers. she raises an eyebrow at the inklings, jealousy when she sees how indulged you are with each page. a weight that feels so good to drop when she mocks ellie,

“leave her alone, she’s a good girl.”

only to feel much heavier put back when you stuck up for her; abby’s focus not letting ellie’s smirk of ha, get fucked to go unnoticed. it was ellie muttering that abby just wants to sleep with you, and becoming defensive when you’d justify your friendship. then it was abby telling you that ellie was too much of a virgin to make a move. 

but like i said, it just happened.

at first, it was looking at abby for too long - the dreamboat way her freckles glinted with the tv screen ahead, a fantasy enough that when you’d realised you were both staring at eachother within the surrounding darkness, your vision all too hazy.

“what?”

“… nothing.”

and somewhere between, it was them taking turns kissing at your lips.

your vision blurs when abby initiates first, forehead nuzzling against yours for a few seconds with lustrous eyes closed. you’d made peace with the fact that oh, this is how we’re sleeping tonight, since it wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary for you to be so physically close on nights where ellie wasn’t beside either of you. but it feels just a tad too personal this time, a little more than merely affection when her nose feathers against yours; lips following just a few seconds later.

you thought it would be an accident, something that ellie would be too half-asleep to hear or remember.. but she knows what’s going on, not only from how gravely out of character you’re acting, but the way your hips instinctively roll into her thighs absentmindedly and the subtle sounds of lips smooching against eachother gives the faintest idea.

so daring.. fuck, why is she getting horny?

but she’ll stay silent, her suggestive fingers delicately framing your jaw, pivoting your head away from abby as she inches closer - ellie’s eyes not glossed with jealousy as expected, but rather indecency.

slightly hesitant toxin as she tilts her head and lips enrapturing yours. abby’s touch so concentrated that it left whatever pinnacle of sensation on your lips numb by the time ellie had even turned your head - but you delve in nonetheless, hand earthing itself against ellie’s cheek.

but of course, abby’s selfish at heart. seemingly pissy at how accepting you were of ellie’s affection; although her fingers patient and merciful at your jaw, awaiting her go and turning your head her way when she’d decided ellie had her fair share already, it didn’t make up for the patronising bite at your bottom lip.

her kisses petty and vindictive enough that you’d settle both hands on her shoulders, breath jagged - ellie remains tolerant, your sweetheart, pupils dilating when she deciphers the outline of abby’s tongue swiping at your own. she wants to touch herself, feel the wrath of raunchy bliss upon hearing your provocative sighs, but her fingers earthing themselves under your waistband instead.

something’s telling you that this isn’t about what you want, it’s about them getting even over your body.

and obviously, you aren’t so forgetting of it - you can feel the way her obscene fingers are discrete to slide your sweatpants off your hips, aroused by how vulnerable you were between their heating bodies with ellie’s thigh slowly caving itself between your legs. although she’s anticipating, hoping you’d do as she pleads, your hips are rolling into her with such greed that it doesn’t consider a second thought.

“lift up.” abby whispers against your jaw; your nipples hardening against the callous fabric of your shirt when abby’s fingers grip at the hem, skimming up when you arch your back. “that’s it.” she praises, lips lewdly shearing your collarbone and profanely sucking at your skin, feeding off the way it feels like satin under her fingertips, the small sighs and indications you were dismantling when your nipples peak from your shirt.

their eyes peppering against your breasts, ellie’s lips already instinctively slithering their way against the side of your ribcage. “pretty..” abby mutters, more to herself than either of you, her appreciation prompted by the stiffening of your body when she runs her fingers along the curves. you sigh when she pinches at your nipple, twitching into ellie’s side when abby begins to tenderly roll it between her fingertips.

“very pretty.” her eyes flicker to your face, dilating so suggestively that you’re tempted to believe you could see your reflection just looking her way. hues of sensuality drenching the blue globes when her lips lean toward your breast, tongue wetting them momentarily before the warmth of it flattens against your bud. and just like that, goosebumps an epidemic on your arms, her lips indecently sucking at your nipple like she was trying to draw milk from it - the sensitivity overbrimming your left side that it seemed like utter betrayal when the right side started to replicate it, ellie’s lips tenderly attaching itself to your other breast.

and then, it was both of them planted between your legs.

your slit at the mercy of their vulgar touch. you’d learnt that although ellie was predominantly a tease, abby was impulsive, lips already resting at your inner thigh and fingers delicately tracing your clitoral hood. your thigh settles against her shoulder, quivering not only from the impending heartbeat in your clit but the chasmic contrast between her searing cheek and your bitter skin.

and ellie will stare at how abby leans in, tongue streamlining your slit so precisely; the way it artistically traces your erect clit enough to get her mouth watering - because although something in her gut is telling her this may be competition at stake, she’s finding that working with abby feels easier than working against her.

so she shuffles closer, and unprompted, abby shows her leniency - head up and leaning against your thigh. from common knowledge, ellie was vanilla - you’d expected abby to take such a lead that it would be hard for her to chip in, so it reasonably packages itself a surprise when you feel a tongue so silken compared to the other flick against your clit.

“fuck.” you sigh. you know abby’s staring with those feral eyes, edging herself with the luxury of being able to observe your twitching legs.. clenching abdomen and dazed eyes that avoid looking back at her. but it’s when she notices your hips flinch, lips parting with such succulence she has to bite at her own to repress the urge of finishing you off for herself - looking over to see ellie’s fingers delicately spreading you open, tongue masterly burnishing your clit.

“keep doing that.” abby mutters, taking note of the way your stomach flexes; the resistance of your thighs against her palm with every stroke of ellie’s tongue against your cunt. “hm?” ellie hums, eyebrows raised in disruption when she hears abby murmur - she’s about to sit up, if it wasn’t for abby’s hand earthing itself into the roots of her hair and pushing her tongue further onto your clit.

you whine when ellie’s tongue possesses a grating touch, lapping itself at your bud disgustingly enough that abby notices the jewels of spit sailing from ellie’s lips into your hole. “that.” abby notions, fingers still burrowed into ellie’s tawny roots; it’s then that ellie feels as though she’s not trying to please you, but abby. she’s passing a test of satisfaction, aiming to perfect an impressive performance for her, and it makes her feel physically fucking sick at the realisation.

but she’ll continue slurping at your cunt, doe eyes that look up at your body; your breasts shiny, hair adhesive to the fabric of your beige pillows, looking like too much of a fucking showpiece that she can’t resist the urge to glissade her forefinger down your slit.

you’re morbidly soaked, how crudely wet she’d made you from her lips - teasingly gliding the same finger inside of your hole at an angle. an angle that gets your back arched just how she wanted it, gets your hands groping at your breasts, sighs of relief and begging that gratifies them both. enough for abby to slowly lean forward, cheek brushing against ellie’s, and tongue inhumanely whirling at your clit.

“please let me..” you quiver, rubbing their saliva into your nipples to aid your brewing orgasm. you can feel both of their tongues whipping against eachother, lips predatory against your folds and hailstones of their spit polishing your cunt so slickly. “please let me this time.” you beg, vision blurring to tearful haze when you’re left verbally inept; ellie’s finger twining up inside, familiarising itself with every fucking nook until it finds it, nestling itself at that godforsaken motherfucking bullseye - cunningly pumping in and out.

you’re not sure if you’re crying at this point, cheeks sweltering with everything that abby anderson and ellie williams was made up of.. your whimpers only consisting of sloppy blether of please, please, please.

abby’s hitched breath against your slit, lips egocentrically sheathing your clit and harshly sucking, only leaving space for ellie to drink up what was merely leftovers below abby’s chin. the only thing you managed to feel through the ecstasy being the rampant drilling of ellie’s fingers inside of you, slapping against your folds with an erotic dampness.

you realise your hips are being pushed into the mattress to stop the pathological shaking, the tensing of your pelvis and indescribable desire to grind into their mouths that you feel the ether - impending orgasm in your core when their warm tongues lick at your swollen clit, throat closing up enough that you can’t make sound.

you’re coming. your hips explosive enough that even abby’s grip can’t restrain the whirring of them, the cyclical shaking of your voice as you yelp out for them. abby there and ellie here; your fingers desperately clawing for just a touch of their fingers, their hair, their shoulders- fucking anything. but you notice, even through your orgasm, that their tongues are still tenderly sipping at your brimming juices.. considerate enough to avoid your oversensitivity, but compulsive enough to start licking at eachother instead.

their tongues manipulative at their tips, fucking feral to the point both of them refused to swallow; diamonds of their saliva slowly pooling at your thighs instead.

and this is what it came down to, pre-eminence after all; their lips confrontational to merge, sloppy and full of ironic hatred. but they seem to follow eachother, ellie’s lips miraculously chasing abby’s as they sit up, breathless and conflicting when abby pulls herself away.

“you’re my bitch, huh, williams?” abby chuckles, her forehead humid against ellie’s, and you’d be naive to believe it was merely intimacy with the ignorance of their bloodbath history. but through the blood, sweat and tears - you knew abby was trying to flick that switch, and it was starting to wire itself up when ellie resists against her touch.

“fuck you.”

“say it.”

“fuck you.”

“say. it.”

but ellie stays wooden, eyes empty of feeling threatened. but it contradicts it’s intended purpose when you detect the challenged twitch in abby’s eyebrows, fingers slithering their way to frame ellie’s jaw so enticingly that even you could feel the ungodly grip from where you were. “no?” abby subtly shakes her head, other hand familiarising itself with ellie’s chestnut strands.

it’s demeaning, and you’re just about to scold abby - but the evocative glint in ellie’s stimulated eyes lets you know that you don’t need to.

“no.. okay..” abby squints, nodding with what seemed like artificial sympathy. and had you blinked, you would’ve missed the wrath in abby’s irises; narrowing with irritation as her fingers crawl themselves into ellie’s roots. “lay down.”

“are you fuc-“ ellie begins to hiss, only to become completely paralysed under abby’s demeanor - her sentence cut short when she’s suppressed into the mattress, back arched and ass up. and of course, she tries to resist, tries to wriggle away through the grunts and mutters - but eventually finds herself burning out, huffing with the acceptance that abby was just.. much bigger.

“this must be embarrassing for you.” abby mutters, free hand gliding itself down the arch of ellie’s back, lustful enough that you’re devouring the sight of her hoodie being rolled up slowly; her bare skin a saintly splendour, hem of her sports bra above her toned abdomen, so rugged and appetising.

but ellie’s eyes remain shut to avoid the humiliation of looking at you, especially once she feels abby’s fingers take charge of the hem of her jeans. abby was nothing more than merely resentment, a migraine after an hour’s walk in the blistering heat, and most politely a pain in the fucking ass. “but i gave you a choice.” abby sighs, her nails gliding along ellie’s hips.

“go fuck yourself.” ellie flinches when she feels a scorching palm strike her ass, withering with indignity.. enough that she keeps her eyes closed and focused on the mattress, trying to distance herself from the fact she’s vulnerable infront of you. and you couldn’t deny that this wasn’t the ellie you’d gotten so accustomed with - reserved, sure - but disciplined to the point she was nothing but a brat that needed taming?

and if you thought it was pathetic to look at now, the whimper ambling it’s way from ellie’s muffled lips isn’t overlooked when abby’s fingers sink into her underwear, submerging itself into her slit. “say it, williams.” abby leans over, a sinister whisper against her earlobe. “tell her you’re my bitch.”

but ellie, to abby’s dissatisfaction, still refuses; the only thing said being her suppressed breaths, which amplify when abby lightly taps against her drenched clit. but even abby seems astonished by how compliant ellie was, how much she relishes the shame, and it produces what only could be described as a breathy chuckle. “jesus..” her light taps developing into sordid strokes, which only encourage the impulsive grinding against abby’s hand. “you must like me a little, williams..”

it gets to the point where you start to feel envy at ellie’s convulsing hips, tensing abdomen. it worsens when you hear ellie start to whine, really whine, when abby’s finger descends into her hole. “ah-fuck.” ellie mewls, her marshy walls welcoming abby’s conflicting touch, maybe more than she’d like.

“come here.” abby reinforces that malicious grip on ellie’s hair, throttling her back until she can feel the homeliness of ellie’s spine against her chest. ellie’s made peace with it, her head settling back onto abby’s shoulder.

her feminine lashes fanning her cheeks, gorgeous lips parted so palatably that it was tempting to drink up the moisture from them, fingers that possessed such a desirable branch of arctic veins. clutching onto the fine and burly muscle of abby’s arms, not to stop her, but to hold on for dear life as abby’s finger starts to hammer into her without mercy.

and let’s just say, it’s one orgasmic sight. ellie’s inner thighs vigorous against eachother, trembling with every thrust of abby’s hand; squelching sounds from how wet she is, fingers sorely locking up from clenching so harshly on abby’s wrist.

“you’re my bitch, aren’t you, williams?” abby mutters, her consistency not failing to please - but the same can’t be said for ellie, who receives a malignant slap to the cheek when she doesn’t respond. too busy trying to readjust her breathing, the oblivious whines whenever abby seems to brutally wallop against her g-spot that her next sentences are rushed and distorted.

“uh huh..” ellie wails, sounds of abby’s fingers slapping against her cunt; cheek smeared with merlot from its previous dispute with abby’s palm, which seemed rather tame considering the friction between the two. but finally, abby feels that tinge of victory when ellie gives into her, angling her palm directly onto her clitoral hood.

“what was that? you’re my bitch, aren’t you?”

“yes, fuck yes..”

“say it.”

“i’m your bitch, abby.. i’m.. oh fuck..”

“atta’ girl.” abby praises. by the way ellie starts shuddering, hips clenching in primitive patterns, thighs parted filthily and the blood-raising tone of her resistless exhales lets you know she’s just came. you feel your clit flutter at the hostile sight of abby lowering ellie face down into the mattress, bitter tone that nosedives directly into ellie’s ear. “stay the fuck down, you hear me?”

and a part of you feels diminished when you see ellie’s head numbly nod, her fingers twitching against the mattress. but nowhere as near as the defeat of meeting abby’s eyes, sedating and carnivorous as she narrows you down, fingers still gelled with ellie’s cum when they touch your waist.

“come here you. we’re not done.”

[genspo]

femme lesbians with fucked up makeup!! femme lesbians in sweatpants and messy hair!! femme lesbians that spend most days working a minimum wage job or smoking pot!! femme lesbians wearing jeans and a t shirt!!

femme lesbians are not all coquette pink princesses and i feel like that’s all i see on social media these days.. make some noise for messy femme lesbians with messy lives!!

[miseducatedmelanicmuse]

Extremely accurate