#pigmentation correction

[canisalbus]

I was wondering . . .you said that machete has poor eyesight, right? In the modern AU would he use glasses or contact lenses?

He uses contacts, but he probably has glasses in reserve as well, just in case. He doesn't like wearing them, he thinks they make him look dumb.

[jjaydazo]

It's been a while since I used my old power.

[ilovedthestars]

what IS this post talking about

The original post is accurate. The additions are not. The primary colors of pigment (yes, that includes paint) are cyan, magenta and yellow. The primary colors of light are red, green and blue.

The primary colors in one system are the secondary colors in the other system, because of how light works, which I am not going to get into here because this is a long enough post already and I’m just here to correct misinformation. “Additive and subtractive color” is the thing to look up if you would like an accurate explanation of this aspect of color theory.

You can, in fact, mix red paint. With the primary colors magenta and yellow. Yes, it feels fake, but this is the very first thing I did in a college-level color theory class. You can mix the “primary blue” from RGB with magenta and cyan, and you can mix green with cyan and yellow.

The red-yellow-blue color scheme they teach you in kindergarten is like the simplified model of the atom they teach you in middle school physics class, before re-teaching a more complex model later in school. Kindergarteners learned ROY G BIV colors so you’re not going to try to explain magenta and cyan to them and confuse them. RYB is culturally engrained, it’s close enough for most people’s purposes, but when you get to a level of education where the inaccuracy becomes relevant, you learn the more accurate model, which is CMY and RGB.

[permanentmakeup]

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[aestheticworld786]

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[health090909]

Everything You Need to Know About the Best Serum for Pigmentation and Dark Spots to Revitalize Your Skin

Dark spots and pigmentation are common concerns for many people, making their skin appear uneven and dull. These issues can arise due to various reasons such as sun exposure, hormonal changes, or even the natural aging process. While dealing with these problems might seem overwhelming, the right serum can make a significant difference. Finding the best serum for pigmentation and dark spots is a crucial step towards restoring your skin’s natural radiance and boosting your confidence.

When it comes to tackling pigmentation, serums are one of the most effective skincare products available. Unlike heavier creams, serums are lightweight and formulated to penetrate deep into the skin. They work by delivering active ingredients to the areas that need them the most, making them ideal for targeting specific issues such as pigmentation and dark spots. The best serum for pigmentation and dark spots not only helps reduce existing marks but also prevents new ones from forming.

Pigmentation occurs when the skin produces excess melanin, the pigment responsible for giving our skin its color. Factors such as prolonged exposure to the sun, hormonal imbalances, or even improper skincare routines can trigger this overproduction. Once dark spots appear, they can be stubborn and may require consistent care to fade. This is where serums play a vital role in addressing these concerns effectively.

A high-quality serum can help reduce pigmentation by working deep within the skin layers, gradually lightening dark spots and evening out the complexion. Over time, regular use of the best serum for pigmentation and dark spots can leave the skin looking healthier, more radiant, and free from uneven patches. It’s important to note, however, that patience and consistency are key. Serums work gradually, and noticeable results often take a few weeks or even months.

The beauty of serums lies in their versatility. They can easily be incorporated into your daily skincare routine, whether it’s in the morning or at night. For daytime use, applying the serum after cleansing and before sunscreen creates a protective barrier, reducing the chances of further pigmentation caused by sun exposure. At night, the serum works as part of your skin’s natural renewal process, helping to repair damage and promote a clearer complexion. This dual-action benefit makes serums an indispensable part of any effective skincare regimen.

When searching for the best serum for pigmentation and dark spots, it’s essential to choose a product that aligns with your skin type and specific needs. A good serum should be gentle yet effective, working to fade spots without causing irritation. For those with sensitive skin, it’s wise to opt for a serum free from harsh chemicals or synthetic fragrances. Additionally, a product backed by dermatological testing can provide added reassurance about its safety and efficacy.

Another important factor to consider is hydration. Pigmentation and dark spots often go hand in hand with dryness or uneven texture. A good serum not only works on the pigmentation but also provides hydration to nourish and soothe the skin. This ensures that while the dark spots are fading, your skin remains soft, smooth, and well-moisturized.

Sun protection is also a crucial step in any pigmentation treatment plan. Even the best serum for pigmentation and dark spots will struggle to deliver results if your skin is constantly exposed to harmful UV rays. Combining your serum with a high-SPF sunscreen is essential to protect your skin from further damage and to maintain the results achieved through consistent serum use.

It’s worth noting that pigmentation and dark spots can affect people of all skin types and ages. While younger individuals might face pigmentation due to acne scars or sun exposure, older individuals often deal with age spots or melasma. Regardless of the cause, a well-formulated serum can provide relief by addressing the root of the problem and delivering long-lasting results.

Choosing the right serum doesn’t have to be complicated. By focusing on your specific skin concerns and understanding your skin type, you can narrow down the options and find a product that works best for you. The best serum for pigmentation and dark spots should seamlessly fit into your routine, making it easier to maintain consistency. Whether you prefer a lightweight texture for daytime use or a rich formula for overnight repair, there’s a serum out there designed to meet your needs.

The benefits of using a good serum go beyond just fading dark spots. Regular use can improve overall skin texture, boost radiance, and enhance your skin’s ability to retain moisture. This holistic approach to skincare not only addresses immediate concerns but also sets the foundation for healthier skin in the long term. The confidence that comes with clear, glowing skin is unparalleled, making the investment in a quality serum truly worthwhile.

At GoodFeel, you’ll find a range of options tailored to help tackle pigmentation and dark spots effectively. Their selection includes products designed to work gently yet powerfully, ensuring visible improvements over time. If you’re looking for the best serum for pigmentation and dark spots, GoodFeel offers high-quality solutions that cater to various skin types and needs.

Consistency and commitment are essential when it comes to skincare. By incorporating a trusted serum into your daily routine and pairing it with good habits like sun protection and hydration, you can expect to see gradual but noticeable results. With the right care, your skin can regain its natural glow, free from dark spots and uneven pigmentation.

Explore the range of products available at GoodFeel and take the first step towards clearer, healthier skin. With a little patience and the right serum, you can enjoy a radiant complexion that makes you feel confident every day.

[krawdad]

So I can dip the water brush directly into the tube of white gouache and that works kind of great for touching up ink drawings, actually. Sweet. I guess that's more portable than I expected.

[ganitsoni]

Getting Brighter Skin in Hyderabad: Easy Skin Lightening Treatments

In Hyderabad, where everyone loves having beautiful skin, there are simple ways to make your skin glow. Let's explore some easy and effective skin lightening treatments that people in the city love.

Chemical Peels:

Chemical peels are like magic potions for your skin in Hyderabad. They use special liquids to remove old skin, making it look fresh and bright. It's a bit like giving your skin a makeover, and many people in Hyderabad love how it helps with dark spots.

Laser Skin Treatment:

Laser treatment is like using a superhero light to fix your skin. The laser targets dark spots and makes your skin look fantastic. Lots of people in Hyderabad are choosing this treatment because it's quick and works wonders.

Microdermabrasion:

Microdermabrasion is like giving your skin a gentle scrub. Tiny crystals make your skin smoother and help with dark spots. People in Hyderabad really like this treatment because it makes their skin feel soft and look brighter.

Creams from the Doctor:

Sometimes, doctors in Hyderabad give special creams to put on your skin. These creams have powerful ingredients that can help with dark spots. It's like having a secret weapon for your skin that your doctor gives you.

Freezing Treatment:

Freezing treatment is a cool way to deal with dark spots. It freezes them away, and people in Hyderabad like it because it's quick and works well for small spots.

PRP Therapy:

PRP therapy is like giving your skin a boost from your own blood. They take a little bit of your blood, do some magic to it, and put it back on your skin. It's becoming popular in Hyderabad because it makes your skin look fresh and bright.

Choosing the Right Treatment:

Before trying any treatment in Hyderabad, it's important to talk to a skin expert. They will check your skin and help you choose the best treatment. Everyone's skin is different, so it's like finding the perfect fit for your skin.

Conclusion:

Hyderabad is a city where people love taking care of their skin. With easy treatments like chemical peels, lasers, and creams from the doctor, getting brighter skin is simple. Just talk to a skin expert, and soon your skin will be glowing like the beautiful city of Hyderabad! And for those looking for trusted skincare solutions, Dr. Venus is a brand that many in Hyderabad rely on for effective and gentle products. Consider exploring their range for a skincare routine that aligns perfectly with the charm of Hyderabad and leaves your skin feeling refreshed and radiant. Book an appointment now to start your journey towards healthier and brighter skin!

[bananaplayzz]

this is actually how one version of last names started. There are around 4 types of surnames, Patronymic, Occupational, Toponymic and Descriptive. Descriptive is pretty obvious, the origins of the last name would be the a description of the original person, for example 'Little' or 'Swift' Toponymic are location related last names, as in, last names related to the original place the original person is from, for example 'London' or 'Brook' (Cole 'Brookstone') Occupational is again obvious, the last name comes from the Original person's occupation, for example 'Smith' or 'Baker' which is why these last names are so common. (Jay 'Walker', Kai 'Smith'', Nya 'Smith') And lastly the kinds of last names you were talking about Patronymic, which is just the original person's father's first name. Which makes Lloyd's name technically Lloyd son of Garmadon, but thats annoying and long, so Lloyd Garmadon.

Dont know if this is canon, but I like to imagine Wu and Garmadon don't have last names. And thats their only name. Just Wu and Garmadon.

Then, when Lloyd was born, he was given the last name of Garmadon because why not and thats badass as hell.

But, because of that, everyone got confused and thought Garmadon's last name is Garmadon, but nobody knew his first name. But his wife calls him Garmadon, his brother calls him Garmadon.

Maybe, in another universe, in another world, this becomes tradition. For a son to carry his father's name as his last name. Kai Ray, Jay Ed, Cole Lou. Stupid ass names, but it's fun to think about.

In conclusion, it makes perfect sense why Morro's last name is Wu.

Anyways. I don't think I'm making much sense lmao.

Yeah.

[jambeautylounge]

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[amber-tortoiseshell]

I don't know if this question is already asked and my apologies if it has already been answered. But are there any actual differences about leucistic cats VS cats with albinism? Through either the image or the color of their paw and nose, ears.

I think the best way of using these terms is when leucism means an animal without pigment producing cells, and albinism means an animal with (mostly) intact pigment producing cells that nevertheless don't produce (the correct type and amount of) pigment. This means on the cellular level, there is a very real and tangible difference between them.

Visually? They usually mention the eyes, as albinos have pigmentless pale blue eyes with a pinkish cast (that's not always visible of photos), while full white cats can have pure blue and pigmented (green, yellow, orange) eyes. I don't know about any other noticeable phenotypic difference.

There are a lot of other things that can't be seen tho, like only full white being associated with deafness, difference method of inheritence (albinism is recessive, leucism is dominant), different genes.

[lexiputellas]

Secondhand Lies from the broken vows series

Alexia was already leaning against her car when you pulled into the lot, parked just behind hers. She looked up from her phone the moment your headlights dimmed, slipping it into her back pocket like she hadn’t just been checking to see if you’d show. You stepped out, tugging your sleeves down. The air still held some late afternoon warmth.

“Hey,” she said, voice soft. “Thanks for coming.”

You nodded. No smile, no hug. She didn’t try, which helped.

The bike shop was brighter than it had any right to be—sunlight poured through the high windows, catching on rows of glossy pastel bikes and glitter-dusted helmets. It smelled like rubber, fresh plastic, and something faintly metallic. The guy working the floor had a lazy ponytail and a grin like this was the best part of his day.

“She’s eight,” Alexia told him as he approached. “Been asking for gears for months.”

You stayed back, trailing your fingers along a row of kid-sized helmets, one shaped like a unicorn. It had a chipped horn. Nora would’ve loved it.

“Do you remember when she tried riding in the hallway?” Alexia called over her shoulder. “Slammed into the cabinet and screamed like we’d broken her.”

You smiled a little. Couldn’t help it. “She still says the cabinet jumped at her.”

Alexia grinned—one of those easy, unguarded ones she used to give you on soft days. “That bruise looked exactly like a doorframe.”

Ponytail Guy returned with a few options, rambling about frame weight and handlebar grips. Alexia crouched beside each one like she was choosing a spaceship. You watched from a few steps back, arms crossed, nostalgia pressing into your chest in that cold, deceptive way it does—familiar but never gentle.

“This one’s good, no?” she asked, brushing her hand over a mint green model. “Not too heavy. Pretty color.”

You tilted your head. “It’s cute.”

“She’s going to lose her mind,” Alexia murmured. “She’ll love it.”

They brought the bike out to the lot. It didn’t fit in her trunk, of course, but she tried anyway—muttering in Spanish as she twisted the frame, then sighing in loud, dramatic frustration.

“I’ll take it in mine,” you said, already unlocking your car.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. We can hide it in the garage until Saturday.”

She looked at you like she wanted to say something else. But all she said was, “Vale.”

The next stop wasn’t far. You parked nearby and walked the rest of the way—past a few boutiques and a small dress shop where Alexia paused in front of the window.

“You’d look good in that one,” she said, voice low, unreadable.

You didn’t answer.

Nora’s favorite art store sat nestled between a wine shop and a bakery. Inside, it smelled like wood shavings and pigment. You moved through the aisles with quiet precision. The birthday list was specific—metallic watercolor pens, oil pastels, proper sketch paper. She was eight, but she’d long outgrown the kiddie sets.

You didn’t speak much. Just corrected Alexia gently when she reached for the wrong markers. She paid. You took the bag.

Outside, the city had slipped into that soft, dusky calm—storefronts glowing amber, people moving slow, the hush of evening setting in. You stood at the curb, bag in hand, your body already angling toward your car.

Alexia didn’t follow.

“You know that restaurant you liked,” she said casually, like it wasn’t planned. “The one with the blue awning? It’s just around the corner.”

You turned toward her, slow. She met your gaze steadily.

“We could go,” she said. “If you’re hungry. I know I am.”

You hesitated. The pause hung between you—cool, uncertain.

“I don’t know, Alexia…”

“It’s just dinner.” Her tone was even. “Nothing more.”

You hated that she still knew how to say things like that—calm, clean, deliberate. Like she wasn’t asking for something. Like she didn’t care if you said yes.

She stepped closer, but not too close. “One hour. You’ll be home before Dolores even thinks about calling.”

Your mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. But something in your chest shifted.

“Fine,” you said, like it cost you.

She didn’t gloat. Just nodded, a flicker of something soft at the corner of her mouth. She turned, expecting you to follow.

And somehow, you did.

The restaurant was, warm the night lights spilled from the windows. Inside, small round tables flickered with candles. Alexia held the door open. She didn’t touch your back, didn’t lean in. But her presence was close—constant, magnetic, annoyingly familiar.

It smelled like garlic and wine and butter. Jazz played low over hidden speakers. The hostess led you to a small corner table, just secluded enough to feel like a memory.

You slid into your seat. She sat across from you, coat draped behind her, sleeves pushed to her elbows like she belonged here.

Like this wasn’t strange.

“It’s weird being back,” she said, glancing around. “Do you remember that night after Madrid? When we ordered every dessert?”

“I remember you flirting with the waiter for free champagne.”

Alexia laughed, easy and warm. “He was into me.”

“He was not.”

“I tipped him like he was.”

You huffed, against your will. She smiled at the sound, then picked up her menu.

You ordered quickly—pasta, something safe. She chose seafood. No questions. No push to get wine. That quiet restraint hit harder than it should’ve.

For a while, neither of you said much.

Then, gently: “So… how are you? Really?”

You stared at her “I don’t know what answer you’re hoping for.”

“The real one.”

You exhaled. “I’m figuring things out.”

She nodded, waiting.

“It’s not easy,” you said. “Being around you. Not knowing if this—any of this—means anything. Or if it’s just another memory we’re pretending still fits.”

Her face shifted, faint and brief. “I know I fucked up.”

“You say that. But I don’t think you understand what it did to me.”

“I’m trying,” she said. “Maybe not perfectly. But I am.”

“I need more than that,” you said, voice quiet. “I need to believe you actually respect me. Respect what we had.”

Her hand inched forward on the table—closer, but not touching. She didn’t reach for you. Didn’t promise anything. Just watched you like she wanted to, but wasn’t sure if she had the right.

The food came. You ate in silence.

It wasn’t until your second glass of water that you noticed the waitress. She set it down without looking at either of you. Her shoulders stiff. Her mouth tight. She didn’t meet your eyes.

Alexia stared straight ahead.

You didn’t understand the tension in your chest until later, when you excused yourself and walked to the bathroom. Just to fix your makeup. Just to breathe.

You didn’t hear the door open behind you until it shut again.

The waitress stood by the sink. She checked the stalls, then paused.

“I’m sorry,” she said, quiet. “I don’t mean to make this worse.”

You turned. “What?”

”She’s your girlfriend?”

You blinked. “Wife.”

Her face changed. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

You waited. A slow, cold ache began in your stomach.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she said quickly. “But then I saw you. And… you deserve to know.”

“Know what?”

“I hooked up with her. A few weeks ago. She didn’t mention you. She didn’t mention anyone.”

You stopped breathing.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just… couldn’t pretend.”

You didn’t answer. Just left.

Alexia stood the second she saw your face.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well.”

“Wait—do you want me to—”

“No.”

She stepped back. “Can I call you later?”

You didn’t answer.

Outside, the air had turned sharp. Your fingers trembled as you unlocked the car. You sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the wheel, until the tears came—sharp, bitter, unstoppable.

Because it wasn’t fair.

You should’ve known better.

But knowing didn’t make it hurt less.

[secretlyazombi3]

𐔌 . ⋮ ᴀ ʟɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʙɪᴛ ʜᴀʀᴅᴇʀ ɴᴏᴡ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

leon kennedy x fem afab! reader

๋࣭ ⭑⚝word count:  4.4k words ๋࣭ ⭑⚝ NSFW!!!! enemies to lovers (kind of), unprotected again (please don't do that), semi-public, oral (f receiving), p in v, reader is NOT ada wong lol

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ summary: Your mission is to sell off a virus sample outside a club - Leon's mission is to stop you; it isn't the first time he's tried.

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ a/n:  this was inspired by the song of the same name by she wants revenge ^_^

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

You took one last glance in the passenger seat mirror as you wrapped your hand around the car door handle. You quickly adjusted your hair and reapplied your lip gloss, smacking your lips around a little so the pigment would be evenly distributed.

You shoved your lip-gloss back in your bag before heading out the car door, handing over a hefty tip for your driver. Your legs were a bit wobbly as you stepped out, wearing heels was rough, but you needed to blend in with everyone else in the crowd. You also couldn't deny how well it complimented your outfit. You corrected your posture and continued forward toward the entrance of the club, gripping your bag tightly. 

There was a small line outside the front of the club. You glanced back down at your bag for a moment, not wanting to look suspicious as you checked to make sure the sample was secured. 

You felt around the bag and closed it again after being assured the virus sample was safe and secure in your bag. The line moved forward and you grabbed your wallet to present your ID to the bouncer.

He looked over your ID and nodded before speaking. "Something in your bag?" he asked as he nodded his head toward the bag you had, straps thrown over your shoulder. He'd seen you glance back in your bag before the line moved. 

"No sir," you assured him, speaking confidently as you shuffled to show him the inside of your bag. The sample was buried beneath makeup products and other usual amenities you carried around. Nothing suspicious.

You studied him as he glanced in your bag, anxious for a response from him as he took an unusually long time to move. Say something, anything. You thought to yourself.

"Alright. You can head on in." he eventually said after analyzing you and the inside of your bag. It was easy to get away with this stuff, who would expect anyone like you to be carrying contraband around in your bag? You looked like a regular person just trying to enjoy a Friday night out.

You squeezed into the crowded nightclub. The air was thick and hot from the sheer amount of people packed into one area, the movement from the people dancing only contributing to the heat in the air. 

Did people actually enjoy being this cramped? You wondered to yourself as you gently pushed a few people aside so you could get a better look of the area.

The man you were supposed to meet, your client, told you to wait for him out in a staff only hallway that led to an exit. He gave you the key to get into the hallway; he'd snatched it easily. This club needed better security.

You looked around the club, hardly able to make much out in the dim lighting. You squinted a little, attempting to stand up as straight as you could to look over the sea of heads. Luckily, your heels helped you gain some height, so it was a bit easier to see over other people.

You finally spotted a staff-only door on the very opposite end of the club, hidden away in a shaded corner. 

You clutched your bag a bit tighter and began moving forward. The area was a sensory nightmare. It was excruciatingly claustrophobic, everyone was pressed tightly together like sardines, and music was blasting so loudly through the speakers it shook the ground.

Everyone was skin to skin, bodies pressed against each other, producing more and more heat into the air. The wave of boiling breeze that engulfed you was nearly nauseating, and the slight smell of sweat really wasn’t helping. 

You continued guiding yourself through the crowd of people, occasionally getting shoved by couples aggressively grinding on each other, too focused on their lust for one another to pay attention to where they were going. 

You did a quick scan of the mass of people again as you continued trudging through the crowd. You stopped for a moment noticing something, or rather someone, in particular. Your arm fell to your side as you paused from pushing people out your way upon spotting a familiar tuft of blonde hair in the horde of dancing young adults. 

You had to be imagining things, right? Your plans to exchange this sample for a hefty paycheck had been extremely discreet. There was no way anyone would have found out about it. You knew that the man who was buying from you was trustworthy as well. It had to be a trick of the light, a hallucination caused by the sickeningly hot smell of sweat trapped all around you. 

Couldn’t be him, no, there’s no way. You assured yourself as you continued making your way toward the hallway. It wasn’t him. Even if it was, there was no way he could’ve gotten word of your plans. He must’ve been after someone else.

 Every message exchanged between you and your client had been encrypted. You knew better than to be sloppy and leave a paper trail. You were already wanted for other things from your past. You’d grown from those experiences. You were a real professional now. 

You pushed yourself out of the crowd after forcing yourself to look away from the blonde man you’d spotted. You felt yourself leave the bubble of searing air once finally escaping the mob. 

You took a moment to breathe in the cold air - it was a bit refreshing after previously being suffocated by heat. 

You dug your hand into your purse and felt around for the key you were given. It was too dark to see anything inside your bag, so you were left with no other choice but to fish it out. 

Impulsively, you glanced back at the swarm of dancers, thinking about that blonde man from earlier. As much as you wanted to keep reassuring yourself that there was no way it could be him, part of you had a sneaking suspicion that it was. 

It’d make sense. You knew he lived to serve the government as their little dog, rolling over whenever he was told to. You know he lived to fight bioterrorism. 

You didn’t support bioterrorism, no, never - you weren’t that type of person. But this lifestyle was the only thing that could keep the bills paid, keep food on the table, and keep the lights on. 

You two seemed to be two sides of the same coin; over the years, you kept crossing paths. It truly wouldn’t be much of a surprise to you if it was him; more of a hindrance on your job. It was like you two were tied together, never truly able to leave one another alone. 

Was it wrong that you liked it? It felt like the universe was keeping you two together. It was stupid to think, you knew it was probably just a coincidence, but you lived a rather lonely life. All you did was work, assisting people trying to spread harm with bioterrorism; you were no better than Leon. If anything, you were worse.

At least Leon’s job gave him some honor. People praised him for being the one to fight bioterrorism and save lives. People respected him. You, on the other hand? You spent life alone, living to work, which became extremely repetitive. It was tiring knowing you were partially responsible for these disasters. You were supplying the bioweapons. 

Leon was the one good constant in your life. 

Did he feel the same, though? You highly doubted that. He was an extremely attractive man, you both knew that. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was already committed to someone else. If you weren’t basically his enemy, you would’ve asked him out a long time ago. 

You finally felt the jagged edges of a key and pulled it out of the bag, careful to not let anything else spill, right when your eyes spotted someone. 

The blonde man from before again. This time he was closer. Still, he was a bit far and it was hard to makeout his face in the blur of the crowd surrounding him. 

But those piercing blue eyes? Yeah… you recognized him. You recognized those pretty blues - you remembered staring longingly into his eyes during previous encounters. Even when the tension was thick and he was looking at you were hate, you couldn’t help but get lost in the ocean in his eyes. 

It really is Leon... You thought to yourself, a little smirk crawling onto your lips. You snapped out of it and came back to your senses. It really is Leon. You thought again as you felt anxiety burning through your veins. If he was here, he was probably after the person attempting to sell off a virus sample. 

You fumbled with the key a little and mentally cursed yourself for acting like a stupid cliche character in a horror film. You slowed your breathing to relax yourself, straightening out your posture again as you shoved the key forcefully into the lock. You swiftly jiggled it around, twisting your arm back and forth in a desperate attempt to get it unlocked. 

“Fuck,” you cursed. You were being sloppy. And for what reason? Because you knew a man was actively trying to stop you? This wasn’t the first time. 

It took an extra second for you to unlock the door. You quickly tossed the key back in, not bothering to check and make sure it was really secured in there. 

You entered the hallway and shut the door behind you rather swiftly. You walked down the hall, bright white drywall surrounding you. It was a drastic contrast to the dark walls of the club in the previous room. 

You walked toward the end of the hallway where an exit was. It led out to a dim alleyway behind the club nobody ever visited, not even staff, especially not this late at night. Your client had told you he’d come into the club from the alleyway so the exchange could be incredibly discreet. There were no cameras around because who would bother monitoring this area? 

Even if there were cameras, it’d be damn near impossible to make things out. This alleyway was always shrouded in shadow, hiding away from the sun and the moon. Nobody would be able to identify two figures engulfed in darkness. It was just the right place for an exchange. 

You felt a buzz in your bag, and you quickly grabbed your phone and flipped it open, accepting the call. 

You heard your client angrily grunting before speaking. “Got a bit busy with things. Looks like the government is on our trail.” he muttered into the phone. 

You pressed the phone up to your ear with one hand, your other hand grabbing your bag tighter. 

“Thanks for the heads up, then.” you replied in a flat tone. 

“I'm trying to get these assholes away from me, so I don’t just lead them to you,” he muttered. You could hear some background noise, clearly, he was driving. “In other words, I’m going to be a bit late,” he added. 

“Well, that’s great.” you replied sarcastically as you walked toward the exit, leaning on the wall beside the door. 

“Be on the lookout, okay?” he finally added. 

Your lips parted as you attempted to reply until you heard the door behind you creak open. “Shit.” you mumbled. You heard your client ask you what was wrong before you quickly slammed your phone shut and stuffed it into your bag. 

You were wanting confirmation if that man you saw was really Leon, and here it was. And he really was after you after all. This shouldn’t be surprising. You thought. 

Swiftly, you pushed the exit door open and attempted to rush away from Leon. As soon as you took your first steps onto the gravel ground beneath you and you wobbled slightly, you immediately regretted your choice in shoes. 

You lived by the phrase “fashion over function”, but right now, it was coming back to bite you in the ass. 

You moved as quickly forward as you could in heels, but you knew you were no match for Leon. Or anyone not wearing heels for that matter. You mentally cursed yourself for being stupid, you really should’ve anticipated needing to run. 

It was a pathetic attempt. You felt like helpless prey attempting to get away. Like an injured bunny desperately hopping away from a fox.

It wasn’t long before you were pressed against the wall, Leon’s big hands grasping your arms and keeping you pinned down. 

“Got you.” he said quietly, his words breathy from chasing you. 

You didn’t respond, only squirmed beneath his grip. You looked up at him as you knitted your eyebrows together. He was giving you that look. The look he always gave you. Serious and cold. Like he hated you. 

Leon glanced down at the bag resting by your hip before glancing back at you. “You gonna hand that over?” he asked. 

“Hand what over?” you replied, cocking your head to the side, feigning innocence. The sly smirk on your lips gave up your act, anyway. Not that Leon was falling for it.

“Don’t play dumb. I know you’re clever.” Leon replied, his voice gruff but lacking any real hostility. He liked you like this. 

“No way. I’m not rolling over for you that easily.” you answered. You had a job to do, after all. 

“You’ve always been that way, huh?” he asked you. “So reluctant to just give in to me.”

You squirmed a bit, Leon’s muscles tensed as he gripped your arm tighter, still careful to not hurt you. He was stronger than you, you were no match for him. 

“I’ve got a job to do.” you replied. 

“So do I.” he breathed. 

You just gazed into his eyes longingly. It’d been a while since you’d last gotten to see his alluring eyes this close up. It was hard to see him that well as you two hid just out of reach from the moonlight. But you knew he was as handsome as ever. 

“You look good tonight.” Leon mumbled. “Too bad that cute little outfit of yours is what got you here. Caught by me.” 

Your body had stopped resisting at this point. You knew it was no use. Even if you could escape, you had nowhere to run. Leon smirked a little seeing you give in to him. 

“I wasn’t anticipating being hunted.” you responded. “I can see that.” Leon was eyeing you up and down like you really were prey. 

“Wasn’t anticipating seeing you here, either…” you added. 

Leon tilted his head a little. “Really, now?” he returned. “Is me being here a good thing or a bad thing?” 

You paused for a moment, licking your lips. Was Leon really asking you that? 

“I can’t say anything about that.” you answered, although your real answer was obvious. Your body was practically a magnet to his body. 

“That so?” he asked, tilting his head a little, his gaze drawn to your lips. “Mhm.” 

“What a shame.” “Was there an answer you were expecting?” you asked. Leon’s hand moved to your chin, gently gripping it to force you to look right up at him. 

“Can’t say anything about that.” Leon teased. 

“You wanna play that game, huh?” 

“Maybe.” Leon spoke. 

You two were stuck there, eye-fucking each other, drinking in one another’s appearance in the dark alleyway. Most other people might not have found flirting with a man you hardly knew in a creepy, secluded alleyway romantic but you certainly did. 

“Been a while since I’ve seen you.” Leon mumbled. 

“Right. Last I checked, you were supposed to be working against me, not flirting with me. Not much of a hero, are you?” Leon merely scoffed in response. “Am I not allowed to just talk to you, hm? All I do all day is take down criminals and bioweapons… this is a nice change of pace for me.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” 

Leon’s gaze was stuck on your eyes, and he couldn’t help himself. He moved his hand from your chin to your cheek as he pulled you into a kiss. A real one. One with passion. Not any half-assed kiss you’d get from a one-night stand. 

Leon pulled back after a moment to get some air, a trail of saliva connected between both of your lips from an intense kiss. 

“Missed you.” Leon mumbled. 

“Really?” you replied. “More than you’d know.” Leon answered before pulling you into another kiss. “You don’t know how much I like seeing you. Even if we’re working against one another.” He mumbled against your lips. 

You felt yourself giving up all of the instincts you’d normally have on the job. Your focus was on Leon and Leon only. You wanted this man as much as he wanted you. 

Leon held onto your hips as he kissed you, again and again and again. Desperately. He wasn’t lying when he said he missed you. 

Your arms draped around Leon’s shoulders as you kissed him back eagerly, moving your lips with his as you two desperately smashed faces. 

It wasn’t long before you felt yourself get horny and begin gently grinding against Leon. You were really no better than anyone inside that club. “Taste so good…” Leon mumbled between kisses, his eyes still shut. 

You felt his tongue slip past your lips as you two kept kissing. Leon’s hand moved down and grabbed one of your thighs, gently lifting it as he pulled away from the kiss.

You glanced down at his large hand gripping your leg, lifting it to get easy access. Your eyes drifted and you noticed a bulge prodding out Leon’s pants. You didn’t know what you did to him - you didn’t know how many nights he spent desperately stroking himself to the thought of you. Whining and whimpering your name like a prayer before cumming all over his abs. 

“You’re doing this on the job? How dirty.” you teased. Leon was eyeing your body through your dress as he replied. “You’re on the job too, aren’t you?” he asked. 

He slid your dress up your leg with one hand and desperately unzipped his pants with his other. 

“What if someone sees?” You asked Leon in a hushed voice. 

“No one will come out here. That’s why you chose to deal with that sample here, right? Since you knew no one would be here?” Leon whispered into your neck before planting a few kisses down to your collarbone. You still smelt like your signature perfume. Leon would be lying if he said he didn't love that scent.

It was a miracle your perfume didn't rub off after swimming through that sea of sweaty people in the club.

Leon eventually pulled back a little and slid down his boxers, letting his hard cock out of his boxers. “Fuck.” he grunted to himself. His muscles relaxed as he finally freed his dick, a tiny little wet spot left behind from some pre-cum. He was easy; pinning you down made him leak like crazy. 

Leon rubbed himself raw a little before returning to kissing your neck. You tilted your head, allowing him to continue as you let out a few quiet moans. 

Leon continued holding your leg up, eventually moving his hand off his dick and up your dress. He was too desperate too undress you, he wanted to fuck you, here, now. You were feeling wobbly at this point. You were dripping at this point. Desperate for Leon to get inside you. 

When was the last time you had sex again? You couldn’t remember. You couldn’t remember the last time you had sex with someone you had feelings for, either. 

Leon kneeled down in front of you, keeping your leg lifted and on his shoulder. He slid down your panties. “A pretty outfit has some pretty lingerie underneath?” Leon teased seeing your lacy pink underwear. “I thought you said you weren’t expecting me.”

You scoffed. “Shut up.” 

Leon slid your panties down to your knees, he didn’t care to pull them all the way off, he was too horny. His hand returned to his dick as his head moved beneath your dress. He let the fabric rest at the top of his head as he began eating you out. 

“Ah-!” you gasped as you felt Leon’s tongue slide up and down, lapping your pussy, occasionally teasing your entrance. 

“So good..” Leon mumbled against your skin, continuing to ravage you like he’d been starved of sex for years. His tongue stayed relentless, his tongue circling your clit cruelly. You felt heat deep in your core as he slid his tongue in you, desperate to taste every last inch of your skin.

You desperately whined his name repeatedly. Leon felt like he was dreaming. You’d both had fantasized about this, admittedly. As much as Leon stroked himself thinking of you, you’d also bounced yourself on a large dildo thinking about Leon. 

“Fuck..!” you gasped as you felt Leon getting you dangerously close to climaxing until you felt Leon pull away quickly, not wanting you to get off that soon. 

Leon got back onto his feet and smirked upon seeing the disappointment on your face. 

“You’re so cruel.” you whined as Leon pulled you into another kiss. 

“Am I now?” Leon smirked against your lips, his hand on your thigh, still forcing you to keep that leg up, not wanting you to relax. Leon lifted your dress again in order to see your entrance. 

He held his dick in one hand to gently guide himself toward your entrance. He rubbed his leaking tip against you as he looked you in the eyes, enjoying seeing you quietly suffer. “You want it?” He asked. “Yeah..” you breathed. Here you were. Acting like a desperate slut, how shameful.

Leon pushed his hips forward and entered you. You leaned further against the wall, grunting as you felt Leon stuff his dick all the way inside you. Leon had no clue how many times you had pretended your dildo was his dick. And you’d never admit to it. But his dick was a thousand times better than any toy. You didn’t know how you’d go back to silicone after feeling his flesh. “Fuck…” you gasped as you felt Leon all the way inside you. You placed your hand on his cheek as you watched his face get red, his lips parted as he breathed, his eyebrows furrowed as he felt your pussy clench around him. “So fucking good… so damn tight…” he grunted. After savoring the sensation for a moment, he began thrusting his hips against you at an even pace, gripping your waist tightly. 

Leon let out little groans and grunts as he fucked you relentlessly, getting sloppy and desperate with each thrust. You were clenching around him in just the right way as he kept slamming deep into you, desperate to make sure he knew every inch of you. “Fuck, let me see those pretty tits.” Leon grunted as he dug his nails a bit into your thigh, not wanting to hurt you but he just couldn’t control himself. 

You pulled the straps of your dress down your shoulders and pulled the fabric down to show off your bra that matched your pink lacy panties. 

Leon took a moment to drink in what was in front of him. Fuck, you were hot. He’d be using this memory as new material to jerk off to for months, or even years. 

Leon removed his hand off your waist and slid it between your back and the wall behind you for a moment to unclip his bra. Leon pulled your bra off your chest and stared at your tits as he fucked you. 

His eyes never left your chest as he continued mercilessly pounding you into the wall. You wouldn't believe it. You were sleeping with the enemy. But who cared? This felt like heaven. 

Leon whispered your name between grunts and moans as he desperately fucked you harder and harder. You flicked your thumb against his cheek and used your other hand to begin rubbing your clit. 

"Harder, please..." you begged Leon through desperate moans and gasps. "Yeah?" he breathed. "You want it harder?" he asked breathlessly, pumping his hips ruthlessly.

Leon rested his head on your shoulder, occasionally kissing it as he melted, becoming a moaning mess as he kept thrusting. Damn, he had good stamina. Your moans became progressively more choked up the closer you got to climaxing. 

“So warm…” Leon moaned, getting a bit pussy drunk at this point. He shut his eyes as his hips snapped against yours. You squirmed and whined a little as you felt him find your spongy spot. He abused that spot, your reactions making it obvious you were pleasured.

“Gonna cum, baby…” Leon whispered breathlessly into your neck. 

“Mph… me too…” you moaned. “Don’t pull out, baby…” 

You squinted your eyes as you continued to rub your clit desperately. You gasped and arched your back as you felt yourself finally orgasm onto Leon’s dick. “Le-” you moaned loudly, nearly squealing his name before being silenced as Leon covered your mouth with his hand. 

Leon’s grunts got progressively louder as he kept using your hole to get off before he inevitably came inside you. Leon held you there for a few minutes as he attempted to catch his breath. “Ah… fuck…” he whimpered as he pulled away. He pulled out his dick and lifted your dress to watch you leak his cum. 

You quickly slid your panties back up so you wouldn’t drip Leon’s cum onto the floor and leave evidence of your guys’ shenanigans in the wild. 

“Leon.” you breathed, your legs shaky. You quickly threw your bra back on and pulled your dress back up. 

“That was so good. Better than porn. Better than anything I could’ve imagined.” Leon mumbled. 

He leaned in to kiss you again until you both heard the distance shuffles of a few speeding cars and quickly remembered what you two were doing before deciding to fuck each other. 

“Shit… they got your client. The government's probably on your ass now.” Leon said, voice still gruff from climaxing. 

You looked out the alleyway, then back at Leon, giving him puppy eyes. “I’ll help you out.” Leon added, breaking the silence. He wouldn’t let you get caught and arrested. 

“You-” you started, brain still scrambled. “You’d get punished if anyone found out.” you spoke. 

“I won’t let them find out then.” he quipped back swiftly. You knew you had no time to argue. Leon kneeled down in front of the wall and let you step onto his shoulders before he stood up and you climbed onto the nearby roof. You took a moment to correct your balance, hating yourself even more for wearing heels. But you couldn’t have anticipated the night you’d had. 

You glanced back down at Leon. “Go.” he instructed you, gesturing for you to leave. “See you another time, Leon.” you replied quietly as you headed off to make your escape, Leon rushing back inside the club to go settle the agents that had arrived to search for you.

[idekkkjja]

u should sooo do a bully Giselle x reader fic but like it’s not for me duh🙇‍♀️

Belong to me,,🫀⋆ ࣪.

۶ৎ Chapped bruises painted all over your aching body, maroon trickling down from the barely opened pores and your lungs clutching onto the oxygen painfully. The state, as she boasts about so proudly to brainwashed others, claiming an ownership on your very soul. Restricted to nothing but dreadful days of facing her unpredictability at school.

Heads-up: English not my first language so there’s gonna be mistakes, please correct me on them! Very very toxic, read it if you want to. Violence obviously, blood involved, and cursing. Small mentions of masturbation, and this it went downhill at the end wtf.. plus this isn’t proofreaded (for now!) and there’s smut at the end but guys im still new to it please it’s not great at all. And Giselle is just so.. 🤤🤤🤤 can’t resist for her to be a lil crazy.

(I can do headcanons for this Giselle if yall want btw or whatever)

一 Numb to the pain coursing throughout your unfortunate body, a toy to her wrath and pleasure twisted into ‘love’ she softly whispers in private; the pain soothed by the ruined lipstick as she plasters them all over, a physical embodiment of bandages that you plead for.

Hidden beneath the thin layers yet discreetly transparent of your wrinkled uniform, you fixed your collar briefly and continued strolling with the unsynchronised crowds in the cramped hallways. Shoved against others’ unsuspecting selves, you let out a muffled grunt in annoyance and forcefully strode amidst them, rarely determined to get to your safe space.

Away from everyone, away from them.

Cursing under your breath, you slid in the opened doors, into a library reversed for tranquil stillness, with an exception of the old pages of books scraping against each other in a calming rhythm. Most don’t bother giving a visit in the school’s library, it was far too empty despite your friends’ pity attempt to fill up the space. (You only had 3).

But you prefer it like this, fewer people meaning no anxiety knotting painfully in your stomach, a nagging voice alarming you that what they could do to you if given the chance.

Less of a problem now, in the past, others have tried to make you their mocking punching bag. However, it flew right back at their face because of Giselle who forbade anybody else to lay a finger on you or comment anything malicious about you.

Somebody daring to talk shit about you behind your (scarred) back? They better get ready for their nudes to be posted on a porn website if they didn’t get on their knees to you.

Somebody ‘accidentally’ bumping a little too hard against your shoulder? Next day, an inconvenience occurred leading to their shoulder being dislocated.

Somebody flirting with you openly or secretly? Either way, Giselle would find out. And when she does, there’s no point wondering why the person doesn’t dare to glance your way anymore.

Alone on the circular tables at the back, effectively distancing yourself physically as much as you can from everyone, your eyes stared at the repetitive letters on the wrinkled papers—your mind completely elsewhere.

Dried bruises pigmented on your skin, last night aching brutally that dreams had no distraction available to you. Peeling them off wasn’t an option today; too fresh, too raw, relating to your feelings very much for someone.

It was complex, a lengthy puzzle impossible to entangle within months and months on end, and the prize wasn’t worth the struggle. You weren’t obvious with it, those feelings were reduced to nothing but filth used at sleepless nights to get you off.

You were dirty, a very dirty slut behind those ridiculously thick-frame glasses aching your poor, reddish ears, the shy interior. Not in the way of being a slut outside school, no, unsurprisingly you were a humble (that's what you always say to your friends) virgin. Desperately enough, the used toys and such messily arranged in the back of your closet says otherwise.

Who could blame you? Being attention deprived did wonders to a person!

Foolishly so, even in instances where Giselle shoves you roughly around, manhandles you, or beats you up for sick entertainment—you did get turned on.

Subconsciously in stress, you scratched your hair, the messy thin strands fell loose on your forehead. Getting off your chair, you lazily slacked your bag on your shoulder and limped out, leaving the book hanging behind, forgotten because of your racing thoughts.

It was lunch, a time where everybody adores, prays for it to come nearby: but it was different for you, very different. Frantically, your eyes searched across the crowds full of familiar yet blurry faces to recognise where your friends lay by, you couldn't find any sign of them.

With a heavy, defeated suspire, hanging by your lips, you dragged yourself to go on a search for them.

Cafeteria, checked.

Nearly all of the extended and endless halls of the school, checked.

Some of the classrooms, checked.

Needless to say, you were exhausted, your knees buckling slightly.

Then, the highlight of your miserable days shone in the spotlight; Giselle. And her loyal sidekicks. Acting upon your impulse, you sharply turned to the opposite direction, praying to the skies that she would not spot you.

"Ah, my bitch's here, hm?" Your day could not get any worse.

Defences—the paper-thin walls constructed carefully around you—were ripped apart cruelly by that girl the second fate destined the two of you. It was the unfortunate inevitable, bound to occur almost daily: it’s either she beats you up to the ground, leaving week-lasting bruises on every surface of your skin or an entertaining prank orchestrated mainly by her lackeys to humiliate you for days or even years.

So, you had nothing. Nothing. Teachers? They simply did not care except if it involves their beloved salary, and Giselle’s father funding the school made matters worse.

Fair play wasn’t your thing.

Your parents? No point, they were worse themselves, ignoring you completely and belittling every single thing you utter or do.

Both home and school weren’t comforting. You had nowhere to go to, no real solitary.

Slowly, your eyes met with hers, awaiting a response provoked by her taunting.

You couldn’t say anything; you wanted to, to break this vicious cycle of this pathetic life you’re tied to—the will had no benefits to you, no defending could help, no slim chance. Too much disadvantages, you knew that, everybody knew.

Without waiting any further, her hand clamped onto your wrist, yanking you closer; her hot breath ghosting your ear teasingly. “You’re being a mute little thing now today, aren’t you? How sad.” She whispered breathlessly, her thumb pressing against your pulse within the visible veins displaying on your wrist like the roots to your heart.

“I don’t know,” you murmured meekly, shrinking yourself by your stiff demeanour.

Giselle only smiled in response, grinning, her teeth showing. Usually smiles are a sign of happiness, one’s smile would be used to bring positivity to the other they’re showing to.

But her’s—they were terrifying, the opposite, a bad sign.

“I know why you’re so quiet, out of guilt, right?” Her nails dug deep in your skin, awakening new crimson lines. She was subtle in her words in public, playing with confusing riddles that an English teacher cannot decipher fully, so how could you?

You were confused.

What did you do wrong this time?

“You know what you did.” Insisting roughly; she tugged on your wrist to emphasise her point yet it didn’t serve its purpose, overwhelming you instead.

To sobs.

Tears involuntarily pricked in your eyes, you didn’t want to cry, you didn’t know why you were crying now. It would create no sympathy for you, just mockery.

“You’re crying out of guilt now, aren’t you?” Unfazed by the teary display, Giselle stared, unblinking with the eerie smile remaining.

She didn’t glance at anybody else, staring only, seeing you break apart so satisfyingly in front of her brought a twisted pleasure tugging her insides.

Travelling down to your hand, her hand embraced it tightly, too tightly that your complexion paled from before. “Don’t follow me,” Giselle chirped at the other girls—her lackeys who watched giggling and not intervening nor protesting, simply abiding her actions. Subtly agreeing, wishing that they were her.

Everybody wishes they’re Giselle.

Through the hallways, she dragged you, letting you tumble forward in sync with her footsteps as she found a secluded area: nobody around to witness what she will do.

Inside, she ushers you inside and slams the door shut, the sound booming in the tight space signalling your devastating fate. Her smile was long gone, being replaced by an empty calm washing over her relaxed features, a contrast to her actions when she shoved you down to the dusty floor where you belonged.

“You’re guilty, tell me what you’re guilty of.” A small gasp choked out of your clenched throat when her hand found your cheeks, squeezing it and muffling your noises.

You don’t know what you’re guilty of.

“Giselle, I-I don’t know.” You repeated yourself from earlier, affirming how clueless you really are.

Disappointed, she let out a low tsk and threw your head against the floor, unconcerned by your state as always. Her posture straightened, she stared you down, continuing the prolonged and agonising eye contact as her shoe presses down your neck, nuzzling against your windpipe letting the air turn into a privilege instead of a basic necessity.

“I’ve heard you’re dating someone.” Finally, Giselle states the information she sucked out of someone forcefully from a week ago roughly; it has been nagging her for days now.

You? With someone else? Cannot be in her eyes.

“Are you dating someone? If so, you better fuckin’ tell me.” A defeated cry responded instinctively, her shoe crushing a little harder now making it impossible to mutter a no.

Noticing ever so slightly, she decided for once not to let her fury control her actions so she drew her shoe away before kicking your neck a little at the new mark blooming.

“No… no,” you chanted desperately, as if trying to convince yourself rather Giselle.

Doubt flickered in her eyes, she stilled. “If you dare to lie to me, especially about this, I’ll break your neck.” Shouting was much preferred than her blurting the threat with no visible emotion lacing her hoarse voice.

She crouched down, caressing your hair and letting her long fingers entangle in your messy locks. “Did it hurt?” Obviously, the pain burned cruelly.

Pain always reminded you of Giselle.

No response, she expected it and gently tilted your head to meet her eyes again. God, she would never admit it—but she adored your eyes, too much even so. Specifically if glazed with restrained tears because of her.

“Whoever made that little rumour about you… will pay, it made me so angry when I found out. You didn’t reply to my calls or messages when you were away from school for a week. A week. You can’t blame me for thinking the worst.” Giselle ranted on, her hands cupping your rosey, warm cheeks due to the flu still lingering within you.

Scoffing, she looked away gingerly. “Don’t do that again, you… you made me so worr- mad.”

“I wouldn’t.” Reassurance from you was all she needed, her body eases into relief and her knees fell to the ground.

Her lips slowly brushed against yours for comfort, melting into your broken body as she held you up as if she was your saviour arriving at the scene of rescue.

Even if she was the villain all along.

Hesitantly, she pulled away, her forehead touching yours. “Let me do all the work, maybe making up for being a little mean from earlier, hm?” You tensed, this was your first time being so close to a sexual contact with an individual.

You were a loser, an inexperienced clumsy loser. “I-I, I’m a virgin, Giselle.” Embarrassingly you confessed and she didn’t seem bothered.

She was excited, the possessive monster provoked by the mere fact you were untouched before her.

“Can I be your first, please?” This was the first time ever she uttered those words, and it was to ask for your virginity.

You had to say yes, it was Giselle! After all those long sleepless nights shamelessly moaning her name when you neared an orgasm, you could experience her true touch.

“Yes, yes, yes please.” Babbling out so desperately, your voice cracked amidst the pleading.

Giselle glanced around, she shifted herself closer, her body covering yours and pressed her finger against your lips. “Be quiet baby.”

Unprovoked, she kissed you again and slipped her hand underneath your shirt, the coldness of it made you shiver as her fingers trailed up to your breast and massaged teasingly slow.

Trailing down mouth-opened kisses against your jaw, she nipped on your neck and collarbones and sucked hard creating hickeys, branding you as hers. The soft moans eliciting from your parted lips caused some unrecognisable emotions stirring in her, she clasped her palm on your lips, effectively silencing you.

“Today, I’m going to pleasure you.” She breathed out shakily, her hands ripping through your leggings revealing your soaking underwear where she shoved it aside to see her prize.

Humming approvingly, she grinned at the sight and traced her fingers on your leaking cunt, rubbing circles on it with her thumb making you adorably squeak and jolt in surprise.

“Shh, it might hurt at first… but you endured worse, didn’t you y/n?” Whispers of bittersweet reassurance stuck by your side temporarily as her slender, cold finger slid inside you quite easily because of how wet you were.

A startled moan echoed through the storage room, she pressed her free hand harder to suppress the upcoming more.

“Quiet, quiet.. be quiet for me, wouldn’t you, baby?” The use of the rare nickname usually reserved for taunting you had another side to it, the side that let your thighs tremble.

Fascinated, admiration seeped through her tone with her gaze fixated deeply onto you—like how deep her finger was in you, letting the pace go slow (for now) to let you be comfortable with the sudden intrusion.

“Another finger, you can handle another one for me, okay?” Giselle snuck in one more, her dreamy eyes silently forcing you to keep an eye contact with her despite how dazed you were, how unbearable the burning sensation was.

You could barely do this.

“Just like that, baby.. take me, take my fingers.” She practically moaned in your ear, mimicking yours, wishing to use a strap instead on you. Not caring if you were an inexperienced loser.

“Mhf.. Giselle…” you attempted to coordinate words together, managing to say her name at the end.

It turned her on more if that was possible.

Jamming in and out a little more roughly; she savoured your muffled gasps and moans, the way your chest heaves in struggle, and the way it was because of her. Your uncontrollably tremulous hands sought solace, your nails clawing her back as your leg sprawled wide for easier access.

“Just like that baby, take me like this..” she breathes out, inching closer and closer to the pending orgasm she was so eager to witness.

When your back arched, your clenched pussy convulsing around her fingers, black dots scattering in your blurry vision from tears welling up, Giselle hastily removed her hand and swallowed your cries in a rough and sloppy kiss when white liquid trickled down her hands.

“Mhm, good girl. You’re my pretty good girl,” she patted you, breathless by the whole encounter when you’re not even recovering and cleaned her fingers up by sucking it, enjoying the new taste.

“Yes..” out of it, you simply complied. Like always.

Pleased, Giselle nodded, fixing your clothes and tugging your skirt down. “I’ll bring you a new pair from my locker, one second.” She stood up, dropping her blazer on you to cover what was hers and opened the door carefully before exiting quietly.

You don’t know what you got yourself into.

[ekingston]

also on ao3.

Lena smiles to herself as she watches Kara zip through National City’s most exclusive luxury mall. She’s like a honey-drunk bumblebee, bouncing from aisle to aisle, descending on some random item every five seconds just to mutter hmm and dart off again.

Lena is moving at a more civilized pace. She has long since stopped trying to keep up, both with her best friend’s not-quite-incriminating measure of super speed and her unfathomable decision-making process.

“Lena help,” Kara pouts, suddenly back, familiar and warm at Lena’s side. “Do fifteen-year-olds like anything?”

Lena doesn’t take her eyes off the art books she’s been perusing, but she also doesn’t stop herself from leaning in, her shoulder resting briefly against Kara’s, their hips grazing. A friendly gesture. A welcome back. “You remember Ruby, right?” she teases. “Cute? Bright? Probably six feet tall by next Wednesday?”

Kara huffs. “Yes, but she's—you know. Cool now.” She makes a gesture that’s somewhere between jazz hands and a bomb exploding. “What do cool teenagers like?”

Lena sends her a self-deprecating smile. “Do consider who it is you’re asking.”

Kara’s gaze tumbles from Lena’s face to her chest to her hands, and then she nods. Lena feels like she should be insulted by Kara’s quick acquiescence, but all thought leaves her mind when Kara steps closer, reaching across Lena’s body to play with the head of a fat round brush. Lena watches the fine bristles spread wide around the pads of Kara’s ring and middle finger, and tells herself that she isn’t affected by the situation at all.

“You know,” she breezes, veering away from the wisp of Kara’s breath against her temple, “Ruby’s been sketching a lot more, lately.”

Kara, immediately revived, follows Lena over to a glass case marked with Holbein’s logo. But when she glances up at the price tags, she goes pale. “Seven hundred dollars?” she yelps. “For colored pencils?”

Lena hums. “They’re pastels,” she explains, flipping the case open with a pleasing wood-on-metal snick. “High-grade pigments, no fillers.” She runs her fingers down a length of cobalt blue, watching Kara’s throat bob when she reaches the gold lettering along its side. “I hear they lay down incredibly soft,” Lena hears herself say, her voice low in the narrow space left between them. “Rich and easy. Just a hint of pressure is enough to achieve whatever effect you desire.”

Kara looks up, her glossy pink lips now inches away from Lena’s own. “Since when do you know about art materials?” she rasps.

Lena breaks into a light sweat at the question. “Well, you know,” she stammers, straightening. “It’s. No secret that I’m a patron—” She gestures helplessly, trying to step away again but finding herself trapped between the display case and Kara’s body. “That I—I’ve always had a thing—”

Kara’s eyebrows twitch as she waits for Lena to finally finish a sentence, a smile tugging at one corner of her mouth when Lena fails to do so. Her amusement at Lena’s floundering should embarrass her, but combined with the close heat of Kara’s body and her cocky smirk, Lena finds it alarmingly arousing.

“I have literally never heard you talk about art before,” Kara smarms. “Oh wait! Actually I specifically remember you canceling on Bruce Wayne’s charity gala when you realized he was having it at the Museum of Modern Arts, two years ago.”

“Kara—” She’s still so close. Lena is beginning to feel a little lightheaded.

“You were already in Gotham,” Kara points out.

“Listen,” Lena flusters. “I am a well-rounded—”

Kara’s eyes are dark and sparkling. “You were his date.”

“...I was his friend,” Lena corrects. “Bruce and I were never—not like—” She gestures between Kara’s body and her own, the movement greatly inhibited by their closeness, and ceasing entirely when she realizes where her argument is headed.

Kara bites down on what Lena is sure would otherwise be a maddeningly self-satisfied grin. “My birthday’s coming up, too,” Kara says. And then, her voice gentle, “But you already knew that, didn't you?”

Lena huffs out a breath. Of course she knows that. Kara is her best friend. It’s completely natural that Lena would spend night after sleepless night poring over catalogues and browsing the dark web, trying to find her the perfect gift.

“You got me these?” Kara grins, picking up a viridian green pencil and twirling it between two of her fingers. She looks so pretty and pleased that Lena nods, instantly resolved to trash the one-of-a-kind mini-anti-life-equation she’d managed to place the winning bid on, and gift Kara Holbein’s entire collection, as originally intended.

Kara still hasn’t moved. “Lena,” she says. “You know you didn’t need to spend all that money on me.”

Lena huffs out a humorless laugh. If Kara thinks the pencils are pricey, ditching the anti-life-equation is definitely the right call. It’s a shame—apparently it’s super effective against fruit flies and fungus gnats, both of which Kara has been unsuccessfully battling in her kitchen for the past couple of months. “You know me,” Lena says, something bitter twisting at the corners of her mouth. “Always going overboard.”

“No,” Kara tells her. The surety of her tone draws Lena’s gaze back up to those ludicrously blue eyes. “I do know you,” Kara says. “And you always get it exactly right.”

The silence that ensues stretches taut between them, stretches thin, fraying Lena’s nerves along with it. She should get Kara some canvases too, Lena decides. In fact, why not make it a set? Add some new brushes, and oil paints, maybe a new easel—oh!

“Mechanical erasers,” she blurts, and darts away.

Kara isn’t quite as quick on the uptake this time, taking long seconds to rejoin her on the other side of the aisle.

“Not like what?” Kara asks.

Lena blinks at her, puzzled by the non-sequitur. Kara’s eyebrows twitch together again, but this time they stay there, a tiny divot in the skin between them. Lena doesn’t know what to do with—well, any of it, quite frankly. “Since the secret’s out,” she says, pointedly looking away from the curious expression on her best friend’s face and gesturing at the collection of erasers, “do you prefer the—”

The feeling of Kara’s hand at her waist is highly unlikely and profoundly baffling. But when Lena looks down, trailing off, there it is; Kara’s thumb, settling against Lena's hip bone, her fingers sliding—sure and steady—into the gap of Lena’s open coat.

“You said you and Bruce were not like you and me,” Kara says. “What are we like?”

Lena’s heart is slamming in her chest like Kara is playing tennis with it. She’s so frustrated that Kara won’t just let it slide and allow Lena to escape with her pride intact; she’s so enamored with the way Kara looks at her, open and curious, as if she honestly doesn’t know what Lena is trying her best not to say for fear it will ruin their friendship.

The situation is so impossible that Lena doesn’t register the movement of Kara’s other hand until she’s slipped it around the back of her neck. It rests there—joining the other in its exploration of formerly firmly out-of-the-way places—with just the barest hint of pressure, her fingertips settling warm against the vulnerable skin of Lena’s nape.

Lena flusters, suddenly forced to address Kara’s question in a far more certain shade than she’s allowed them both to get away with over the years. If Lena opts for “the kind of friends I thought I’d never have”—a bitter, but familiar favorite—will Kara still help her blend the outline between the soft tones of their friendship and the vivid hues of what Lena is pretty certain is their mutual desire?

She swallows, watching the quick flash of Kara’s tongue as she wets her lip, reveling in the sight of it up close, struggling to maintain her solid form beneath the feeling of Kara’s hands on her body.

“There’s…” Kara whispers, swaying closer, “...probably a couple of things we really should talk about.” Her nose brushes Lena’s cheek before resting there, her eyes falling closed, their foreheads just barely touching. “But do you think it would be okay if—just for now—” She’s muttering the words almost directly into Lena’s mouth. “If I kissed you, first? Before, I mean, the rest of—”

Lena tugs herself up by the lapels of Kara’s jacket before Kara even finishes her question, the darkness behind her closed eyelids sparking into bright technicolor at the soft press of Kara’s lips against her own. They’re warm, and yielding, and slightly sticky—probably from the fresh-baked cinnamon roll she’d scarfed down before entering the store. Just before they pull apart, Lena catches the slightest hint of sweetness with the tip of her tongue.

Lena hums.

Kara is right. They really should be talking about this, and not necking in the middle of Eulalia Literature & Arts like a couple of boarding school kids on a school trip. But Kara is looking at her as if Lena is a wonderful secret freshly revealed, so Lena really can’t be expected to keep herself from being pulled back into Kara’s orbit. Can’t be blamed, even, for doing it lips-parted, so eager for another taste of what feels like the one bright spark of undiluted joy she’s ever felt she actually deserved that she shamelessly licks into Kara’s mouth, her entire body lighting up in oversaturated iridescence when Kara meets her with similarly unselfconscious sincerity.

Kara doesn’t let her go, even when they pause for air, both of her hands twitching against Lena’s body, as if keeping herself from pulling Lena back in is a tremendous effort. “Can we just stay here for a minute?” she hushes, her breath mingling with Lena’s own.

Lena smiles. “I think the security guard may have a couple of things to say about that,” she tells Kara, flashing an embarrassed glance over her shoulder at the woman in question.

“Oh, shoot.” Kara flinches, flushing an irresistible shade of pink Lena doubts even Holbein’s pigments could emulate. She rarely wears her glasses anymore, but Lena watches her reach for them out of habit, her movements jittery and raw.

“It’s alright, darling,” Lena soothes her, thrilling privately at the endearment as it falls off her lips. “I’m sure all will be forgiven when the cashier runs my credit card.”

And she’s right; when they exit, the guard gives them a nod that may even signal some mild approval. Whether that’s about the fortune Lena just spent on art supplies or their impromptu public exhibit, Lena isn’t sure.

Later, after weeks of conversations, after numerous tiny discoveries and world-shattering revelations—one of which has Kara confessing to once helping a fifth-dimensional imp create a half-dozen miserable alternate realities in which the full, vibrant spectrum of their love for each other went unacknowledged, and never led to a kiss—Kara blows out thirty-one colorful candles, and unwraps first (in the company of all of their friends) her gifts; and then (in the company of only her lover) Lena’s wrap-around A-line dress.

Lena’s legs are already trembling when Kara finally glides her fingers to the seam of her thigh, the pad of her thumb nudging gently at the patch of darkening cotton between Lena’s legs. “Could I try something new?” she asks, and Lena, who has discovered that Kara’s ideas only ever fall into one of two categories, one being complete absurdity and the other unmitigated brilliance, sighs.

“I want to paint you,” Kara says.

It so figures, Lena thinks. All of these new toys, and Kara can't decide which one she wants to play with first.

“Okay,” Lena says, driven to impatient acquiescence by Kara’s thumb, now moving in gentle, tiny circles against her.

“Okay?” Kara confirms, hand stilling, sitting up.

Lena clasps Kara’s teasing fingers and presses them down hard where she needs them, her back arching into the touch of their joined hands. “After,” she demands.

This was written for the multi fandom (and original!) flash fiction challenge, using the prompts ‘vignette/slice of life’, ‘shopping for a gift’, ‘friends to lovers’ and ‘colored pencils’. You should give it a whirl!

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Man over Machine

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

Alien: You must understand our line of thinking.

Human: I understand it is stupid beyond measure.

Alien: *Sighs

Alien: It is only logical to use mechanical soldiers in modern warfare.

Alien: Anything less is purely barbaric.

Human: You reduce war to little more than 1’s and 0’s.

Alien: What we do is remove needless bloodshed.

Alien: No longer are brave soldiers dying on forgotten worlds, no longer will families grieve for loved ones who will never return; no longer would we need monuments to the fallen.

Alien: Disagreements could be settled without a drop of blood being shed.

Human: You turn it into a game.

Alien: Exactly.

Human: No; you’d be turning war into a game, and that’s never a good thing.

Human: You can’t reduce war to a simple equation.

Alien: It sounds more like you just wish to continue your carnal desire for violence.

Human: Do you think so little of us?

Alien: Yes.

Human: ……

Human: *Sighs

Human: We’ve tried using machines in war before.

Human: On the surface yes, it did appear better.

Human: Military causalities were but a fraction of what they would have normally been had we used real soldiers, but there were other problems that soon cropped up.

Alien: Such as?

Human: Lack of morality was a large factor in the programs discontinuation.

Alien: Morality?

Alien: What use does a machine have of that?

Human: Because not everything is always black and white; there are shades of grey that only a living breathing person can recognize and handle.

Alien: Absurdity

Human: We used the robot CS95 battle machines during our initial conflicts. When it was deployed it was programmed to treat anyone holding a weapon as an enemy combatant and terminate them immediately.

Human: They cleared out an entire city in a single day before issuing the all clear signal.

Human: When living soldiers arrived to provide relief efforts they were horrified to discover that the entire city’s population had been massacred.

Alien: While tragic it sounds like a faulty programming error.

Human: I would say a big fucking program error.

Human: The programmer had not thought it necessary to properly define the scope of the term “weapon”, and so the machines began their own search on what classified as a weapon.

Human: There isn’t an item in human creation that hasn’t been used to murder another human, and so the machines deemed everyone they encounter a valid target.

Human: Men, women, children, soldier, civilian; it didn’t matter.

Alien: A lapse in programming quality still does not outweigh the benefits of bloodless wars.

Human: That’s what we thought and so we added additional layers of programming to better define combatants. So the next time they were deployed they would not make the same mistake.

Human: Unbeknownst to anyone an additional line of code was slipped in deep within the programming that designated anyone with a specific skin pigment as an active combatant, regardless if they had a weapon or not.

Alien: Why would they do that?

Human: They were what we call a “Nazi”, and thought people of a select orientation only deserved to live.

Alien: That’s horrible.

Human: Yeah.

Human: They kept spouting that shit from their court-martial all the way to the hangman’s gallows.

Human: The point being still that because the machines lacked any sense of morality they followed orders without question, causing untold damage and destruction on innocents.

Alien: Refinements in programming and further oversight can still correct such problems.

Human: So can a living soldier with a conscious.

Alien: Come now; a soldier can just as easily follow orders as the machines did and have the same result.

Human: The difference being that not all of them would.

Human: Some of them would realize what they are doing is wrong and question it, and if needed refuse said orders.

Human: We have even been aware of our short comings and made it the law of the land that if they feel an order is unlawful they can refuse it entirely.

Alien: Yet another contradiction.

Alien: Soldiers are meant to follow orders.  

Human: Wrong.

Human: Machines are meant to follow orders blindly.

Human: Soldiers are meant to follow orders with integrity.