#Yellow toenails

[familydocblog]

Understanding Onychomycosis: A Guide to Nail Fungus Treatment and Prevention

Introduction: Hey there! I’m Dr. Nunez, here to shed some light on a common fungal infection called onychomycosis, also known as toenail fungus. It’s a pesky condition that affects the nails of the toes or fingers, and today I’m going to help you understand its causes, symptoms, treatment options, and prevention strategies. So, let’s dive in! Photo by Quiet Shades Of Brown on Pexels.com Causes…

[healthfitnessresearcher]

Can I get foot fungus from walking barefoot in public places?

     Indeed, strolling shoeless out in the open places, for example, shared showers, rec centers, storage spaces, and pools can build the gamble of getting foot parasite. Parasites flourish in warm and soggy conditions, and public spots where individuals walk shoeless give an optimal favorable place to them.

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The most well-known kind of foot organism is Competitor's foot, which is an infectious contagious contamination that causes tingling, consuming, and redness on the skin of your feet, toes, and bottoms. You can get the organism by strolling shoeless on tainted surfaces, for example, shower floors, storage space floors, and pool decks, where the parasite can get by for quite a long time.

To forestall foot growth, it's vital to wear shoes or flip-flops openly spots where individuals walk shoeless. Furthermore, you ought to rehearse great foot cleanliness by washing your feet everyday, drying them completely, and changing your socks and shoes routinely. On the off chance that you suspect that you have foot parasite, see your primary care physician or a podiatrist for finding and treatment.

[miyrumiyru]

Little herald of spring! ✾(∪へ∪-)

They only appear on early spring and disappear without a trace.

(M) 갈구리나비 (Yellow tip) [Anthocharis scolymus]

Common blue violet (Viola sororia)

[alltippytoes]

[weirdjoy]

I would love a warm welcome as this will be My account to share My love of My feet & having them worshipped & pampered. Follow & enJoy the Weird Joy 💋

[suguann]

LOVE IT WHEN YOU CALL ME LOVER—JJK MEN.

✎. jjk men showing you how much they love you. | wc. 2k+

tags. fem!reader, window sex, possessive behavior, mirror sex, oral sex, public sex, pregnancy, fingering, praise kink, size kink

featuring. gojo, nanami, geto

masterlist

↬ GOJO

He doesn’t think you’ve looked more breath-taking than you do right then, humming softly to the music on the radio while painting your toenails, the last stretch of daylight kissing your exposed knees through the window. You’re so lost in your own little world that you don’t notice him watching you.

The important emails on his phone go unanswered, saved for another day when you’re not there to distract him. You stretch your smooth legs to inspect your work and glance across the living room to give him one of those soft smiles that sends warmth through his middle.

“What do you think?” you ask, little sunflower yellow toes flexing on the coffee table. 

“They’re pretty, baby.”

Another smile stretches across your face, that full lower lip caught between your teeth. “You think so?”

“Positive.” His phone lies forgotten on the cushion beside him, and he leans back to make room for you. “Come here.”

His eyes make a lazy trail up from your delicate ankle bone to the soft slope of your collarbone that peeks out from one of his t-shirts as you walk towards him, getting his fill until his fingers itch to touch and retrace the invisible path. 

Gojo can’t help it. He’s struck by the sight of you.

He wishes he could trap the shocked and delighted sound you make when he pulls you into his lap, keep it tucked away in the untainted nooks and crannies for him to return to later. A little melody on repeat for the days he feels undeserving of such sweet things, how he treads the fine line of corrupting that wide-eyed innocence you have of the world.

Still. Still, the truth is, he’s a little greedy, and he doesn’t really care how bad of a person that makes him.

Everyone looks up to him in some way. Nobody ever called him a saint. 

Gojo works out more of those soft sounds—pressing you against the chilly, tall windows in the living room, fist in your hair, and his mouth attached to the long column of your throat—that make his mouth go dry. Your back arches to ease the way he fucks up into you, tits brushing up against the glass, and he loves how the distant city lights below shimmer around you like a halo.

A high-pitched whimper, sharp breaths fogging over the window. “‘Toru people can see.”

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of how your soft and silky little cunt sucks him in—wrapped up all warm and wet around his cock—cursing under his breath when he tells you he doesn’t care. You’re his, anyway. 

“Let them see,” he grunts into your neck, teeth catching along your skin before licking at the vulnerable spot above your pulse. “Let them see how I fuck you because they can’t have you.”

Gojo can barely control himself at the mere idea that anyone would ever think they could. He’ll be the last and only one to know how you turn into a fucking vice when he hits particularly deep—how you shake like a leaf, legs coltish, after he makes you cum hard. 

↬ GETO

It feels like the epitome of terrible days: from the tomato stain on your skirt to your boss forcing deadlines down your throat and surprising Suguru at work only to find a pretty, willowy brunette sitting on the corner of his desk, her hand resting on a stack of graded papers, and fluttering her long lashes at him. 

The final nail in the coffin (a stupid nail, but a hammered-down nail nonetheless) is how she laughs and touches his arm, and Suguru doesn’t brush her off. He actually laughs back, all perfectly straight teeth on display and eyes crinkling at the corners. One of those heart-stopping smiles stretching across his face that you foolishly thought were all yours. 

Suddenly, you wonder if it was out of obligation that made him compliment you that morning in your dress—look at you, a kiss to your cheek, I’m going to fucking ruin you—a perfunctory greeting after being together so long (like making coffee or picking out paint), to make you feel better, or if he meant it—

A tap with sticky fingers to your cheek. “C’mon, watch.” 

You feel like you’re looking from the outside in, a spectator with a front-row seat that has your breath catching in your throat at the sight of his spit-slick chin and cheeks resting against the crease where thigh meets hip. He gives you a syrupy grin that tightens something in your stomach like a screw. 

“Not me,” he says, words laced with amusement. 

Hesitantly, your gaze trails up from his to the floor-length mirror perched in front of the bed, and what you see has your fingers sinking into the sheets. 

You can hardly pull your eyes away from how your leg looks draped across his broad, muscular back, making you look so small even though you sit above him. And it’s like Suguru knows what you’re seeing because his grin grows wider. 

“See, look how perfect you are. That woman in the mirror is so fucking pretty, I can’t believe I get to tell everyone she’s mine.” His thumb parts you open for his mouth. “Why would you think you look otherwise, huh?”

“I…don’t know,” you whisper, head a fuzzy mess of weak excuses that evaporate before they even have a chance to make it onto your tongue.

“Hm, that’s not a good enough answer.” 

Your hips twitch when he noses at your clit. 

“Awe, I bet that feels good, huh? I’m gonna show you what happens when you talk bad about my pretty baby,” then he sucks it into his mouth, making you squeal.

He can’t blame you for squeezing your eyes shut at the slick, hot pressure dragging through your folds—shaky fingers tightening in Suguru’s long, dark hair. It feels equally like everything and not nearly enough until he suddenly pulls away, taking that jittery feeling in your belly with him.

“Why’d you—”

“If you look away, I stop.” He chuckles lightly at the little pout you give him before his lips suck at the tender spot near the crease of your thigh, “so watch.”

↬ NANAMI

After lunch, he drags you across the street where there’s a park for him to set up a picnic blanket under a tree. Kento rests his head on your lap, slipping an arm around your waist and rubbing the sore spot in your lower back from being on your feet for too long. 

It’s all very innocent: him kissing your round pregnant belly, you running your fingers through his soft hair and talking about the latest work gossip. 

You hum when you feel his fingers crawl up your thigh, slowly at first and with no destination, just soft, aimless circles here and there, until the calloused pad of his thumb skirts over the front of your underwear, making you jerk with a small squeak.

“Kento,” you giggle, fingers tightening in his hair. 

He smiles at the scandalized look spreading across your face and leans forward to press another kiss against your stomach.

"Do you trust me?" he asks, hand pushing up your dress. 

You glance around the park to see if anyone is paying attention to the two of you—an elderly couple feeding the ducks frozen peas by the pond, a mother and father playing with their giggling daughter in the grass, college kids throwing a frisbee, all far enough away to be out of earshot (but that’s not the real problem here)—before you look back at your husband. 

“W-what?” you sputter, wide-eyed realization taking over.

He presses another open-mouthed kiss to your thigh. “Do you trust me?”

A soft whine slips past your teeth, the hand not in his hair curling into the blanket. “But everyone will notice because I’m—I’m—”

(A beached whale. An air balloon. A carnival-sized melon. You get the gist.)

“Gorgeous.” He smooths a hand over your bump, open-fondness radiating across his features, the subtle hint of possessiveness there making you shiver. “You look so fucking gorgeous with my baby growing inside you. Let me take care of you.”

“B-but—”

Everything else melts away to the pulsing heat between your legs and your husband groaning from the wetness he finds there. Your shaky thighs fall open wider when his fingers hook under the edge of your underwear (unflattering things worn for comfort over sexual appeal), pulling them aside to run his fingers through your slick seam. 

Pregnancy brain clouds your judgment, and before you can think twice about your actions, how you definitely shouldn’t let Kento eat you out in the middle of a public park, you nod your head. 

His lips ghost over the tender flesh of your upper thigh. "I need to hear you say it."

It’s a low and shaky yes that has his fingers finally sinking into you to the third knuckle, steadily pumping in and out of you. You buck down onto his hand, trying to bite back the moan threatening to alert everyone in the park of the head under your skirt.

“You’re going to cum for me, just like this,” Kento tells you, voice muffled by a layer of powder blue cotton. “Alright, darling?” 

[samuraibydjavan]

every time I hear women talking about a "dick appointment" my heart shatters and decays

[letudance]

[justcreatingthings]

I thought I was being cute and getting my nails done and theming the colors similar to a pink lemonade… Nooooope! … Walk in to work and realized my nails are actually SpongeBob and Patrick themed…

[charliejaneanders]

Human hair and nails continue to grow for 1,000 years after death.

That's why any time you visit a graveyard, you'll see strange gnarled yellow "grasses" coming up out of the ground. It's the fingernails and toenails of people who died long ago, bearing witness.

[healthfitnessresearcher]

What are the best socks to wear to prevent foot fungus?

To forestall foot growth, it's fundamental for wear the right sort of socks that are breathable, dampness wicking, and produced using materials that assist with keeping your feet dry. Here are the absolute best socks to wear to forestall foot organism:

Cotton socks: Cotton socks are breathable and retain dampness, pursuing them a decent decision to forestall foot growth. In any case, on the off chance that you have sweat-soaked feet, cotton socks may not be the most ideal choice.

>>> Fungus-free toenail Huge discount Fungus-free toenail Huge discount to Visit Official Website click here

Bamboo socks: Bamboo socks are turning out to be progressively famous because of their dampness wicking properties, which assist with keeping your feet dry and forestall organism development.

Merino fleece socks: Merino fleece socks are additionally dampness wicking and can assist with keeping your feet dry. They are likewise breathable, pursuing them a brilliant decision to forestall foot parasite.

Manufactured socks: Engineered socks produced using materials, for example, polyester or nylon are dampness wicking and can assist with keeping your feet dry. Be that as it may, they may not be just about as breathable as normal filaments like cotton, bamboo, or fleece.

No matter what the kind of socks you pick, it's crucial for change them regularly, particularly assuming your feet will generally perspire. Also, it's essential to rehearse great foot cleanliness, for example, washing your feet everyday, keeping them dry, and trying not to walk shoeless openly puts.

[hoseoksluna]

WINE | jjk

pairing: fuck buddy!jungkook x f. reader

genre: smut

word count: 4.7k

summary: both of you have a party to go to, but jungkook makes you needy again.

playlist: it's jeon time / pinterest board: wine

warnings: forced drinking, neck kissing, dom/sub dynamics, use of pet names and one particular title <3, degradation and praise, reader has daddy issues (like the writer), sensual dancing, dirty talk, spanking, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, orgasm denial, squirting, rough sex, plushie used during intercourse, hair pulling, jungkook needing to be in control, the importance of dom/sub role-play being just a role-play and not extending past the sex practice, aftercare

note: this was meant to be a fluff fic with jimin but then jungkook x calvin klein happened and i was fucked. my libido was awakened by that man, my ovulation triggered by his seductiveness and fucking godly beauty. this might be tmi, but i genuinely felt turned on while writing this, so i hope you enjoy. my bestie who always reads my work first said that my jungkook fics are vastly different from the ones with other members, and i agree. the sole reason behind it is the simple fact that jungkook owns my sexuality. so, yeah. please, show some love in the comments. happy reading!!

side note: HAPPY BDAY HOBI ᡣ𐭩

“A bit tipsy, aren’t we?”

You’re twirling. Twirling in golden circles as the late afternoon sunset traces the curves of your figure with its fingers, giving willingly a brisk dose of vigor to the movement as your delicately tousled curls spin around you. The warm light hits the shimmer on the highest points of your cheeks—coalesces with the glitter and you smile at the sun, fluttering your eyes shut. The ardent giggle spilling out of the mouth of your close friend is the music you dance to, and it helps your smile to grow in width.

You have somewhere to be. Both of you do. But you deem this is more important—it is your pregame after all, even though the wine glass in your hand is empty. Small drops of the white nectar make traces on the parquet floor, leaving behind the evidence of your joy, light as a feather somewhere within you. 

Freshly showered, Jungkook watches the show you put on for him. With one shoulder, he leans against the large wardrobe and rolls his sleeves upwards on his forearms, wrists adorned with golden bracelets that tinkle with each effort. He does it slowly, blindly. Prefers to focus on you, and not on the task he’s done too many times. You face him, aware of his warm gaze, and you lean your glass towards his chest, tilting your head to the side. 

“Barely,” you say. “Had one glass. Have another one with me?”

Jungkook smiles fondly, dropping his eyes to his wrists as he fixes the stacking of the thick gold. The cherry wood accentuates his countenance in a way that magnetically pulls you closer to him. Your legs act on their own, feet making their way to his. Something about the way they are shod in shiny dress shoes and yours are bare, toenails painted in cotton candy pink, drives a certain scarlet hue to go mad upon your dew-kissed face. Or maybe it’s the fact you two fucked hardly an hour ago that does it. You’ve always liked the scene, in which you’re naked and he’s fully dressed. Or it’s your ever persistent daddy issues and your obsession with Lolita. Maybe it’s a mixture of both.

You notice a ring on his pinky finger as he sweeps his ebony hair back. It wasn’t there when he had those digits wrapped around your throat in missionary. You take his inked hand to get a closer look, noticing the engraving of his last name. His father must have the same one. You caress it with your thumb. Its yellow gleam seeps into your skin—illuminates you and envelops you in its aura, fixing a heavenly halo above your head. You find yourself smiling when you look up at him and find that he’s been gazing down at you the whole time, his very own angel.

“If I were to have a glass of wine with you,” he mutters, and the mischievous twinkle that appears in his eyes excites you in a way that angels shouldn’t be provoked. “Then, there would be no party to go to.”

You know what he means, but you play dumb. You want to hear him say it.

“How so?” you ask and you widen your eyes softly to appear more alluring. You’re not sure if your body would handle another round, but you do enjoy the teasing—you enjoy the talk, the chase, the fuzzy feelings in your tummy.

Jungkook straightens and reaches for the bottle on the coffee table four steps away from you. Sinks the body of the glass onto his palm, pouring a good amount of the liquid inside. Nibbles his bottom lip as he stalks towards you, handing you the nectar, although he doesn’t let go. Your fingers wrap around his and it’s him who does the first move—lifting his arm to tilt the glass to your mouth. He’s gentle, a safe distance away to watch his whimsy unfold, but firm. He doesn’t lower his hand until the spillage of the gilded liquid trickles down your throat. Only then does he chuckle, setting the glass down. Satisfied.

Dizziness stirs your mind and you hardly have time to take a breather before Jungkook latches his mouth onto your wine-stained neck, tongue coming out to play—cleaning you up in figure eights that cause you to roll your eyes back. The ends of your curls tickle the back of his hand as he brushes his fingers along the dip of your spine, the skin bare in the open back of your knitted dress—made perfect for his sly touches.

He doesn’t press you against his body when he begins to suck on your neck; he still keeps the distance. Perhaps to make you needy, perhaps to make you ask for more. And it’s working, the magnetic pull does its thing once more and you roll your chest against his, aching to fit in the spaces of his figure that you know full well are there for you to hide in. Your nipples perk up at the slight attention, and electrifying sparks glide down the perimeters of your form in a way that you wish his hands would.

Absentmindedly, you touch them and Jungkook notices as he switches to the other side of your neck, the more sensitive one, the one that always leaves you dripping with your essence. You let him know, vocally, how much you like him there, and the sounds of pleasure you utter into his ear force him to pull out his phone from his pocket, steal your hand from your breast and place it in your palm.

He withdraws with a pop, plump lips coming to trace the shell of your ear. “I think we need some music,” he whispers, fingers skimming the curve of your ass. “Can you play some? Can you do that for me?”

Oh, that degradation kink of his. He knows he flung you out of his world into a pretty pink planet somewhere out there in the universe with that skilled tongue of his. He knows how dumb you get when horniness flushes your body with heat—he knows it intimately, for he’s the one who fucks you, the one you give yourself to when you blossom with the need to do so. He’s the one who opens the petals one by one, never to tear them, but to smell them, kiss them, hover them over the tender skin of his face just to be close to you. He knows you and he knows how to play with you just how you like it.

And you like to get into this state of mind. You like to be degraded, even though you’ll never admit it. You particularly like to get degraded by Jungkook.

Because of that reason, he likes to awaken it in you, beckon it to come out. How he found out is beyond your understanding. You reckon he sensed it while having your orgasms in his control. Somewhere in that dynamic, he found a little nook of a library and its contents fell into his grasp when he sank his fingers inside of you. All he had to do was read. And, also, listen.

Your bodily and vocal reactions didn’t protest.

You can’t even see his lockscreen, the numbers as you type in his mother’s birthday because Jungkook begins to toy with your earlobe, nibbling at the flesh ever so slightly. The pleasure, the wine getting into your head—it’s all suddenly too much. Paradoxically, you find the app somehow without looking out of a habit you learned throughout the months you’ve been casually seeing him, for Jungkook never fucks without his ‘It’s Jeon Time’ sex playlist. And he always wants you to pick out the first song. 

It impacts what he does to you later.

You scroll and you tap on a random song.

No BS by Chris Brown.

You return the phone and Jungkook begins to pepper soft kisses on your throat, pocketing the device. A sudden throbbing on your bundle of nerves makes you tenderly whine and in your head, you curse him out for making you needy again. He pretends not to hear you, making a way to your chin. He kisses it. Ghosts his lips over yours, puckers them to tease you and hums in appreciation for the song. You grab him everywhere you can. Hair, neck, shoulders. Squeezing. As if he hadn’t fucked the soul out of you earlier. As if you weren’t spent. And he just laughs.

No matter how soft the sound is, it forces all of the peach fuzz on your body to rise.

Oh, you’ve made him horny. You’re fucked.

No party for you.

“Good little girl,” he coos, grabbing your ass and pulling you flush to his body. The praise before the degradation—the calm before the storm. “Can always expect the best from you. You never fail to please me.”

His hardness greets you first, pressed torturously against your mound. You mewl at the feeling, but he silences you. His lips are second to say a playful hello as they delve into a firm kiss, hand grasping your hair in his fist. He inhales against you and before the two of you know it, you’re moving your bodies to the slow, sensual rhythm of the song. Jungkook kisses you again, parts your lips with his and slips his tongue inside. 

Just to taste you, briefly.

He spins you around. 

Towering over you, he wraps his arms around your middle and sways with you, pushing your hair to one side, so he can focus on your neck once more. Gliding his lips up and down your neck, nose nuzzling into the safe space there near your ear, he inhales again, your scent being the translucent ship that gets him to heavenly places he dreams of every now and then. He guides you with his hips, needing to be in control of everything, even of something as insignificant as a simple, intimate dance. You love it, you could never get enough of it. The stability being the foundation that holds it is what attracts you to it, the stability that you never had, the one that your inner child deserves. 

Palms flat on your tummy, Jungkook drifts them down and stops at your hips, fingers reaching your mound. 

“Those hips will be the death of me,” he murmurs, caressing your sides while continuing guiding you, pressing you just right against his prominent length. “Did you really expect me not to get hard seeing you dance like that?” 

You bite your lip, furrowing your eyebrows, rotating your hips to the chorus of the song, head empty. 

Jungkook grunts. The sound intoxicates you even more.

“My princess doesn’t really know what she’s doing to me, does she?” He hooks his fingers under the hem of your dress. “Too horny, too needy to think, hm?”

Shamelessly, you nod. “Want you again. Want to feel you inside of me.” 

Jungkook hums, then breaks into a gentle laughter. Lifts your garment and lets his fingers roam on your clothed folds, the white fabric drenched in your dewiness—pellucid enough to show the beauty of your flesh. 

Aware of how wet you are, he clicks his tongue. “You filthy girl, how many times do I have to fuck you in order for you to have enough?”

You grow silent. Brimming with a woozy desire, you opt to grind your ass against him again. Your brain cannot come up with any smart answer that would please him, so this is the best you could do. Jungkook curses under his breath, leans back to watch you. He meets each and every movement of your hips and completes them, creating waves that spur the butterflies in your belly to life. 

“Filthy”—He spanks you—“Fucking”—Another spank—“Girl.”

Knees bent, Jungkook grinds against your core, cutting short your hissing. He turns you around and bends you against the wardrobe, places your hands flat on the cherry wood. Takes off your panties swiftly and lets them pool by your ankles. Spanks you below your ass cheek, moaning at the lift and ripple of your plumpness. Does it again on the other one, letting out a sound that makes your dewiness, similarly like the wine down the sides of your neck, leak and stick to your inner thighs. Something between a dark chuckle, a moan and a purr of endearment. 

“What am I to do with such a greedy girl like you?” he says, fingers tracing each curve of your ass to etch the memory of it deeper into his brain. “You deserve to be fucked like this. Mercilessly, for my pleasure. Like the little slut you are. But I’ll be good to you.” 

He pushes your left inner thigh, guiding you to spread your legs. Cups your pussy, digits spreading your essence all over you. 

“I’ll be good to you because you just can’t help it, can you? Poor little baby is just a slut for this cock.”

You mewl at his words, but then you discover that he didn’t lubricate your cunt for you, but for himself.

You yelp when you feel his tongue right there on the softness of your inner thigh, licking up a stripe to drink you. You didn’t expect him to do it so quickly and your whines increase in volume when Jungkook buries his head in your pussy, the deft muscle swirling around your pulsating bundle, licking between your folds and teasing around your hole. You push your hips back, wanting him there more than ever, but he spanks you, bites your flesh before he soothes the pain with his kisses. Big kisses as he calls them, the ones with full tongue. The nasty, the dirty. Big kisses for big girls with experience—those he teaches. 

Jungkook stands up and wraps his fingers around your jawline, holding you like that as he draws closer to your ear. 

“Looks like you can’t go out with your little pussy wet like that and those pretty panties soiled like they are, can you?” He turns your head so you look at him and you let him see your star-filled eyes, damp with the cosmos. “What would they think of you?”

“Koo,” you cry out.

He purrs in mock sympathy. “I left you alone for what, half an hour? And your pussy is needy again. That’s not right, is it? You should stop and think about this. Daddy’s not fixing it for you.” 

As if he hadn’t spoken a word, he sinks his fingers inside of you. Middle and ring. Jackhammers them until you scream, then he pulls them out and spanks your pussy once, twice. With all four of his digits, he rubs the entirety of your femininity, sloppily and rapidly, the drops of your essence joining the company of the drying wine on the parquet floor. You’re seeing white, your orgasm inches away from you.

“Jungkook, please, don’t stop—” Your mouth rounds, voice breaks into a moan. “I’m gonna come, please, please—” 

He withdraws his fingers. Entire body, too. Like a starved animal, head tipped low, he stares you down. 

You struggle to catch your breath, swallowing dryly, leaning your head against your forearms.

“You said—you said you’d be good to me,” you croak out, throat dry, eyes lidding, mind absolutely fucked out. 

“I am.” 

The meaning of his words eludes you, but you soon forget about thinking when he licks his fingers clean. Wraps those pretty, puffy pillows around his slender fingers and sucks them. Then, he undoes the few buttons left of his ebony shirt, slowly and precisely. You clench around nothing, walls pressing together tightly. You’d slip a finger inside if you weren’t holding the side of the wardrobe for dear life.

“Get on the bed, now,” he orders. “Leave the dress on. Panties, too. I’ll show everyone how much of a little slut you are.” 

Without a second thought, you do as he says. 

You sit down on the edge of the bed and spread your legs as wide for him as the undergarment enfolding your thighs allows you, the ivory material pulled taut—your dewiness on show. Jungkook walks into the room like he has all the time in the world, like you aren’t gripping the flesh of your sides in order not to touch yourself. His shirt is fully unbuttoned now and the fabric lets you see a slither of his defined abdomen and fine black pubic hair peeking out of his Calvins due to how low his slacks are fixed on his hips. You lick your lips, dig half-moons into your skin until your knuckles turn white.

You need him. You need him so much that tears pool within the cosmos of your eyes.

“If only they were to see you right now,” he mutters. “So desperate for me. It’s too bad only I get to see you like this, isn’t it?” 

He worsens your desire with that mouth of his. It’s extreme. You scratch your nails down your thighs to relieve yourself at least a little bit. 

Fists on each side of you, Jungkook leans towards you. His simple gold chain swings in your face and you bite your lip to keep your needy mewls at bay.

“Am I talking to myself?” 

You shake your head ‘no’. 

“Did you forget how to talk?” He cocks his eyebrow. 

“I need you so bad. I can’t take it anymore,” you whine out, the best your brain could muster.

Jungkook puckers his lips at you in feigned sympathy again and you expect the worst to come out of his mouth, but he surprises you when he says, “what do you want me to do to you?”

You gasp almost soundlessly. Your heart skips in your chest happily. Fire of the starlight shines in your eyes and a brand new flush finds its way to your cheeks, hotter than the one from earlier when you were dancing with the sun. Before you can think you answer through, it slips out of you.

“Lick my pussy, please.” 

Jungkook smirks and the blush of roses smears across his cheeks and nose as well. He wipes at his mouth as if your answer made him drool—cuts the anticipation and kneels down at the bed, pushing your legs back. 

“Who am I to deny you?” 

The butterflies within your tummy go berserk. 

Tongue flat, he licks up your cunt. Over and over, lapping up your wetness, moaning, seizing your girlishness and rolling it over in his mouth. You tip your head back between your shoulder blades and your arms begin to shake, holding all of your weight. Like you were previously grinding against him, you do the same movement now into his face. Recreate the waves as he rides his tongue against your clit. 

He stops when you catch his gaze.

You cry out for him, bucking your hips. He shakes his head, eyes never leaving yours. His puffy lips glint in the dimmed light, the sun rays seconds away from saying their final goodbye.

“Needy little whore.”

Jungkook flicks at your little seashell, wraps those pillows around the muscle out of habit, but decides against it. Denies you the pleasure, knows too well you come too quickly from the suction. Decides to flutter his tongue instead, the pressure light, making you tremble like a butterfly wing. Retracts. Starts the torture again, alternating between light and hard. Fucks with your brain. Fucks with you.

“This feels too good, Daddy, oh my god.” 

You watch him at work, mouth parted open, sounds of gratification coming out freely. He’s never done this to you before. It’s new, it’s different and it feels otherworldly; it feels like he’s transporting you back to pink planet again. The faint pleasure, the build up, the hard intensity at last before he starts again. He pins your hips down to prevent you from getting ahead, lidded eyes zeroing on yours, and the cord in your belly tightens. You near to the edge, gusts of gasps and ragged breaths flowing out of your mouth. 

“I’m coming, Daddy, I’m coming, oh fuck.” 

The harsh light of stars comes down slowly upon your eyesight. You’re almost there. You roll your hips to meet his tongue one last time, despite the deathly grip he has on your hip bones, but he lifts his head. Rips the orgasm away from you.

“No.” He wipes his mouth with his hand.

Your vision blurs and frustration burns you hot.

“What?”

“You’re not coming.” 

You stare at him, eyelashes flittering. At loss for words.

“We have a party to go to, don’t we?” 

You scrunch up your eyebrows. You thought you weren’t going anywhere?

“And if you’re good, I’ll think about letting you come tonight.”

Your mouth falls open. 

“Close it before I fuck it.” 

He cups your chin, closing it for you. Wraps his fingers around your throat and pushes you back on the mattress. Your hair fans all around you and you hold your clothed breasts for emotional support, your brain not really registering that you’re getting fucked and that you’re not allowed to cum. You sob tearlessly at his cruelty, lifting your head to look at him. 

Jungkook unzips his slacks. Doesn’t bother to lower them, only pulls out his heavy length out of the tight confines of his boxers. His precum shines prettily on his mushroom and he spreads it all around him, jacking himself off, grunting, groaning, throwing his head back. All while being completely ignorant to your inner turmoil. 

“Look at what you’ve done to me,” he whispers, letting go of his cock to show you just how hard he is. 

Your head spins. His tip reaches his belly button and the thickness of his shaft obscures most of his pubic hair. You moan, aching to have him inside of you. Feel your slick trickle down onto the bedding. 

“So hot,” you say, lifting your eyes to catch him focused on the reactions painted on your face with his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, chest heaving quickly. “You’re so beautiful.” 

Abruptly, Jungkook flops you onto your stomach. Crawls over you. Straddles you. Veiny forearms, partly shielded by the waterfall of your hair, come to stay on either side of your head. 

He reaches for the white bunny plushie resting against the pillows and hands him to you. Brushes your hair away from your face to whisper into your ear, “you better hold onto him.” 

You clutch him to your chest and bury your face in his soft fur. 

“Remember the rule?” he asks and you feel him drag the tip of his cock down the line of your ass—you feel him stop at your tight hole. 

Your breath shakes. “I can’t come.” 

Body reacting on its own, hips lifting, you allow him to glide down to your pussy.

Jungkook hums in appreciation. “That’s right. Look at you, so good for me already.” 

He chuckles darkly and you hate your life.

“You only know how to behave yourself when you want to come, don’t you? Such a slut.”

He punctuates his sentence by sheathing himself inside of you. You grip your plushie tight, groaning into his fur. He does it all in one go, not stopping once to let you adjust around him. He huffs against your hair, mocks your sound, eyelashes fluttering at your tightness, mouth agape. It’s otherworldly how he fits. It’s otherworldly how you can make out his expression, how you see it clearly behind your closed eyelids—how him mocking you and imitating you makes you drip even more, the lewdness of your juices encouraging him to go balls-deep. 

He rams into you. 

You scream into the bunny.

He rams into you in staccatos, the headboard of the bed colliding over and over again into the wall. Swift jerks. Hard. 

You feel so full.

“Slutty fucking pussy,” he whispers, gathers all of your hair into his fist and pulls your head back. Begins to fuck you evenly, picking up the pace. “So tight around Daddy, fuck.” 

You must be floating. Somewhere out there within that pink planet. All your surroundings are bleary, distorted, but so vibrant. Just as your hair is pulled back so are your wings retracted in the same way, held by your captor. You feel his lips at your temple, parted, breath hot and heavy. You can’t even hear yourself amidst your pleasure and his, but somehow—all of a sudden—you hear the voice of your favorite singer echoing in the living room.

Do I Wanna Know by the Arctic Monkeys. 

Little by little, you feel yourself returning back to planet Earth. Drool wets the corners of your mouth and you don’t have the strength to wipe it off, focusing all of your strength on stalling your orgasm, the voice of your beloved Alex pushing against you in a fight.

Jungkook lets go of your hair, but wraps the same arm around your shoulders, plushie and neck, his weight coming on top of yours. Continues to slam into you without any care of the world, heedless of the way you’re fighting for your life.

“If I’m not mistaken, this is your song, baby, isn’t it?” he breathes into your ear, slowing down his pace, hips rocking against you to the rhythm.

You sob at the mercy, the ferocity of your incoming orgasm dwindling away. 

That is until he starts pounding you into the mattress again. 

You scream out. White vision begins to chase you again, the cord tightening in your full lower tummy. 

“Jungkook, please, I can’t—I can’t—” 

He grunts at your helplessness, hand gripping your mouth. Pace so fast your head knocks back into his shoulder. 

“You can take it. It’s your song.” He squeezes your cheeks. Grinds his hips slowly. You roll your eyes back, feeling him nudge your cervix. 

He begins to kiss along your jawline, your earlobe, the contours of the shell. You do the same, peppering kisses upon his forearm as your position allows you. 

“We could be together, if you wanted to,” he huffs the lyrics into your ear, just for you to hear. 

The cord snaps. 

Wetness gushes out of you; a sweet stream of your dewiness forces him to pull out of you—and your wet orgasm triggers his. He paints your open back white with his hot spurts of cum, sealing you, completing you. Jacks himself off with one hand while the other rubs your pussy, spanking it. You’re squirming, screaming, the orgasm long and so intense that you don’t even know where you are. Jungkook fingers you with three digits and coaxes another surge out of you. Slacks destroyed, dress soiled, bodies spent—your screams silent. 

He caresses the roundness of your ass to calm you down. 

“Breathe for me, baby,” 

You try, but you can’t. 

Too exhausted. 

You feel him leave, but in a moment you sense the mattress dipping beside you. The coldness of wet wipes on your skin, getting rid of the evidence of his pleasure. The warmth of his thumb on the tear-stained skin under your eyes as he turns you to your side. 

A glass of cold water is in his hand. You suddenly feel parched. His touch brought your senses back to you. 

“Sit up.”

You finish the glass in gulps. Some of it leaks down your throat. Jungkook smirks. 

“Well done.”

You hug your plushie tighter. “I’m sorry for coming.” 

Jungkook caresses your hair. You’re sitting on your legs while he’s standing by the side of the bed. Running his fingers through your disheveled, ruined curls. 

“I fucked you that hard on purpose,” he murmurs, curling a strand of hair behind your ear, finger coming to a stop at the beginning of the line of your jaw. “It was my intention to make you come.” 

You lean into his touch. Kiss the edge of his palm. Drowsy, droopy eyes still bearing into his. 

“Like I said. You did well.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “Arms up.”

He takes off your dress and slinks your arms through the sleeves of his black shirt that he had discarded while fucking you. Your eyelids are shut when he lays you down on the cold side of the bed, tucking you in, and you’re halfway through the footpath to your pink planet when he promises, “I’ll make it up to you about that party.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

BACK to masterlist / read part two

[magpiepills]

I’m Not Really A Waitress

Rating: EXPLICIT 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Javier Pena x f! Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: Javi takes you for a pedicure then reaps the rewards.

Warnings: SMUT! Unprotected PIV, fingering, foot job, toe sucking, cum eating, dirty talk, pet names, potential sugar daddy Javi, no age gap specified, no use of y/n, no physical description of reader beyond their genitals.

A word from the author: I have finally finished the anon request! ANON! Please let me know if this is what you wanted! No need to be shy! I love you. Javi loves you…anyway, this is my first foray into foot fetish fic and it was fun! I can definitely see Javi being into your piggies. I hope I did this justice. I did watch some foot fetish gifs to prepare!

“I can’t take it, Javi. Please, it’s too much.”

“You can take it. You’re going to. You’re going to take it and then you’re going to show me how much you like it. Gonna thank me properly, hm Carino?”

Javi pressed the money into your hand. He had done it for weeks and it hadn’t gotten any easier to take his money. Every Saturday morning he drove you to the little strip mall and sat in his Jeep, window down, cigarette smoke billowing out like a smoke stack, fidgeting anxiously, eyes scanning the parking lot behind the yellow mirror of his aviators while you went inside for a fresh manicure and pedicure.

Spoiling you was one of his only joys. Long days toiling in the office or in the field, sweating under his tactical vest, chain smoking as he watched Escobar slip away once again. If he could make you happy, even if he was damned for all he had done wrong maybe it wouldn’t all be for nothing.

He tried to stay alert, but he couldn’t take his eyes off you through the plate glass, settled placidly in the chair, long legs bare and feet soaking in turn as a woman an a smock knelt before you, painting your toenails, massaging your feet, buffing and lotioning them, kneading your calves as you closed your eyes, shoulders soft and head dropped against the back of the seat, serene.

After some number of cigarettes had been smoked, you floated back out to him, stepping carefully in little pink flip flops, toes held apart by a strip of foam with little prongs between each toe, sandals dangling from your hand as you climbed into the passenger seat, smelling sweet and, like every week, slid your feet into his lap for his inspection.

Gently he pulled the little divider from your toes and slipped off the flimsy slippers. “What color is this?” You always got red. You knew that was his favorite. He couldn’t tell the shades apart, but you always told him the silly names of each color, insisting that they were all very different. He was charmed. “It’s called I’m Not Really A Waitress. What do you think?” Javi squeezed your foot, pressing his thumb into the ball of your foot, watching as your toes flexed. “Looks really pretty, baby.” He chuckled, pulling your hand close to his face to admire your fingers. Soft and delicate, you rested your fingers over his, and he pressed a kiss into your knuckles. “We gotta get home.” He made the short drive to his apartment with your foot held against his thick, eager cock.

•••••

Javi wasted no time, guiding you in the door and through the dark living room to his bedroom. You knew the routine. He liked undressing you himself, undoing buttons, untying bows, pulling down zippers. He saved his favorite for last, guiding you to lie on your back on his bed so he could unbuckle your sandals. He liked to take his time, working open the little clasps with his big fingers, taking the time to look closely at your freshly lacquered toenails, shiny and red. He was gentle, reverent as he held your ankle, kissing your toes, sucking the smaller ones obscenely, making you squirm. He released them with a pop before he kissed down your delicate sloping arch, up to the curve of your ankle before resting it on his shoulder. Taking a long moment to gaze from the soft little pads of your toes, down your legs, so long and smooth, so shapely. He let his eyes move further, down to your pretty pussy.

He mumbled something in Spanish and palmed his cock through his tight jeans. You loved seeing the thick roll of him, knowing it was just for you. As much as he loved to pamper and spoil you, indulging in your maintenance and care, you loved to show him how much you loved and appreciated him. You skimmed your other toes up his leg and over his thick cock.

Javi groaned, flicking his gaze from your shining folds to where your arch rested lightly over his cock. He rutted gently, guiding you to stroke up and down his concealed length for a few blissful moments before pulling his shirt over his head and hurriedly tugging open his jeans, pushing them down while you watched, mesmerized by his golden skin, the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips drew your gaze like an arrow down to where he held his turgid member. Mindlessly, your had drifted to your center, your fingertips softly circling your clit. You watched each other, unashamedly touching yourselves.

With his free hand, Javi circled your ankle, using his leverage to press your knee back and open you up to his hungry eyes, dark and laser focused on where you spread your slick over your clit. He loved how your fingernails matched your toes.

“That’s it. Get it nice and wet for me. Put your fingers in.” You could hear the strain in his voice as you followed his directions, sinking two fingers inside. “More, querida.” he insisted, but didn’t give you a chance to obey. Instead he took his hand from his cock and pushed two of his own fingers inside along yours, making you gasp and jolt with pleasure. The fullness and the vulgarity of his fingers slipping against yours covered in your ample slick and your palm rubbing just so against your clit brought you quickly to orgasm.

With barely enough time to catch your breath, Javi was on top on you, kissing you, licking into your mouth greedily, letting you feel his weight and his need grinding against your thigh. His hands never stayed in one place long, trailing up and down your sides, groping the curves of your body. He tried not to rush, he really did, but you were still breathless as he kneeled between your legs, eagerly notching at your still sensitive entrance but only allowing the thick head to rest just inside. You wiggled your hips for purchase, “Javi. Javi please. Don’t tease me; I need you.” Your hand returned to your soaked seam, you rubbed the flat of your fingers over your swollen folds and spread the warm wetness up over the length of Javi’s cock that he refuses to give you.

He watches, rapt, at hope you use his body to try to get yourself off. He would gladly be your plaything another time, but now he has to move. “That’s it baby. Keep rubbing that little pussy for me. Got you so nice and wet, huh baby?” He continues talking as he inches in slowly, watching how your pretty cunt takes him. You’re still rocking your hips in small movements as he bottoms out, chasing your second release and he finally fills you. “Fuck me.” His eyes are glued to where he is sheathed inside you, so snug and warm. You increase the speed of your fingers against your clit as he increases the tempo of his thrusts, squeezing him as you reach your peak. He rolls his hips firm against you as you moan and writhe, he has to close his eyes and will himself to not come right this instant. Not before he gets to finish the way he wants.

With you sated and boneless, Javi feels like he can finally indulge. You know what he wants. You let him move you, stretching your legs above you, crossing your ankles and squeezing your thighs as he rests your heel on his shoulder. You can feel his cock smearing your slick across the back of your thighs as he kisses your toes, nibbles the soft little delicate digits. This is the part he loves, he’s held off long enough. Once again he takes your ankles in his hands and pushes your knees to your chest. He brings your pretty feet to stroke his cock between them. “Rub your tits.” He directed you with a nod his head. You do as he says and surrender the rest of your body to his will. He thrust slowly, stroking over your feet, holding them firm against his length. He loved how it looked to have you laid out for him, naked, satisfied, slick and swollen, letting him take control. He rubbed his thumb over your toes and directed them to drag over his cock and gently over his balls. It didn’t take long for Javi to bare his teeth and cover your toes in thick, milky spend. He panted, smiling and looking over you, and pressed a kiss to your big toe, licking the cooling cum from his lips.

“Gracias, carino.”

[laniemae]

THE DEFINITIVE MILGRAM SHOE TIER LIST

WHAT ARE THOOOOOSEEE

Jackalope: . .̶̧̳̗͚͈̜͕̜̄̎͊̉̽͆͛ͪ̾̆̓̾̾̃ͥ́̕͝.̒̌ͦͥ̅̊͛ͫ͏̨͖̰̳̖̜͎̀.

Lucky rabbits foot yes.

Es: B

Design looks very nice actually. Looks pretty sleek but it looks either very cheap or super expensive. No in between. Might’ve put it higher if it didn’t have the raised heels which look really uncomfortable.

Haruka T1: C

Very bland white slip ons. Kinda the type you’d wear around the house but they look like they’d fall off easily.

Haruka T2: D

No. These shoes look like something you’d find in the attic that’s been there for years or perhaps fished up in a river. He can’t even tie his shoelaces properly (ignores the fact that I only wear sandals and can’t tie shoelaces).

Yuno T1: C

Simple school shoes. I’ve worn these before and they’re pretty uncomfortable if you walk in them for too long but they look nice with her design.

Yuno T2: B

Very similar shoes but they look nicer and more comfortable so I’m putting them higher up.

Fuuta T1: B

The shoes itself look pretty comfortable and efficient. Maybe like something you’d wear for hiking. But those god awful rotten mustard yellow socks are awful I would’ve placed it higher if not for that.

Fuuta T2: B 

(same shoes)

Muu T1: F

Is she wearing steel? They look so uncomfortable and look like if you trip they could crush your ankles. Like girl you’re wearing high heels because you’re rich but you have awful taste.

Muu T2: C?

Honestly I don’t entirely know what to think about these. Looks similar to the first one but maybe a little bit more comfortable with the bigger heel strap and without that weird arch pattern. Although I notice that she’s actually got steel plating on the shoes so if she kicked someone she’d probably kill them.

Shidou T1: C

Pretty standard whatever-it’s-called (I don’t know I’m not a shoeologist). The brown looks kinda nice but clashes with the rest of his design a little bit. Kinda feels both casual and something you’d wear to work.

Shidou T2: A

These shoes actually go kinda hard. They fit a lot better with his design and look like a skeleton. I can’t tell if they’re just patterned shoes or sandals but they look pretty comfy and I can excuse socks with these type of sandals.

Mahiru T1: C

Really split on this one. Like the general style of the shoes look pretty nice and with the platforms (wait I just noticed Mahiru probably wears platform shoes because she’s so short lmao) but the exposed toes look kinda weird and like who tf paints their toenails.

Mahiru T2: S

She would be allowed to walk around barefoot. Oh wait she can’t walk-

Kazui T1: D

I don’t have much to say about these but they look very tight and could hurt.

Kazui T2: C

Slightly better because they don’t look like they could restrict blood flow but like Haruka they look like something you’d find old and discarded in an attic. Not in a river though.

Amane T1: B

I would rank it lower because I’m not too big of a fan of school shoes like this but the big socks actually look quite comfortable so it’s a bit higher.

Amane T2: B 

(same shoes)

Mikoto T1: C

Shoes kinda mid. Not much going on apart from them looking kinda worn out. Does match his hair colour nicely though.

Mikoto T2: C 

(same shoes)

Damn what happened to his shoelaces

Kotoko T1: S

I love these shoes. So much I actually had a dream about finding them at a shop and getting really happy. Basically the only shoes I wear are sandals like that and say what you want about the socks but the colour looks really nice.

Kotoko T2: A

These are also pretty good. They look comfy and pretty stylish and could be worn in a lot of situations although maybe they could get a bit hot. I also like how unlike other character designs in other media these don’t go up right to the knee to the point your legs are like sticks. Honestly Kotoko has good taste in shoes.

[arthurparnassuslovesyou]

@islanddads vision come to life: Linus Baker dressed as Benoit Blanc! He was made for this

[img id:] Digital drawing of Linus Baker looking hot and sexy as hell in a tight blue and white vertical striped onesie with a yellow scarf around his neck, sunglasses, and peshawari chappal style sandals. He stands on a sandy beach looking out over the light cerulean sea, shading his eyes from the sun. He is frowning and looks very serious. He also has painted blue toenails. The drawing is named Linus Beach Patrol. [end id]

[hlupdate]

W​​hat’s the secret to a great portrait? At 86 years old, David Hockney has a few ideas. A lifetime of looking has taught him to always start with the face. “I begin with the head first,” he says, matter-of-factly, from his home in France. “From there, I place everything else.”

That was his approach when, late last May, Harry Styles traveled to his light-filled studio in Normandy and stationed himself on a cane chair, ready to become the esteemed artist’s latest subject. Over two days, Hockney worked to capture the exact hues of red and yellow in Styles’s striped cardigan, the indigo of his jeans, the string of pearls at his neck—not to mention the unmistakable tousled fringe of one of the world’s biggest pop stars. For the artist, though, the goal was merely to capture the essence of the person in front of him. “I wasn’t really aware of his celebrity then,” Hockney says, with a shrug. “He was just another person who came to the studio.”

The pair struck up an instant rapport that was likely helped by Styles being a full-on fanboy. For his Vogue cover shoot in 2020, Styles wore a pair of hand-painted Bode cords that featured a talismanic illustration of Hockney by artist Aayushia Khowala. It’s also hard to imagine the wide-eyed wonder of a flamboyant Brit discovering the sunny thrills and spills of California—a theme, and sound, that has permeated the former One Direction singer’s solo albums—without Hockney as a precedent. “David Hockney has been reinventing the way we look at the world for decades,” says Styles. “It was a complete privilege to be painted by him.”

The unveiling of the portrait kicks off the second iteration of the National Portrait Gallery’s Hockney exhibition “Drawing From Life,” which first opened in February 2020, only to close weeks later due to the pandemic. With the addition of a new room of pictures charting Hockney’s creative impulses throughout lockdown, the show returns on November 2—a few months after a refurbishment of the entire museum—with Styles’s portrait as its crown jewel. “The whole world shut down, and the exhibition was still sitting there, in the dark,” recalls Sarah Howgate, the gallery’s senior curator of contemporary collections, who oversaw the exhibition in both phases. “So it’s nice to know it will have another life.”

The Styles painting may bring star wattage, but the unassuming genius of Hockney’s portraiture is still the main exhibition draw. What makes his images tick, you quickly learn, is their honesty: whether in the tension bubbling beneath the surface of his famed double portrait of Ossie Clark and Celia Birtwell, painted between 1970 and ’71, or the seated figures that populated his 2016 Royal Academy of Arts exhibition, which included the likes of his own sister, Margaret, and the late comedian Barry Humphries. Hockney’s eye for the human figure may be playful, often kaleidoscopic, sometimes fantastical—but it’s always, most importantly, frank.

Styles’s portrait will hang alongside those of writer Gregory Evans, Hockney’s printer Maurice Payne, the mayor of his local town Dozulé, his gardener, and even his chiropodist, or in Hockney’s words, “the dandy who cuts my toenails.”

One of his more recent subjects was the eminent music producer Clive Davis, who first suggested inviting Styles to swing by. “Clive told me about Harry’s new album, and JP [Hockney’s studio assistant] sent Harry a note and asked him if he’d like to come to my studio and sit for his portrait,” Hockney remembers. “He replied straight away and said, yes, he’d love to.” From there, Hockney’s process of painting Styles was instinctive. “Everybody just came to sit,” he says, breezily, before admitting: “Now I know Harry’s a celebrity, though: I’ve seen all his music videos.”

“He’s not a traditional portrait painter,” says Howgate. Hockney’s interest is not in what people do, but rather in who they are. “He’s not interested in fame. He’s interested in depicting people and their relationships.” It’s why his eye is primarily trained on his inner circle these days—but it also pays testament to his enduring curiosity that he’s still willing to open that up to a newcomer every so often. Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio.

“David Hockney: Drawing From Life” will be at the National Portrait Gallery from November 2 to January 21, 2024.