#Illumination Curated

[mehmetyildizmelbourne-blog]

Introduction to New Writers Joining ILLUMINATION Pubs Today #64

Welcome pack and a quick acknowledgment of your acceptance to ILLUMINATION Integrated Publications on Medium with helpful links to our resources New writer applications to Illumination are via our registration portal. Please review our checklist and the onboarding pack before submitting your stories to our publications. How To Become A Writer For ILLUMINATION. You are welcome to join the…

[salvia-plathitudes]

😏

I don’t know if friend is having a baby shower, but I’m ready

[dinosaurwithablog]

I love the ocean, and these photos are the reason why......💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙

phlyimages

[kappaboxes]

Illuminate your Diwali celebrations with thoughtfully curated gift boxes from Kappa Boxes! 🎁✨ Wishing you joy, prosperity, and memorable moments this festive season. 🪔🌸 #HappyDiwali #KappaBoxes #FestivalOfLights #GiftOfJoy #CelebrateWithUs

[wickedzeevyln]

Attic in the Basement

The coldest day In November isn’t marked by a temperature drop, but by the stark realization that no summer awaits us. He embodies a museum, a vast collection of what-could-have-been meticulously curated, indifferent to the relentless march of time. His mind paints in number—an old warehouse before 5 a.m. Rolls of shrink wraps litter the floor, pallet jacks, dollies, and box cutters at rest.…

[leclerc-hs]

73 Questions with Mrs. Leclerc - cl16

pairing: husband!charles leclerc x fem!reader summary: in which you do a 73 questions interview with Vogue OR charles can't help but third wheel your interview warnings: none??? just cute fluff basically, NOT PROOFREAD word count: 2.1k author's note: I actually got a request by someone to do this and thought it was such a CUTE idea and concept. I obviously didn't do ALL 73 questions cause that would've taken forever. But thought this was a cute little piece to do. I hope you enjoy and don't forget to let me know what you think don't be shy !! xoxo

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

THE DELICATE FOLDS of the pale pink sundress fluttered like petals in a gentle breeze, framing your figure with a soft, ethereal elegance. As the front door yielded to the push, the fabric danced around your legs, caressing the tender skin of your thighs with a whisper of touch. Your radiant smile illuminated the scene, a beacon of joy amidst the fluttering fabric and nervous flutter of butterflies in your stomach.

“Hey!” The male voice chimed brightly, his tone cheerful as a songbird greeting the dawn, echoing through the air with an infectious energy that mirrored your own bright smile.

“Hey!” You respond with effervescent warmth, your smile stretching across your face like a sunbeam breaking through clouds. With a graceful gesture, you swing the door open wider, revealing the inviting warmth of your home’s foyer. The soft light spills in, casting a golden glow over the polished floors and elegant furnishing. The first thing to notice is the giant painting of a Ferrari Formula One car, hung high above the entry way table.  

“Look who we have here! It’s Mrs. Leclerc!” A delicate blush warms your cheeks, a subtle reminder of the tender affection that tingles within you whenever you’re addressed as such. Though you and Charles have been together for many years, your marriage has infused your relationship with a fresh sense of intimacy and closeness. And despite that it’s been almost five years, the title of “wife” feels forever new and unfamiliar.

“On a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now?”

“I would say 8, so I’m super excited!” With a gentle click, you shut the front door behind you, enveloping the foyer in a tranquility as you made your way down the hallway to the kitchen. Along the way, you stooped to pick up a scattering of children’s toys that lay scattered like confetti on the polished wooden floors, offering a quick apology for the perceived “mess.” However, you couldn’t help but inwardly smile at the orchestrated chaos around you. While the house was meticulously maintained by the cleaning company before the video shoot, every detail was carefully curated to strike the perfect balance between lived-in warmth and elegance, ensuring a setting that felt both inviting and authentic to you and the viewers.

“Any reason for that?”

In the heart of the home lies a kitchen adorned with a stunning green cabinet motif. The cabinets, painted in a rich emerald hue, exude an air of sophistication and charm, perfectly complemented by gleaming brass hardware. Sunlight filters through the vast array of windows, casting a warm glow over the polished marble countertops. 

“You mean other than the fact that the kids go back to school soon?” You and the interviewer let out a soft laugh as you made your way behind the kitchen island, opening the fridge in a smooth motion to pull out a water bottle. “Want one?”

“No, but thanks though!” His voice is light-hearted. 

As the fridge door remains open, a tantalizing glimpse is offered to the audience of its well-stocked interior. A colorful array of fresh produce fills the shelves, showing an abundance of vibrant fruits and crisp vegetables. Among the healthy offerings, assortment of juice boxes catches the eye, adding a playful touch to the wholesome scene.

“That’s a lot of juice boxes you have in there.” He makes a comment, it’s not a question, but you take it as one.

“Two kids and a husband,” You start, your tone light and casual before lowering your voice into a conspiratorial whisper for the camera, “who practically is also a kid, results in a lot of juice boxes.” With a playful wink directed at the lens, you punctuate the statement, adding a touch of humor to the scene. Setting the water bottle down on the expansive kitchen counter, you resume your easy demeanor, effortlessly blending candor and charm for your audience.

“Hey!” Your head shoots over, the camera seamlessly following your gaze to where Charles, your husband,sits on the floor of the living room, two of your kids, aged two and three, beside him with an abundance of toys strewn about. “I heard that!” Charles retorts with mock offense, a playful grin lighting up his face as he joins in the banter.

The living room exudes a chic sophistication with a distinct Formula One flair. Charcoal-gray walls provide a sleek backdrop, accentuating the mounted flat-screen television. A striking statement piece dominates one corner—a display of artwork showcasing all of the racetracks Charles has conquered – infusing the room with a sense of triumph and energy. A plush white sofa, adorned with an array of vibrant red pillows, invites relaxation and style. Across the room, a sizable shelf proudly showcases a collection of racing helmets, some belonging to Charles and others gathered over time, adding a personal touch to the space. Below the television, was a long console table that was adorned in various plants and photos of your family. You couldn’t help but smile as you glanced at them.

With a casual wave of your hand, you dismiss Charles’s playful interruption, maintaining your position at the kitchen island as the camera refocuses on you. The gesture carries an air of affectionate familiarity, a gentle reminder of the dynamic energy that permeates your bustling household.

“If you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be?”

“Definitely Austin Butler.” You answer almost immediately, no hesitance in your voice.

“Hey!” Charles’s playful yelp echoes through the room once more, accompanied by the joyful laughter of your children. One nestled in his lap, the other engrossed in a picture book, their presence adding warmth and vitality to the room. You share a knowing smile with Charles, the affectionate banter a familiar melody to your family life.

The laughter of the interviewer joins the playful exchange. The camera effortlessly captures the dynamic interaction between all of you with ease.

You roll your eyes playfully, “Restez en dehors de ça.” Stay out of this!

“Arrête de faire semblant de vouloir faire l’amour avec quelqu’un d’autre que moi!” Stop pretending you want to make love with anybody but me!

With a mischievous gleam in your eye, you turn back to the camera, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Can I change my answer?” You inquire, injecting a hint of playful anticipation into your tone.

“Sure,” the interviewer replies.

“You’re supposed to say no,” You quip with a chuckle.

“Oh, um no?”

With a playful pout, you glance over at Charles who is already staring at the interaction. A smile adorned on his face like he is in complete awe of you, regardless of what you are saying. “Sorry honey!” You wave your hand around. “Answers are final!”

Leaving the kitchen behind, you make your way towards the backyard, where the promise of relaxation and leisure awaits. Stepping through the door, you’re greeted by the sight of a large pool shimmering under the sunlight, its crystal-clear waters beckoning for a refreshing dip. Surrounding the pool, lounge chairs are strategically place, some on the pool’s ledge, inciting you to bask in the sun while enjoying the cool water. A wide arrangement of pool floaties from unicorns to racecars litter the pool as well.

It’s a breathtaking sight: a vast expanse of bright blue skies stretching overhead, adorned with barely a wisp of cloud in sight. The warm rays of sun dance upon your skin. With a stylish flourish, you slip on a pair of your favorite Ray-Bans, a subtle nod to your husband’s sunglass collection. 

“Vintage or new?”

You ponder for a moment as you stand in the backyard, a breeze blowing your hair behind your shoulders. “Depends, but definitely vintage.”

“Window or aisle seat?”

“Aisle, although Charles likes to take the aisle more.”

“What are three things you can’t live without?”

“Wait, do my children count as two of the three?”

“Up to you.”

“Okay, so my two children. And my lip gloss.” You laugh, pausing for effect. “Kidding! My two kids, and my lip gloss…” You pause, jokingly. “And my husband of course.” The light-hearted remark reflects the joyful chaos of humor and love in your life. “He’s really the sweetest man. I’m so lucky.”

The glass door slides open with a whisper, and into the frame steps Charles, his presence incessant. With a carefree demeanor, he approaches you clad in a pair of baggy jeans and a plain white t-shirt that stretched at the seams from his muscles. He presses soft kisses to your cheeks, the stubble of his own rubbing against your smooth skin, his love evident in each tender kiss.

“Désolé,” Sorry. He apologizes before pecking another kiss to your cheek. “Tellement ambrassable.” Just so kissable. He places one more on your cheek, your face bright red from the camera’s catching all of this.

“Looks like he can’t be far from you for very long.”

Charles looks at the camera, a glint in his eye with a large smile, like he was the happiest man on earth, and nothing could dampen his spirits. Especially with you nearby. “Est-ce que tu la vois?” Do you see her?

The interviewer, unaware of Charles’s words, simply nods in response behind the camera lens, acknowledging the affection in his tone. Later translations will reveal the depth of Charles’s words no doubt. Elle est tellement belle. Bien sûr, je ne peux pas rester loin longtemps.” She’s so beautiful. Of course, I can’t stay far long.

Your face is bright red as Charles remains at your side.

“Where are the kids?”

“Put them down for a nap!” Charles answers, his arm slung over your shoulder as he leans on you comfortably. 

As the interviewer continues the questionnaire, Charles can’t resist interjecting with playful remarks and comments on almost every question. His spontaneous interruptions add an element of humor and spontaneity to the video, turning what could have been a standard interview into an entertaining and engaging exchange.

“How do you define beauty?” “My wife.” “Charles, the questions are for me!”

"What do you love most about your body?" "That's an easy one...I think her--" Charles begins, but you swat his chest and cut him off. "I love my arms. Not because they're that nice but they give me the ability to hold my children." Charles clicks his tongue, hating that you even implied something about yourself as 'not that nice'.

"Least favorite color?" "Red." Charles lets out a large gasp with a string of phrases in French, clearly hurt by your response. "It's a joke, mon amour!" "How did you know you were in love?" You look at Charles then, his eyes already on you, a soft smile pulling on both of your lips. "I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with him. Probably when I realized I would rather be awake in the middle of the night, since he was traveling so much, just to talk to him for even a few minutes, instead of going to sleep." Charles plays with the ends of your hair, twirling the ends around his fingers as he chimes in. "We've known each other for so long. But, when I first met her, it was like meeting someone I've known my entire life. There was no awkward silences between us. We just clicked."

“Diamonds or pearls?” “Pearls.” “Mon chou, don’t lie.” “I’m not!” “The diamond on your finger says otherwise!”

“If you made a documentary, what would it be about?” “Charles’ brain. I seriously question what goes on in there sometimes.” “Hey! It’s only you…”  You raise your eyebrows at him, like he’s a liar. “And racing.” “Definitely racing.”

“If you had a tattoo, where would it be?”

Charles smirks deeply, like he knows something the world doesn’t, the interviewer picks up on it. “Wait, you have a tattoo? Can we see it?”

“No! It’s for me only.”

You playfully swat at Charles’ chest, a playful blush coloring your cheeks as you both wander throughout the house, showcasing its beautiful décor. Despite your embarrassment at Charles’ antics, you can’t help but be thankful for him easing your nerves. You weren’t one for the public eye, normally. So, when you agreed to this interview it came out as quite a surprise.

“Okay final question of the day.” 

You both stand by the front door, the interviewer on the front step outside of the home. 

“Hugs or kisses?”

“Definitely ki—” You don’t get to finish your answer as Charles’ fingers grasp onto your neck, his fingers sprawled along your jawline as well, and tugs your face into his. He shuts the door as soon as his tongue slips into your mouth.

It’s a few seconds before you push him off you. “You’re unbelievable!”

A giant smile spreads across his face as he looks down at you. “Only for you, mon chou!”

[comparativeoracle]

The Curator. Art by Jackson Nathan, from the Etherea Illumination Deck.

#12: THE CURATOR Sign: Gemini Gift: Discrimination Shadow: Vanity

Gift: Discrimination Moving through vanity -- a mild obsession for self above all -- allows you to apply that love to the world around you. Here, you are a great discriminator; you are able to be the best judge of who and what makes you feel good and then you curate appropriately. This visceral love extends to life itself and you're able to cherish the beautiful gift of each passing day. There is an artistic element, often centered on all things music, language, dance, and expression. You are moved by feelings and emotions - let them carry you! You value authenticity and ride the higher frequency waves when you take hold of this precious gift and use it wisely.

Shadow: Vanity This may be somewhat surprising to you, as vanity is seen as a dirty word, and you may not associate with it at all. The trick with this shadow is how elusive and sneaky it is. If you try to rid of it, you're sure to develop even more. Vanity comes from the love of the self: your individuality, your uniqueness, even your self- growth and spiritual nature. To focus on your self, especially against the backdrop of other people, may keep you isolated (envision an ego- trip for your higher self). That being said, don't get too lost in this shadowy vortex. Your gift awaits you always.

Themes: love + emotion + art + expression

[paddockbunny]

Perfect Storm

Summary : Simple. You x Daniel x a perfectly timed thunderstorm Rating : 18+ Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Reader Word Count : 4,186 ONE SHOT!! Trigger Warnings : NSFW! 18+, language, oral (female recieving), this is basically romantic porn so there’s that Images : curated from Pintrest Authors Note : I thought I had already posted this 🙈 I’ve briefly checked over it but it might be a tiny bit raw (formatting inc.) in places so please be kind.

The glow emitting from the campfire illuminated both of their faces with a warm, golden radiance as each others features toyed by shadow and light. A smirk, a flash of pearlescent teeth or a swift side glance all heightened by the flaming, flickering embers.

In that moment, as you observed Daniel raise his glass of deep crimson red wine to his lips, it dawned on you that you couldn’t remember a time you had felt so relaxed with a guy before. There wasn’t an ex you felt so utterly comfortable with that you completely let your guard down and were able to sit without make-up, with your hair undone in one of their borrowed shirts. It had only been a few months - three in total - and yet here you were in Perth on Daniel’s farm, sitting by the fire he built to keep you warm, feeling the most utterly, blissfully comfortable you had ever felt while alone with a man in your entire life. And you couldn’t help but smile to yourself as you thought about it.

“What’s got you grinning like that?” Daniel questioned upon lowering his glass and seeing you practically beaming ear to ear from your own contentment. You shrugged - not wanting to embarrass yourself by actually putting words to what you were feeling.

“C’mon…” Daniel lulled, wanting to tease it out of you. “Tell me.” His big, syrupy brown eyes bore down into your own. They were so seductive and alluring you had to remind yourself to stay strong and resilient to them. You playfully shook your head back and forth coquettishly as Daniel angled his body toward you. He thought he was sly as he placed his wine glass down on the ground but you saw him. A smirk now danced playfully upon his own mouth and it took everything you had not to sigh at the possibility of what was to come.

“Babe, c’mon….” He purred whilst leaving his own Adirondack chair that was only a few feet to your left side. With unflinching ease Daniel slipped down on to his knees and crossed the ground to you. All without breaking his intense stare. His movements were effortless. Cat like. It was as if he had rehearsed the moment a million times before. He was that smooth with it. “You’re going to get all dirty.” The words slipped past your lips with more shakiness than you intended. Daniel’s hands trailed up your bare shins and without missing a beat you swallowed.

“I’m ok with that.” Came his response and a quick, barely audible gasp fled from your mouth. You had spent most of this trip - most of the past three months in fact - naked and enjoying each others bodies. The sex was so often and frequent in fact that you thought if it were with anyone else it would have become boring and repetitive by now. But with Daniel, well, he never failed to surprise and excite you. The thought lingered in your head as his tanned hands with nimble, long fingers tracked up to your thighs causing you to swallow again. Now he was facing away from the fire his eyes looked even deeper, darker. They flickered from chocolate umbers to smokey cedar and they were hungry, full of desire. Your eyes finally broke from Daniel’s to where his hands sat upon your thighs. Your stomach flipped at how big they were as they sat upon your bare flesh. His fingertips started circling - just like how they did when you were naked and they were between your legs, driving you into ecstasy - and you could have swore you felt wet tingles all across your exposed skin.

And just as the feeling of Daniel’s beard brushed against your knee you realised the tingling wasn’t tingling at all, it was rain and as a deafeningly loud roar of thunder rumbled through the sky the heavens above opened. In seconds sheets of water cascaded down upon the pair of you like a violent waterfall. The torrent of cold water hammered down hard across everything in sight and Daniel arose to his feet, holding out his hand to you as deluge soaked through the clothes that the pair of you had on. Slipping your hand into his he pulled you swiftly up and now, as you stood, the pair of you took off running toward the house. Reaching it only just in time as another magnificent bellow reverberated across the land while bright flashes of light sparked through the sky. Daniel closed the sliding door to the abode just in time as the water already started pooling on the patio slabs that the both of you had only moments before dashed across. Now, with the sound of the hard lashing rain hushed, the sound of heavy breathing reverberated throughout the room.

Daniel stood sodden in front of you. His t-shirt clinging tightly to his body. The slick wet fabric helping to define all of his impressive taught muscles. God, how lucky you were. He turned and caught you admiring him. Droplets tumbled from his curls, falling upon his cheekbones, across his nose, and the way he was drinking you in made you realise your own drenched state. You had been in nothing but one of his old white t-shirts. And had nothing on underneath bar a pair of little white panties. Daniel’s Adam’s Apple bobbed and the fire he had outside reignited. His t-shirt, which was now glued to your saturated skin, hugged and clung to all of your curves. It practically emphasised your boobs and hips - not that it mattered as the pale fabric had by now turned transparent. Daniel attempted to hide his smugness as you dripped onto his floors.

“Fuck….” He muttered under his breath. Another low, groaning roll of monstrous thunder drummed over the house but by the time it had finished, Daniel has closed the gap between the pair of you and had his mouth on yours with feverish intensity. You melted into him. His heat flowed through the wet clothes between your bodies and mixed with yours. Lightening struck and lit the room in dazzling light once again. The electrically charged air paled in comparison to what flowed between the pair of you and as cold as the rain had made you, your internal heat arose so high it felt like you were being kissed by fire.

Daniel’s hands pushed your wet hair back and groaned deeply into your open mouth as he kissed you. You felt the need for him burn inside of you. There was nothing else you could think of. You were desperate for him and as you felt the slip of his hand to your neck and he used your slightly helpless situation to begin to push you toward the bedroom. You gave into him completely willingly. With his arms wrapped around your body and lips locked with his it was really no wonder he couldn’t find the hallway that lead to the master bedroom. Your back pressed into the wall beside the hallway opening. His hands travelled down to your thighs, running his big wide palms over your butt. Grabbing it harshly enough for a whimpering yelp to slip up your throat. Though it was not wasted upon him as it travelled into his mouth. He knew what you liked. In the three months you had been together he had learned everything about you - especially what made you come undone for him. With another long drone furling through the sky a series of blinding bolts lit it up. Not one to miss a moment, Daniel pulled from you and his eyes stared somewhere impossibly deep in your soul.

“I love you.”

It wasn’t what you were expecting and it truly stole the air right out of your lungs. It was the first time he had said it and with another wave of thunder you realised it matched how your heart was now battering against your ribcage. You hadn’t just heard his words, you were feeling them and you knew they were true because you felt them too. “I love you too.”

Hungrily, Daniel’s lips came back to yours and although you could feel how desperate he still was (you could feel it against your hip) the kiss was now more tender, softer and it felt like he was making sure you knew he loved you, you hadn’t just heard him say it. Your fingers slipped down his wet t-shirt and tried to start pulling it up. Unsurprisingly, it was stuck to his skin so it was too hard for you to try to do it alone. Daniel smirked against your lips as he pulled back to help you. It was an action that had both of you smiling and laughing behaving like two unskilled teenagers doing it for the first time. As the t-shirt began to furl up around his thick neck your hands ran up his damp flesh. The tip of your fingers dipped in and out of the grooves of his muscular taught abs. Solid and yet still soft you ran up the centre of them to his chest - the small smattering of hair that gathered upon his chest tickling your fingertips. Daniel shivered and laughed.

“Your hands are cold.” He said and you smiled at his jesting tone. Even in the most passionate moments Daniel still joked with you - and you loved it because you relaxed and stayed out of your own head. You burst out laughing even louder when the t-shirt got stuck on his head and he couldn’t get it off. It made you leap into action and you reached forward - standing on your tip toes - to help. Once the top was off Daniel immediately went for the hem of yours and you pretended to pull away. “Oh that’s how you wanna play?” He joked, his eyebrows going up and he feigned shock. But as the rain pelted down on the roof even harder than before - which distracted the man who just told you he loved you - you took off down the corridor in a pretend jog. Daniel’s laugh echoed around the entire house and it reverberated off the corridor walls as he followed after you.

A chill ran through your body as you turned and went into the master bedroom. The slippy floor turned into carpet below your bare feet - your sandals kicked off back in the hall - and you could feel the droplets of water roll down your long tanned legs. You didn’t have time to think about what to do next, if you wanted to pretend to hide or try take Daniel’s t-shirt off your body yourself, because Daniel was already behind you. His warm body pressing against your cool back. His arms engulfing you from behind. You melted into him as his name tumbled from you. The flip of your stomach as he reached down and started pulling up the hem of his oversized t-shirt had your mind swirling. It was swirling so much in fact that you felt love drunk from him and your head fell back on to his shoulder so you could drink it in. Daniel sighed as he started pulling the damp fabric up, up and up till suddenly all you needed to do was raise your arms for him.

His hands wrapped around your now bare waist and rested on your stomach as his beard lightly scratched at the skin of your shoulder before he kissed it. And then he continued to kiss it, over and over and then trail up your neck before you turned to face him. “Daniel….” You sighed, feeling so utterly wrapped up in him, and another shock of lightening brightly lit up the room. Desire and want filled his eyes and you knew your own would be a mirror image.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” His hand trailed down the side of your cheek and if your heart wasn’t visibly leaping out of your chest before it was certainly doing it now. He used his position to pull your lips back to his and move you toward the big plush bed that was right beside the pair of you.

Still embraced in his arms, his mouth on yours, tongues playfully dancing with each others, he pushed you gently back on to the cloud like duvet. An expectant moan came rolling from your lips and you knew how much Daniel loved hearing every little noise he could pull from you. So he was grinning when he pulled you up the bed and a squeal leapt from you. There was something about his strength that completely turned you on. He would easily and effortlessly turn, twist and flip you in bed. He was far more skilled than any man that you had ever been with and he knew the positions that worked for you like the back of his hand. Your teeth grazed his bottom lip as he climbed on top of you. Desperation for him was well and truly kicking in. His chest bore down on yours and you felt his muscles tense as your hands ran down his back. He was in control - just how he liked it - but you had learned how to capture little moments of his surrender to you. Daniel took the driving action in his favour and hooked his fingers around the sides of your last piece of clothing. White, barely there panties were painfully slowly peeled from your body. As they travelled down your thighs your breath caught in your throat. You hadn’t realised how turned on you were until suddenly your wet, aching folds were no longer confined beneath fabric.

“Dan…” Your mouth parted and his name fell from it as he parted your thighs and lowered himself down the bed. Your teeth ground together as he lifted you so your thighs rested on his shoulders. And then, just as he has kissed you on your mouth before, Daniel tenderly kissed your folds. You gripped the bedsheets as he did it again and you couldn’t hold back from glancing down at him.

“You’re perfect.” He said as your eyes locked for the briefest of moments. Then, all you could think about was his tongue. Your head rolled back and you gasped. Swift, slick movements had your eyes squeezing shut and mouth falling open. Your breathing turned erratic and you could feel him smiling against your sensitive flesh. But just as you felt yourself falling into the rhythm he was setting he pulled back, stopping. It made your eyes fly open to look at him but he was already manoeuvring up your body.

“Not yet.” His voice muffled as he trailed his lips up your navel. You knew he wanted to draw it out, take his time. He loved it when you would come together. Your blood was rushing so hard around your body you could hear it whoosh in your ears. It was so loud in the moment that Daniel chose to take your nipple into his mouth that it drowned out the loud clamour of the boom in the skies above. The resonant rumble mimicked the hum that Daniel made in pure satisfaction of you begging for him.

Your hands trailed down his back when his lips connected once again to yours in a dizzying, all consuming kiss that left you gasping for air. As your hands fell upon his round ass Daniel took the hint and ground his still clothed self against your core. The feel of his hardness pressing against your folds wasn’t enough. You were growing impatient to feel him inside of you so you did the only thing your position allowed, you bucked yourself against him to gain some more friction and encourage him. It reduced him to deep moans that were like music to your ears.

And thankfully, Daniel took all of your hinting. He pushed down his shorts and underwear and you couldn’t refrain from reaching between your bodies to touch him. His breath shook as your hand closed around him, thumb brushing against his leaking tip and this time it was him that was moaning. Your name cascaded from his parted lips. It set your soul on fire. His hand replaced yours and he trailed the tip of himself up and down your folds, covering himself with your slick wetness that he helped to create. Your fingers entwined through his hair and he pushed inside of you as his lips reattached to yours. He paused for a moment to let you adjust to him but really all you wanted was for him to move. And then when he did the heavens decided it was the perfect moment for loud clang of noise and dazzling white light to fill the room. It was an almost poetic sense of irony that it happened as soon as Daniel found his pace - a familiar slow, steady, ardent one that never failed to have you falling deeper in complete all consuming love for him.

The feeling of him pushing in and withdrawing out, steadily had whimpered sighs bubble up from your throat. Your hand drew down his back from his hair and found their place at the base of his spine. Drawing him into you silently. You loved his wide, broad back and the dip right before his perfectly round ass but what you really loved most was the feeling of his hips as they caressed across yours with each and every stroke. But Daniel didn’t let you get lost in your dirty thoughts. No. Just as he groaned into your mouth he reached down and pulled your thigh up around his waist. He had taken your speechless hint of needing more and acted upon it. An angle favouring him and how he could position himself inside of you.

“Fuck…” He purred against your lips and you felt yourself inadvertently squeeze around him. Your eyes flicked open when he halted his movement and used his strength to pull up from you. “Keep doing that and I’m not going to last long.” Your eyes had flicked open just in time to hear him say that. “Sorry” you whispered in delighted response and found yourself biting your lip to stifle a pleased laughter.

“Oh you find that funny, do you?” His voice was laced with a certain cheeky cockiness. With hands either side of your shoulders he pushed his body up, detaching his chest from yours and simultaneously driving himself even deeper inside of you. An action that had a loud pornographic gasp run from your now parted lips. With furrowed brows you managed to regain enough composure to open your eyes and stare straight into his. Without skipping a single beat, Daniel withdrew and plunged himself straight back in. Eliciting yet another obscene exclamation from you. Pleading for more with use of his name and hands sliding all the way up to his immense neck. This time your teeth plunged into your bottom lip because of the feeling of pure lust raging rampant throughout every inch of your body. And now, in this new position, Daniel continued the motion of his hips. Satisfied that he had both reprimanded you and had so effortlessly almost tipped you right off the edge.

And as Daniel’s own unadulterated moans filled the air - mixing with yours - unable to stop himself from the impending high your body was driving him toward, you used every single ounce of strength you had in you to flip him over. Now underneath you, you were able to see his shocked (yet completely pleasured) expression. Daniel was always in charge when it came to sex and rarely relinquished control. You knew you would always have to take it if you really wanted it and tonight - after he told you he loved you for the very first time - something clicked inside of you. You didn’t want him to do all the work as usual. You wanted to make sure he knew how his words earlier had affected you and how you desperately wanted to show him. “Baby…” Was the only word that flowed from his lips. Any thought of protestation abandoned as you sunk down on him. Taking him to the hilt. It took you a second or two to adjust but his breathy, pleasured sigh was like heaven to you. You watched as his eyes rolled back when you rolled your hips and placed your hands flat against the flesh of his chest to steady yourself. You had ridden him before but it was a rarity considering his love for playing the man in the bedroom.

Seconds turned to minutes as your new position on top of him was welcomed. He loved being able to touch you, grab at your chest and grip your thighs so hard you were certain his fingertips would leave marks. You felt confident enough to lean back, your hand finding his knee so his throbbing girth angled right against your most sensitive of spots. Daniel wasted absolutely no time abusing your position and his thumb found your bundle of nerves that had been desperate for his attention. He continued for only a few moments till you were almost a whimpering mess and he was ready to regain a small portion of control. He sat up. Grabbing you and holding you flush against his body. His cock repeatedly hitting the spongy spot inside of you.

“Does that feel good?” He whispered against your mouth, his tongue momentarily swiping at your bottom lip. You couldn’t speak. The feeling of sheer utter euphoria was hurriedly rushing toward you like a tsunami. He pushed up as he guided you back down. And repeated the action again, and again, and again.

“I love you…” He repeated his earlier words and the mix of your orgasmic high muddled with the high of your man telling you the most important words he could say to you. With a tender hand placed against your cheek, holding you, gripping you, you just about heard Daniel tell - no command - you to let go. And you did. Succumbing to the intensity of the orgasm that ripped throughout your entire body. The electricity that sparked in the skies above you now ignited all across your body and truly you could have been forgiven for spacing out and letting wave after intense wave ripple through your body. Daniel slowly but steadily continued the movements that had driven you there and you could feel him come undone himself. His muscles tensed, his stomach tightened. His fingers squeezed you harder and the moans got louder.

Just as he had done mere moments before, you repeated his words to him; “I love you” as his own orgasm struck him. The milky liquid flowed from him and filled you up. His body tensed and trembled under your touch.

“Fuck…” The profanity escaped you as you tried to regain control of your breathing. Nothing felt better than this, no one felt better than he did. It would never be so intense and powerful as it was with Daniel, of that you were one hundred percent sure. Your forehead pressed against his as he twitched inside of you a few more times. Making sure to give you every last drop of himself. And then finally his breathing slowed and his lips found yours once more.

“That…” He couldn’t find words, and your mind had all but gone blank. He kissed you again before you pulled back and opened your eyes - your bodies still connected together - you wanted him to hear you properly this time. As for the first time you wanted to say it first.

“I love you.” His hands pushed your still damp hair back and he didn’t need to say it back. He had told you first and he had shown your body he truly meant the three little words. You knew, he knew you meant it and it wasn’t just a quick response. A smile danced across his lips and you couldn’t help but mirror it.

And although no more words were exchanged as he pulled out of you, gently flipped you over to lie on your back and proceeded to take care of you, cleaning you up, you found yourself drinking in the moment. It dawned on you that the storm had faded outside and the hammering of rain had ceased. As you realised you had never before been so thankful for a terrible sudden tempest, a smile grew across your contented face.

“What are you smiling at” Daniel rejoined you in bed, his hand gliding across your stomach as he pulled you into him. It was practically word for word what he had said an hour earlier, before the rain began and just as before you coquettishly shook your head from side to side.

“I’ll find out y’know,” he paused and glanced down at you smirking and you felt like your heart was singing “I always do.”

[usedpidemo]

Stargazing (Twice Mina)

With the way things are going, Mina’s begging for trouble. And not the usual slap of the wrist kind that celebrities get away with—the kind that’s scandalous, career damning.

She’s so close to falling apart.

And as you watch her come undone—the very image that defines her gradually disappears—you can’t help but think: she deserves this.

—————

If there’s any clear-cut takeaway, it’s this: Mina is designed to be gorgeous, and she plays the part to near perfection. 

That’s the whole point. Here’s a sea of media outlets and paparazzi, accompanied by flashing cameras and screaming fans on one side. On the other, stars and figures from different fields, all dressed to the nines and emanate a distinguishable aura. The ‘I’m better than you’ kind. No amount of modest smiles and perfectly curated PR-fluff can disguise the noxious air of celebrity on the red carpet. 

Then you look at Mina, wearing the hell out of that backless dress, designed by none other than yours truly (you). You couldn’t have asked for a better muse. She carries herself and your brand around with a confident smile—with pride—seemingly indifferent to the raucous screams telling her to look this way, that way. Wherever her profile turns, cameras illuminate the crowd in near-perfect unison. 

It’s a slow motion fashion moment. 

As if she couldn't look any prettier, she brushes her hair with a quick, delicate swipe of her hand with queenly grace. The cameras live for moments like these. It’s what goes viral online; it’s what gets social media buzzing. She’s a K-pop idol, the media will say and it’s true, but she doesn’t look out of place with the so-called elite. If anything, she blends in seamlessly, rich, quiet, and enigmatic personality and all. 

Cameras continue to follow her as she walks through the carpet. She greets a few other celebrities in the vicinity; mostly Hollywood actresses and artists before she disappears behind the steps of the building. Throughout the entire ordeal, you were never on her mind, not even during interviews, nor when she was in clear view, even though you made her what she is now. All she can think about is herself and her character. That’s how fame works.

You don’t even get a text. Your only reference is a note that reads 23:00. 

—————

The next time you see Mina is hours later, at the promised time. One slender leg enters the backseat of the vehicle. She remains mostly untouched, leaving the gala looking the same as when she entered. She’s considerate enough to wave and give a flying kiss to the crowd, who unsurprisingly, go crazy for her. It’s a convincing act. You would, too, if you weren’t always by her side for ninety percent of the day.

She breathes out this deeply relieved sigh once the door slams shut. She’s tired—of being someone else, and just exhausted in general; she’s been in front of a mirror since five in the morning and it’s almost midnight by the time the event ends. You can tell she’d rather be in her hotel suite than anywhere else.

So you drive. No words. Just hit the road and get out of there. 

Even late into the night, Paris is still bustling and lively. You don’t make it past three streets before being met by traffic ahead. It’s an agonizing crawl. The satnav says you’ll arrive at your hotel by 2:00 in the morning. Mina probably won’t make it by midnight, at this point because she’s on the verge of falling unconscious, resting her head on the door. Her heels are set on the opposite end, with her lower half resting along the edges of the backseat into a couch position.

Even when she’s asleep, she’s still gorgeous. 

“Miss?” you gently call to her, snapping her from her tired daze. She gives you a mild stare through the rear-view mirror, unable to speak.

“We’re gonna be held up by traffic. You want something to eat?” you ask, knowing she likely won’t take anything more than a handful of fries or half a burger. 

“Sure. Whatever.” Mina sounds cold, a little annoyed somewhat. The past day has been unkind to her health; she arrived at the airport yesterday after a different schedule and barely had less than five hours of rest before dedicating the entire day for a gala she had contractual obligations to attend. She couldn’t say no even if she wanted; she’s got her whole schedule curated and planned out for months. 

You have more time to get her dresses planned out and prepared out than she has to breathe.

And time is unkind to both of you right now. Traffic trogs along at a snail’s pace. The arrival time on the satnav moves further and further away. Sunrise will meet you above a red light at this rate. How anyone gets around in this city considering the number of events that are happening all at once is beyond you. You only drive through Paris a handful of times a year, all for the same reason, and you abhor the idea—let alone the experience—every single time.

It’s difficult enough to wait, especially in this late of hours, when money and careers are on the line. Even more challenging is keeping a cool head and withholding yourself from using your instincts against the trusted systems of the algorithm. Mina will call you many things. She’ll call you insane. You don’t mind; it’ll be on the lower end of insults and comments you’ve heard from the so-called ‘elite.’ 

At the end of the day, you’re just simply following orders. 

You swerve off the main road, into narrow alleys and streets that aren’t registered on any official map. Anywhere that can give you a sense of progress and hold momentum. You drive. You make liberal use of your klaxon against anything and anyone. You go around in circles, sometimes looking at the satnav if it’s kind enough to give you a shorter, quicker path. In your haste, you completely overlook the star, the celebrity you’re meant to protect and coddle like fine art, and cracks begin to form.

“Shit!” Mina fastens the seatbelt, in distress and wide awake from your uncharacteristically aggressive driving. She lifts her head. Pierces your gaze through the rearview mirror with a mixture of panic, concern, and frustration. All that hours spent in the makeup room to look perfect, down to the smallest of details, coming undone within a few minutes. 

She seemed rather proud of her appearance, too.

Of course, her demands bounce off your ears—or ring through like white noise. You only know your task. Get her safe. 

Even though it’s your very idea, you forget about the thought of eating, too. You’ve passed by a couple of McDonalds along the way, but are blinded by tunnel vision to recognize a single one. It’s not a big loss; she’s as tired of eating fast food as much as you are. It isn’t good for her image right now, either. 

Eventually, you do make it back to her hotel. A little over midnight, but still not as early as you wanted to be. You look at the status of your passenger princess. She’s about as coddled as a five year old playing with her doll. A mess.

When you open up the door for her to step out, it’s a dramatic moment that gathers everyone’s attention and fixes every eye. It’s loud. 

It also so happens to be empty in the area.

The way she slaps you in the cheek echoes throughout the valet like the sharp crack of a whip, or the pop of a firework. Fucking hell, she hits hard. For a dainty woman like Mina, she’s surprisingly strong. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she snaps, cold and bitter. 

You find no mistake in what you did. In fact, you believe you’re doing her a service. Tomorrow, she’ll be at the airport and out of the country faster than when she came in. She doesn’t have to think about you for the foreseeable future. You only see a moody, ill-tempered celebrity frustrated that circumstances haven’t gone her way. Chalk it up to fatigue, but you can’t be arsed to explain yourself or react accordingly at this point.

She’s also pretty when she’s angry, you can’t help but think. Not the pouty, cute, wholesome kind—the ‘I’m gonna rip your throat’ out kind of ire. Sometimes you forget your job and admire just how gorgeous Mina is. You’re no different than the paparazzi or the average fan.

It makes her heated. You’re mentally smirking.

It would be a waste to fight over something as petty as reckless driving this late. No one got hurt; not a single traffic light or speed limit was violated. But her heart jumped a little bit when she expected the least. In her eyes, it’s a reasonable enough incident to show some attitude and assert her status over you.

But not tonight.

Instead, you take her by the wrist and lead her to the alley beside the hotel, away from potential cameras and prying eyes. She yelps, but you slip a hand around her mouth so she remains quiet. Mina is too tired to show some resistance. 

“Listen here, Miss Myoui,” you tell her, pointing your finger directly at her. “I did everything right to make sure you have a fine, comfortable experience in Paris. Did your dress, drove you around, everything. What I did was save you a few hours of sleeping in the car.  I never asked for anything from you, so don’t come acting like an ungrateful brat.”

“Fuck you.” Mina raises her palm, readying another thunderous, face cracking slap as a threat. “I could have done all that instead if I wanted to.”

“Need I remind you who made the dress that you’re wearing?”

She freezes, unable to find some form of retaliation or rebuttal.

“Thought so.”

“Well what am I supposed to do, then? Get on my knees and worship you as my lord and savior?” she asks. 

Suddenly, something clicks inside your head. An idea.

“That—” you pause, mentally noting the entire sequence in a flash, “Actually, that’s not a bad idea.”

“I’m not doing it.” Mina rolls her eyes, turning her gaze away and crossing her arms. Somehow, she’s managed to recognize your intent so quickly. What isn’t surprising is her natural cleverness and intelligence. “Not tonight. Not after what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“That’s what you believe, asshole.” She shakes her head. “Just—let me go.”

“Would be such a shame if a rumor spread around then that you were spotted in the bathrooms with one of the billionaires,” you say, blunt in your threat. “Wouldn’t you hate that? I hear there was a tabloid photo of you spotted with one of the presidential candidates too—”

“You lie.” Mina’s eyes glare at you. You don’t flinch.

She’s not wrong. You’re only telling a half-truth. It’s true that there were billionaires who attended. It would be a strange event if there weren’t any present, in Paris of all places. The report of a presidential candidate showing up is legitimate as well, but that’s as much as you know as the general public. What goes on inside, you have no knowledge of.

“And what happened there was nothing at all,” she adds. “So quit trying to blackmail me and just let me fucking rest.”

“Then explain this to me.” You point at the dress she’s wearing—your dress—and find different sized patches where they shouldn’t belong. They’re not by design; they’re clearly the result of some kind of external tampering or meddling. Around where her legs should be. Near her tummy. The gala is an indoor event, yet it looks as if she had been soaked in some capacity. 

Something’s quite off.

“So?” Mina defends herself, unwilling to concede. “Got spilled by drinks, and you don’t really care if it gets ruined.”

While it’s true you usually don’t mind your dresses getting ruined, it comes at a price. “I’m not mad. And yes, I don’t care if you do fuck all with that dress. Hell, that candidate is very lucky he got to clap that—”

“Shut up!” 

By instinct, Mina slaps you again.

You chuckle. The sore redness of your cheek isn’t going to silence you. 

As she tries to walk away, you grab her by the wrist again. Pull her close to your chest. She trembles, but can’t do anything to stop or shake you loose.

“So you admit? You got fucked by that candidate?”

“No!” Mina remains adamant in her tone. She twists your grip to free herself. “Just—fucking stop already!”

“Only if you blow me. Just a quickie.”

“What? Why?”

“As remittance for the ruined dress, of course. Remember? Ruined dress, ruined cunt.” You can’t help but grin as you remind her of the terms of your agreement. It’s not written in the contract, but a mutual trust shared between you and your muses. 

Mina sighs. A deal is a deal, even if it’s not signed on the dotted line. And she has the experience to show for it. Ultimately, she reluctantly agrees, sounding defeated in her response. “Fine. But after this, we’re fucking done.”

“I’m in a bit of a good mood today, so I don’t want your pussy,” you tell the disgruntled Mina, unbuckling your belt then unzipping your pants. “Not gonna lie, the thought of some future president fucking that cunt of yours makes me sick. Get on your knees.”

God, it feels wrong, but you’re enjoying every little moment of this, down to the finer details. The look of dissatisfaction on Mina’s face. The fact you can get her flustered with your teasing. The fact she’s obediently on her knees as you whip out your hard cock directly in front of her. She can tell you as many lies as she wants, but they have no firm ground to stand on. She’s not some stuck-up star unlike many others in that gala, but even she needs to be humbled once in a while.

“His dick is better than yours, anyway. I won’t miss this pathetic piece of shit,” she tells you, gripping to the hem of your dress, dodging every attempt to slip your shaft between her lips. 

All the more reason to plunge it deep in her throat.

“Is it? This piece of shit you love to ride on?” You grab your cock and pursue her evasive mouth. You have a hand planted on her scalp, holding her still, as she begrudgingly accepts your length between her lips slowly, in a losing effort to fight back. She gulps her throat, watching as her cheeks hollow, as drool begins to coat your sensitive shaft, until eventually, her seal is vacuum-tight and tension builds up in your groin. “This cock you want to use—fuck—”

Words fail you as you become reacquainted with the warmth of Mina’s mouth. She bobs her head back and forth, slipping a hand around the base of your shaft to stroke. Your cock is poking the back of her throat, your senses relaxing at the pleasure coursing through your body. You feel yourself slipping away—at the cold, at the heat of her sweltering lips, at the layer of saliva that fills every inch of your length. It’s all too much.

This is Mina’s least favorite position. She’d rather have you beneath her most of the time, relentlessly bouncing on your cock till you’re completely drained; it’s how most encounters with her go to the point you simply give up and expect yourself on the mattress as soon as you enter her room. None of that matters now, not when she needs your very shaft to fill her thirsty, dry mouth, as a palette cleanse from the boring gala and because she needs you as much as she utterly hates you.

She doesn’t like the thought of you above her. Her eyes can’t be bothered to look up. It’s a strange dynamic; she’s the celebrity, she’s supposed to have control, not you. Your hand tugs on her black hair, begging her for more, and it reinforces the idea. You love this. Mina, the quiet, cold personality that everyone wants to be like, is zealously sucking you off and you’re helpless to how incredible she is. The suction of her throat. The drag of her tongue on your head, then on the sides. The passionate hum of satisfaction. You recognize the smug grin etched on the corner her lips while she doesn’t bother to look back, knowing full well she can take you any way she wants and you’ll fucking love it. She’s so aggressive, yet perfectly paced. 

And she moves like she can read your mind—cum and saliva dripping from the corners, her tongue running laps around your balls, her mouth devouring you entirely with each entrance. Small, whiny sounds that resemble a choke—they’re nothing compared to the echoey moans you can’t help but make. You’re gasping for air as if she’s punctured a hole in your lungs—and to an extent, she has. Your body instinctively has to remind itself they’re leaning on air, because she’s making your spine contort in ways they shouldn't be twisting. 

Mina is quite used to this. The notion of having to suck a cock. Not just yours, but fans, higher-ups in suits, all kinds. She’ll tell you yours is the best one, and you’ll believe her. You can tell by personal experience. You shouldn’t let control slip, especially now, when such power is rarely vested on you, but you can’t help yourself. There’s some urgency in handling her, but it might be a little too late. Especially when—

“Mina,” you pant, and you sound so desperate. “So close, Mina. I’m so close. I’m gonna—”

She continues to create friction, and eventually fire. Her hands wring around your balls and your base, tightening the coil of pressure in your stomach and in your veins. Spiraling further and further out of control, you can feel your legs crumble in a last ditch attempt to hold on. With your remaining resolve, you cling to whatever semblance of clarity you can find. 

And she plunges her lips further into your length. Her tongue descends lower, to the underside of your balls. None of that disdain and hate from moments ago can be found, only zeal and passion. It’s not graceful in the slightest; it goes against everything her image represents, yet she’s so damn good at it, you can’t stomach the thought of her doing something this filthy, this obscene. The very idea breaks reality. Yet here she is, on her knees, a mouth filled by cock, encouraging you to cum without uttering a single word.

So you oblige her. 

You don’t give her the decency of asking. You just pour it all over her with reckless abandon. Yanking her by the scalp, swiftly pulling yourself away in the heat of climax, blasting thick warm seed all over her pristine features, using her visage as a canvas for all your repressed thoughts. Mina welcomes every drop, sticks her tongue out with an inviting stare, unfazed by all that hot load you’re shooting directly at her. Her professionalism is practically hardwired, second nature to allow herself to be used this freely. It’s more than personal satisfaction; it also pays the bills.

It’s a win-win.

“Happy?” she asks, propping herself back on her feet, using the top of the dress to clean herself. Not a waste when it’s sole purpose is to be one and done. 

The mess around your groin—residue sticking on your pants—answers her question. You can only nod in agreement as you clumsily and slowly gather your bearings. She shakes her head, amused at your predicament, but proud of her work.

Mina acts nonchalant, walks back to the hotel while you still work through your trousers, as if nothing ever happened. As if you weren’t moaning in public about how airtight her lips are around your cock. You hurriedly follow her, only to be met with a surprise waiting just past the entrance doors.

“I hope Paris has been kind to you so far, Miss Minari, because we certainly won’t be.”

Three comically mischievous men of similar stature and appearance, in nearly identical outfits (a simple shirt, coat, jeans and beret combination, how inspired) with the most cartoonishly evil looks on their faces. They could be anyone on the street. You can immediately tell they’ve been waiting for some time.

“Who are you?” you ask, stepping in front of your client. Mina looks nervous, quietly analyzing the three suspicious characters.

“Doesn’t matter who we are, even if we tell you,” replies the middle man, matter-of-factly. “We have no intention of hurting you.”

“If that’s the case, then please step aside. Miss Mina won’t be taking any requests and she’s very tired, sorry.”

“I don’t think so, buddy.”

“What?”

“We heard everything. You lucky bastard,” says the man on the left. “I don’t think Mina seems to be tired at all. In fact, I believe she wants more of it!”

All eyes turn to the person of interest, who seems to be in denial. Mina, this cold, calculated star, appears to have a harsh, sudden reaction. Offended by the comment, she angrily retorts, “No? What the hell are you saying?”

“Yeah, you heard the guy.” The third man steps forward, the other two close behind slowly approaching her. “It’s all over you. Don’t try to deny it. You enjoyed getting blasted all over that pretty face of yours!”

The three men nod in unison. You don’t have a firearm or any weapon on hand, but you’re willing to fight all three guys, even if you meet a terrible end. That’s the likeliest outcome. Lady luck seems to have disappeared on your side, but it’s part of the job, after all.

“Relax, girl. Again, we don’t wish to hurt you or your bodyguard.” The first man, the guy assuming leadership reiterates. It’s as civil and diplomatic as it sounds, but the looming threat remains prevalent. And it doesn’t do them any favors when they creep up towards both of you like wolves. “We just want what he has.”

“And what is it?” Mina frowns, hiding herself behind you, peeking over the shoulder, trembling.

“Oh, you know what we want, Miss Minari. Give it to us and then we’ll leave you alone.”

Where’s the security in this hotel, you wonder? The ground floor is dead empty of guests, which is to be expected, there’s hardly anyone at the front desk, and there are zero guards at the valet that normally wait for the next car to pull up. It’s midnight, what did you expect? 

“Can’t I give you guys some money instead?” she pleads, desperate. She’s no longer hiding herself, but standing side by side with you. Shaking. Nervous. “Name your price and I’ll pay it.”

“I don’t think that will work, miss.” The three men remain adamant. They have you trapped against the corner of the entrance door. Neither of you can hardly move, let alone run. “We’re in Paris. We can easily rob anyone for our keep.” 

Judging by the rather expensive watches and sneakers they all sport, they seem to have a point. 

“But please, we just want one. One round with the finest Japanese idol in the business. That’s it,” the first man adds, his cohorts nodding in agreement.

Mina turns to you, calling your attention. “Hey.” You’re on high alert, waiting for the moment for hell to break loose. She merely stares. Nothing comes out of her mouth, just an expressive, seemingly strange gaze that doesn’t register anything in your head, nor does it open up any sort of interpretation. And for a while, you don’t understand what’s happening or what’s her intent. The three guys seemingly wait, shrugging whenever you eye any one of them. There’s no rush; time seems to stop at that particular moment. You know their demand; you have ears. You just don’t know if Mina is actually serious about caving to the pressure.

—————

(And fucking hell, you’re so—so—screwed.)

You don’t know if Mina will recover after this. Specifically, her career.

Clothes scatter everywhere in the room, with no regard for cleanliness or the host’s decency. Mina is set in the middle of the mattress as its centerpiece. The star of the show. Her dress is bundled around her waist, baring her chest and legs, while every man is completely in the nude. She’s spread on her fours, with the two subordinates lined up parallel in front of her, the third right behind her. You plan to join after, when everyone’s seemingly tired, when you can have her all to yourself.

At least, that’s what you think will happen. You know she’s going to get used all night long. Mina’s bracing for impact, hoping she can walk out in one piece after this.

You’re holding your phone, ready to record every little thing that happens. It’s not by their request, but your own personal desire. You love seeing it—the notion of Mina getting her comeuppance. The two men in front of her waste no time, stroking themselves hard and slapping their cocks right into Mina’s face, spilling flecks of precum on her. You notice the giddiness in their expressions as they incline the idol’s chin up, nothing but unbridled lust on their faces. The only thing missing is hurling her around and ragdolling her.

“Such a pretty face deserves all this cum,” says the second guy. He’s on the pudgier side, evidently not meant to be in the same atmosphere, let alone the same bed as Mina. “I’ll have you know you were my bias, and you have the most numbers on my counter.”

Utterly shameless.

Meanwhile, the first guy, his colorful body filled with numerous tattoos, slaps Mina’s cheek hard. It ripples throughout her lithe figure, rattles the bed a little. She keens. He takes a moment to look at the hand that committed the sinful act. He’s shaking, in disbelief. He did that. It’s a moment in time, a monumental occasion. Anyone else in his position would be shouting in the streets, celebrating too. 

You would.

The third guy, this aged man who’s evidently in his mid-to-late forties and probably shouldn’t be consuming K-pop, continues to stroke himself to Mina’s face. Too bad her mouth can only fit one cock at a time. Her hand grabs his shaft and he grips her hair instead as she pumps him at a delicate pace. Their collective moans fill the room as each person assumes a position around Mina’s sensitive holes, filling them hastily. No technique, no patience whatsoever. 

It’s pornographic for all the wrong reasons. How it all came to be. The setup. The characters. The very scene itself. Down to the shitty camera recording. Not befitting of an idol such as Mina. It’s got its own charm, but for the most part, it's as disgusting as you imagined. You can’t believe she’d agree to this. At the same time, you can’t look away. It’s a car crash that you know is gonna happen, yet all you can do is watch helplessly—and stroke yourself hard to.

All three men have different rhythms in which they fuck Mina. Tattoos slowly pounding at her dripping cunt, accompanying each deep thrust with a loud smack of her ass. His one hand grabbing at the hem of whatever’s left of her dress, itching to rip it off. Mina’s moan is suppressed by Pudge’s cock protruding through her throat. A fistful of hair in his grip, the other on her flushed, reddened cheek. Expecting her to take his relentless rhythm, only for her gag with each pump into her airtight lips. As if he doesn’t know how giving head works. The oldest man loosens up, lets his body hang as Mina strokes his cock with her ironclad fingers, letting flecks of cum spread over her neck and her shoulders, content with letting her handle him how she wants. 

In a way, it’s admirable seeing Mina like this. Three cocks and all, her commitment to fanservice and satisfaction is any fan’s dream for their idol. You’ve seen it firsthand before, how she attends to each fan one by one, but to handle multiple without a single complaint is quite the accomplishment. She’s gonna take it, and she’s going to love it.

And in fact, she does. You’ve never seen her this dedicated and into pleasuring anyone. How she uses her other hand to seize Pudge’s cock, spitting and licking the head, setting him ablaze. Even as the man with the tattoos begins to wreck into her sopping cunt, foregoing leisure for speed—as her whines echo throughout the room—she maintains her composure the best she can. Even begging him to go harder, which he obliges. The bed’s quaking, seemingly closer to collapse, as the man screams to the ceiling, “Fucking tight—so close—cumming—aah—”

All three men are clinging to Mina in some capacity. On her waist, using her hair, or her shoulders—as they all appear close to their climaxes. Their collective groans of pleasure make this evident noise that warrants numerous calls of disturbance or concern. Imagine the commotion when the staff called in to investigate eventually finds out. The notion spurs Mina as she leans further into it—looks right into the camera as she licks up Pudge’s underside. As if demanding you to take the best shot of her while doing it. 

It’s scandalous—the way Mina uses her expressions to make herself look good even under duress. How she winks, sticks her tongue, twists her face into lewder and lewder reactions while the three men who seemingly have power over her, now fold under her control. If only you could step in and be a part of the show, but you can’t.

And she looks even better with cum all over her.

The three guys moan in unison for dramatic effect. As if it was part of the intended shot. One after the other, each man reaches their own orgasm and blasts their hot load onto some part of Mina’s body. None of them seem to find their way into what they initially wanted, which is her holes. Mostly—tattoos man is partly into a deep thrust when he meets his abrupt end, only filling part of her cunt with his seed before deciding to pull out and throbs onto her back, her legs instead. Pudge gets most of her face, which she happily accepts. But even with her mouth wide open, he can hardly land his cum onto her sweet lips. As for the old man, he was never a factor to begin with. He had spilled his cum on the side, on the shoulder, on some hair, on her fingers. He was done before the others even finished.

What an unexpected sight. 

You stand from the couch you’ve been sitting on, close in on the aftermath of their orgasms, watching as they stand lifeless around the centerpiece that is Mina, running her fingers over all the cum spilled on her body. This is child’s play to her, yet the most surprising thing is: she wasn’t expecting any of the three guys to finish this soon, let alone all three of them. She has this unsatisfied look in her eyes observing her conduits, the supposed ‘threats,’ as if they didn’t live up to her expectation.

“Did I look good?” she asks you, tilting up, resting her head on her palm.

You show her the phone, speed past the raw footage. She watches like she’s the director—which she kind of is.

“Mm—not good enough,” she adds, grabbing the phone and grabbing a tripod from the bedside drawer. “Set it up over there and do it again. They’re not leaving this until they get it right. And you’re gonna show them the way.”

Looking at their tired, exasperated faces, they’d rather be anywhere but here. 

As for Mina, she’s the most energetic you’ve seen her in a while, eager for more—and you’re gonna have to make some phone calls explaining why she isn’t at the airport by morning. 

—————

(A/N: woo missed another deadline/date but happy birthday Mina! By request/commission, so thank you for waiting and I hope it was to your liking. I do agree we need more subby Mina but in the end she owns all of us let's be real XD Thank you for reading!)

[hannie-dul-set]

AN UNLIKELY FANMEETING.

p — LEE JENO x female! reader. g — gang leader! jeno, actress! reader, humor, tension tension tension, jeno gets kidnapped by his celebrity crush, this is stupid, this is dumb, don't take this seriously. w — swearing, kidnapping, morally dubious characters HAHHAHA. 935 words.

note — happy birthday jeno. to the anon that sent the trope list curated for me, this is your fault. take responsibility. the prompt "accidentally kidnapping a mafia boss" suddenly terrorized my brain while i was studying. enjoy.

when lee jeno opens his eyes, a dull ringing in his ears, he sees nothing but the faint impression of a lightbulb burning through the sack covering his head. it’s dark. there’s an echo when he grunts and tries to move, but upon feeling the rope pressed against his wrists, the stiffness of his shoulders and the metal scratching of the chair against the rough ground— he’s quick to understand the situation he’s in.

the last thing he remembers, he was about to board a plane to japan. to spend a few months lying low after the particularly risky job his gang had to undertake not too long ago.

seems like someone managed to sniff him out before he could flee.

splash!

“wake up, you slimy son of a bitch.”

cold water hits, seeping into the fabric covering his face and crawling down to his collarbones. now, considering his line of work, jeno isn’t too fazed by this situation. he has a lot of enemies. maybe this one’s from a rival gang. could be a relative seeking revenge for a brother’s cracked skull, or some shit. doesn’t matter. he’s not gonna stay sitting for long anyway.

“did you really think you could cheat on me and run away scot free?”  

cheat? the sack gets thrown off from his head, a hand yanking a handful of his hair to pull his head back and he lets out a grunt. the chair is tipped back. jesus fucking christ, that felt personal. but when the sudden illumination stops blinding him, and he can finally see who the hell had the guts to jump and kidnap him, he’s a little taken aback.

jeno has a lot of enemies. the list goes on and on.

“use your fucking mouth, bast—”

but he’s pretty sure that the darling angel of south korea’s film industry isn’t on that list.

jeno watches as the vivid scorn and disgust in your eyes slowly meld into confusion, then realization, then a slow but sure descent into panic alongside the loosening of your grip.

“oh.”

must be the skills of an award winning actress. he feels almost a hint of disappointment when you stop pulling on the roots of his damp hair.

“oh, shit. one moment.”

clang! the chair he’s tied to settles once more into the ground with a clatter, and jeno watches as you quickly secure a distance between you and him, pulling your phone out of your sweats while biting the tips of your thumbnail. it’s a little funny seeing the nation’s sweetheart pacing back and forth all jittery in what looks like a basement— maybe your basement. as far as jeno can remember, you’re always casted for romance films. those feel-good, slice of lives and the pocari sweat commercial you once did echoes in the back of his head. but maybe you have a hidden knack for some thriller.

he starts fiddling with the ropes tied around his wrists right at the moment you screech into your phone. dispatch would have a field day if they see this.

“you got the wrong guy! my ex isn’t this hot!”

his fingers slip. his skin scratches the rough threads of the rope.

“i paid you useless fucks a shit ton of money to get the job done, but you can’t even get— ugh! nevermind. just go and bring me the actual son of a bitch i asked for this time.”

the knot is almost loose. this is quite the show. it’s better than all the movies he’s seen of you.

“what?! hello?! what do you mean you can’t help me anymore, what about our—”

drop. jeno gets up from the chair. he stretches his joints, neck cracking, watching as you sputter out a trove of profanities at your phone. his clothes are still damp from the water you splashed him earlier. maybe he should have a bit of fun first before leaving. it’s not everyday that you get to meet your celebrity crush.

“hey, dollface,” he calls out. you freeze. you look at him with the drop of a needle, eyes growing a little bit wider when you realize he should be sitting down. damn, they really need to cast you in a grittier film. “you should pay a bit more attention when you have someone hostage.”

a beat of silence. 

“uhm,” your voice croaks. jeno takes a step towards you. you take a step back. “listen, haha, there has been a misunderstanding.”

your steps stutter a little, moving back and back and you swallow nervously, looking at him with almost sheepishly— a sense of feigned bravery in the midst of retreat, teeth tugging on the skin of your lips. “oh, yeah?” he says, and you visibly rattle. you’re prettier like this than when you’re batting your eyes and flirting at the camera. you’re definitely prettier.

“yes, ahaha, there was a minor switch-up, you see i— i didn’t mean to...uh, escort you from the airport, i actually meant to target someone else, and— o–oh, and there’s a wall behind me. oops, haha. do you mind backing away a bit, um—”

“how about i help you with the ex boyfriend problem you have?”

the tables turn. it’s him digging his face up against yours this time, but the mention of your ex strikes a chord. you’re looking at him, gaze unbreaking. he can feel your shallow breaths on his skin.

“who are you exactly?”

“someone who can do the job better that the fuckers you sent me, definitely,” he chuckles. “how about it?”

he won’t ask for much. maybe just an autograph in return.

AN UNLIKELY FANMEETING. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[mehmetyildizmelbourne-blog]

Look What Aiden Found Today — Episode #238

Favorite stories I read plus community-nominated pieces tailored for avid readers of ILLUMINATION Publications on Medium Curated Collection and Daily Updates Thank you for subscribing Technology, Gaming, Movies, and Social Media Happy Weekend, Dear Readers and Fellow Writer, I hope this story finds you well. I couldn’t post these collections for a while due to a very hectic schedule. Mike and…

[fanaticsnail]

Hair Pulling: Benn Beckman

Birthday Party Masterlist

Word Count: 2,600+

Themes: Benn Beckman x gn!reader, mdni, smut, 18+, NSFW, kink, hair pulling, insertion sex, oral sex, Sub!Beckman x Dom!reader. First-Mate x Barber.

Notes: It is @jintaka-hane's birthday! Happy birthday! I hope you enjoy your beautiful day, and may Beckman getting his hair pulled spark some joy and illuminate your celebration. So much love for you 🖤

Sitting at your workstation, you began rolling and folding the fresh batch of towels you purchased from the town the Red-Force was currently docked at. The fluffy material felt so foreign in your hands after using your well-worn and crusted cloths for your crew for so long. You couldn’t wait to spoil your crewmates with the new fabric, truly relishing in your job when you were not called to arms in defense of your captain, Shanks.

As the crew barber, it was your job to ensure your crewmates kept themselves as neat and tidy as they desired to be. Whether it was maintaining a goatee, some shadowing on their cheeks, a suave manicured lip and chin, or a rugged scruffiness suited to their liking: you were to keep them in perfect order. Haircuts and styling was also in your repertoire, and you wore that title well.

There was only one member of your crew that had yet to seek out your services for himself. Keeping in the quiet, shearing his own cheeks in the morning, neck and chin littered with small nicks and cuts at after a morning scrub in the bathroom, was the broody first mate.

Hunched over the itinerary captain Shanks had curated for their departure, he leaned his hips on the railing with a scowl on his lips.

Placing down the last folded towel, you withdrew your straight razor and leather hanging strop from your satchel. Checking over your blade for any notches or cracks in need of honing, you blow gently on the silver side of the knife. Holding your blade steady, you gently glide the silver along the stretch, conforming to its curvature along the surface with little resistance.

Benn Beckman was a friend to you, truly enjoying your company in the still of the night when the crew slumbered. As first mate, it was his duty to keep his captain and crew safe. He was both the first and last line of defense for the redhead, and often had little time to dilly dally with his crew. In that quiet, you would often recall small moments traveling together on the seas. Your soft laughter marrying his whispered chuckles was music to the crew, putting them at ease while they slumbered.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you were not attracted to him. Sure, your Captain and the Doctor had their charm, but Benn Beckman: first mate and dutiful death dealer was where your eyes found their perch.

Being simply friends, you assumed he would have approached you by now to do your job on his features. Just a quick tidy of his jawline, trimming his graying locks, giving him a treatment for the sea-sprayed ends - but he never did. Not once. Not a single time.

Narrowing your eyes at him and pursing your lips, you examined his recklessness littering his cheeks with drying blood and crusted sores. Almost scowling at it, you were yet to notice the approach of your crewmate taking a seat in your chair.

“Hey Barber, got a spot for me in your station?” Yasopp queries with a smile in every word, “Can I have a quick tidy up?”

“Course you can, Sharpshooter,” you laugh with him, gently brushing off your chair and reaching for one of the freshly rolled towels. “It's what I'm here for. Just a shave, or rerolling your coils?”

“Just a shave for now. The dreads can wait,” he nodded his head and eagerly plonked himself down at your station. “I've never had a shave as near as yours before. Even when it grows back, it's more manageable.”

“Thank you, Yassop. Now just shut your eyes, lay back, and let me do what I need to do on you.”

“Aye, Barber.”

Watching from his position reclining against the wooden panels, Benn Beckman’s lips drew slack. The filter end of his cigarette lay glued to his lips while they parted in awe. Each glide of the blade over Yasopp’s skin coincided with a gentle tug or maneuver of his scalp to guide him to an appropriate repositioning.

“You're doing it again, Becks.”

Shanks plopped himself alongside the railing beside the first mate, giving him a playful tap on the shoulder in the process. Beckman let's put a soft grunt and continues glaring at the scene unfolding in front of him. You were halfway through the shave now, gently holding idle chatter between yourself and Yasopp while you tidy him up.

“I'm not doin’ nothin’, Cap,” Beckman grumbles, taking a hefty drag of his cigarette. Shanks chuckles, following his eyeline and darting his gaze between Yasopp and you together.

“Why don't you just go up and take a seat,” Shanks suggested as if it was the easiest course of action to take for the big guy, “You really messed up your general scruff. Looks like you angered a pather. Go on. After Yasopp, it's your turn.”

Beckman snaps his gaze over towards Shanks at the thought, blaring into him with his darkened eyes filled with rage.

“You know damn well how I feel about my hair gettin’ touched.” Beckman warned him, his voice hardened with a mixture of warning and confession laden within, “I don't want our barber to do it for me, because I know it'll change the way they see me. Don't wanna do it to them.”

“Just focus on something else, Becks.” Shanks offered in a tone of jesting, index and middle fingers on his right hand walking up his forearm, “You know? Not like you haven't thought of ‘em tugging your hair when you're alone in your quarters.”

Beckman sends Shanks a glare that he has only ever seen a handful of times, who in turn raises his hands defensively. With a small chuckle, Shanks backs away from the broody first mate with a playful smirk.

The gray-haired first mate continues to watch you as you finish your work on Yasopp, wiping off the sharpshooter’s face with a towel. Giving him a playful trace of your fingers along his jawline, you send him from your chair and begin to sanitize it for the next use.

Looking over from your point above the deck of the red force, you could've sworn you caught the first mate’s eyes as he gazed over from his recline against the rail. His thumb met the filter end of his cigarette and pressed it in a sizzle within his iron ashtray.

“Beckman?” you gather your courage to call over to him, finally refusing to let this little dance go on any longer, “Come and see me tomorrow, you hear? Need to fix up your razor, and I've got a balm for you to use tonight.��

Benn Beckman freezes in place, a static-like shudder frizzing from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. Without much force, he apprehensively sighs out a little, “Aye, that I will.”

Smiling to yourself, you prepare a cube of solid ointment in a tin for him, hoping the balm would aid in the healing for a closer shave, and to halt any scarring or pore blockages from occurring and getting itchy.

The following day, Benn Beckman found himself in your chair. A dark cape was casually draped around his neck, tucked in a towel and buttoned at his collar. The aroma of aftershaves and foaming cleansers lingered as you massaged his prickly scruff with your fingertips.

He could barely focus on your conversation. Whichever topic that graced past your lips was white noise to him. While he often found himself easily lost in conversation with you, he was now wholeheartedly focussed on one thing, and one thing only.

Trying not to cum.

Your hands so easily maneuver his head around, skilled fingers cleaning up his face and ridding him of his spindles protruding from his chin. In his head, it was an eternal argument as to whether he was to tell you how worked up he was, and how long he had been without coupling with a partner, or simply ignore how you made him feel while wholeheartedly enjoying the experience.

He had been to barbers before, and none of them made him feel this worked up over a simple pampering. Paired with the fact he adored you, and he was lost completely to the feeling of your fingers on his skin.

“You want a trim while I'm at it?” he hears you ask. He hadn't had the heart to decline, sparing both himself and you or his shameful joy at the touch. Instead, he closed his eyes and uttered a soft, “yes,” while his cock twitched against the crotch of his pants.

“You have such pretty hair, Becks,” you compliment him in earnest, reaching for the woven band holding his locks within, “If you don't mind me saying, of course.”

“N-Not at all,” he stuttered out, wincing as your hands dragged down the tight coil and freeing his strands from their confines. You take his small flinch as discomfort, but it could not be further from his experience.

Beckman was trying not to picture how you would look straddling his face, guiding him by those skilled hands. Tugging and pulling harshly to have him pinpoint your bliss, having him consume your ecstasy with his vigorous and unrelenting mouth while you held onto his hair.

Carding your fingers through his salted and peppery strands, you found yourself cooing at the way each fistful felt in your hands. He was so pliant, listening to your wordless directions as you angled him to find an appropriate position. Scissors handled carefully to chop at the damaged ends, you continued humming out your praise at the first mate.

His pulse quickened and breath hitched at the way your words and actions truly moved him.

Where your lips curved out: “Your hair is so volumous, I can't get over how you manage to trap it in that band,” Beckman heard, “Your hair feels perfect in my hands, let me trap you in my lap and fuck you.”

Spilling out gentle praise and manageable instructions: “Move to the side, good job. Just like that, Becks,” Beckman’s mind morphed it into, “Fuck, you’re doing such a good job for me. Keep going, good boy.”

Each roll of his neck guided by a tug to his scalp, his eyes rolled back beneath fluttering lashes. His cock continued to twitch and move against his seams at every motion, everything occuring below the belt against his will. He hated himself for reacting like this, for hearing your voice guide him and move against his skull so easily.

At one more sensual tug, his voice entangled in his jugular and caused him to shudder his jaw. You halted your actions immediately, truly believing you had caused him discomfort.

“I'm sorry. Did I hurt you, big guy?” Your concern was laden in your tone, only aiding in expanding his cock to a pulsating rod to pitch the tent in his pants.

“No, Darlin’, I'm alright,” he uttered with a breathy chuckle to follow, “Just not used to bein’ manhandled like this is all.”

“You're used to being in charge. I get it,” you chuckle down at him playfully, giving his hair a soft tug as you did with the others aboard your ship, “You're in my chair now, sweetheart. Gotta listen close to me, or I might accidentally pull on something I shouldn't.”

Both of you were surprised by the needy whine that fled from Beckman’s throat, your hands fleeing immediately from their grip on his hair and discarding your scissors in the tray beside you. You took a moment to steady yourself, your infatuation rising for him in your gut and swelling in need up to your throat. The way he moaned for you was pornographic, and your mind ran with that to a point where you personally had to halt your job to breathe through the feeling.

Beckman knows there's no disguising it now. He has a kink, and you had inadvertently made yourself subject to it by your actions. His mind was already attempting to accumulate an apology to you, thanking the stars that Shanks had conducted an away mission to enjoy a bar in town himself with the crew.

As you stepped towards him, he immediately drew his eyes to find your own. Expecting you to be peering into his soul, gaze filled with rage at the use of you pulling on his hair and fanning the flames of his lust, he saw your eyes immediately flung to his belt line.

Noticing your eyes draw down to his cock, shrouded by the dark covering laid on his lap, he was unsure as to where your mind found itself wandering.

“Benn Beckman,” you whispered softly, a softness rising in your tone. Reaching for the loose strand dangling over his eye, you tucked it behind your ear and purred at him, “You have a thing for hair-pulling, don't you?”

His apologies jumbled and merged into one large stuttery mess. His cheeks rose in hue and illuminance the longer he attempted to recover from your accusation. Each tumble and stutter he elected to present to you was met with a knowing and teasing look down your nose at him.

“Oh, Becks,” you cooed down at him, scrunching up your nose with a soft light in your eyes, “Is that why you haven't come to see me? Something as simple as a little tug on the ponytail gets you all hot and bothered?”

Beckman’s blush rose higher, his head practically seething with frustrated vapors. Just as he was about to open his mouth to growl at you for your comments, you hushed him with a few simple words.

“If you'd have told me about this earlier, we could've had some fun with it,” you shrugged, eyes immediately thereafter growing wide at your blazen disregard for indescression, “I-I mean, if you like me like that-... I mean… if you don't… I… I didn't-.”

“-Are you done with the cut?” Beckman immediately cut you off, his face no longer glaring with his uncertainty and fury.

“I… well, yes, sir,” you nodded, lips sucked into your mouth to stifle their quiver. Beckman reached up to the collar, tugging at the buttoned seam and releasing the cape from shrouding his broad body.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Just as simply as that conversation began, you found yourself with the broody first mate tangled in his sheets and crying out beneath him. Your legs were over his hips, your entrance stretched and molding to his shape the longer he split you open with his thick shaft. Slow and sultry drags of his cock within your body propelled you to a higher plane of bliss. He huffed and panted in the crease where your shoulder met your neck, whining out as you tugged on his freshly trimmed and manicured ponytail.

His hips grew staggered in their languid thrusts, feeling his enevitable release finally stampeding towards the finish line. Your own need was pooling in the pit of your stomach, swelling up and beginning to bloom in your chest. Your breaths came out in heady pants, and you reigned him towards his unravelment by pulling hard on the back of his hair.

“Cum for me, big boy,” you whisper needily, Beckman’s resolve shattering as he unleashed his pearlescent ropes of thick cum deep within you. Calls of your name on his tongue spur you into your own ecstasy, riding through the coursing waves as he buried himself down to the hilt within you.

Both you and Beckman were once again thankful that Shanks and the remainder of the Red Force crew had left you both in isolation to enjoy exploring Beckman's preference for having his hair pulled.

From then on, he was adamant on having only you shave his cheeks and trim his hair to keep him pretty. Even better were the times you did it naked, his cock nestled deep within you and being told to keep still so you don't make a mess of his handsome features with a straight razor and your scissors.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

🎶Happy birthday to me🎶.

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[upennmanuscripts]

#CoffeeWithACodex is our weekly manuscript show-and-tell. We're taking August off, but you can watch recordings of previous events on our YouTube channel! Like this one: Ms. Codex 1063, a book of hours made in London in the 15th century, with some lovely illuminated initials and musical notation. We looked at this one in February, 2023.

🔗:

[girlkisser13]

the lakes

"i don't belong" "and, my beloved, neither do you" "those windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry" "i'm setting off" "but not without my muse" "no, not without you"

pairings: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings/tags: none. purely fluff.

summary: benedict meets a kindred spirit at a ball.

benedict sighed inwardly as he stepped into yet another ballroom, its opulence gleaming under the glow of chandeliers. his mother, the formidable dowager viscountess, had insisted on his attendance, her fervent hopes for a matrimonial match unwavering. he scanned the room filled with anxious mamas and their hopeful daughters, feeling an acute sense of entrapment.

desiring a reprieve from the stifling atmosphere, benedict discreetly made his way to the terrace, the cool night air offering a welcome respite. he was not alone. a vision of grace and beauty stood by the balustrade, her silhouette illuminated by the moonlight.

captivated, benedict approached her. “good evening,” he greeted softly, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity. “might i have the honor of your name?”

you turned towards him, your eyes sparkling with a mixture of amusement and surprise. “and who might you be, sir, to inquire so boldly?”

“benedict bridgerton, at your service,” he replied with a slight bow. “i could not help but be drawn to you, and i was curious to know what brings such a fair lady to the terrace.”

you laughed, a melodious sound that resonated with him deeply. “avoiding the anxious mamas, are we?” you teased.

benedict smiled. “indeed. i find their pursuits rather overwhelming at times.”

“and what pursuits do you favor, mr. bridgerton?” you inquired, your interest piqued.

“i have a profound appreciation for art,” he confessed. “you, my lady, possess a beauty that would make you an exceptional muse.”

your cheeks flushed delicately at his compliment. “you flatter me, sir. but what about you? why are you out here, away from the merriment?”

benedict’s expression grew contemplative. “do you ever yearn for something beyond the endless round of dazzling parties and societal expectations?” he asked, his tone earnest.

you nodded, a wistful look in your eyes. “often. i find myself feeling out of place amidst the revelry.”

“i share that sentiment,” benedict admitted. “at times, i feel as though i do not belong in society’s carefully curated mold.”

your gaze softened. “sticking out is far better than fitting in,” you said thoughtfully. “i too feel as though i do not belong. at times, i even contemplate running away from the duties imposed by society.”

benedict looked at you in surprise. “that is nonsense, for you seem most amiable and inspiring. it is astonishing that you have not yet found a match.”

you laughed again, the sound enchanting him further. “perhaps it is because i seek something more profound than a mere match.”

with a mischievous glint in his eye, benedict jested, “then perhaps we should run away together.”

your laughter rang out once more, a delightful melody in the night. “ah, mr. bridgerton, you are quite the rogue.”

benedict grinned, feeling a sense of connection with you that he had not felt in the confines of the ballroom. “perhaps. but it is in moments like these that one truly lives.”

you tilted your head, your eyes twinkling with mischief. "would you truly run away with someone you have just met?"

benedict's gaze was unwavering. "of course, i would never go anywhere without my muse."

you laughed as you gave him a gentle shove, the playful gesture warming his heart. the two of you continued to converse, your words weaving a tapestry of shared dreams and mutual understanding.

the night deepened, but the bond between you both only grew stronger, as the two of you talked long into the night, the world of society and its expectations forgotten in each other's company.

[s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s]

Here's the new single from my album Javelin. Video animated by Stephen Halker. “Will Anybody Ever Love Me?” More info here.

THANK YOU.

Quick background about the video: my friend Stephen Halker took elements from the album art that I made (collage, paper arts, paintings etc.) and incorporated them into these really wild CGI fantasy landscapes that he created. He sent me some notes about his process and approach that I thought were really cool, if you're interested.

From Stephen:

"This is what I was really thinking about when i made this video:

It's like walking into someone's soul. First they put up these facades that look normal, but then you find out how messy they are.

  I wanted it to start out super normal and cultivated. a landscape made flat by the machinations of an agrarian society.

  Then a nice walk through a forest. nothing special. but more wild

  Then the expanse of a grand canyon.... but you go, "hey what's that thing on the ground? Is that supposed to be there?

  The grasslands are when you start to see curated memories. clean circles of thoughts.  Everything is still manageable, manicured, controlled.  but what's that on the horizon.  looks like there's some bigger thoughts buried in those grassy north dakotan buttes.

  Then comes the chorus.  You gotta mix it up for the chorus.  This scene is called darklands in my computer.  I made the hexagons to reference Carrie and Lowell.  i thought of this structure as if it was the longings of the heart. this sort of plinth of idols. Starting with the starlet from the "Will anybody ever love me" page of the booklet.  Then transferring that longing to archetype.... then parents, family, friends,  the love of the masses...

Once you know this much about someone, the rest of it is just is just a continuation of craziness. I wanted to morph from contained circles toward individual cut out shapes.

  moving through different corridors and memories.

  Obsessing over one memory.

  Building towers of meaning, trying to make sense of moments events through repetition and fortification.

Second chorus was supposed to recall some of the previous scenes.  the wheat, the Planet, travelling through the same hexagons, but this time they aren't filled with icons. just patterns.

  you travel through the puffy paint wormhole into a less tethered version of the self.

  No more landscape. just a repetition of memories.  The world has fallen away.

 I've always loved phyllotaxis and golden sections. they feel very.... "this goes on forever"-y.

  The image of your face split in half, thrown into this fibonacci sequence reminded me of your "perpetual self" song from avalanche (which has always stuck with me)

  There's a floor again. but now it's just the triangle and tape patterns. illuminated.

 Flip to the image of Katrina under the owl was giving off a strong "athena" vibe.  Goddess of wisdom, craft, warfare.  She could make sense of my warring emotions.

End scene."

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[paddockbunny]

Fraternisation Clause

Summary : Working for McLaren is hard, being Lando’s PR girl is even harder….so maybe you need to make a tough decision that will be even harder yet Rating : 16+ Pairing: Lando x Reader Word Count : 1474 words Trigger Warnings : language but clean Images : curated from Pintrest Authors Note : there are probably a few bits in here that aren’t exactly how things are in the actual paddock / McLaren hierarchy so just ignore it and take it for the work of fiction it is ☺️

Abu Dhabi ‘23

It was time to go. You knew that. Everything you could accomplish in your role, you had. The opportunity being offered to you was too great to pass up and if you were honest the move truly excited (and somewhat scared) you. But, it was a step up the ladder and it was a ladder that you really wanted to climb. As you swiped your credentials on the paddock barriers you saw your colleagues and friends awaiting you. Leaving them all behind was exceptionally tough as really, you had all become a little family. You enjoyed pizza nights, drunken karaoke, practical jokes and laughter and tears with them during your four year tenure. As they looked at you with a mixture of smiles and pouting lips it really hit you how tough it was to be leaving and even worse how you wouldn’t be a part of the gang anymore. For twenty four weeks of the year you guys were going to be in the exact same place and yet not be as close anymore. It was such a bittersweet feeling. But, you remembered as some of your new team mates walked past in their crisp white shirts, when Mercedes come a calling, you answer the call.

The night sky was illuminated by an array of bright explosions of colour as fireworks crescendoed overhead. You were already down awaiting Lando to begin media duties so couldn’t really engage in the end of session celebrations like you would have liked. But still it was nice to imagine the pretty illuminations overhead were all for you.

As you waited for Lando to be weighed and take his helmet and balaclava off you couldn’t help but smile. He finished P5 and P7 in the overall standings. An excellent effort and he could be extremely proud he equalled himself for the previous 22 season - considering how tough the car had been, it was fantastic. It had been a long, sometimes stressful, crazy ride being Lando Norris’ PR officer but you would be lying if you said you hadn’t enjoyed every single last millisecond of it. At the start you had an immature, slightly naive guy who matured into a funny, charismatic, caring man. You smirked knowing it couldn’t have been easy for him working with you at the start either. You weren’t as regimented as you had become and he was often late, missing caps or passes, he even got fined for being late to the national anthem ceremony once because you forgot to fetch him, but you were fresh out of university and learning right along side him. It was a baptism of fire and you loved it. And honestly, you couldn’t have imagined anyone else being your F1 virginity stealer.

However, as you waited for him and reminisced you felt overcome by a horrible sadness. See you thought Lando would have been happy for you to move on and be promoted - go on to bigger better things - but he wasn’t. After accepting Mercedes offer and putting in your formal notice, Lando was the first person you told and boy, it did go well. He immedietly told you you were doing the wrong thing and joining Mercedes wasn’t the right move. He passionately attempted to deter you from moving and even got angry when you tried to calm him down. You had never before seen Lando upset like what he was that night - sure during a race or whatnot but that was because he was competitive - So it was totally unexpected. He asked if it were the pay making you leave and even offered to pay you more from his own wages (which insulted you). He asked if you were being forced out, if something had happened with another member of the team (which it hadn’t). Then he asked if it was because you didn’t want to work with him anymore and it caught somewhere in your throat.

If this had been ‘22 you would haven’t hesitated to laugh at the insinuation and make a quip about him being cocksure of himself. But it wasn’t. It was the end of 2023 and you knew yourself things had shifted between the pair of you. In the past 12 months Lando and you had come close to blurring the professional lines and you were able to realise how dangerous that truly was. Nothing had ever happened that could have been considered inappropriate but you couldn’t be one hundred percent you didn’t want it too. And that was what scared you. McLaren had an employee fraternisation clause which clearly stated that employees could not carry out romantic or sexual relationships between other employees particularly those where one employee is in a higher up position. And it didn’t take the brain of Britain to know Lando was their “star” and you were just another foot soldier. There was no way they would keep you over their superstar driver. And besides, it was known amongst the PR team that Lando had a little thing for you as way back as 2020 when you first started working with him but you had always laughed it off, rolled you eyes and played it down.

“He’s just a kid, don’t be daft” you would be heard quipping back. But for some reason, after the prior year, you spend the season pretending you didn’t know he was staring at you, that he was making you laugh on purpose, that he was finding any reason to touch you, be close to you and even invite you to things without anyone else from the team being there. You knew it would only be a matter of time before Lando would try to move things in a different direction - in particular, you knew he would do something stupid like try and kiss you and you would do something even more stupid and kiss him back.

So you walked away. You took the call and accepted the Mercedes offer of becoming a PR Manager (instead of PR officer). You had thought about it at length, toiled over it. And while you knew he might not understand why, you thought he would still be happy for you. You hadn’t expected the attitude he had shown to you over the course of the past three races. The silence, the grunting for responses, not even looking at you as you were talking to him.

You looked up to find him almost in front of you as the fireworks continued overhead. He held out his hand for his water bottle and little bag full of promotional bracelets and watch. “Well done, it’s been a good year.” You tried to tell him but he either didn’t hear you from the loud bangs and the start of the podium celebrations or he was deliberately ignoring you. You swallowed, wishing this was all different. You really could do with a Lando hug right now but as you started off toward the media pen, neither of you said a word to each other. And then after media he announced he had a plane waiting so he wouldn’t be hanging around. You wanted to remind him you were leaving and it was your last day so it would mean a lot if he could hang around for just 10 minutes but before you could muster up the courage to do it, he ducked into his drivers room while you were busy on a call and that was it. You looked for him to say goodbye (at bare minimum) and wish him a happy holidays but he was gone. He didn’t care. He didn’t even want to be your friend anymore.

Things were being wrapped up. Everyone was excited to get going. People wanted to party, celebrate the end of another year. They wanted to call their families and say they would be home soon and make plans for their time off. So when you walked into the McLaren hospitality suite to a riotous round of applause and hollering you were left a gasp and the tears started flowing. You hadn’t expected anyone outside of your small little trackside PR team to care you were off, but that was downright idiotic to think they would let you slink off. That wasn’t McLarens style. But still you didn’t expect all the hullabaloo. The room was packed with different people across each discipline. The mechanics you knew were there, the strat guys, chefs from the kitchens, office folk and even Zak was standing front and centre. So many people across the whole garage came to say goodbye. There was a cake and a “Bon voyage” banner. Your smile erupted across your face as your friends came rushing toward you to engulf you in a huge hug. The earlier sadness due to your strained friendship with Lando was pushed straight to the back of your mind. Right now, you felt special. You felt loved.

You couldn’t help but wish Lando was here too. You wished he had stayed to say goodbye.