#Gold Jewellery Design Course

[jdmisedu]

3 Most Popular Stone Setting Styles In Jewellery

Bezel setting

The first jewellery setting to be invented by the Ancient Romans, this style has passed the test of time as it is still frequently featured in modern jewellery.

The gemstone is surrounded by a rim of metal that just slightly extends over the top of the stone. The protruding metal is then pushed over onto the top of the stone all over its outline, thus enclosing the stone in a very secure setting with little chance of the stone falling out. However, a drawback of encasing most of the stone in metal is the reduced light that enters the stone, which means that the gemstone does not get to shine as brilliantly as it could have if placed in other types of setting.

But this is where the invention of the partial, or semi-bezel setting proves handy. Instead of surrounding the full outline of the gemstone with metal, the semi-bezel covers only some portions of the stone, exposing more of the stone to the light while still maintaining a good degree of protection.

Bezel setting is covered in JDMIS’ Traditional Metalsmithing 100.

Prong setting

This is the setting that people are most familiar with, and the most popular one, especially in the case of engagement rings. The most iconic representation of the prong setting is probably the famed Tiffany ring, invented in the 1880s so that the brilliance of a good diamond can be better displayed and appreciated. With a diamond held up high to the light by six prongs, the Tiffany setting makes the stone look as if it is ‘floating.’

The prong setting is sometimes also called the claw setting because the stone is held securely as if gripped by a claw. The gemstone sits in a cradle of evenly spaced prongs — typically three, four, or six — and the tips of the prongs are bent over the girdle of the stone to hold it in place. Similar to how our nails can be filed into different shapes, these prongs can also be shaped differently to suit the aesthetic of the ring or the preference of the wearer, be they rounded, pointed, flat, or double-clawed. They can even be shaped decoratively, or embedded with more gemstones to achieve a stunning, elaborate design.

Prong setting is covered in JDMIS’ Traditional Metalsmithing 200

Pavé setting

This is yet another popular style of setting favoured by many. Originated from the French word ‘Pavé’, which means pavement, the pavé setting features a carpet of brilliance across the surface of the jewellery, paved with closely set gemstones.

This look is achieved by embedding rows of tiny gemstones into the metal of the jewellery. First holes are drilled into the metal to create seats for the gemstones to sit in. Then, tiny beads are raised from the metal using engraving tools and then pushed onto the stones to secure them in place. As these little beads of metal are rounded off and polished to a high shine, they virtually disappear against the glittering gemstones, giving an appearance of a continuous glittering surface.

Pavé setting is covered in JDMIS’ Traditional Metalsmithing 300

Settings are also an integral part of 3d Jewellery Design Course, with the look of the setting flowing seamlessly with the aesthetic of the whole jewellery piece. Learn more about the diverse types of setting in Classical Jewellery Design and how to produce accurate representations of the settings on paper; or explore a wide range of settings and commercially popular styles in the libraries of a Digital Design software and learn how to integrate them into your designs to achieve a stunning piece of jewellery.

[creations365days]

https://harma.ca/shop/

Harma Best Jewelry Store in Richmond Hill

"Harma Jewelers is the provider of choice for unbeatable customer service, stunning jewelry, accessories, gifts and more to Richmond Hill. Harma’s mission is to make high quality jewelry accessible at an affordable price! They are leading handmade jewelry store with latest design in Richmond Hill, Canada.

Visit us at - Harma.ca

[finelinevogue]

ring shopping

summary - a tiny blurb about engagement ring shopping

word count - <500

pairing - boyfriend!harry x reader

“That’s literally £35,000, H!” You laughed at the ring Harry was pointing towards.

“And you’re worth more than £35,000, so what?”

“We’re not spending that much on a ring.” You shook your head.

You pulled on his hand that you were holding and tugged him across the pavement a little, towards the cheaper area of rings.

Harry reluctantly followed after you and stood close behind you as you looked into the jewellery shop window again.

“Baby, y’know money isn’t an issue.” Harry said quietly, his nose pressed against your hair as he spoke. You knew he did it just so he could re-smell your new shampoo that smells of strawberries.

“I don’t care. I don’t want to wear a ring that expensive every day.”

“Y’don’t want to wear your ring every day?” Harry asked.

You quickly turned your head around and up to face him, noticing the hurt look he sported. His eyebrows were furrowed and he looked confused.

“No, no! Not like that at all. Of course I will wear my ring every day, H. I just wouldn’t feel comfortable wearing a ring like that expensive one every day in public. I’d be constantly worrying about it, plus that rock on it looks stupidly heavy.”

Harry went back to his normal smirking self. “Okay.” He nodded.

You turned back to the display cabinet and racked your eyes through the rows of rings.

“That one’s pretty.” You pointed out a small ring with a gold band and a tiny green emerald on the top. “What do you think?”

“I love it, if you do.” Harry replied, squeezing your hand in agreement.

“But, like, do you think–”

“Y/N, baby. It doesn’t matter what I want or think. This is your engagement ring. Pick, choose, design whatever you want.” Harry kissed your cheek, making you blush since you were in public and still hadn’t gotten used to PDA.

“I know, I just want you to love it too.” You shrugged.

“As long as I get to keep you forever, I’ll love whatever you love.”

“Then it’s that one. That’s the one I want.” You said pointing to the little green emerald ring.

[axelsagewrites]

Felix Catton*Best Gift Ever

Pairing: felix x working class!reader

Word count: 1241

Warnings: money struggles, insecurity, rich people

Masterlist Here

You and Felix had been going out for around few months now and it had been amazing. You could tell his friends were defiantly shocked. You were from a different background to put it politely.  Aka he was absolutely filthy rich, and you were your average broke uni student.

This was your first Valentine’s day together and Felix had been going on for the past week about how much you were going to love what he had planned. All you knew was that it involved dinner and likely some kind of gift that was way nicer than anything else you owned.

Being surrounded by so many rich people though had a tendency to make you doubt yourself especially since one of Felix’s ex flings told you that she had bought him a gold necklace for valentines last year. Felix had assured you he’d gotten rid of it ages ago and thought it looked tacky as hell, but you couldn’t help the pit in your stomach.

You were essentially just waiting for your student loan to come in to get him something but by the time it came in and you paid for all your essentials, you were left with 100 quid for the month. Which considering Felix and his friends liked to go eat and drink out all the time and he always wanted you to come meant it wouldn’t last very long. it didn’t help that whenever Felix would buy you a drink you’d inevitably get comments from one of the jealous rich girls in the group about it.

After writing down your months budget you felt like you were going to cry. You only had a spare tenner to get him something. How the hell does money go away so fast? You tried looking around the local shops for something but there was another issue about going to oxford; everything nearby was designer or name brand.

Your options were essentially a sample size of cologne or one tenth of a bracelet. Eventually you decided to suck it up and just try make something.

There you were on valentines waiting for Felix to arrive at your dorm while you finished wrapping up his present. You had bought a blank CD and spend hours curating the perfect playlist and illegally burning it onto the disc. You’d also diy’d a bunch of kiss notes by writing a small note, kissing the back of it, cutting it out and sealing the whole note in sticky tape so it didn’t smudge.

It had actually turned out pretty cute however when you opened the door and saw Felix holding a huge bouquet of flowers and 2 wrapped presents you felt your heart sink but you tried not to show it, “Roses for my flower,” he grinned, leaning down to give you a quick kiss before pressing the bouquet into your hand, “Happy valentines baby,”

“Happy valentines,” you said, opening the door so he could come in without a care in the world while you internally freaked out.

Felix instantly went to sit on the bed, sitting one of the gifts down and holding the other one out to you, “Cmon open it. I cannot wait to see your reaction,” he said, bouncing up and down like a kid on Christmas.

“Okay okay,” you laughed, taking the gift and starting to carefully unwrap it. Felix reached a hand out, pulling you by your hip to sit on his leg while you opened it. “Wow Felix I can’t accept this,” you gasped as you opened the jewellery box revealing a gorgeous pink pearl necklace.

“Don’t be silly of course you can,” he said, taking the box from your hand, “You deserve it. can you?” he said, nodding at your hair. You moved it out the way while he clasped the necklace around your neck, “and done. Almost as beautiful as you,”

You found yourself melting into his smile. Before you could say anything else however his eyes landed on the gifts you’d just finished wrapping. “Oh, are these for me?” he asked, grinning even wider as you nodded and he reached for the gifts.

You bit your lip as he tore into the first present. The CD. Suddenly it looked so cheap, and you felt your heart break as he flipped it over. you closed your eyes, expecting him to get annoyed but instead you felt him wrap his arm around you as he read the back, “This is so wicked thanks babe,” he said as he laughed at some of the songs you had listed on the back, “We should listen to it tonight. I’ve never had someone make me a CD,”

“Theres the envelope too,” you mumbled, and he lit up all over again as he gently sit the CD down and picked up the envelope.

As he pulled out the kisses his eyebrows knitted in confusion but when he flipped them over, you’d never seen as big a smile on his face, “Did you make these? These are so fucking cute oh my god you’re amazing,” he said, sitting them down so he could wrap his arms so tightly around you, you wondered if you may snap.

“I didn’t expect you to like them so much,” you laughed as Felix finally let you go enough to breathe again, “Sorry it’s not much,” you said, smile dropping slightly when you saw your gifts laid side by side.

“Hey,” Felix said, reaching up a finger to your chin, turning your head to face him, “I love them. Why do you look so sad?” he said, his smile dropping.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m some cheap skate. I wanted to get you something good and- “

Felix practically picked you up and turned you to face him while straddling his lap, “No. don’t feel bad about any of this. I love them. You have no idea how much this means to me. I mean the time and effort you put into this,” he said, looking down at the gifts. “The money doesn’t matter to me. It never has. But you,” he said, moving to hold your hands, “you mean way more than any dumb bit of jewellery,”

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t you apologise,” he said, wrapping his arms around you for a tight hug which you quickly reciprocated. You stayed like that for a solid minute before Felix pulled away, “Now, you need to get ready or we’re going to be late,” he said with that dopey smile back on his face. He was never one to linger on the sadness after all, “Speaking of open it,” he said pulling the last gift over.

You laughed as you tore into the present, Felix getting a kick out how you didn’t try save the wrapping paper like last time. you gasped, yet again at the sight. “And don’t even think of trying to refuse it. seeing you in that is a gift for me too you know,” he joked making you slap his chest before you went to pull the gorgeous red dress out the box. “Now c’mon,” he said, pushing you out his lap before slapping your ass.

“Hey!”

“Cmon get dressed,” he said, leaning back in the bed.

“Aren’t you gonna leave?” you teased, holding the dress up to yourself.

“Nope,” he said, popping the p, “I think I’ll stay right where I am,”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,”

“No. I’m lucky I have you,”

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[tamayakii]

Their Angel. Yan!HOTD x Reader

I've been having so many thoughts about yandere house of the dragon x reader, how the 3 big houses (Targaryen, Velaryon & Hightower) would fight for the darlings' affection. Platonic, Familial or romantic. I feel like they would, of course, all fight over what colours you would wear, what house you represent until a very annoyed and exhausted council member suggested white.

"like an angel," Viserys adds, it was said that the gods had sent you down to bless them so dressing you in white seemed the best option... but that didn't stop them from gifting you jewellery that had the colours of their house.

The Hightower jewellery had the most expensive Jade and Emerald on top of gold, these pieces can range from delicate rings to big statement necklaces that encompass your neck. Alicent prefers to give you these gifts in person, alone, perhaps in her or your chambers. Presenting you with the beautifully engraved box as she opens it, showing you a new necklace with a beautiful dark green emerald. Otto's gifts never cease to awe you in how quiet that man is in his actions, a small indiscreet box upon your pillow when you ready for bed. Inside lays a note, upon which Otto describes the moment he found this beautiful ring and knew he must get it for you, the handwriting almost as beautiful as the peridot ring you now proudly wear on your pinkie.

The Targaryen jewellery is almost always extravagant, having connections to get you the best out of everything. Viserys gifts you capes, crowns and veils but unlike the others, he almost always keeps them in white, unless they have jewels. His favourite thing to see you in is crown veils, the jewellery hanging down and framing your face makes you seem like you stepped down from heaven's gate. When Aemma was still around, she gifted you rings and earrings, she wasn't able to give you much before she passed in childbirth. So you hold these gifts quite dearly to your heart, always sporting the dark ruby red ring on your thumb, twisting it when you get nervous. Rhaenrya, oh dear Rhaenrya, she wanted everyone to know that you belong to the Targaryens. To the Blood of The Dragons, her first gift to you was a cloak clasp that show two dragons on each side, her second gift was a crystal bracelet that had a chain connecting to a ring, it was a simple design but by the gods it made you feel exquisite. There was one gift that set the nail in the coffin, it was a gift from Rhaenrya and Aemma, a dragon that wrapped around your neck. Signifying the hold that House Targaryen has on you.

The Velaryon jewellery is often pearls or other sea gemstones as they sit on driftmark and have a hand over the trading routes, Rhaenys upon her second meeting of you, gifting you a pearl ring slipping upon your finger herself. Corlys gifted you a relic that was been with the Veleryons for ages on your first birthday with them, the beautiful necklace made with blue topaz, moonstones and blue chalcedony, wrapped beautifully with Valeryon silver. Vaemond... never was quite as fond as you as his brother and sister-in-law were, you were no Targaryen or Velaryon but for small moments he forgot that and adored your sweet smile.

I would love to draw male and female outfits of what this au's darling would look like, i can also do a part two of the other things the other characters would give you as i excluded a lot as to not make this any longer than it is. Should i make a fic with this idea? pls send me an ask if you're interested in this au

[mixtape-racha]

boyfriend!yang jeongin thoughts

(a/n: this is for u anonnie !! enjoy <3) | sfw and nsfw below the cut

warnings: phone sex (ish), fingering, recorded sex, unprotected sex loss of virginity, oral, 69'ing, anal fingering

sfw

boyfriend!jeongin who paints your toes nails for you and help your shave your legs when you're feeling down/under the weather

boyfriend!jeongin who always wears gold jewellery and buys you matching pieces to his, but in silver

boyfriend!jeongin who lets you design his first tattoo, so he'll always have a part of you with him

boyfriend!jeongin who makes you advent gift baskets each year instead of a normal advent calendar

boyfriend!jeongin who always come back from a job with alexander mcqueen with gifts for you, shrugging it off like its no big deal

boyfriend!jeongin who spends as long as he can learning your love language if it isn't the same as his, just so he can truly show you how much he appreciates you

boyfriend!jeongin who takes you to the animal shelter to adopt a pet together for your first anniversary

boyfriend!jeongin who gets you photocards of your bias, even if it isn't him, but Especially if it is him

boyfriend!jeongin who got an extra foxi.ny who he sews hair extensions onto and says it you - so now you have to get matching outfits with your foxy/n

boyfriend!jeongin who sings you to sleep most nights, and its honestly subconsciously - he just knows you sleep better when he has, and wants that for you every night

nsfw

boyfriend!jeongin who spends hours fingering you, drawing as many orgasms out of you as he can before it gets too much for you

boyfriend!jeongin who loves fucking you in doggy, watching the way your ass bounces with his thrusts and when he spanks you

boyfriend!jeongin who can make you wet from across a room just by giving you those dangerous siren eyes, and knows full well because he just smirks after

boyfriend!jeongin who uses a soundbite of your moans in the first freaky song he writes himself, and of course he had to fuck you in the studio to get it

boyfriend!jeongin who constantly sends you videos of him jerking off when he's away on tour, but cuts the video off before he finishes if you've been a brat

boyfriend!jeongin who has only ever cum inside you raw once, and it got him so turned on you ended up going at it literally all night

boyfriend!jeongin who took your virginity and lost his to you, and wholeheartedly believes it will always be the most loving and intimate thing you'll ever do together

boyfriend!jeongin who prefers giving head to receiving it, to the point where you only ever really blow him if you're 69'ing

boyfriend!jeongin who asked you to finger his ass while he was fucking you one time, and never looked back holy shit he's never cum so hard

boyfriend!jeongin who will never have a threesome because he believes no one else should be lucky enough to see how pretty you look and hear how pretty you sound during sex

(a/n: scheduled post!)

-> don’t forget to reblog or comment if you like my works ♡ please refrain from modifying, translating, or copying my work. - © mixtape-racha

tags ✮⋆˙ : @pretty-racha @chubbyanarkiss @taeriffic @mits-vi @chanssmiles @5kayzee @queen-klarissa @torixx80 @fawnpeaks @bangtanmix73 @savluvsmingi @boi-bi-ahaha @skz-streamer @demetrisscarf @manj1ro @linocvpid @alextheweeb7 @chans-american-slave @unsweetenedpeatea @carpioassists @bangtancultsposts @reiheis @happilydeepestwonderland @leemidnightmoon @watariisbestboy @hwangrimi @weedforthoughtz @ivyisnotokay @yevene @puckmaidens @poody1608 @vampcharxter @ilcveyouu @yeetmehome @prettymiye0n @bratty-tingz

[marvelmusing]

Like A Diamond

Part of the Glitter & Gold AU

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader (featuring Zoyalai and GenyaxDavid)

Summary: Every one of Aleksander’s closest friends has at least one Morozov diamond. He gifts you one which then prompts an official initiation into Ravka’s most exclusive group of socialites.

Warnings [18+]: smut, oral (fem receiving), exhibitionism and voyeurism (Nikolai & Zoya play with the reader whilst their friends watch), soft dom!Nikolai & Zoya, consensual sharing of explicit videos and photos, praise kink, masturbation, nipple play, non-piercing nipple rings, hint of pain kink.

My Masterlist

Every one of Aleksander’s closest friends has at least one Morozov diamond.

His grandfather had not only been the founder of the company Aleksander now owns, but he had also been one of Ravka’s most influential explorers and inventors. He had located one of the country’s largest natural diamond deposits which had set the foundation for the Morozov brand.

Now, almost every celebrity worldwide wants one of Aleksander’s pieces. Very few people can afford to have such a luxurious item in their jewellery box, and he is very selective about who can be seen wearing his designs publicly. But, of course, if Aleksander values you he won’t be able to resist staking his claim on you through a gift of glistening diamonds.

Genya has a pair of earrings. Sparkling silver studs comprised of three teardrop-shaped diamonds stacked on top of one another to curve over the slope of her earlobe. She wears them on special occasions. Dinners and galas and parties, whenever she needs a reminder she’s appreciated. She and Aleksander have a close bond and his gifts are amongst her most valued possessions.

David has a simple pendant necklace with a small diamond at the centre. He wears it almost always since he likes the comforting weight of it and has a habit of loosening the chain from underneath his shirt to fidget with the expensive gem, twirling it with his fingers whenever he’s nervous. Genya thinks the habit is endearing, especially since the necklace was a wedding gift from Aleksander.

Nikolai has a ring. Thick metal, with a flattened centre that sits on his knuckle, where a Morozov diamond sits alongside his initials engraved there - NN. Nikolai Nazyalensky. He keeps it on his pinkie finger as a replacement for the Lantsov signet ring that he threw away when he became estranged from the rest of his family.

Zoya has a necklace which traces down her figure into a body chain. The thin shining strand of metal falls between her breasts, where a cluster of diamonds sit on her cleavage before splitting into two chains that hang around her waist meeting again at the small of her back. The piece is a pretty addition to Zoya’s tightest dresses and her favourite sets of lingerie.

Alina has more pieces of jewellery than she can keep track of. Glimmering rings, beautiful earrings, necklaces and chokers, glistening bracelets. One night, when the two of you are drunk and giggly, she starts whispering filthy words into your ear, telling you everyone’s deepest secrets. She takes your hand, sliding it into her panties so that you can feel where her Morozov diamond presses against her clit.

When you join the group, they all exchange knowing glances when Aleksander helps you into your coat after dinner or places his hand on your lower back as he steers you through the crowd towards the rest of the group at a gala. They all tease you good-naturedly, telling you that it’s only a matter of time before you get your own diamond.

Alina smiles widely when she sees her husband working on a particular design, sitting in his lap to offer him some company while he draws out something special.

Then one evening you and Aleksander are working late in your office, passing sketches between one another and comparing notes for your designs in preparation for your new collection.

“I have something for you,” he says quietly.

When you see him reaching for his coat pocket, pulling out a small velvet box embossed with a very familiar logo, your stomach flips.

“Aleksander, I hope you know you don’t ever have to give me anything.”

He nods.

“I know.” He opens up the box, nudging it towards you. “But I crafted this one myself.”

Aleksander doesn’t make many pieces by hand anymore, given that he has a company to run and a whole team of people to craft his designs for him instead.

“I thought long and hard about what piece you would like.”

As your eyes flicker down to the contents of the box, the breath catches in your throat. His thumb strokes the underside of your breast. Arousal stirs in your stomach, thrumming down between your thighs.

Slowly, you trace your fingertips over the edge of the box, the velvet smooth against your skin. There’s two small silver pieces, decorated with tiny diamonds cut perfectly to line the outside of the thin curves of metal. The shape of the rings themselves loop in elegant circles, so that they look like daisies.

“Are these…?”

Aleksander continues to stroke your breast, his fingers seeking your clothed nipple, hidden by the fabric of your shirt. Once he finds it, he rolls it slowly between his finger and thumb, pinching lightly.

“I wasn’t sure if you had them pierced or not,” he muses quietly, continuing his gentle touches. “Regardless, I thought it best to give you something easy to wear.”

The thought of having those rings, that Aleksander created himself for you, pinching lightly at your nipples all day has your eyes fluttering closed with need. He takes your silence for hesitation.

“I can turn one of them into a charm for a necklace if you would prefer.”

You shake your head immediately.

“No. They’re beautiful.”

He gestures lightly towards the loose collar of your shirt which reveals your cleavage.

“May I?”

You nod.

He loosens your shirt from the waistband of your trousers, unbuttoning the piece of clothing slowly and pushing the fabric aside to reveal your bare chest. He hums quietly in approval, his voice a low murmur that sends a thrill down your spine as he stares at your nipples.

“Look at that, milaya, all perked up and pretty for me already.”

A burning flush rushes over your skin, warming your cheeks before it spreads down your neck as you glance down at your breasts.

He takes one of the rings from the box, cupping your breast with his other hand. Even though your nipple is already hardened in anticipation, he rolls it between his fingers gently, encouraging it to stiffen further.

“Good girl.”

It’s difficult to not whimper aloud at his praise. He slots the ring onto your nipple, cool metal encircling the bud. There’s a firm pinch at first and you squirm at the sensation, though it softens rather quickly into something more pleasurable - a soft pressure that has you shifting your thighs to seek some friction.

“A perfect fit,” he observes, the corner of his mouth twitching.

He pinches your other nipple hard and there’s no stopping the whimper from escaping your lips this time. A wide smile spreads over his face as he slots the next ring onto your nipple, watching your chest heave as the metal clings to your hardened nub.

The sight of your breasts, areolae adorned with pretty circles of silver in a floral shape, pinched nipples in the place of the flower head, sends a heavy flood of arousal to your cunt. Certain that your panties are soaked, you bite down on your lower lip, gripping to the sides of your seat.

Aleksander’s eyes are darkened as he stares at your breasts, a glimmer of pride in the depths of his gaze. He hooks a finger under your chin, guiding your eyes up to meet his directly.

“How do they feel? Not too tight?”

“Good,” you say with a sigh. “They’re so good. I love them.”

He hums in acknowledgement, stroking his knuckles along your jawline.

“Ensure you take them out before going to bed.”

You nod.

He cups your breast, thumb brushing over your pinched nipple. Shifting your thighs once again, your eyes flutter closed as he stands. A whine claws at your throat, grip tightening on your seat as he shrugs on his coat.

“Aleksander,” you say quietly, your voice an almost pathetic whimper.

The temptation to grab his hand and press it against your clothed cunt is almost too much to bear. Embarrassment prickles over your cheeks at the thought of grinding weakly against his hand, begging for him to touch you. He cups your face with both of his hands, bringing you close for him to press his lips tenderly against your forehead.

“Send me a message when you arrive home safely.” The nod you give him in response is jerky. “And send Alina a video of whatever you do to satisfy yourself tonight.”

You do as he says.

As soon as you get home, your fingers fumble over the screen of your phone, typing out a message for Aleksander as you tuck your shoes away. He responds within a minute, praising you for following his instruction and reminding you of what else he had asked of you. That is all the incentive you need.

Bag and coat left abandoned in the hallway, you move up the stairs into your bedroom and collapse onto the rug between your bed and wardrobe. Once you’ve managed to prop your phone up against your wardrobe door, you begin removing more of your clothing.

Fingers shaking with anticipation, you slide down the zipper of your trousers, allowing the smooth fabric to drop down your legs. After Aleksander had left your office, you had only managed to button up a small portion of your shirt, hands still shaky with adrenaline.

Without too much preparation, you press on the record button and allow the camera of your phone to capture your need-fuelled actions.

The mess in your panties would be embarrassing if you weren’t so aroused by the sight of your slick clinging to the delicate lace, knowing that if Aleksander had slipped his hand beneath your waistband the same mess would have coated his fingers. His long nimble fingers.

It can’t be a very alluring video. But you’re too overcome by need to do anything but arch your back into the side of your bed, fingers reaching up to grasp at your covers as your other hand rubs frantically at your dripping cunt.

Any technique that you’ve gained from learning what your body likes has been abandoned as you mindlessly press your fingertips hard against your clit in eager circles. Gasps and cries of their names escape from your lips even when you grit your teeth as you writhe on your bedroom floor.

The nipple rings Aleksander had created for you glisten in the low light of your lamp as they remain firmly attached to the hardened nub of your nipples. The metal is no longer cool, warmed by the heat of your body, but the subtle pressure of the jewellery against your skin, a gentle tug on your sensitive nipples, has your arousal skyrocketing.

Thoughts of both Aleksander and Alina fill your mind, imagining her fingers rubbing sloppy circles over your clit while he holds your waist still to prevent you from squirming.

Their breathing heavy against your neck as they press kisses there, unable to pull themselves away from you to breathe properly. Alina mouthing over your throat and collarbone, delicate lips pressing firmly as she sucks blooming marks there. The scrape of Aleksander’s facial hair against your cheek, his teeth dragging over your jawline and nipping at your earlobe. Hot mouths. Eager tongues. Sweat rolling down between your breasts. Cunt tightening, a steady beat of pleasure, climbing higher with every drag of friction against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

The climax that hits you has stars sparkling behind your closed eyelids, pleasure thrumming beneath your skin. As you slump your head back against your bed, pressing your face into the curve of your arm, a greedy urge tugs at your hand, as your body perks up again at the prospect of another orgasm.

Squeezing your eyes shut tighter, your sighs and moans become whinier, higher in pitch as your fingers chase your next climax. Curses, pleas, whimpers of their names, they all tumble from your lips, merging together into an almost incoherent mess. You end up hiding your face into the crook of your elbow, biting down on the flesh there to quieten your desperate noises.

Unbelievably quickly, you feel your body stumbling towards the edge of your pleasure, teetering on the precipice of another dizzying climax. The moan that shudders through your body is obscene, your breathy gasps borderline pornographic as you whimper their names one final time as your cunt clenches frantically around nothing.

With shaking hands, you stop the recording and send the footage without any hesitation. There’s no reply from Alina, though you aren’t too conscious of it as you clean yourself up in the bathroom and slip under your bedcovers.

Head still fuzzy with pleasure, you’re dozing lightly when there’s a soft ping that rouses you from the haze in your mind. Blinking sleepily, you reach for your phone, unlocking it and clicking on Alina’s message.

“For fuck’s sake,” you whine, dropping your face down into your pillow.

Taking the image itself into account, it’s more likely that Aleksander had sent the photo, and the response to your video has need blooming in your abdomen once again. What a vicious cycle. Very briefly, you contemplate slipping a hand down to touch yourself again.

The photo is taken from Aleksander’s point of view, as he sinks his cock into Alina’s cunt. A thick ring of arousal is coating his length, smearing messily over both of their thighs. From the soaked state of Alina, he must have been teasing her while you were recording your video for them. Unable to fashion any sort of response, you simply stare at the image until another one arrives.

This one is also taken by Aleksander, though he’s holding the phone to one side so that the majority of their bodies can be seen. Alina’s arms are stretched up to the headboard, while his other hand is curled around her throat as he thrusts into her. Her back is arched against the mattress.

Eyes fluttering closed you imagine their bodies crashing together, the gasps and moans, the slapping of skin against skin. Inhaling deeply, you wish you could hear them yourself, smell the scent of sex fill their room, and taste the sweat on their skin. It’s hard not to touch yourself again, forcing your body into overstimulation just to know that you might climax at the same time as them. But you manage to resist, though your hips grind gently against your mattress.

The last photo is taken by Alina. It’s a mirror picture taken in what you can only assume is their bathroom. She’s completely naked, cheeks and chest flushed a pretty shade of pink, with marks dotted over her neck. Butterflies swoop in your stomach at her beaming smile, filling your chest with a giddy feeling. By the time you’ve finished admiring her, there’s a text underneath the image.

Alina: Don’t forget to pee!! And Sasha said drink some water before you go to bed

You: I’m surprised you can type out full sentences after all that

Alina: I’ll tell him you said that ;)

Alina: And yea I’m concentrating very hard rn

A soft laugh falls from your lips.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Let’s see it then,” Nikolai remarks, taking a sip of his drink before he sets in down on the glass coffee table in front of him.

A frown creases at your brows as you watch him lean back into the couch, draping his arm over the back of the furniture piece.

“See what?”

“Whatever Aleksander has made for you.”

Genya smiles widely in anticipation, settling down beside Nikolai before she tucks her leg up to her chest. Her eyes scan over your body intently and you blush. Nerves flip in your stomach at the weight of so many eyes falling on you.

Aleksander and Alina watch you from the other side of the room, where they sit in an armchair together with Alina draped over his lap. Their dark eyes make arousal pool in your panties and a flustered blush burns over your skin as they both smirk.

Swallowing hard, you shift your weight slightly on your feet.

“Go sit with Zoya and show her first,” Aleksander instructs you.

There’s a knowing glimmer in her eyes as you sit down on the couch next to Zoya, opposite Nikolai and Genya. David tilts his head curiously from where he’s sitting in the armchair, leaning to rest his elbow on the arm of the couch next to Genya.

Taking the hem of your shirt you tug it upwards over your head, revealing your bra to everyone in the room. Nikolai grins and Zoya’s gaze roams hungrily over your skin. She reaches out, hooking her finger under the strap of your bra to snap it playfully against your skin.

The sting of pain sends a pleasurable thrum down to your nipples, reminding you of what they’re about to see. Sending a glance over to Aleksander, his eyes darkening as they meet yours, you breathe in shakily and unclasp your bra. The fabric falls from your breasts, revealing Aleksander’s creation to the group.

There’s a collective sound of inhaled breaths and low murmurs of praise, which has you squeezing your thighs together.

“Good girl,” Zoya says with a smirk, cupping your breast to admire the jewellery.

Nikolai leans forward, resting his elbows onto his knees, cocking his head aside as his lips quirk into a boyish grin that makes you blush.

Alina peers over eagerly, as if she doesn’t have an ample number of photos of your breasts saved on her phone. Almost every day, you’ve ended up sending her a picture of some aspect of your body at her request. The thought of her using those photos to touch herself to makes your panties wet.

“Come here, love,” Nikolai says, beckoning you to him. As soon as you stand, Zoya grasps at the waistband of your jeans, bringing them - alongside your panties - down with a few determined tugs.

Nikolai sets you down on the glass coffee table, facing Zoya, goosebumps rising on your bare body from the chill of the glass and the heat burning beneath your skin.

“Let everyone see how pretty you are,” he murmurs low in your ear.

Zoya smirks widely, continuing to play with your breasts. Her fingertips dance over your skin, brushing delicately against your hardened nipples.

“And what a lovely job Aleksander did.” Her voice is an admiring purr that makes your blush deepen. “I think this one of your best, Sasha.”

He inclines his head slowly in appreciation, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly. David asks him a question about the metal used and conversation begins to flow as easily as it always does. Everyone is so dynamic and interesting, they understand one another so instinctively. How can a group of people merely talking to one another make you this aroused?

Aleksander’s voice is your favourite to listen to. Smooth and decisive, every word is pronounced intentionally with confidence in every syllable. Alina is the most expressive with her voice, amusement and interest colouring whatever she’s saying. Genya’s is a soft balm, soothing yet there’s something hidden in her words. Whilst David might not be as articulate as Aleksander, or charismatic like Nikolai, everything he says is insightful. There’s no hope of you understanding what he’s saying, but his enthusiasm has you wanting to listen for hours.

Zoya’s nails scape over your thighs, dragging your awareness back out of the haze that has clouded your mind. A breathy whine heaves at your chest, your eyes snapping up to meet hers. Deep chocolate brown, allure swirling in the dark depth of her gaze as she smiles at you.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, prickling in anticipation as Nikolai shifts his body to the edge of his seat, leaning over so that his chest is mere inches from your bare back. His arm curls around your waist, not touching you until his fingers brush lightly over your navel.

A whimper catches in your throat, as Zoya presses her nails harder into the soft plush of your thighs. Her smile twists into a devious smirk. Her nails are always perfect, a decent length, painted whatever shade will match her colour palette for the week ahead. This evening, blood red nails bite into your skin and you squirm over the table.

Nikolai clicks his tongue in warning. His fingers drag up your stomach, tracing a feather-light path between your breasts. When his hand encircles your throat, the pressure is a wonderfully familiar sensation that has you sighing as he squeezes once in reassurance - an encouragement for you to submit to them both.

Their touches are knowing, well learnt through hours spent in one another’s beds. Luckily for you, the length of Zoya’s nails means she prefers to use her mouth to pleasure you and Nikolai. Excitement prickles over your skin as she parts your thighs. The need thrumming through your body ensures you’re unable to focus on anything except Zoya’s lips lowering to kiss over your thighs.

Conversation continues, though you’re unable to decipher anything being said. Occasionally, Nikolai will chuckle, the motion of his chest jostling you slightly. Zoya’s mouth moves over your skin, licking the scratch marks left by her hands and the sting of pain makes you whimper.

At some point, David must have moved over to the couch, sitting beside Genya to press lazy kisses over her throat and slide his hands over her waist and thighs. Her sighs are soft as she threads her hands gently through his hair, encouraging him to continue whilst they watch you, Nikolai, and Zoya.

The amount of arousal leaking from your cunt, smearing over the table beneath you, makes your cheeks burn hot with embarrassment. Nikolai’s murmurings aren’t helping to curb those feelings either. His words are phrased like praises, but the teasing edge in his voice makes your clit throb with need.

“Messy little girl, dripping all over our table. Do you know how much that cost?” When you shake your head weakly he laughs. “Of course you don’t. Numbers are difficult, aren’t they? I don’t think you could count to ten in this state.”

He’s right. Thoughts themselves are difficult and your mind is fully grounded in sensation. His wife bites a mark into your inner thigh, her nose nudging gently against your mound as she leans closer. Every kiss and touch she’s given you has been pointedly away from where you need her most and your patience is wearing thin.

“Zoya, please.”

The sound of your voice breaking through the conversation has everyone’s attention returning fully to you. Zoya looks up at you sharply, something dangerous glimmering in her eyes and you whimper at the feeling of being unintentionally disobedient.

“I’m sorry, please,” you beg, turning your face to hide against the space between Nikolai’s collarbones. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

Nikolai runs a hand soothingly down your side.

“Tell us what you want, lovely. Ask politely, like a good girl, for everyone to hear.”

Chest heaving with anticipation, you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt at suppressing some of the embarrassment burning over your face as you say,

“Zoya. Will you please kiss my cunt?”

“Just a kiss?” she teases.

Shaking your head, you whimper in protest.

“Don’t be mean Zoya,” Nikolai remarks, though his tone is light and he smiles over at her whilst stroking your cheek gently. “She’s being good.”

She hums quietly, tilting her head as she appears to give his words some thought. Then she nods to one side.

“Look at Aleksander.”

There’s a knowing glimmer in her eyes as you hold her gaze and her smirk widens. Zoya and Nikolai share a look, smiling at one another. They know you well enough to see how much you like Aleksander and Alina.

Swallowing hard, you turn your head and the breath leaves your lungs in a sudden rush as Aleksander’s pitch black eyes meet yours. You can almost see yourself reflected in them, a messy wanton being writhing in front of him.

His tongue traces over his lower lip before he smirks, his gaze lowering to admire your breasts, still adorned with his jewellery, and your messy cunt. Zoya presses her lips against one of your nipples, a delicate kiss to the pinched nub. Then the other.

Then, finally, she ducks her head down between your thighs, mouthing over your soaked cunt. She laps eagerly with her tongue, and the sensation has you throwing your head back against Nikolai’s shoulder. His arms curl around your body to keep you upright.

The desperate cry that escapes your lips attracts Zoya’s attention and her lips press together in disapproval when she sees your gaze has left Aleksander, shifting back to her.

“Keep looking, or I’ll stop,” Zoya says sternly.

A small pout puckers at your lower lip, but you do as she says. Aleksander’s gaze is too intense, and you move your eyes over to watch his hands wandering over Alina’s thighs. He squeezes the clothed flesh smoothly, ignoring how she shifts her weight over his lap, grinding slowly. Her eyes, half-lidded, meet yours and a thrill runs down your spine.

When Zoya’s mouth returns to your cunt, your hands reach for her hair to urge her closer, wanting to chase the prickle of pleasure that is buzzing in the back of your head. Before you can touch her, Nikolai is curling his hands around your wrists, guiding your arms backwards so that your palms are settled on each of his thighs.

“Hold onto me, love,” he suggests.

Despite having very little control of your body and its reactions, you grip onto the fabric of his trousers, nails digging into the muscle beneath. He smiles widely, nose nudging against your cheek as you gasp and whimper.

Aleksander is murmuring something into Alina’s ear, his hand curling around her throat to keep her attention on you. Bliss is running through your veins, heating your entire body as Zoya begins to suckle on your clit, swirling her tongue over the sensitive little bud. Alina bites down on her lower lip.

“Nik, please,” you whisper weakly.

He hushes you, pressing a kiss to your temple as you continue watching Aleksander and Alina, they bodies melding into fuzzy shapes as your gaze becomes unfocused. The drag of Zoya’s tongue and the movement of her lips against your sensitive cunt has you nearing a climax with an almost frightening intensity.

“That’s it, love. Come on, show everyone how pretty you look when you come undone.”

He whispers more praises into your ear before grasping your chin lightly to hold your head up and meet Aleksander’s eyes once again.

“Sasha, tell her what a good girl she is.”

You won’t survive this. The climax that is building inside you is too much. Aleksander’s words are smooth as he encourages you in a doting voice that has your mind sinking through honey.

“You’re a very good girl, milaya, and you’re going to cum for us, aren’t you?”

Obediently, you nod in agreement.

“Yes, yes Aleksander, please, oh fuck.”

Overcome by pleasure, you grasp tightly onto Nikolai’s wrist, writhing between him and his wife as your climax throws you off a cliff, plummeting into the wild waves of bliss. The muscles in your legs shake, your hips jerking against Zoya’s face as your climax shudders through your body.

Weakly, you slump back against Nikolai, whining quietly when Zoya continues to lick your twitching cunt. When your breathing hitches and you try to move away, she stops and you feel boneless now that the sensation has been removed. Bliss has made your limbs heavy and your body is still reeling.

For a long moment, you keep your eyes shut, admiring the colours that swim over your closed eyelids. The need that had been clouding your thoughts has now dissolved completely, leaving your mind a puddle.

While your eyes remain closed, you’re aware of someone lying you down, some gentle touches and murmurs, as well as a warm cloth being dragged between your thighs. It’s much easier to keep your eyes closed, settling your heart and breathing into something more comfortable. Slowly, your eyes begin to flutter open again.

“There’s our girl,” Nikolai coos with a bright smile. “Welcome back, love.”

His hands smooth gently over your thighs and you hum at the soothing sensation of someone tracing their fingers over your forehead. Blinking up at the person, you realise your head has been placed in Genya’s lap.

“Hello, down there,” she says softly, tapping you on the nose with her fingertip. A bashful expression fills your features as you whisper a quiet response.

“Hi.”

David reaches over towards the coffee table, picking up a large crystal pitcher filled with water that hadn’t been there earlier. He pours a small glassful while Genya helps you into a somewhat upright position.

They seem to know your hands would be unable to hold the glass, still shaking from the remaining adrenaline in your body. David holds the water up to your lips and you drink eagerly. His firm hand at the back of your neck makes you shiver pleasantly.

Once you’ve finished, Zoya places a soft blanket over your body and you nestle your face against Genya’s chest. She presses a kiss to the crown of your head, whilst David traces his knuckles down the length of your spine. His touch is warm even through the fabric of the blanket. It doesn’t take long for you to sink into a heavy slumber.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A chill brushing over your skin is what wakes you and a shiver shakes your body, nuzzling deeper into the warmth surrounding you on both sides. It’s then that you realise you’re now in a bed, in one of Zoya and Nikolai’s guest rooms. With Aleksander on one side, Alina on the other.

Her head is tucked close to you, she appears to have slid off the pillow in her sleep, now nestled in the space under your chin, her forehead brushing against your breasts occasionally as you breathe. One of her hands is placed on your thigh, trapped between them as you lie on your side.

Aleksander’s arm is draped over your body, his hand resting on the limited mattress space between you and Alina. He seems to be a light sleeper, shifting his position as if he’s sensed your state of awareness.

His voice is rough with sleep as he murmurs quietly,

“Everything alright, milaya?”

You nod. You’re wearing an unfamiliar shirt which you can only assume belongs to Aleksander. After such an intense orgasm, involving so many intimate moments, you’re glad you’re not waking up in a cold and empty bed.

“You stayed with me?”

“Of course.” His lips brush against the shell of your ear. “We didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

Reaching for his hand, you intertwine his fingers with your own, giving him an appreciative squeeze as you whisper,

“Thank you.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire @dhampiravidi @morrigan-crowmwell

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @veescorneroftheworld

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

[darkjimxn]

The Reaper's Daughter (PJM)

Summary: The Reaper’s Letter, a chilling call for blood, has been delivered, and who better to answer that call than the Reaper’s Daughter herself?

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Genre: Hitman au, mystery

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Park Jimin. That’s it, that’s the warning. 

A/N: Take this random drabble (or possible prologue…?) while I struggle with writing TSC even though I’m only on the third chapter (●_● ).

The first time you met him was on a piece of paper. 

It wasn’t just any piece of paper, of course. If that had been the case, his name would have been quickly dispelled into the forgotten depths of your mind. Your world was nothing short of a theatre piece crafted by Shakespeare himself, and anything that strayed from his intricately constructed script swiftly faded into its indifferent backdrops. 

No, the paper you met him on was very much a detail of that script. Delicately handcrafted, with sloping black cursive characters and glittering golden borders. It had many names, too. The Reaper’s Letter. Death Note. The Waiting Crow’s Hailing. But, it was not what it was called that mattered. 

What mattered was the name printed boldly on its top left corner. Because whoever’s name was unfortunate enough to find itself nestled cosily on this paper, would be found dead by week’s end. 

It had always reminded you of a children’s game you could just barely remember from the shattered fragments of your childhood, though there was nothing childish about the work you did. You’re handed the Death Note, you navigate through the mountains of information it supplies, and then the hunt begins. Kind of like Tag, yet nothing like it at all. 

But that time the rules had been slightly different. Usually accompanying the name was a picture of your target, alongside a thick file of information covering every miniscule detail of the name’s life. Instead, the paper handed to you held only three words. 

Name: Park Jimin. 

Beside it was no picture, no age, no location. At first it had annoyed you, because that meant the burden of research now fell heavily on your shoulders. But then again, this was a novel challenge, one that you were not willing to collapse under. 

Your interest had piqued even further when you were halted before your exit to be given an ominous warning. 

“Be careful, I heard he’s sharp.”

The statement was not enough to catch you off guard, but it, like the entirety of this task, was new. You were one of the best. If the likes of you had to be cautioned, then who exactly was this man?

You didn’t find out, and maybe that had been your first mistake. His information had been hidden well, too well. Of course, that had sent a few alarms blaring in your head about messing with the wrong people. But you had been given a job, and you couldn’t not see it through. 

Thus, by week’s end, you had only managed to collect a measly location and picture. It wasn’t much, but you were out of both options and time. And really, a name and place was all you’ve ever needed anyway. 

Killing a person was really not as difficult as films made it out to be. 

Take Park Jimin for example. He was completely unaware of your presence on the rooftop of the building standing right next to the enormous banquet hall he was in now. Instead, he laughed with a woman adorning glittering gold jewellery from head to toe, with a velvety navy blue dress that could only be designer. She was not special amongst the sea of identically dressed women, each accompanied by men in posh suits. 

Park Jimin didn’t look too bad himself. He was donning a dark magenta suit that hugged him in all the right places, especially the extra piece of cloth that wrapped around his torso to show off his figure. His hair was dyed dirty blonde, but it only added to the intensity that radiated off of him. 

If only it could save him from the bullet that was about to make acquaintance with his head. 

The one that you were going to release, just from a little pressure on the trigger of the sniper that your finger brushed against now.

Poor Park Jimin. He won’t be getting laid tonight, at least, not in the way he wanted. 

Your finger pressed against the trigger, only to still when a head appeared in front of Jimin. It was another woman, this time in a sequined scarlet dress that was pulled taut against her skinny figure.

You readjusted the aim of your sniper, making sure it was once again pointed towards Jimin’s head, only to huff when another opulently dressed individual, this time a man dressed in a dull black suit, gets in the way of your aim. 

You wouldn’t have paid it much thought if it wasn’t for the unusual nature of everyone’s movements. The second your aim found its way back to Jimin’s head, another individual would pop up, effectively blocking your aim. It was so ridiculous that, at some point, even Jimin himself had disappeared behind the crowd of people now laughing and chattering with one another. 

It only took you a few moments to realise the eeriness of the situation, and then one more to jump to your feet. Something was wrong, you could practically feel it buzzing around you in the air. 

As if confirming your suspicion, you heard the safety of a gun being turned off behind you. That made you freeze. 

“So, they chose you?”

The voice behind it was soft but low, and although you’ve never heard it before, you can already guess who it belongs to. 

You kept your lips sealed, not entirely sure what his words meant. They were too ambiguous, too many meanings that they could branch into. 

Instead, you decided to risk turning around. 

You were wrong, you realised, about Jimin not looking too bad. Because although he was pointing a simple handgun at your forehead, he was probably the most beautiful man you had ever laid your eyes on. 

His magenta suit had darkened into a rich wine shade that seemed to glitter under the soft rays of the moonlight, while a few strands of dirty blonde hair rested delicately on his exposed forehead. This was in contrast with his sharp jawline, that casted a deep shadow on his neck. But his eyes… Though a simple brown, they held an intensity you couldn’t quite decipher. Like creatures swimming to the surface of the vast ocean for only brief moments, you managed to catch only glimpses. Of mischief. Of anguish. You could have sworn you had even caught a tail of compassion. 

But a compassionate man wouldn’t be pointing a gun at your head now would he?

In a single, swift movement, your fingers wrapped around the gun at your waist and brought it to his own head, a perfect reflection of him. You waited for the familiar fear to pull at his calm expression, but instead, you watched him smile. 

He was pissing you off. Not because of his clearly inciting behaviour, but because he had a chance to kill you and he didn’t. He didn’t seem stupid enough not to be aware of your intentions, and yet, he didn’t seem the slightest bit worried, or even vengeful. 

Why?

“It seems we’re at a stalemate,” he stated, eyes searching your expression. For what? You didn’t know. Only now were you wishing that you had collected more research on the man standing before you. Then you at least might’ve had an inkling of his intentions. 

“Both of us will be dead the second these guns go off,” he continued nonchalantly, as if he were talking about the weather.

Silence. 

It was a very underrated tactic that had quickly become one of your signature skills a long time ago. It was especially useful now, as you were in a bit of a predicament. You could have shot him and left easily if he was inexperienced. A simple disarm, duck and shoot would have been more than enough to secure a safe exit, as well as your paycheque. 

But his posture was perfect, his hands gripped the gun without even a quiver of instability, and there was an ease to his movements that lacked any kind of panic. 

He was like you, you realised. Gang members were wildcards that acted before they thought and most of their movements were rough around the edges. Police officers were more diplomatic, and Jimin would have stated that he was a cop the first chance he got if he were one. 

No, he wasn’t a gang member or police officer. He was more like you. 

You allowed yourself a single step backwards, the beginning of your journey to the roof’s edge. 

If he was as experienced as you were, he was going to be a slight problem. You had not anticipated this. You needed to do more research, find out who this man truly was because he did not seem normal. His flashy attire, calculating gaze, and eerie amusement in this whole situation had thrown you off, but you’ve never been one to be embarrassed. 

Life happened, you were a prime example of that. 

“Leaving so soon?” He asked, tilting his head to the side with an unwavering gaze. 

“You’re not doing a very good job at- well, your job. So, I’m assuming the party’s over,” you finally said, voice flat. 

“Ah, so she can speak,” he said, feigning astonishment, but it didn’t bother you much, “love, if I wanted you dead, you would be it already.”

“Careful. I’ve seen the overconfident crumble faster than the weak.”

You know you shouldn’t have responded if you wanted to maintain your air of silence, but you were also mature enough to admit that winning frivolous verbal spats like these were a guilty pleasure of yours. Before Jimin could continue, to fan the fire you guessed because he seemed like the kind of man that would, you beat him with a question.

“So, tell me why you’ve decided you don’t want me dead.”

He chuckled at that statement. 

“Who said I didn’t?”

He readjusted his aim so that instead of your head, the gun was pointed at your heart, “maybe you’re just nice to look at, and I’m just enjoying the view before you’re reduced to nothing but a pool of blood on this rooftop.”

This time it was your turn to chuckle, but you only laughed inwardly. If he was expecting you to be scared he was going to have to do a better job than that.

Despite repressing the laugh, you still felt a smile just barely twitch against your lips, “I would’ve expected trash talking to be beneath you Park Jimin.”

Jimin’s gaze remained steady, a glint of amusement in his eyes, “trash talking, huh? Well, I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

You cocked your head to the side, a silent question, but Jimin only copied the movement. At first you thought he was mocking you, but then he spoke. 

“So they finally decided to send you,” Jimin continued, “Reaper’s Daughter.”

You didn’t let yourself tense, or move in any way that would indicate that he had caught you off guard. That nickname was known by many, but the many couldn’t attribute it to a face. Not only did Jimin know you were The Reaper’s Daughter, but he had also revealed it to you that he knew. You still didn’t know what game you had walked into, but it was clear now that there was more to this task than you thought. There was more to Jimin than you thought. 

Slowly, you let your eyebrows pull together as you cast him a confused look. Jimin chuckled, seeming to find amusement in your lack of communication. 

“I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a while.”

The fact that you’ve had someone tailing you and you didn’t notice didn’t sit right with you. But you pushed the thought to the back of your mind, focusing instead on the fact that Jimin had been collecting information on you and that could only mean there was something he wanted. 

Before you could ask what it was, Jimin spoke up again. 

“When I first saw you on this rooftop, I wondered what you could be doing here. And then I watched you assemble your sniper,” he said, “I couldn’t understand why you’d agreed to make me one of your targets.”

You almost snorted at his naivety, because if he had been tailing you then he should know what you do for a living, but then paused at his next words. 

“I found it odd that this little mouse had agreed to eliminate the only one on her side,” he continued, “unless… she decided to switch sides.”

The atmosphere shifted from light jabs to a fierce hostility as the amusement suddenly drained from his face, leaving behind a sharp pair of eyes that betrayed nothing. You automatically tensed, knowing that the real standoff had just begun, even if you didn’t have a clue as to what Jimin was talking about. 

“I must say I’m disappointed. I wouldn’t have expected it from you of all people. I didn’t expect that you’d be here for this reason.”

“Speak plainly, Jimin. What are you talking about?” you said, your curiosity finally reaching a point strong enough to break your silence. Your tone was still flat, but now it was firm, tired of his cryptic words and your mind trying to grasp at straws to understand. 

Jimin studied you for a moment. Without the amusement in his gaze, you had to stop yourself from shifting uncomfortably. His eyes could be so… intense. 

You had a feeling that your words had surprised him, as the hostile environment seemed to dampen for a moment. Jimin looked like he was at a crossroad, unsure if he wanted to share what was truly on his mind or simply take his chances and kill you on the spot. You waited patiently, curious to have the hurricane of questions in your mind answered. 

But when the silence continued to stretch, you realised that Jimin had decided to adopt your preferred method of communication. It was clear now that he had opted to leave you in the dark instead, refusing to reveal any kind of information to you. You felt a pang of annoyance hit your chest as you realised the burden of research would, once again, fall on your shoulders. 

You took another step towards the edge of the roof, Jimin’s eyes still focused on you. It’s not like you were trying to hide it, because Jimin’s calculating gaze would not allow such a thing. The two of you knew there would be no deaths tonight. You were caught in a stalemate, one you would have left a while ago under normal circumstances, but nothing about Jimin was normal and maybe that was why you had stayed a lot longer than you should have. 

But even though he looked almost devilish under the moonlight in those sinfully sultry clothes, holding tempting answers to questions he would never answer, you knew you couldn’t stay any longer. This night was over. There was nothing left here for you. 

The roof’s edge brushed against your backside as you continued to aim your gun at Jimin’s chest, your gaze just as focused as his. You watched his expression soften for a moment before he spoke. 

“When you figure it out, you’ll know where to find me, Y/N L/N.”

You didn’t know how he knew your name. You didn’t know what he wanted you to figure out. You didn’t know where you would find him, or if you would even want to find him after you figured out whatever you needed to. But you didn’t question it. A gut feeling told you that once you started searching, you’d be able to figure things out easy enough. All you had to do was get out of here so that you could let your curiosity do its thing. 

So when you were finally balancing on the edge of the roof, taking Jimin’s gaze into your own, it wasn’t at all abnormal when you felt the drop of the fall in your stomach. 

What was abnormal was the butterflies that continued to flutter even after you had landed on the pavement of the street.

The butterflies that continued to flutter even after you had made it safely back to your home.

[toastofwaterdeep]

A Small Token

Durgetash (GN Durge, no name used)

Word count: 591

SFW. Fluff. Regency romance-esque longing and restraint.

“Good morning! To what do I owe the pleasure?” Gortash stood to greet them as the Bhaalist entered his office. They approached with purpose, wordlessly placing a pen on the desk before him. He glanced at it, searching for its hidden meaning. “What is this?” he asked when no answer came to him.

“It is a pen.”

“I can see that. Would you care to elaborate at all?” They locked eyes with Gortash, their face revealing nothing.

“The ink is on the inside.” At this Gortash pursed his lips.

“My friend, you rely too much on my powers of deduction. Allow me to be ignorant no more; lay it out plainly for me,” he chortled, masking his annoyance. They dropped his gaze, shifting their weight to one leg and folding their arms. To Gortash’s mind his ally looked effortlessly contrapposto. Maddening.

“The other day, you were tinkering away and taking notes all at once. You would make an adjustment, note something down. Reduce this, rotate that. But then you reached over, knocked the inkpot across the parchment. You cursed and crumpled up your notes. The project, whatever it was, relegated to waste.” Gortash said nothing, his mouth opened to speak and closed again. “I was in the market, and I saw the pen. I bought it. It is yours now.”

“You just got this for me? You just saw and got it for me?” He reached for it. It was silver with a gold nib but lacked any ornate detail. It was plain but well-crafted, designed entirely for utility.

“I suppose that must seem strange,” they conceded, uncrossing their arms to reach for the pen. “I meant no harm.”

“I love it,” he said. “Thank you.” The Bhaalist retracted their outstretched hand. A beat passed and they nodded in acknowledgement.

“It is nothing,” they replied. They turned on their heel and left without another word. Gortash watched them leave then sat back in his chair. He returned his attention to the plain little pen. He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, grazing his racing pulse. He exhaled, his lips parting into a puzzled smile. He had received a great many gifts by this point, offerings of gold, jewellery, silks. Hells, he would probably stand to inherit property at this rate. He sat with the curious feeling brought on by this small token. The hollow, heavy ache in his stomach, the tingling of his fingers.

All at once it became too much. He opened a desk drawer and dropped the pen inside, shutting it with a heavy thud. He pushed the chair out and stood swiftly, walking to the window. He tried to turn his focus to the warmth of sunlight on his face, the cool stone of the windowsill, the people as they bustled in the street below. His focus was forcefully pulled back to the strange gift-giver as he saw them in the street, staring up at his window. They cocked their head to the side. Of course, they could not possibly see him from their vantage point with the sun reflecting off the glass, yet their gaze bore into him. They turned, only looking away when the neck would twist no more, and walked away into the busy thoroughfare. The crowd appeared to part for them, as if all sensed their otherworldliness but dared not acknowledge it.

When they disappeared from view, he returned to his desk, reaching for a quill. He paused, turning it over in his hand. He placed the quill back down, reaching for the drawer to retrieve his prize. He inspected its reservoir. Already full of ink.

[jdmisedu]

JDMIS Has The Best Gold Jewellery Design Course

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[sebstan2020]

A Slave For You

Chapter 1

Leila's life was very normal. She had everything she wanted, a nice house, car, and all the money she could ever ask for. She was a rich girl and lived her life doing nothing but shopping and spending money. However her life changed when on her way home from a night out she was kidnapped by human traffickers and sent to the slave market in New York City where she finds herself being brought by one of the most dangerous mob bosses of Brooklyn, James Buchanan Barnes

Leila’s life was far from normal. A fancy house, a classy car, designer clothes—the life of a woman who was given everything by her parents. Her father was a doctor, and her mother was a lawyer. She’d never have to work a day in her life if she didn’t want to. It is safe to say she was a daddie girl. If she asked for a new apartment, her father would buy it for her. If she asked for a new car, her father would buy it; if she asked for a $10,000 bag, her dad would buy it for her. There was nothing she couldn’t get or wouldn’t get.

She could, by all means, go to college, get a degree, and apply for a job to earn the money herself. But why would she do that when she could just be given it? No, Leila wasn’t a normal girl. She was very privileged, and she didn’t even have to work for it. Her days were spent shopping in designer malls, meeting up with her girlfriends for expensive cocktails and shopping sprees, spa days, and manicures. Of course she was thankful for them, but she had never known what it was like to have to work for money or for respect and admiration. She was a daddies little girl, and she loved it.

Growing up, she always got what she wanted, and being an only child made her the spoiled brat she is today. She never went anywhere without looking like a million dollars. Gold jewellery hanging off her wrists and ears, sunglasses that were more than $500, a designer bag always on her elbow, hair blown out as if she had been to the salon every day, a classic white French on her nails, and perfect plump lips. She took pride in making herself look good, almost as if she wanted to stand out from the crowd. Living in Beverly Hills made that hard, as everyone seemed to dress and act the same. Everyone would be walking with their cell phones glued to their ears or a wireless head set so that they didn’t have to use a phone.

Little did she know that her life was going to change. It was a chilly night. The winter wind was coming further into February, which meant long fur coats and high knee boots to keep her warm. It wasn't unusual for LA to be cold, but this night in particular was the coldest. The club music was booming from the outside, the vibrations pounding against the floor. The club was packed with girls and boys dressed in designer clothes, with alcohol littering the tables with champagne bottles and vodka shots. It was one of the most expensive clubs to get into, and of course Leila could get in with just a smile and a wink to the bouncer. She had hired the VIP section for her and her friends, meaning they had the top floor to themselves.

“Cheers girls!” Lacey, one of the girls from her group, shouted over the loud music, and they clinked their shot glasses together before necking them down. Leila shook her head from the spicy taste of the vodka, a buzz hitting her straight away, and she leaned back into the plush sofa of the VIP section. This was probably their sixth shot, along with the endless bottles of champagne they had been drinking. She was in a tight-fitting black dress, high above her neck with her hair in a bouncy blow, and black knee-high boots. She was stunning with her smokey makeup and plump lips.

Her girls were dressed in similar outfits. Tight dresses and heels, short skirts, and crop tops, showing off every curve and inch of their bodies. The club was alive, with dancing people grinding against each other, couples making out in the corners and bathrooms of the club, and men throwing money on the most expensive drinks for girls. The alcohol didn’t take long to take effect on Leila, and she was starting to lose sense of everything. Her vision was slightly blurred, and her hands were turning numb to her fingers. The tingles spread across her body, and she knew she had reached her limit.

“Girls, I need to go home now; I will literally throw up if I have anymore,” she said with warning, standing up to get her balance and check if she could walk home. Anymore, and she'd be on the floor.

“No, come on, stay,” one of her friends whined, not wanting her to go home and miss any fun.

“I can't... besides, I have a spa day tomorrow, and I don’t want to miss it,” she grinned with excitement, gathering her Chanel bag and hitching it over her shoulder. Her fur coat was slung on the back of the sofa, which she slipped over. She kissed her friends goodbye, hugging them tightly and reassuring each and every one of them that she would be fine getting home. Her house wasn’t too far from the club, and she had done this walk a million times, so she’d be fine.

"I love you,” she said, blowing a kiss to them before strutting out of the club into the freezing cold air. She slightly shivered as she walked home briskly, boots clicking on the concrete floor in sync, her hips swaying underneath the fur coat. Her cell phone was nearly out of battery, and she huffed in annoyance, shoved it back in her pocket, and focused on getting home. She was drunk but sober enough to walk home and not fall into the road. It suddenly got quieter the further she left the club, and the empty streets began to frighten her a little, but she kept her head down and focused hard on her steps.

She was unfortunate to have to walk through a rather rough part of town to get to Beverly Hills, and as she made her way down the street, she took in the shaggy houses, fences half knocked down, trash across the pavement, and homeless people wrapped up in whatever blankets they could find and huddled in the corner. She kept her body close, hugging her bag tightly, and took a shaky breath. It made her shiver, looking at the decrepit sights. Her eyes flickered over to the other side of the road to see a pair of rough men, talking hushedly and clearly trading over money for drugs. She hurried along, not wanting to be noticed or associated with anything like that.

As she turned the corner, she looked up briefly as she picked up her speed. Down the street, there was a dark black van parked on the side and what looked like someone leaning against it, smoking a cigarette. His head was down, his legs were crossed, and his face was hard to tell in both the darkness and with the cap he was wearing. Leila swallowed but kept her head down and picked her pace up more. It was a classic scene out of a horror movie—the ones where the girl gets kidnapped and thrown in the back of the van. Crime in these parts of LA was high and known for its kidnaps and murders, and she certainly didn't want to be on that end. As she neared the creepy-looking van and began to pass it, she hoped that it was just nothing and that the guy was completely oblivious to her, but as he looked up and threw the cigarette away, stepping in front of her, her heart began to beat loudly, and she hugged her coat tighter towards her.

“Hey, do you mind helping me? I’ve just broken down, and I need a cell phone to call someone,” he said. His voice was gruff, and he looked a little rough under the cap. He had a thick brown beard, which looked wirey and dirty. His eyes couldn’t be seen due to the darkness, but the thick smell of smoke lingered on his breath and clothes. Leila grimaced, her nose curling up at the sickly scent of him, and took a step back.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have one.” She tried to pass him quickly to head home, but he jumped in front of her again, preventing her from passing. “Please, I could really do with some help, lady,” he said with a creepy smile. His teeth were crooked and yellow, and Leila was starting to feel sick. “I said no!” She snapped and tried to sneak past, but suddenly he grabbed her, shoving her up against a wall. A shriek fell from her lips, and she immediately tried to fight him back. Whimpers and grunts fell from her lips as she smacked her hands against him, but the man was taller and stronger. His dirty, dry hands grabbed her mouth, pressing hard on her lips, and she whimpered underneath him. He was quick to wrap his arm around, and suddenly the side door of the van pulled open, revealing a mystery man inside. He, too, looked rough around the edges and reached over to help pick up her legs. forcing her into the van. Leila kicked and screamed with all her might, praying someone was around to see or hear her kidnapping.

The van door slammed shut, and she was in darkness.

Everything happened so fast. Over the next three days, her life was nothing but tears and fear. She was stripped of everything she knew and loved. In the back of the van, she was tied with a black bag over her head, keeping her in darkness. kicking and screaming on the floor. She tried with all her effort and energy to escape, but nothing was working. The cuffs weren't any loose, and the bag prevented her from seeing anything. Her voice was hoarse by the end, and she felt like she had swallowed razor blades. After a few hours of travel, she was forced out of the van and made to hobble along to another van, much bigger this time and fuller. Although she couldn’t see, her hearing had heightened, and she heard the soft whimpers of several other girls tied up in the van. She was shoved in, pressed against the side of the van with her hands handcuffed above her, legs out in front with her ankles tied with cable ties, cutting into her skin and marking them. Then it was another long journey.

Leila had heard about human traffickers. The stories in the news had become a lot more frequent over the last few months, and hundreds of girls were being kidnapped and trafficked to other countries for slave labour. She wasn’t a complete bimbo to not know that right now her life was in the hands of human traffickers, and she feared where she was being taken. She didn’t have to ask to know that she was being taken to a slave market to be sold to some sick fuck for whatever pleasure they wanted, and the tears running down her eyes were a clear reaction. She was scared, frightened, and petrified. She was shaking to the point the cuffs were cutting into her wrists, and blood started to booze and drip down her arms. Her makeup was caked and smudged around her eyes, giving her the look of a drunk who hadn’t been sober for days. Her hair had fallen flat from the beautiful curls it had once had. But it wasn’t just her. The other fourteen girls in the back of the van had the same look and thoughts as her.

After three long days of travelling with little water and food, they arrived at the slave market. The van pulled up to the large building, parking its back door right next to the back door of the building. Silence fell into the back of the van, and the girls were silent and still. The creek of the door opening had everyone on edge, and one by one, the girls were taken out. Leila swallowed a hard lump in her mouth, biting her lower lip to stop her whimpers from catching any attention. The last thing she wanted was to get slapped or hit for causing a fuss. The scuff of boots on the van floor grew louder as one by one the girls were taken off the can and forced inside, and finally Leila was next. Rough hands grabbed her ankles and cut the ties, freeing them, and then unlocked the cuffs from the chain hanging above them. She was yanked up, large hands gripping her forearms, and she was shoved out of the van, the bag still on top of her head preventing her from seeing. She stumbled out, her bare feet hitting a concrete floor that was cold and wet, and she whimpered as she was shoved inside, about to meet her doom.

Chapter 2

Hi, so I previously had another fic called a slave for you which was pretty much the same with a similar story. I was thinking long and hard about how to update that one and have decided to start all over again and start from the beginning so I have changed the story line a bit and I have a clearer idea of how this story could turn out which I think will be more interesting. Let me know what you think in the comments and if you want to be tagged.

@thischubbydumpling

@charmed-asylum

@skulliecadaver-blog

@pattiemac1

@cjand10

@deandreamernp

[creations365days]

Different Types of Gold Karats by Harma.ca

In this Blog and Podcast you will get to know the different Types of Gold Karats. Before going there lets have a small introduction about Harma Jewelry.

Harma is one of the paramount jewelry store in Richmond Hill, Ontario Canada. With the mission to make high quality jewelry accessible at an affordable price! But their passion is supporting the educational needs of underprivileged girls in impoverished nations.

Lets see the different types of Gold Karats.

24 Karat Gold - 24k gold is the purest form gold measuring 99.9% pure. This metal is the shiniest, yellowest, and most expensive of all the different types of gold.

18 Karat Gold - 18k gold consists of 75% pure gold and 25% other metals such as copper and zinc.

14 Karat Gold - The most popular type of gold karatage sold in the US, 14k gold is made from a mixture of 58.3% gold and 41.7% other metals.

10 Karat Gold - Containing only 41.7% gold, 10k gold was until recently the lowest standard jewelry could have to be legally sold as gold in the United States.

If you are looking for Best handmade Gold jewelry in Canada and USA then visit us at Harma.ca

https://harma.ca

[revnah1406]

🌕Amara X Sparrow☀️Wedding headcanons💍

Hannah "Sparrow" Clayton

Amara Thompson

(the green brush means how it actually went 🥰)

I know there's still a long journey in their love story but I talked about this with a few mutuals on the discord server and I can't stop thinking about it hahahaha! My babies getting married 😭😭

So here are a few cute Headcanons about her Wedding!🥰🧡✨

They started to talk about getting married a Year later after Amara moved to Zermatt (Switzerland) with Sparrow. They also mentioned it on their first anniversary. First it was casual, talking about the advantages of getting married and fantasizing about how amazing it could be.

After a couple months Sparrow started to think about it more seriously. Talked with her siblings and her mother looking for advice. Of course their family was more than supportive and excited.

She wanted to keep things small, simple, but make it personal. She knew Amara liked small jewellery, nothing too showy. Sparrow wanted to make the ring all by herself, to give more personal value, so she asked for advice from her closest friends, Aly (@alypink ) helped with the design, Damien (@kaitaiga ) helped to forge and weld it, Anna (@applbottmjeens ) helped with the proposal, how to prepare the perfect moment.

Sparrow would lie if she said she wasn't nervous. She decided to propose during a hike. She woke Amara really early and prepared breakfast... Being more romantic than usual. Amara complained about going for a hike and offered staying at home, she wasn't the most enthusiastic person about hiking. So the possibility of cancelling the plan made Hannah really nervous but she managed to convince Amara, promising she will massage her feet and back for hours once they return home.

When they got to the top of the mountain, with the beautiful swiss mountain landscape, Sparrow knelt in front of Amara and showed a beautiful handmade ring made with pyrite (gold was more expensive and harder to work on).

"Amara, my love. Hey look at me. I know I know sweetheart." Sparrow got even more nervous when Amara started crying, she had to hold her hand to steady her. "You already know this. And you know I'm awful with words. This is just a little reminder that you are everything to me. With you I forget all the bad things. You showed me how it feels to be truly loved, and showed me how to truly love you. I just... wanted to climb one more step with you, together..."

Amara's knees were clearly shaking. "I can't fucking believe you made me do this in sweatpants and fucking hiking boots Han..." She shook her head, trying to assimilate what was happening.

Sparrow chucked. "So is that a yes?"

"Of course it's a yes you dumb idiot!!" Amara wasn't angry, far beyond that, she was too happy, too anxious, too excited she didn't know how to process all those emotions. Sparrow got up and put the ring on Amara's finger, now her fiancée.

The Wedding was six months later, during spring. Amara planned everything with her mother in Law's and Aly's help. She knew Sparrow wasn't very good at planning big events, and Hannah would always like what Amara proposed.

In the end the Wedding was on the mountains, that was Sparrow's only wish. A small one, with friends and family. It wasn't very traditional, they got married civilly two days before the wedding, so Hubber (Sparrow's captain in the Swiss Armed Forces) could make oficial the union of both women in the ceremony.

Hannah's father took Amara to the altar. The stoic man cried and had no fear of showing it. He kissed Amara's forehead before handing her to his daughter. "Your parents would be so proud of you"

Tora (Sparrow's dog) proudly brought the rings to the altar. And after an emotional speech from Hubber Sparrow could kiss Amara and name Amara her wife.

The ceremony was amazing. The after party was even better.

The Wedding night was so sweet, full of kisses, necking and love.

When it was time to organise the honeymoon, Amara had to fight with Sparrow. Hannah wanted to go to Nepal, to show Amara the big 8000s. But Amara refused to climb one single rock during her honeymoon. NUH UH. So she offered to go to Japan, and visit Kyoto, Amara's mother's native city.

They spend a few lovely days there and Sparrow learnt more about Amara's family.

A couple months after the honeymoon Hannah decided to retire from the military.

[my18thcenturysource]

Portrait of Vivienne Westwood by Christian Shambenait

It took me a few days, but with the death of icon-goddess-genius Vivienne Westwood, I had to make a post here about her work and how massively influential she was during her lifetime, and why her influence will remain for years to come.

"I take something from the past that has a sort of vitality that has never been exploited – like the crinoline – and get very intense. In the end you do something original because you overlay your own ideas." Vivienne Westwood

Born in 1941 in Tintwistle, Cheshire, Vivienne Westwood (nèe Swire) did not have a "traditional" path into fashion and design, even though she took a course of jewellery at the Harrow Art School (she thought it was not for her, being a working-class girl), she became a primary school teacher and got married with Derek Westwood, had a kid... But she was a maker of things and a creative mind, and made her own wedding dress and jewellery that she sold at a stall.

Malcolm McLaren and Vivienne Westwood at the Let It Rock store (London, January 1972).

But all of that was about to change when she met Malcolm McLaren. She got divorced, moved with him and had another son. McLaren became the manager of the Sex Pistols and with Westwood, they became a creative duo who dressed the band and became VERY influential during th punk era. We must add the after that they opened a store called SEX, which was the meeting place for the punk scene in London in the 1970s. So, yeah. punk wouldn't look like it does without Vivienne Westwood.

"Vivienne and Malcolm use clothes to shock, irritate and provoke a reaction but also to inspire change. Mohair jumpers, knitted on big needles, so loosely that you can see all the way through them, T-shirts slashed and written on by hand, seams and labels on the outside, showing the construction of the piece; these attitudes are reflected in the music we make. It's OK to not be perfect, to show the workings of your life and your mind in your songs and your clothes." Viv Albertine

This era of Westwood's design has a lot of collaboration, especially with McLaren, and they produced under the Worlds End label until 1985. These collections have each a theme and a name, and here is when we star seeing Vivienne Westwood's eye and curiosity for historical fashion, as well as nods and details especially from the 18th and 19th centuries. Of course, it was the 80s and all was way more colourful than what we thing of more contemporary Vivienne Westwood, but you can see that EVERYTHING was already there in the period which she dubbed as "New Romantic" with collections like Witches, Punkature, and Pirate.

Raincoat and belt, from the 1983 Witches collection, Victoria & Albert Museum.

Ensemble from the 1982 Pirates collection, Victoria & Albert Museum.

Knitted top from the 1983 Witches collection, featuring Keith Haring's graffiti.

The 1988-1991 era is called "The Pagan Years", and we can see the change of the main looks from punks to girls in clothes that parodied the upper class. And it is then that I think the ultimate Vivienne Westwood is seen: corsets, crinolines, tartan, colourful stripes... Here is when we begin to see the historical references taken to a extreme, mixed with the modern word and sense of humour, while always being perfectly made and patterned and fun for all genders.

Here some of my favourite ones:

Vivienne Westwood black satin corset with metallic gold pattern, ss 1992 Stays, late 17th-early 18th century, Met Museum.

Vivienne Westwood autumn/winter 2020.

Fashion illustration on L’Elegant, 1853.

Carmagnole Jacket, France, c. 1790 / Sans-culotte Trousers, France, c. 1790, Los Angeles County Museum of Art.

Vivienne Westwood, autumn/winter 2021.

"Watteau" evening dress, 1996, Vivienne Westwood, Victoria & Albert Museum. "L’enseigne de Gersaint" (detail), Jean-Antoine Watteau.

Vivienne Westwood, autumn/winter 2022.

Portrait of Madame X, 1884, John Singer Sargent.

Madonna in her Fever video, 1993, wearing Vivienne Westwood. Gold leather corset, sleeves and mini skirt, 'Time Machine' ss 1988, Vivienne Westwood.

Always a creative force and a punk at heart, Vivienne Westwood was also an activist, putting front and center important causes like climate change, or sustainability and transparency in the brand's supply chain.

Rose McGowan walking the autumn/winter 2019 Vivienne Westwood catwalk.

Designer Vivienne Westwood looks through the glass toward the media during a photocall at a retrospective exhibition to celebrate her 30 years in the fashion industry, at the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, Tuesday March 30, 2004.

What is your favourite look/garment of this iconic designer? And does it have an historical reference? Let us all know!

[sugarsweb]

DF!Madara Mikejima x Fem!Reader

ABORT MISSION. You're tasked with getting information and run into someone you shouldn't have. (Originally posted Sep 28th)

Contains : Fem!Reader, smut, mentions of killing, Double Face!Madara, possessiveness, praise kink (good girl, etc), slight size kink (stomach bulge, etc), slight breeding kink, inaccurate lore, not proofread, etc.

A/N : Let me just preface this fic by saying Madara Mikejima makes me incredibly unwell. Some more stuff you should know before reading this is; Madara might be slightly OOC but I tried my best to keep his teasing and carefree personality in there. I also tried to keep the dress up to the reader’s imagination besides being low-cut and has a slit in the side to expose reader’s legs. This is also the first full smut fic I’ve written in a while so I truly apologize if any of the actual smut part is rusty, let me know!

Word Count : 5.5k+

18+ content underneath the cut. By clicking 'Keep Reading' you are knowingly reading content made for people over the age of 18. Read at your own discretion.

This was not how your night was supposed to go. 

Not at all.

You weren’t excited about having to meet Gatekeeper in the first place, but orders were orders, and you had dedicated your life to following them. However, it seemed like the rest of the world decided to test the oath you had sworn all that time ago. You look down at your glass of champagne, reminiscing about the beginning of your evening as you avoided eye contact with a certain someone.

Your dress clung to all the right parts of your body to accentuate your curves, the colour of the fabric suited perfectly to compliment your skin tone. Your heels clacked against the cement pathway leading to the huge mansion where hundreds of rich, overpowered men and women of the music industry (and more) would be gathering tonight. What should have been nervousness coursing through your veins was instead replaced by the adrenaline you usually felt during your missions - somehow comforting to you, perhaps a curse to others. You mastered the art of hiding what you truly felt, the shake in your hands long gone by the time you arrived at the huge doors of the mansion. 

You could hear the classical music from outside, letting other invitees brush by your shoulder as you repeated the same mantra in your head - you can do this. Truthfully, as much as your brain loved to overthink things, you already knew you could do this. You’ve done it a thousand times before, what’s one more mission to add to the list? 

Well, for one, having to initiate contact with Gatekeeper and gather intel is not your ordinary mission, at least for someone like you. Gatekeeper was someone involved beyond the idol world, and you didn’t step out of that boundary… much. He was powerful, well-known, and most importantly, a killer. A nagging voice at the back of your mind rudely reminds you, ‘well, who isn’t?’ and you quickly decide to put an end to those thoughts, instead replacing it with your analytical, observational ones as you finally took your first step inside the building. 

Gold decorated the halls, marble columns holding the twenty-foot ceilings up high, intricate designs laid upon them. If you weren’t in such a controversial position, you could’ve possibly enjoyed the architecture and paintings decorating the walls, but now wasn’t the time to think about it. 

Now was the time to find a drink and naturally let your well-crafted persona surface - now it was time to infiltrate and gather information on the people you so desperately despise. You walked up to the bar, ordering a glass of champagne for yourself, and you took a seat once the bartender handed you your drink, scanning your surroundings. Everyone was dressed to the nines; you noticed one woman had a pure diamond necklace resting on her neck, surely worth thousands. Her jewellery could put your own to shame, the ones your boss had so generously given you for this specific night, and you knew he spent an incredible amount of money so your costume was as perfect as possible. 

You took a sip of your champagne, letting the bubbly drink soothe the rest of your nerves. A nice drink, you thought to yourself, maybe you’ll sneak a bottle back home when you leave. God knows you wouldn’t be able to afford it outside of this place. 

“Enjoying yourself?” A voice spoke up from next to you, and you smiled as fate has dealt you a good hand (ironic, you bitterly think now, considering the situation you’re currently in) - next to you stood a tall man with slicked back hair, dressed in an all-black suit and expensive gold rings adorning his fingers. 

Gatekeeper. 

He’s good-looking, but certainly not your type. A certain brunette came to mind- damn it, brain, this isn’t the time!

“Yes, I am.” You gave him a small, charming smile. “And you?” 

“Of course I am,” Gatekeeper chuckled, “I’m surrounded by beautiful music and now I’m in the presence of a beautiful woman. How could I not?”

You patted yourself on the back for not letting your smile waver out of disgust. “Well, it’s a lovely night for such an occasion. You are?”

Granted, you knew everything about him already - or, as much information as there is about him out there. If you truly knew him, you wouldn’t be here. 

“Gatekeeper. And you…?” His hand reached out to shake yours, and you gently accepted it.

You gave him the fake name that your boss had given you for the night, and Gatekeeper nodded, smirking. If he had seen you before around ES Square, he didn’t give away that he recognized you - and knowing how careful you’ve been about your true identity, you doubt he had ever even heard of you. “A pleasure.” 

“Well, the pleasure is all mine.” He raised his glass of red wine, and you clinked your delicate glass of champagne and gave a small ‘cheers’. 

You continued talking about this and that, mostly about the newer idols making their units’ names known. Gatekeeper had an alluring voice, you’re aware, but it doesn’t work on you. He tried to drag you in with his sweet words, and you played along, assumingly falling into the trap he thought he laid out in front of you. However, there was no glint in his eye when he talked about the things he’s apparently ‘passionate’ about - his smile was fake, and the politeness in his voice was void of any true respect towards you. You’re just another pawn in his game, but little did he know you have control of the board. 

The conversation flowed smoothly with your perfect lies, the two of you faking each moment spent together. You knew you were getting somewhere when he accidentally dropped the name of someone you recognize - before, he had just been talking about his colleagues anonymously. 

Gotcha. 

It shouldn’t have been this easy though, and unfortunately, you proved yourself right when you caught a glimpse of a long, green jacket flashing by, and another matching uniform quickly passing by in the hall. To anybody else, they were invisible, perfectly moulding with the picture-perfect, rich environment surrounding you all, but to your keen eye, they were practically glowing.

Double Face was not supposed to be here.

Madara’s green eyes locked onto yours, and you saw the shock on his face before he quickly wiped it off, melting back into his stone-faced look. Shit. Kohaku noticed his reaction, and turned his head in the direction where his companion was staring, his eyes landing on your figure right next to Gatekeeper. Shit, shit, shit. 

You frowned right back, but before either of them could look away, you placed your arm on the bar’s high table and tapped the counter repeatedly, without Gatekeeper noticing as he glanced away when someone called his name. Tap tap, pause. Tap tap tap. Pause. Tap. You swear you saw a look of relief wash over Madara’s face, and he nodded, before motioning to Kohaku to follow him, and just like that, they disappeared into the crowd, but you can still feel Madara’s eyes on your body. 

Which brings you back to your current predicament. 

Gatekeeper turns back to you and notices the way you stare absentmindedly at your champagne. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks with faux-concern. 

You turn to him, looking at him and give him a perfectly sculpted nervous smile. “Yes, I’m just not used to being in such a big venue with so many people. What am I even supposed to do?” 

His calculating eyes seem to ponder your words for a moment - shit, did you slip up? There was no way you could have. However, Gatekeeper merely chuckles and his hand comes up to place itself on your right cheek, cradling it gently. God, you want to throw up. “Don’t worry, my dear. I’ll teach you.” 

He places his empty glass of wine on the counter, you following in suit, and leads you to the ballroom, where couples dance together to the classical music the orchestra plays. His hand settles on your waist, the other entangling itself in your own (ugh, is his hand sweaty?), which prompts you to place your free hand on the bicep of his arm holding your waist. 

“Do you dance?” He asks you. 

“Quite poorly.” You hope you step on his foot. 

“Nonsense, nothing a little practice can’t solve.” And with that, he starts to sway to the orchestra, and you play your part of the helpless woman who can’t dance to save her life.

(You’ve taken dance lessons since you were six.)

You continue to dance in your waltz of lies, continuing to talk about the idol life between the two of you - ever since his slip-up, Gatekeeper chooses his words carefully. The alcohol must have loosened his tongue, but the namedrop sobered him up quickly. He was a smart and calculating man, you’ll give him that. 

Speaking of smart and calculating men, you can feel the gaze of your favourite one staring right at you, and a subtle glance to the right confirms your suspicions. Madara is still keeping an eye on you, not out of maliciousness, but rather of concern. The small furrow of his brow is familiar to you (he gave you the same look when you accidentally fell off stage during your unit’s practice), and you try to give him the most subtle reassurance you can muster through eye-contact alone. His once crossed arms slowly go back to his side, and he taps his pointer finger against his thigh - alright, he’s saying. But the fire in his eyes is far from dying down. The look on his face sends a shiver down your spine. 

The song comes to an end, and with that, so does your dance. You try not to pull away too quickly from your partner, unless you want to give away how eager you are to stop touching him. 

“Tonight was lovely,” Gatekeeper says, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, “but duty calls. I hope we will meet again soon.” 

Go to hell, is what you want to say, but you hold yourself back. “Thank you for the dance.” And with that, you part ways. 

You try to find a quiet place to gather your thoughts and go over the intel you’ve collected thus far from your quiet conversations between the man. Your eagerness to get out of the ballroom keeps you momentarily distracted, and while turning a corner (perhaps too quickly) your face makes contact with a soft wall. You keep your yelp down, a hand smacking right over your mouth. 

A soft wall? 

Looking up, you lock eyes with the man who has been distracting you all night. 

“Mikejima,” you greet, trying not to look too excited upon finally talking to him - keeping your true emotions at bay was hard with him, it seems. 

He says nothing back. One of his gloved hands settles on the small of your back, pushing your body completely flush against his, his other hand coming up to the back of your head, tucking it in his neck. Madara’s lips brush against your ear as he leans down to speak words only the two of you can hear. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do.” He says, and something in your lower stomach ignites. 

You try your hardest to ignore it - if you gave in to your true feelings, he would become a liability, a weakness, somebody who can be used against you in case you ever fall into the wrong hands. 

There’s no anger in his eyes when he pulls away from your rather intimate position to look at you, only aggressive concern. In fact, the anger appears when he looks towards the ballroom, and you turn to see him glaring daggers at Gatekeeper, who is now mingling with an older-looking man - the exact man he name-dropped earlier. 

“Let’s move someplace else.” Madara gently grabs your hand, dragging you off into the hallway you had turned towards earlier. 

“What about Koha–” You start to say, but he interrupts you. 

“He’ll be fine.” 

Knowing he’s right, you nod, and the two of you set off into the maze of hallways, coming across fewer and fewer people until you’re in a seemingly-abandoned section of the mansion, and Madara opens the door to a lavish-looking bedroom. 

He closes the door behind you both, and motions for you to sit on the bed. Hesitantly, you do so - what if he was actually mad, and truly thought you were working alongside Gatekeeper? You’d rather die. 

“What were you doing here tonight?” He’s standing right in front of you, arms crossed once again. 

The one question you can’t answer. 

“Who do you work for?” The brunette asks. He takes one step forward, and it feels like your eyes are permanently locked together as you keep your mouth shut tightly. 

Another question you can’t answer. 

“...Do you work for Gatekeeper?” 

“No.” You immediately say, knowing that you can answer that question. 

“Thank god.” Madara sighs out, a small grin on his face. “I knew it, but hearing it from you is a thousand times better.” 

It seems that even on a mission, he still holds that carefree personality he tries so hard to uphold. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask. 

“C’mon, if you can’t answer that, you think I can?” 

Your shoulders drop, and you rest your elbows on your thighs, head going slack. You feel like you can finally drop the persona you perfectly crafted for your mission in Madara’s presence, and you can hear him chuckle at your relaxed body language. 

“Tough day at work, huh?” He muses, and you let out a small, breathless laugh, raising your head to look at him. 

“Something like that, yeah. I feel nearly damn tainted by having his hands on me.” You don’t have to even say his name, because both of you know exactly who you’re talking about. And judging by the frown once again settling on Madara’s gorgeous features, you know he’s not a fan of Gatekeeper in the least. 

“I didn’t like him touching you like that.” 

It’s hard to not read into his words, but when an attractive man standing right in front of you says that - the same attractive man you’ve been fantasising about for god-knows-how-long and desperately crushing over - your brain nearly goes haywire and you feel yourself warm up. 

Your head goes back to resting in your hands, and you can clearly hear Madara’s slow footsteps approaching you. He crouches down to your level so he can look into your eyes. When you make a point of not holding eye contact (curse your stupid brain), his hand grabs ahold of your face and keeps it still. His fingers are pressing against your jaw gently yet firmly, and it feels like electricity zaps down your spine as you see the look in his emerald green eyes - his pupils are nearly completely dilated. 

Deciding to test the waters, you ask:

“Touching me like what?” Your cheeks warm up even more at the sound of your meek, desperate voice - Madara must’ve heard that. 

He sighs, his eyes closing momentarily as his head drops a bit, his bangs covering his face from your view. He looks back up after a second or two, his messy hair framing his face beautifully, and you feel like you’ve died, gone to heaven and been greeted by an angel. “Never realised you’d be a brat about this.”

“A br–?! Ah!” Your exclamation is quickly interrupted when Madara’s hand leaves your face, instead hooking underneath your thighs so he can make you fall backwards onto the bed, and he quickly crawls on top of you, his strong thighs keeping you in between him. 

“You know exactly what he did.” He mutters, and your faces are so close your noses brush against each other. The warmth emanating from him seems to surround you, and your heart beats wildly against your ribcage as you feel your cunt clench around nothing. 

Madara’s thumb strokes your bottom lip, letting his touch leave a fiery trail in its wake. Your breath shudders in anticipation, waiting for him to do something, anything, more. Your eyes flutter close, and the man on top of you huffs.

“Look at me.” He demands. 

Your eyes snap up to him once you hear the stern tone in his voice, and he smiles at your compliance. 

You’ve always been a rather assertive woman, not letting people walk over you as long as you could help it. You know what you want and how to get it, and your missions have always been successful because of your attitude. However, with Madara on top of you, all you can think about is how badly you want to be good for him. You know he’s thinking along the same lines as you as you glance down and see a tent in his dark grey pants. 

Your hand reaches out to give him a bit of relief, but before your fingers can brush against his clothed dick, he grabs your hand and pins it above your head. Madara bends down to mouth against your neck, the neckline on your dress exposing your delicate skin and being suggestive enough to leave others wanting to see more. 

“Seeing him touching you like that, it pissed me off so much.” You can hear the strain in his voice, his hand tightening around your pinned one. Your free hand comes up to run your fingers through his soft hair before cupping his face, and he gives you a gentle look. 

“Mikejima,” You say softly, “It’s a mission. That’s all it is.” Your thumb strokes his face, and he seems to lean into the comforting contact for a moment before he hardens his expression again. 

He leans down until his lips are right next to your ear, and you feel goosebumps cover your skin as he continues speaking. 

“I know,” he mumbles, “but he should know not to touch what doesn’t belong to him.” 

The fire in your lower stomach continues to be fanned by his words, and you clench your thighs together, desperate for some sort of friction to pleasure yourself. Madara’s sensual touches only make you feel more needy for what you crave. You decide to continue to push his buttons, tilting your head in mock-confusion. 

“Who do I belong to, then?” 

That was the tipping point. 

His thigh moves in-between your own, pressing against your clothed cunt and he lets go of your hand to place both of his on your waist, rolling your hips to grind against him. You whimper at the sudden action, your own hands reaching out to grasp his shoulder tightly. You feel his strong muscles clench underneath your touch, and you’re suddenly reminded of how strong Madara really is. He could easily use his strength to snap your neck, but instead he’s using it to keep your body flush against his own.

He leans down to nip at your neck, finding your sweet spot quickly as your moans get louder and more desperate, and you feel his teeth bite down hard enough to leave a mark in a very obvious spot for everyone to see. He clearly wants to imprint the message in your mind - you belong to him. 

Madara moves to take the strap of your dress off of your shoulder so he can leave more bruises along your collarbone and shoulder, his hand slipping from your waist to cup your breast and give it a firm squeeze. Your breath gets caught in your throat, and you start moving your own hips against his thigh desperately. 

“Are you so desperate for me you’re gettin’ off of my thigh?” You feel his warm breath against your skin along with his lips curling into a smile. 

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you shake your head, embarrassed. “‘M not…” 

“No need to be shy, baby,” he chuckles, “tell me what I wanna hear, and maybe I’ll give it to you.” 

Madara’s hand wanders down as he speaks, trailing down to your thigh and disappearing in between the cut of the dress that exposes your leg. His touch sets your body ablaze, his fingers finally brushing against the area where you need him most. He traces the lace of your underwear before letting his hand cup your heat, and stops all movement as he looks at you expectantly. 

What he wants to hear? 

He taps a finger against you as you take too long to reply, and you jolt at the sudden contact of his finger against your clit - the light touch leaves you wanting more. He gives you a disappointed look, nearly giving you puppy eyes, and you panic internally as you feel him start to pull away.

“Well, I guess you didn’t want this, then...” The hand that cupped your breast moves to cup his own erection instead, the outline of his dick clear against his tight pants. In the dim light of the room, you can kind of see how big he is. 

“No-!” You say quickly and desperately, yet mindful to keep your voice down in case anybody did come into this part of the mansion. “Please, I need you so badly.” 

“Say it then,” he says, unbuckling the belt around his waist. It’s at that moment that you realise that his long, green jacket (you think to yourself that it counts as a cape) had been removed previously - you must’ve been too distracted to notice. “Tell me who you belong to.” 

Oh.

You know your panties are ruined now. 

Your body feels like a furnace as you try to muster the courage to say the words he wants to hear. 

“Mikejima, I belong to you.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

What?

You think for a moment before you realise - he wants you to call him by his first name. 

“I’m yours, Madara.” You say confidently. You realise it’s the first time you’ve ever called him that. 

He groans happily, fully taking his belt off and loosening the tie around his neck. Madara rewards your answer by running his fingers through your wet folds, covering them with your own arousal. The movement of his hand is restricted by your underwear, which he impatiently rips off of your body.

“Hey! I liked those.” You whine. 

“Aw, that’s too bad,” he gives you a fake pout before he speaks again, “but if you keep whinin’, I’ll use it as a gag to shut you up. You want that?” 

As hot as it sounds at the moment, you shake your head - you want to feel his lips against yours, and having a gag in your mouth would prevent that. Madara smiles at your willingness and carelessly throws your ruined panties to the other side of the room. He continues undressing himself until he’s shirtless, his toned, strong body on display for you to appreciate. He moves the two of you further up the bed until your head is comfortably resting against the soft pillows, your hair splayed out around you. Your lover climbs back on top of you, strong arms keeping you caged underneath him - in that moment, with your eyes hazy, lips parted in a silent pant, you look like an angel to him. 

Madara’s hand goes to the small of your back, lifting it up so he can find the zipper. He slowly takes your dress off, careful not to let his eagerness get in the way. 

“Oh, so ripping the panties is fine, but the dress is off limits?” You cock an eyebrow, and he laughs lightly in reply. 

“Seeing you in this drove me crazy,” he admits, “I wanted to fuck you then and there when I saw you.” 

His words make your cunt clench around nothing again, and your whine nearly sounds like a moan. Once your dress is fully off, he tosses it on the ground, and his hands are immediately on you once more. 

Madara kisses you, his lips fitting perfectly against your own. His fingers trail down towards your wet cunt, once again gathering your slick before he finally pushes a finger into you. You moan, and he takes the opportunity to shove his tongue into your mouth, tangling it with your own. Your head feels fuzzy from the stimuli as he thrusts his fingers inside your warm pussy, your juices running down his hand and onto the mattress underneath the two of you. Your thighs start shaking and your body jolts at his touches, and Madara wears a proud smirk on his face, removing his fingers from you. He holds them up to your mouth, waiting. 

“Be a good girl and clean them.” You obediently listen, opening your mouth and letting your tongue wrap around his wet fingers, sucking them clean. He removes them from your mouth with a ‘pop’, and lets his head drop to lean against your shoulder and mumbles, “So good for me, huh?” 

He sucks another hickey on your skin, and you nod your head. 

“Yes- yes, only for you.” Your voice sounds breathless and needy, making Madara chuckle. “‘Dara, please, I need more.” 

“Whaddya want?” He teases you, but he’s already taking his pants and boxers off, revealing his thick, long cock. He’s impossibly hard, leaking precum, and you feel your mouth water. He snaps his fingers in your face, bringing you back into the present. 

What is it with this constant teasing? You complain about it in your head, but your body has a different reaction - you feel yourself grow more aroused, if possible. 

“I… I want you.” You say quietly. 

“What’s that? I couldn’t hear ya.” He rubs the tip of his dick along your folds and you both shudder at the feeling, but stops moving to await your answer. 

“I want you, Madara.” But it’s not quite enough.

“C’mon, speak up. Aren’t you supposed to be my good girl?” 

Fuck, you’re desperate to feel him inside of you at this point. You push your embarrassment aside, wanting- no, needing to cum. 

“Please, Madara, I need you so bad!” You shut your eyes as you beg. “I need you to fill me up, ple-”

He finally pushes his cock inside of you, your slick making it easy. You both sigh in relief, but your sigh turns into a loud moan at the feeling of his size inside of you - he’s so big and he feels so fucking good, you’ve never felt so full before. 

Madara isn’t faring any better; your warm walls suck him in so easily, cunt drooling around him, and he’s trying so hard not to snap and fuck you into the bed. But the sight of his dick disappearing into you is driving him insane, and he sees a slight bulge coming out of your stomach. Out of curiosity, he places a hand down on it, and nearly folds when he feels you tightening up around him and moaning. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), you feel so good.” Madara says, sounding quite breathless himself. All he wants to do is fill you up with his cum, to see you leak his seed, to have everyone know that you’re his and he’s yours. 

If he isn’t careful, he knows he’ll get carried away. 

“Please, please move- please,” you beg more, “fuck- you’re so big-” 

He starts thrusting slowly, your body getting used to his sheer size - you know you’ve been ruined for any other man. Nothing will satisfy you the way Madara can. 

You get lost in the pleasure, but it’s still not enough to bring you to your end. There’s a certain itch at the back of both of your minds that neither of you can’t quite pinpoint, and one particularly hard thrust from Madara makes you moan out - loudly. 

“M’dara, need you to fill me up,” you say without thinking, “wanna feel you cum inside-” 

The man on top of you stills, processing your words. Shit, you think you’ve fucked up. However, his hand places itself on your stomach, right where your womb is, before speaking. 

“You want me to fill you up here?” He asks, and you nod your head vigorously. 

Something snaps inside of Madara, and he suddenly continues his movements, but more quickly and desperately. His hips snap against you, his dick angled perfectly to hit your g-spot continuously, and you nearly scream his name. 

“Careful baby, there are still people - fuck - here. You want them to hear you?” He says through his breathlessness, but you’re too focused on the intense pleasure you’re feeling. “You want everyone to know who’s fucking you this good?” 

 If your lover was being honest with himself, he wants people to hear you.  

“N-no!” You exclaim. 

Your brain feels muddled, drool seeping out of the corner of your mouth - all you can focus on is Madara’s cock filling your insides. His hand moves down slightly on your stomach, and he feels his cock moving around in you, pressing down to make you tighten up like you did earlier. Sure enough, he gets the same reaction, and he knows he’s approaching his end. 

“Fuck - you’re gonna take all my cum like a good girl, aren’t ya?” Madara says, and he thrusts deeper than before, hitting a spot that even you haven’t reached before. 

“Yes, yes- I will, I’ll be good for you, only you!” You babble. 

Through his delirious pleasure, he remembers earlier that night - seeing you in your dress, talking to Gatekeeper while he flirted with you - he nearly walked over to fuck you in front of everyone to show he’s the only one who can make you feel that good, he’s the one that gets to feel your pussy wrap around his cock perfectly like you’re made for each other. His calm and collected demeanour from the earlier mission seems like a joke to him now. 

“You’re so amazing,” he continues, “so fuckin’ beautiful, I just wanna fill you up…” 

The thought of filling you up with his seed, and it actually taking makes him nearly cum then and there. To imagine your belly round, breasts plump and heavy with milk gets a weak whimper out of the back of his throat, and your legs tighten around his waist as he starts pounding you into the bed. 

You tighten up around his thick length even more at his praise, and he knows that you’re getting close as you start to moan his name, begging endlessly and becoming more careless about your volume. When he leans down to level his lips to your ear, you know you’re a goner. 

“Come for me, my love.” You cry out, your pussy clamping down around him, your juices gushing out. The feeling triggers Madara’s own orgasm as well, pouring his hot load into you as you milk him dry. He pumps every single last drop into your tight cunt, and there’s just so much that it makes you whimper, feeling it drip in between your thighs and land on the mattress, mixing in with your own fluids. 

You catch your breath, Madara hesitantly pulling out, letting his body drop next to yours on the bed. You feel more of his cum leaking out of you, and the brunette tuts disappointedly, his fingers scooping the excess liquid and fingering it back into you, careful not to overstimulate you - you shiver anyways, your thighs shaking violently and he finally pulls his fingers out once he’s sure he’s done a good job. 

You both turn on your sides to look at each other, the smell of sweat and sex wafting throughout the room. The moment is quiet and tender as you look into each other’s eyes, Madara smiling softly at you. 

“You did so well.” He says, tucking some of your hair behind your ear - his touch is nothing like Gatekeeper’s, and you feel safe in Madara’s arms. “Let’s get you dressed so we can get out of here, shall we?” 

He helps you get back into your dress after he gets back into uniform, and you leave your ruined panties behind. Your legs are shaky as you walk towards the main door, and you try not to walk too stiffly - but also not casually enough where other people can see the trail of Madara’s cum seeping down your thigh. You both walk out the doors, and let out a deep sigh of relief at the same time. 

You look at each other, and there’s silent understanding between the two of you - finally, your mission is over. 

(After the party is over, Gatekeeper tries not to question the ripped panties in the corner of one of his guest rooms.)

[nervousladytraveler]

From a little story that is very near completion…

-----

“I have something else for you,” Ross said. “Wait here.”

He returned several minutes later and handed her an even smaller box.

“Is this a very tiny cake?” she laughed.

“Sorry I didn't wrap it.” He immediately regretted he hadn’t taken the time to do so. The box was a bit tatty, stamped in gold with Roberts, the name of a department store that had probably closed before Demelza had even been born.

“Oh,” she said solemnly when she removed the lid and saw the ring resting on the foam insert.

“Do you not like it?” he asked. Now he wished he had found a better box. While this one was the right size for jewellery–earrings or a bracelet maybe–it wasn't designed to hold a ring. It was someone else's afterthought, a careless way to store a discarded treasure. 

She had a curious expression on her face. But whatever her issue was with this gift, it didn't seem to be his shoddy presentation.

“Ross…” she said, then swallowed hard.

He tried to read her face then saw it wasn't disappointment but shock that had frozen her features.

“It's beautiful,” she finally said and he exhaled a sigh of relief. “Is it an antique?” she asked.

It sure as hell wasn’t new. And now that Ross looked again, he noticed one of the prongs in the setting was bent. He should have had a care have it repaired, maybe even get the whole thing cleaned. 

“It was my mother’s,” he said.

He’d actually fact-checked that with Prudie. 

Ross had found the ring, and the box, at the very back of the bottom desk drawer in the library. He had a vague memory of his mother wearing it but that it had been among his father’s possessions gave him pause. It wouldn't do to give Demelza a ring Joshua had won in a card game or taken as repayment for a loan–or bought for one of his many lovers.

“T’was one of Grace’s favourites,” Prudie had confirmed. “Only took it off when she was bakin’ or workin’ in her garden--or before wipin’ your mucky bum when you was a baby! Oh how she did laugh at that.”

Leave It to Prudie to introduce shit into an otherwise lovely memory.

“Ross, you’re really givin’ it to me?” Demelza asked him now, still breathless and wide eyed.

“You seriously ask me that?” he laughed. “Of course I am. Here, try it on.”

She took it gingerly from its nest and slipped it on her left ring finger. It was undeniably loose.

“We can get it sized,” he said quickly but she put it on her right hand and found a better fit.

“No, this is perfect,” she said. “It's truly perfect.”