#Luxury Diamond Tennis Bracelet

[binenbaumaj]

Diamond 18k "3-Row Tennis" Bracelet 15800-8648

Indulge in the brilliance of our Vintage 3-Row Tennis Bracelet, showcasing 3.40ct of H-I SI1 diamonds in a unique fishtail setting. Crafted in Italy from white 18k gold, this piece combines timeless elegance with intricate design. 💎✨ Italy.

Details: ±3.40ct (H-I SI1) Brilliant-cut diamonds, 18k Bracelet, Italy.

Design Era: Vintage.

Dimensions: D 17,5 x W 0,7 cm .

Weight in grams: 17.

Condition: Very good condition - slightly used with small signs of wear.

Shipping and Pickup: This beautiful piece ships from our store located in the center of Amsterdam, The Netherlands. We offer both registered shipping and local pickup at our store. In the case of local pickup, any applicable shipping costs will be refunded.

About Us: Add some sparkle to your style with Binenbaum.com. We offer a stunning selection of antique and vintage jewelry that you won't find anywhere else. From timeless rings and dazzling necklaces to unique brooches, we have something for every taste and occasion. Visit our website today and treat yourself to a piece of history.

[mrs-trophy-wife]

[gemville]

Platinum Tennis Bracelet With Pear-Cut Diamonds and Emeralds by Jared Atelier x Shy Dayan Jewels

Source: nationaljeweler.com

[preferredjewelers]

Latest Jewelry Designs at Bradleys Fine Jewelers in Jacksonville, NC

Bradley's Jewelers is a family owned and operated business with more than 50 years experience as a specialty retail jeweler.

Bradley's Fine Jewelers of Jacksonville, North Carolina, offers Diamond Engagement Rings, Wedding Bands, Anniversary Rings, Earrings, Bracelets, Pendants, Engagement Bands, Wedding Rings, Anniversary Bands and Bridal Jewelry, exclusive designer lines, fine diamonds, beautiful color gemstones, Italian gold, Necklace, Anklets, Bangles, Bridal Ring Sets, Luxury Swiss Made Watches, Fashion Rings, Stud Earrings, Gemstone Rings, custom design Jewelry and more.

Bradleys Fine Jewelers

Address: 1122 Western Boulevard, Jacksonville, North Carolina 28546

Phone: (910) 353-1450

[soitbelle]

Women's Fashion Jewelry at Soit Belle | UAE's Stylish Collection

Discover stylish women's fashion jewelry at Soit Belle. From chic earrings to elegant necklaces, our collection is designed to enhance your style. Available in the UAE, KSA, Kuwait, and Qatar, Soit Belle's fashion jewelry is crafted with precision and care. Visit our collection at Soit Belle Women's Fashion Jewelry

[placevendomemag]

Shop Diamond Tennis Bracelets: The Place Vendome Edit

https://laplacevendome.com/shop/shop-diamond-tennis-bracelets/

[divourdiamonds]

Learn why Diamond Tennis Bracelets are the ideal statement accessory. Find out why they are a must-have addition to your jewellery collection and about their timeless elegance.

[fluerte]

The Symbolic Beauty of Wedding Bands: A Timeless Expression of Love and Commitment

Wedding bands hold a special place in the hearts of couples as enduring symbols of love and commitment. These timeless pieces of jewelry not only adorn our fingers but also represent the unbreakable bond between two individuals. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the world of wedding bands, exploring their history, significance, popular styles, and tips for choosing the perfect one. Whether you are a soon-to-be-married couple or simply curious about these remarkable symbols, this article will provide valuable insights into the captivating world of wedding bands.

History and Significance of Wedding Bands:

Wedding bands have a rich history that dates back thousands of years. Ancient Egyptians are believed to be among the first to exchange rings made of reeds or other natural materials as a symbol of eternal love. The circular shape of the band represents eternity, with no beginning or end. Over time, the tradition of wearing wedding bands has evolved and spread across cultures, becoming a universal symbol of marriage.

Materials and Styles :

Wedding bands come in a variety of materials, each with its own unique characteristics. Traditional options include gold, silver, and platinum, while contemporary choices like titanium and tungsten have gained popularity. This section will explore the different materials and their suitability for wedding bands, considering factors such as durability, hypoallergenic properties, and aesthetic appeal.

Moreover, we will discuss popular styles of wedding bands, including classic plain bands, diamond-studded bands, engraved bands, and eternity bands. Each style carries its own allure and allows couples to express their personal taste and individuality.

Choosing the Perfect Wedding Band :

Selecting the ideal wedding band involves careful consideration of several factors. This section will provide guidance on determining the right band width, metal color, and finish to complement personal style and lifestyle. It will also delve into the importance of finding a comfortable fit and considering factors such as ring sizing, comfort fit options, and adjustable bands.

Additionally, we will explore the significance of matching wedding bands for couples who prefer a coordinated look. Alternatives such as customizing bands with engravings or incorporating birthstones will also be discussed to add a personal touch to the rings.

Wedding Band Trends:

As with any aspect of fashion, wedding band trends evolve over time. This section will highlight current trends in wedding bands, including unique designs, mixed metals, vintage-inspired styles, and eco-friendly options. It will offer inspiration for couples who wish to embrace contemporary trends while still maintaining the timeless essence of their wedding bands.

Care and Maintenance):

To ensure the longevity and beauty of wedding bands, proper care and maintenance are essential. This segment will provide practical tips on cleaning, storing, and protecting wedding bands from everyday wear and tear. We will also address common concerns such as resizing, re-plating, and repairing wedding bands, emphasizing the importance of regular maintenance to preserve their sentimental value.

Conclusion :

Wedding bands are not merely pieces of jewelry; they are powerful symbols of love, commitment, and unity. Throughout history, these timeless adornments have stood the test of time, transcending cultural boundaries and representing the eternal bond between couples. By understanding their history, significance, and styles, couples can make informed decisions when choosing their wedding bands. Whether opting for a classic design or embracing contemporary trends, the beauty and symbolism of wedding bands will continue to endure, symbolizing everlasting love and celebrating the journey of marriage.

[kissmethroughthebone]

I have a collection of classic dresses, like the one Karen wore in the Copacabana scene in Goodfellas. Whenever I step out, people notice my amazing inviting hips, my sensual walk, my high power strut, and how absolutely toned and beautiful I am. My skin glistens in all lightings so wonderfully that I look better than a Hajime Sorayama painting, and I am a magnet to the loveliest attention and affections known to man, always and effortlessly.

I have a mink coat like Sharon Stone wore in Casino. It's cozy, soft, and makes me look extremely elegant and high class every time I step outside. It makes others command respect for me, and almost fear me.

And I have an overall cozy, exquisite, and high end life that affords me anything I desire, anything at all, it is mine and here for me.

I have diamonds and jewels on my ear that shine as bright as any royal's ever could. And sparkle even better. And men love to give me exquisite gifts even on a first date, just to make me blush and see me show my sparkling teeth their way for them to admire.

I have all the sweets life can offer me. Even the rare ones. Macarons with the little plastic champagne flutes in them to squirt into my mouth. Nutella wafers in all my favorite flavors. Sweet tarts and biscuits, red velvet brownies, all the fixin's.

A steak dinner and a pork roast at a high end exclusive restaurant? Booked that evening. A nice raspberry creampuff with fluffy whip cream and a Trix-like filling? Already ordered for pickup to my area tomorrow. A nice set of jewelry and a photoshoot? Already can have it all.

Nothing is ever too much for me.

I have a man that can whisk me away to nicer places, shower me in gifts, bouquets of flowers, and make me smile as hard as possible.

I have a man who takes me through long wandering hallways and into the best dizzyingly gorgeous places known to man, just to see me smile. Just to bask in my radiance and my beauty. And savour my whimsy and happiness as if it were his own.

Tennis bracelets, the best rosé and chardonnay life has to offer, the best treats, the best snacks, it's all at my disposal and it's all for me to enjoy. No luxury is ever too much, I have all the luxuries provided for me with ease. God bless and amen, I am so grateful, thank you so much.

[kentocalls]

endo yamato | (poison) paradise face slapping. bad decisions. descriptions of body violence, descripton of vomiting, endo's really sweet i wanted to make him craizer i'm sorry i guess sugar is the flavor of crazy i like. thanks for inspiring & letting me indulge @bjorkshire-pudding .

part 1

you're working too late and not sleeping enough. legs move like lead, the sway in your hips still hypnotic but less balanced. normally, endo would've punched tom in the dick by now but as he's a changed man; endo settles for repeatedly stabbing tom in his mind as he punctures the bald man's tires.  

that la prairie eye cream is also shit, endo knew you liked the packaging and bought it the second you he caught you staring at it. but what use is a $1,000 cream if you're still having to pack concealer on your face? you hate that shit. and the fucking coffee table that keeps grazing your knee in the morning uncoordinated rush? well, if it finds itself in a dumpster fire, endo knows nothing about it.

after all, he's enjoying the pleasant blue sky outside a random tall glass building. it's pure coincidence this is your work office, he wasn't even thinking, had no plan in mind, legs carried him all on their own to this sandwich stop, has nothing to do with the itch to see you.

he's bored and you work, it's a terrible combination. his trust fund would take care of generations of your children but alas; you want independence and he wants you happy.

endo stops mid bite when he hears you laughing. not the polite, gotta stay employed to pay bills laugh, the full belly ugly snorting laugh. his own lips twitching into a smile because of it. the only infections he'll catch come from you.  he turns to see the blessed sun that is your face and feels his heart swell. perfect, beautiful, radiant.

you're really, really laughing. god, he hasn't seen that....he hasn't seen it since....shit your birthday?   how long ago was that?

the guy in the grey suit isn't letting up, he's relaxed and saying more, you're not able to catch your breath due to the compiled waves of laughter echoing through your body. aphrodite has no right to claim herself as the goddess of beauty when you live and breathe gold.

you don't see endo, but he watches everything. the way you tilt your head at the grey suit guy, the way your eyes have a sparkle, how you bite your lip cuz you don't want to walk away but you need to go.  he remembers that tiny shuffle you do so adoringly, endo hums. leaning back into the bench, dropping his sandwich to the ground. unbothered by all the pigeons that descend.

you like grey suit, dontcha?

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

you don't realize how much space endo has taken up until he's not around.  another friend is getting married, another bachelorette party to be had, and you find. yourself actually getting ready in peace. 

not that endo ever stopped you from wearing what you want. hell he'd pick the sluttiest thing you own, roaring "my goddess needs to be seen."  

your smile falters a little. 

it's your first club outing since the break up. and you'd say you're a medium get drunk and dance kinda of gal, nothing you absolutely have to do, but sometimes its fun. to dance, see the face of want and play and fun on someone else's face. endo always looked magical in the neon hues, ugh.  you would feel safer if endo...no, no. don't go there. . 

don't think about him, not when you're pulling on the louboutin heels he bought you just because.  not when you're closing the angara diamond tennis bracelet he caught you staring at. not when you put on solitaire hoops that reminded him of your eyes.

your whole vanity is full of overpriced, luxury brands you can't pronounce because pretty things are for his pretty thing.  the way heat rushes to your face, remembering his voice sound like that, FUCK. stop THINKING about him. you're so wound up. and you're remembering what your friends tell you.

the only way to get over someone is to get under someone else right?  you do a once over in the mirror. you're sparkling, the dress, the skin, the glow, the smile. oh, you'll get someone under you all right.

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

endo is glaring daggers into the old fucks in the board room, they clearly don't need their eyes or brains. don't they KNOW what you look like right now? don't that understand he must pay homage? 

he tells his lackey he expects to see the hands of fuckers who don't know not to touch what belongs to you and ultimately him.  and groans loudly.  "debra, cut this fucking meeting short. what the fuck do you need approval for?"

it's only a 45 million dollar deal to approve stem cell research across three labs in the eastern countries. the fuck do they need endo to say? duh?

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

you settle on a cranberry vodka, asking for more cranberry juice because that refreshing tart flavor feels good in this overheated crowd. you don't have to scout for too long, easily beckoning over the club player.

you've seen this guy with multiple girls and gals in various clubs. you're pretty sure he's been friends with benefits with the bachelorette at some point but it's not gonna stop you from getting dick tonight. 

the club player has something, maybe it's that one sharp canine that did you in, reminded you of...no, not going there, shut that door.

simmer down, trap that need. 

the club bathroom is a new place for you, it's dirty and messy and you grimace a little as you're slammed against the wobbly door, are only hearing how hot you are over and over and its fine. focus on that. ignore how this guy didn't even place a hand behind your head to prevent any harsh impact to your skull. that he didn't check in after you made that tiny noice.

this is what a quickie is right?

rushed, aggressive,  drunk fun.

come on, focus on how hot this guy is.

let his hands touch and squeeze. it's fine, you want this, need to use him, have to use him, you're drunk enough. "so fucking hot" hands on your hips. a slight tang of disappointment when they don't grip as much as endo's would have.

a bite to your shoulder,  the player barely puts any pressure into it; not like endo when he's...ah stop...endo isn't here. stop.the bathroom is empty, the night is young enough. it's you and this guy and yet you keep hoping you'll open your eyes and catch a sea of messy wavy hair and fuck.  why are your eyes hungry for a certain toothy grin and thundery eyes?

why? you aren't guilty are you?

endo won't even know, not that it matters, not like he'd do anything about this. he's respecting your 'boundaries' right, like you wanted. understanding that you're going to date other people because the two of you are 'not together' like that anymore. not exclusive. it's a quickie, it's fine. meaningless. it shouldn't matter that endo only ever smells like you.

you let out a big exhale, hands on the guys face to get him back to kissing you, he needs to do a better job at distracting you but the player pulls your wrists down and keeps them flush against the door.  it's different, when you test your strength and resist the players hold he smirks, "let me do my thing first hot mama."  

hot what?

you haven't been called that before. 

not sure if you like it.  

not sure if you wanna hear it again.  

maybe sexy mama but hot mama?  the hottest mama you know isn't even technically a mama--

"still with me hot stuff?" doesn't he know any other adjectives? you know how good you look. this dress, the hair, a total knockout -- you're ethereal, scorching, a vixen even, and the word this guy uses is hot? you roll your eyes and the guy stiffens up.

oh fuck, you hurt his feelings. but there's no apology on your lips, why the fuck is an eye roll enough to distract him from kissing you?

"you wanna do this or not?" his voice even.

"yeah, yeah i do."  he has a dick you reason, you'll feel better after being fucked, maybe, probably. he cocks an eyebrow.

"you keep pushing my hands away when i get close to touching you." he moves away, the heat gone, the tension dissipated. is he even cute? he has nice, clean, tattoo free hands, don't you want them on you?

"so you gonna be good hot thing and taste me?"

good? when you're the entire fucking package?

and what does he mean taste him?

right away too,  when he hasn't earned a reward?  all he's done is push into your space, give you a few short kisses. nothing real with need, hands too mean too eager too abrasive. nothing about his touch is for you, even the way his hips rut against your thigh, that angle? does nothing for you. 

it isn't how endo moves. endo would never take first. not from you. pushing you into seeing stars, has you shaking and grasping and floaty. endo always waits for you to beg, waits for you to claw at his skin, look up at him with wet eyes and only then let's you take what you want from him. fuck, you could keep endo on his knees the entire night and he still wouldn't expect your lips to do what this player is asking. 

what are you doing?

this guy isn't hot enough, he hasn't garnered any benefit, you want real kisses and  dirty whispers to make you forget about the smell of the bathroom stall, maybe it's the setting. fuck the light is too bright in here. maybe turning them off would help, but is this really? the guy you want under you?  "hey, hey, easy, hot thing."

oh for fucks sake, "i'm not drunk enough for this." 

"you needa be drunk to fuck?" the player pulls off of you immediately, studying your face. "listen, i'm not a therapist but ho-"

"i swear to god you call me hot thing, hot stuff, hot mama, one more--"

"okay, okay fuck, why are you so angry?" gone, all of it, just like that. you watch his ego enter the space as he puffs up his chest, a smirk on your face. the player studies your face a bit displeased, " what i was gonna say was, i'm only gonna fuck what wants to fuck me, and you don't. i'm out." 

a laugh on your lips as you saunter back to your friends, endo is taller than that asshole anyways. 

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

emptying your guts into the white porcelain bowl is not how you wanted to spend your night. being rejected by the the club player had you drinking all the free shots your deep cut sparkly dress got you and now you're paying for it.

body in violent revolt against the assault of intoxication.

you're crying and puking and there are hands collecting your beautifully styled hair, keeping it tucked away and safe. a warm towel swiping at your mouth when your insides are empty. an arm around your waist hoisting you up, an up you go precious, and you're at the sink. you're made to swish mouthwash and spit, over and over until endo is satisfied you aren't going to wake up feeling gross.

he uses more clean, damp, hot towels to wipe at your body, getting the pesky body glitter off as best he can. his hands soft, warm, soothing. works lotion into your limbs, massaging the venom and spite out.

you aren't okay. and these tears? oh, someone's gonna bur for this. he'll definitely know who to return your anger and sadness to soon enough. but first, you. you wouldn't leave the club unless he came to get you right? knocked out that bouncers teeth fair and square when he put a hand to your neck. endo will get him too precious, he'll cut up the bouncers fingers in so many pieces it'll look like lentil soup when he's done. 

but you come first.  he's gotta get you clean and consoled. the smell of alcohol and sweat off your body, your hair soothed over and cared for how you like it, just how you do it at your place. needs to see you tucked into his cotton sheets, safe and sound in dreamland. he not gonna leave you like this, moody and fussy and drunk as fuck with sleep. 

"it's your fault, it's your fault."  you cry into his chest.  light punches to his chest.

irrational, that's what endo makes you feel.

"tell me," voice low and deep "tell me," hands on the side of your face, "angel. i'll undo it, i'll fix it, i'll end it. tell me." he needs to know what his fault is, needs to hear the next piece of him he'll rip out and discard.

endo would burn a thousand times over before ever seeing another tear fall from your face.

how dare he give rise to the storm brewing through your eyes?

hit him, punch him, break him. 

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

you're at the mall buying apology gifts for fucking up the bachelorette party. friends understanding that endo has 'done a number' on you but really, really you've done a number on yourself. 

you barely recognize the girl in the shop window. what the fuck are you doing, trying to hook up with randos? 

you don't have to look to know he's trailing along, right behind you.  of course he is. takes your momentary introspection as desire for the gucci tacchini furniture in the window and snaps his fingers to a lackey to go in and buy the sofa in your favorite color. doesn't bring up last night nor the morning. it's annoying, it pisses you off. 

you buy things you don't need and shove all the bags into his chest. he takes them with the sweet grin and follows like a lost puppy.  

drops his card before you even reach for yours. it furthers your scorn. oh, he wants to pay? you'll make him back, waltz into every high end store and rack up an insane bills, he'll crack. he'll drop this soon enough right? that song he's humming and the way he's looking at you dreamy and soft is a lie, right?

"love it when my angel spends my money. get the purple one too, know you like that color."

you're mad, you're so fucking mad.  a blazing inferno, brighter than the sun and endo basks in the light despite the heat. 

you're buying more than you make in an entire year and all he does is bat his long eyelashes at you?

doesn't he have limits? 

⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎

grey suit is a nice guy. a steady guy. a smart guy. he plays the game slow and steady, builds up a friendship, dotes on you in ways endo hadn't thought of but will surely steal. endo will study and learn how to do soft dating too. he'll learn all the things grey suit says to make you laugh like that too.

it's why endo isn't bothered when your apartment door opens and you stumble in, giggling with a goofy smile that's met with hushed kisses. grey suit has his hands on your low back, his eyes on your face. oh, endo thinks this one might do a decent job of doting on you. might even fuck you right too, hell grey suit may understand the goddess you are and that there is a right way to worship. 

endo rolls to his side on your brand new sofa, bringing his left leg over his right for balance, head leaning into right hand, he observes. watching you let yourself loosen up, body always stiff when things start to get heated, you're a little shy right? that's why deep kisses and whispered promises help you unwind. that's the best way, it gives you enough room to stop thinking, unwind, pull close, and allow yourself to take what you need. so far, grey suit might be patient enough to coax it outta you.

as endo watches, grey suit's eyes connect with his. grey suit doesn't startle, the motherfucker JUMPS. endo swears if that coward's hand actually hit your face in his alarm he's going to break each finger in half and shove it up grey suit's dick so far he'll need an ENT specialist to find them.

"that your roommate?"

endo gives him that smile.

"i'm the love of her life dickhead."

you give him a sharp look, what? he said dickhead not fucker or asshole. this is progress.

grey suit looks between you and endo, fucking shrimp. endo wouldn't hesitate to end any guy trying to get between you and him.  the only reason this is allowed is because grey suit makes you smile and laugh on your lunch hour. 

endo is confident, secure, stretches out on your sofa. you wanna use someone to pass the time? be his guest. endo can wait, confident all roads will lead to him at the end.

"i got an early meeting actually, hey, thanks for this, you're great," he looks at endo, "you are but i gotta, work. gotta make that money..." grey suit doesn't even kiss you goodbye?  what a disappointing piece of shit, that motherfucker better sleep with both eye open. you let him step into your sacred space and --

"endo yamato," you clench your fists, angry. oh, he hasn't head that in a while, he tried to stop himself from cackling he really did, but it escapes. endo cackles, moves to seated, legs crossing underneath him, back straight, the most polite posture he can muster. calls you hack by your full government name with the deepest voice.

you crowd him before you can help yourself, what's endo need personal space for when anyways? it's useless, store what you want in his lungs, really. he'll take anything as long as he can feel the heat of your skin this close.

your hand twitching with how fucking annoying endo's grin is, how vexing his eyes are, how exasperating the calmness of his being is. the gall of this guy. "return the key."

"no lock is gonna keep me from you precious."   his eyes dart to your hands. they're clenching so tight, your nails are gonna cut skin, gonna bleed. he uses his tattooed fingers to pry your fists open, stretching your hand flat and smacking it against his cheek, hard.

your glare softens in surprise. "you're mad at me right?"

his eyes dazed.

"i did something to upset you." he moves your hand against his cheek again, the mock slap makes you shiver. "gotta get that anger out, right? can't focus cuz of me, huh? " you swallow trying to break eye contact, don't get suckered into this. that sweet siren sound.

"i messed something up, angel didn't i?" another slap, the sound, the feel, the touch of your skin against his cheek is salvation he's unworthy of. he'll take any amount of force, any amount of pressure. keep your touch on him. 

you catch yourself, letting go an exhale you held captive in your lungs. stop, before you get lost in his eyes, before he unlocks this side of you, something you can't put a lid back on, something you can't unlearn. you shove at his face and feel him smile as you pull your hand away.

"i can take it."  he grabs at your hips, pulls you in, his breath hot against your stomach. takes your hand and kisses the palm. "i want it."  he guides your hand to his cheek again. 

"i deserve your anger, at the very least, don't i?" fuck, he's almost begging, looks up pleading, he deserves your warmth, your wrath. "take it out on me."

"take it out on you?" you don't recognize your voice.

he nods, smile wide. this is the first step to absolution for him, he made you cry didn't he? hit him until he sheds a hundred times the tears you did. 

"i won't make a sound. i won't move away. as hard as you want, goddess, as hard as you need." he is sorry for making you cry, so do it, use him. give in, give in, give in.

months and months and months of endo; him walking into your apartment as if it's his name on the lease and not yours. him looking at all your dates with disdain all while telling you he doesn't mind at all, go play. 

you hate you look for him when he's not around. hate all the sarcasm and snark he eats up like honey on drizzled on french toast.  hate how he can take your anger as if it's welcome rain and he's parched. resent how you notice everyone expects you to shrink and be polite but endo holds you up pride. takes all of you -- the anger, the saddens, the cursing, the frustration, like it's nothing.

he wouldn't even label it as enduring your shadow no, endo, your crazy fucking endo is always begging, grasping, crawling to that monster inside your chest to, bares his neck without asking. you hate it.

hate how he looks at you for approval; every time he's nice and not snapping at a waiter, punching a guys face, or drivint the speed limit. as if he's changed. as if he's normal.

as if you not seeing him go back to the restaurant to cause a scene means it didn't happen. that punching guys beyond recognition later doesn't change the fact people you don't know flinch when you cross the street. like you aren't aware of the payout endo's company does to keep his road rage out of the public eye. 

that he was worse before you, this is him healed, this is him contained. happy. your good, bad, ugly, worst days are the spark of his life, enchanting.  that you should let go, let him in, all of you is his. give in, give in, give in.  fuck what your friends think, fuck what your parents would say. he'll walk miles on his knees if he has to. don't be scared.

trusts you beyond with blind faith, take your fill again and again and again.

he'll prove it to you.

all you have to do is let him submit.

all you have to do is keep him.

what's he going to do with all this love that's meant for you anyway? this fidelity, it's yours. do what you want.

but you, oh. his precious goddess.

the filth before him have done a number on you haven't they? planting seeds of doubt about your worth. you don't trust his allegiance is that strong for you. that his faith is misplaced.

you'll show him.

you pull your hand back and slap hard. his whole face turns from the impact, eyes a little blown out.

that's it. that's right. he's not gonna run, he's not gonna ask you to constrict.

his angel, his saving light, his precious heart, his goddess.  

no sound, no snark, no challenge.

endo licks his lips. softly returns his head to it's initial position, balanced between on top his neck. he relaxes his shoulders down, keeps his hands soft and loose on his thighs. 

he looks up.

you're gonna take it out on him right?

ready, waiting, wanting.

use him.

[binenbaumaj]

Diamond 14k Tennis Bracelet 15711-8614

Elevate your wrist game with our 14k Yellow Gold Tennis Bracelet, featuring 1.25ct of H-I SI1 brilliant-cut diamonds. This contemporary piece combines timeless elegance with modern flair, perfect for any occasion. 💎✨

Details: ±1.25ct (H-I SI1) Brilliant-cut diamond, 14k Bracelet *.

Design Era: Contemporary.

Dimensions: H 2 x W 1.6 x L 18 cm.

Weight in grams: 4.4.

Condition: New.

Shipping and Pickup: This superb piece ships from our store located in the center of Amsterdam, The Netherlands. We offer both registered shipping and local pickup at our store. In the case of local pickup, any applicable shipping costs will be refunded.

About Us: Add some sparkle to your style with Binenbaum.com. We offer a stunning selection of antique and vintage jewelry that you won't find anywhere else. From timeless rings and dazzling necklaces to unique brooches, we have something for every taste and occasion. Visit our website today and treat yourself to a piece of history.

[mrs-trophy-wife]

[wasjustred]

ahhh iloveyourworkssomuch!! 💖 i'd like to request something along the lines of sugar mommy!larissa (maybe with smut, who knows *wink*) 'cause she's all i can think about these days... anyways, happy early new years!!!

Easy Does It - NSFW Larissa Weems x f!Reader

Summary: Larissa spoils you beyond comprehension. Pairing(s): Larissa Weems x f!Reader Warnings: Smut. A lot of it. (Cunnilingus, fingering, strap-on — all Reader receiving) Word Count: ~4.7k

Author’s Note: I hope this meets your expectations, anon! I originally intended to make Larissa way more domineering, but once I began writing it just didn’t feel like her——I tried to stay true to her character where I could. As always, feedback is welcome ﹠. appreciated! ♡ (un-beta-ed as per usual!) ╱ AO3

The arrangement you and Larissa have has been smoothly gliding along for about six months now: you meet for dinner every weekend, in a town about half an hour outside of Jericho. You wear an outfit she’s picked out for you, she pulls your seat out, you share conversation and good - expensive - food and drinks, and you end on the stoop of your apartment, leaning into the kiss she places on your cheek, with a weekly allowance in cash in your purse. It’s the perfect set-up, nothing you’d dare protest, but sometimes you honest to god wish she’d just break her own rules and rail you ‘till the bed breaks.

Tonight you meet her at The Aviary, draped in a black satin dress with a deep slit up the leg––one of her favorites. Larissa helps you into your seat as she usually does, but before she takes her own, she places a long velvet box on your empty appetizer plate.

“Ooh, what’s this?”

“Open it and see.” A small, proud smirk turns her lips, eyes sparkling. You run your fingers over the velvet and lift at the seam, features going slack with surprise when you realize what’s hidden inside: a collar necklace, glittering diamond-cut, softening into a single falling arc of gems which ebbs, finally, into a small, shining teardrop. Light from the restaurant’s fixtures seem drawn to it, gleaming to and fro in a scattered stream of reflection. Your gaze snaps back to hers almost immediately, heart pounding.

“Larissa, I–”

“Do you like it?”

“I– Of course I do, it’s– it’s so beautiful..” Your voice softens and tapers off as you return your attention to the box before you. It’s probably the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given to you, but you stop short of admitting this. “Help me put it on?” 

Larissa’s smile grows as she gathers the box in her hands, lifting the necklace from its cushion. She moves to stand behind you and tenderly brushes your hair aside; her hands are as soft as anything, so gentle in the way they handle you, securing the piece around your neck. Your own hand raises to rest atop the new weight at your clavicle, and when she sets her palms along your shoulders and squeezes, you shift your hand up to capture hers.

“What’s the occasion?”

“Do I need one?” Larissa presses her lips to your cheek from behind before she retakes her seat, arching a brow in challenge. The answer is no, of course; this is how you work, special occasion or not. She always manages to keep you on your toes, though, far more thoughtful and intimate than any other ‘financeur’ you’ve ever humored in the past: Tennis bracelets set with gemstones which perfectly match your eyes, a new coffee bar set-up when you mentioned off-hand that Starbucks had discontinued your favorite drink, a signed first edition copy of your favorite book she ‘just so happened to come across’ while out of state. Much more than the simple, routine bank deposits and luxury brand pieces that were never quite you which you received from others. Larissa’s gifts have always been astoundingly personal.

You’ve never told her this, but you stopped dating altogether once your little dynamic began. How could anyone else compare? She makes you feel important without ever having to work for it ––– like you’re lovable, worthy, because you exist, and nothing more. You’re breaking  your own rules, being so enamored with her, but you refuse to dwell on it.

“No, you don’t…” You trail off as your food arrives, ducking your head in thanks as the waiter sets everything out before you. Any discussion of her gift to you ends there on Larissa’s own accord, swiftly and advantageously moving on to a new topic as soon as the waiter has left you. The rest of the night is spent sipping expensive wine and musing instead on all of the high-culture goings-on you never get to discuss with anyone else: Art, ballet, classical music. Larissa’s a delicious trove of knowledge and opinions and she impresses you with each turn of a new topic. You often find yourself wondering - not just tonight, but many nights whilst basking in her presence - why she’s chosen you. You can hold good conversation, of course, and have an appreciation for the finer things in life usually reserved for those older and/or wealthier than you, but what’s always been curious, what’s always given you pause, is that she never asks for anything else in return. You have no choice but to ask yourself what it is you possibly have to offer to a woman like her––but you almost always fall short of a satisfying answer.

She’s talking you both through an analysis of the most recent play she brought you to when you take one of her hands in your own, tracing the lines of her palm as you listen. Larissa stumbles over her words at first contact, a rare occurrence for her, and blushes pink at the sensation. When you glance up at her in question she quickly averts her gaze and carries on, moving to smooth her thumb over yours as you continue. You love her fingers: they’re long, delicate, awfully reminiscent of the Greek statues she enjoys waxing poetic about. It’s an instance in which you’re reminded art, very often, echoes us in a continuous cycle of give and take.

You don’t say a word when you notice her face darken another shade as you press a kiss to the inside of her wrist before moving on to dote upon her other hand.

She’s not once explicitly told you, but Larissa’s never expected you to take a physical liking to her. She set the rules she did early on for a reason, knowing she could live with looking and not touching, taking care of you and watching your face turn alight with each gift or special night out without ever ending the evening by your side. No sex necessary, no physical affection expected. But here you are, fawning over her, and she’s never been more conflicted.

To assuage the feeling, she convinces herself it’s the wine that’s made you this way––a good bottle will go a long way, thus your touch must be the product of inebriation, not genuine affection. You’ve both long since finished off your meals when Larissa pays the bill and drives you home as she normally does, to an apartment she partly finances (not fully, at your own insistence that there are some things you should take care of yourself) and walks you to your door, stooping to kiss your cheek. Routine. 

She is right about one thing, however, and that’s the potency of the house wine tonight. Not on your reasoning, but your self-control. You spent the car ride home admiring her profile in the passing streetlamps and traffic lights, studying the way each red light cast itself across her, how the passing headlights of opposing traffic bathed her in a cinematic glow you associated only, appropriately, with Vivien Leigh in A Streetcar Named Desire. Ghostlike, almost. Ethereal. And at that same wine’s behest, you lean further now into her goodnight kiss than you’d normally allow yourself.

It’s as she prepares to leave that you decide - anchored by the weight of the diamonds around your neck - that this is the night you’ll throw caution to the wind, fervently hoping it won’t backfire and end with her rejection and a ruined arrangement that you’d both worked to preserve over the past six months.

“Do you want to join me for a nightcap? I know we don’t usually, but.. I’d like you to. If you’d like to, of course. If you don’t that’s–––”

“Y/N,” she interrupts. You can hardly tell but her heart’s just about burst out of her chest. There’s an inner battle waging right on the precipice of her ribcage and your bright, hopeful eyes staring up at her aren’t making it any easier to parse out. Do you feel obligated somehow to pay her back for the necklace? She knows you know she’d never ask that of you, that your arrangement is not a traditional one, but has she unknowingly pushed the bounds all the same? Did you simply imbibe too much and don’t really have a clue what it is you’re saying?

Or, perhaps.. Most dangerously: Do you mean it?

“I don’t want you to feel as though you have to… ‘pay me back’ for tonight. That was never my intention.”

She volleys her own inner turmoil dead straight in your direction and stares down at you with what might be, if you squint hard enough, a nervous expression.

You lean sideways against the door and cross your arms over yourself, appraising her. Does she really not want you? What the hell does she get out of this if she doesn’t? You just can’t wrap your head around it, and while you insisted to yourself you’d never outwardly question the bounds of your relationship and why they’ve settled where they are, you’ve put yourself at a crossroads.

“Do you think I’m pretty?”

She balks.

“What? Of course I do. What does that have to do with anything?” Larissa’s expression is a mixture of incredulity and apprehension. You decide to bite the bullet then as she lingers uncertainly beneath the moonlight.

“I don’t understand what you get out of this. Am I not–– you think I’m pretty but you don’t want to touch me? You pay for my livelihood but you don’t want anything tangible in return?” You both purse your lips simultaneously and you’d laugh if the situation weren’t so dire all of a sudden. “You confuse me, Larissa.”

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, a small cloud bursting forth as she sighs.

You fucked it, didn’t you? Fucked it right to hell, and now she’s never going to speak to you again.

“You’re an idiot, do you know that?” The air goes still.

…

It’s news to you. 

Larissa suddenly pushes forward and traps you against the front of your door, hands leveled at your waist. “I’ve always wanted you,” she grits out, her arms tensing at your sides. “I just didn’t want you to feel as though you had to. Return the sentiment, that is. You’re too precious for that.” Her voice is low and rough in your ear, strangled. You grab hold of her forearms to keep yourself upright when her tone shoots right through you, breathing heavily. You gradually lift your gaze, poring over every curve of hers as you do, and meet her eyes. They’ve nearly gone black with lust, and a subtle quiver in her lip tells you everything you need to know.

“Kiss me.”

Larissa groans, which is admittedly not the reaction you’d expected, and presses further into you, her nose brushing against your cheek.  You can feel the heat of her grow, ensnaring you in perfect contrast to the cool night air.

“You have to tell me you want it, darling. I need you to say it.” … Oh. A new wave of arousal surges through you as you turn your head ever so slightly, her lips hovering just out of reach. The shared breath between you has become fraught with possibility, with the overwhelming, unspent energy that’s been collecting over the last six months without either of you quite noticing. Of course this is what she needs: confirmation, not that you’re hers but that she’s yours, by choice and choice alone.

“I want you, Larissa. Please,” you whisper, squeezing her arms in an attempt to ground yourself. She says nothing in return, instead immediately closing the distance and engulfing you in a desperate, searing kiss. Your cheeks burn and it’s all you can do not to melt into her fully, sucking in a sharp breath as her tongue slides against your bottom lip. This, this, you realize, is exactly what you’d imagined: Feeling her against you, wrapped up tightly in her arms, being drawn in and freed all at once, struggling to contain the desire you feel pulsing within yourself. It’s like Larissa’s split open your mind and picked through every thought there, coming away with only the most indecent imaginings and putting them to use as her hips pitch forward and her hands grasp achingly at the roundness of your thighs.

“Open the door,” she husks, suddenly ripping herself away and turning you at the waist to face the door. You fumble for your keys as she scores your neck and shoulders with hot, open-mouth kisses, running the tip of her tongue along the muscle that pulls taut there.

“F-fuck.” The chuckle she gives in response to your whimpering, shaking when you can’t fit the key into its slot, only weakens you further. Larissa must know her effect well as she wraps an arm around you to hold you upright, the other grabbing the key from you and swiftly unlocking the door in one go.

“Trust me, I’m trying.”

Laughter follows you both as you take the stairs one at a time, pausing every few to take her tongue in your mouth and run your hands along her front. You bypass the living room once you reach the landing - a feat in itself - and lead Larissa straight to your bedroom, kicking one heel off in the hall and the other at the threshold of your room. 

She stops you just before you reach the bed and holds you steady for a moment: “Hold on, I want to look at you..” You hair is mussed, curls losing their hold in the heat of your entanglement, chest heaving and red. Larissa steps forward to brush her thumb over your lips, searching your face for any sign of hesitation or doubt.

She doesn’t find any.

“Christ, you’re a pretty thing,” she hums. The pad of her thumb pulls at your bottom lip and you acquiesce, tilting your chin up before taking her finger into your mouth, rolling your tongue against its tip, watching her with wide eyes that imply an innocence you don’t possess. A hiss escapes her when your teeth come down around her knuckle and she scowls, gripping your jaw with an intensity that rivets the surrounding atmosphere as she rips her hand away, smashing your lips together once more.

In the next second the backs of your knees are buckling against the edge of the mattress and you squeak; Larissa had slipped a hand over your sternum and shoved, launching you down hard into the bed. Wet heat urges your hips forward as she crawls over you, but her hands swiftly come down to force them back into the mattress, trapping you there.

“Patience, darling.” You scoff as she begins the journey down your body, placing lazy kisses to your lips, cheek, jaw, chest while her fingers deftly work to pull your dress from you. You lift your back so she can snake a hand around and drag the zipper down to its end at the top of your hips, wriggling free and moving to pull at her own dress–––but she grabs your wrists, pinning them above you with a devious smirk. 

“Ah, ah. Let me spoil you,” she murmurs into the crook of your neck, one hand traveling to cup the dampness between your legs. Electricity cracks against your spine at her touch; you’re sweltering and freezing all at once, watching her eyes rake over you with a hunger you’ve never seen on her before. Her fingers draw idle circles around your clit as she works her way down your body, leaving a trail of wetness in her wake where tongue meets flesh, nipping at the precipice of your hip bones, glancing up at you before she licks you through your panties. There’s no helping the whine you turn free when she all but purrs at the taste she gets of you from the soaked fabric.

“Larissa, please,” you huff, lifting your hips up to meet her mouth. She takes three steps then in quick succession: chuckles into the skin of your inner thigh; pulls your panties down and off of you; and presses a series of messy, teasing kisses to your bare sex. Your fingers clutch at the top of your duvet as she finally begins to devour you, breath hitching as her tongue circles your entrance and delves into you. In a moment of white hot desperation, you hook your legs around her, calves flexing against her back as you shudder into her touch. She’s ravenous, consuming you with long, uninterrupted strokes that ride on the flat of her tongue, lapping your slickness up and winding into you all at once. The coil is tight within you already, pulsing with every movement of her mouth. You’re almost worried it’ll be over before it scarcely has had the chance to start, but a quiet, bemused voice in the back of your mind ridicules you: Larissa is nothing if not generous.

“You taste divine,” she breathes, before returning her ministrations to your clit, sucking and popping with the filthiest fucking moan you’ve ever heard. The feeling of her tongue against that tight bundle of nerves prompts your eyes to roll back, eyelids fluttering, and imbues your hands with a mind of their own, working them swiftly into her hair and pulling her as close to your cunt as you can get her, hips lurching in an unsteady rhythm. You can feel her amusement at your desperation as distinctly as you feel her mouth, but it’s quickly forgotten when she slides two fingers into you with an ease that makes you lightheaded. The sound of your wetness is sinful, and you have to admit it only spurs you on.

“Fuck me, fuck me, pleasefuckme––” Larissa’s grinning against you as she pumps her fingers, curling into you with a startling accuracy that leaves you breathless and aching. You press your cheek to your shoulder in a feeble attempt to keep yourself above the threshold dividing pleasure and bliss, useless as she slips another finger into you and flicks her tongue against you, quickening her pace as she follows the mounting tone of your pleas. Every touch spreads a warmth through you impossible to ignore, stirring a frantic need beneath the surface of your skin.

“Cum for me, darling, cum for me, that’s right.” Larissa presses the heel of her hand into the space just below the swell of your stomach and the coil snaps suddenly, sharply, sucking all of the air out of you at the same time that you yelp and tense with equal force, clamping around her face as your orgasm tears through you. She continues to lap at you even as your hands push at her, holding fast to your thighs to keep her place. Your legs shake as she builds you up in the same breath that you’re coming down, a second orgasm already rearing its head.

“I can’t,” you keen, but Larissa shakes her head and unlatches briefly to disagree.

“Yes you can, Y/N––be a good girl for me.” It washes over you when she lowers her face again and wraps her lips around your clit, sucking with an unfazed firmness that shocks you to your center. You’re tingling over every limb, pacing your breaths to ride you through this second crest. “That’s it..” Larissa coos, running her hand over your leg comfortingly. You can hardly breathe as the shockwaves roll through you one after the other, and the darkness of the ceiling above you seems to double in size as you stare in a daze.

Your muscles melt into the mattress one by one, sinking deep as Larissa finally pulls her head away and crawls forward to kiss you; you can taste your slickness on her tongue, familiar and tangy. When you part, gasping for air, you wrap a hand around the back of her neck and press your foreheads together, gazing up into her eyes with the softest look you can muster after so thoroughly falling apart in her hands.

“My turn?” She laughs loud and heartily at your doe-eyed demeanor. You’re itching to touch her, to taste her, and she knows it.

“Mmm, maybe.” Larissa shrugs and rises up from her position over you, sliding off to the side of the bed where you can’t reach her––and not for lack of trying. A whine catches in your throat when she shoots a withering look over her shoulder, patting the space beside her. “Help me with my dress, darling.”

You waste no time in flipping over onto your knees, shuffling over to her and grappling with the zipper of her dress. You flush when she laughs both at your inability to get it down in one swift motion and the frustrated little growl that bubbles up from your chest.

“Not funny,” you complain, gritting your teeth as she shifts and the zipper gives, revealing the smooth, snowy expanse of her back. Instilled with a renewed sense of hunger, you push the fabric away from both of her shoulders and continue the journey down and around to her breasts, thrilled she’s forgone a bra tonight as you palm the supple flesh there and roll her nipples between your fingers. The sigh she expels is a ragged one, her hands dwarfing yours whilst her head falls back against your shoulder. You revel in the sight of her lip caught between her teeth.

“I want to fuck you.” You just barely catch it in between her labored breaths and your own thunderous heartbeat, but you do, and you turn to glance at her curiously before her meaning hits you square in the face.

“But––”

She cuts you off. “I want to destroy you, Y/N. You can taste me later,” Larissa mutters, pivoting without another warning and capturing your lips again. You wouldn’t complain if it weren’t for the utter distress you felt to get your hands on her. She doesn’t give you a chance to rebut, however, as she slips out of her dress and climbs over you, guiding your hands to grip her ass. “Later, I promise.” She pulls back to appraise you, taking a rigorous inventory that she’ll commit to memory if it’s the last thing she does: Your flushed skin, the way you can’t keep still under her touch, the unmistakable shine of desire in your eyes.

“In th-the nightstand,” you stammer. Suddenly the realization that Larissa is here, in your bed, and you, at her mercy, is too much at once. You’re trembling with need and anticipation. She tilts her head at you, one second, two passing before she follows your guidance and pulls the drawer open, grinning wickedly at what she finds there.

“Harness?”

You nod vigorously, propping yourself up on your elbows and directing her through another drawer of your dresser. The slow, methodical way in which she fastens the leather around herself surely burns itself into your brain, and you can’t help the shameless moan that seeps out when she smooths an indulgent layer of lubricant along the silicone from base to tip, a delicious sight between her legs.

Larissa approaches with an emphasized swing to her hips, bending at the waist to press a chaste kiss to your lips before she nudges you to scoot back into the middle of the bed, positioning herself above you with a hand on either side of your head. She dips her face down into the hollow of your throat. 

Her voice vibrates against you despite her hushed tone. “Are you ready for me, darling?”

Your brain short-circuits at her words, imperfect timing. God, she’s fucking hot.

She lifts her head again to catch your gaze and smirks, nibbling on the tip of your chin. “Use your words.”

“Yes, yes, I’m ready,” you rasp, drawing your nails down the broad expanse of her back in anticipation.

The moment she slides into you is pure ecstasy: your toes curl and you haphazardly clamber for purchase upon her skin as she buries herself deep within you, stalling for a few moments to give you time to adjust. The way Larissa groans into the motion draws out an amusing - filthy - rumination about her being able to feel every stroke as with her own body, delighting in your wetness. She fills you seamlessly, snapping her hips against you before slowly drawing herself back, only to repeat the pattern and plunge into you as deeply as she’s able. It’s bruising and pleasurable all at once, how she brushes up against your walls and the ridges of the toy hit what your mind insists is every nerve-ending within you.

You rock together desperately, bodies moving as one as if you’d been doing this for centuries, mapping each other out and bringing each other to your peak. You savor the novel, tangled scent of sweat and arousal, a newly formed association with the sound of Larissa’s broken whimpers now frozen in your psyche.

A startled breath leaves you as Larissa abruptly anchors her weight to one side and pulls you on top of her, flipping your positions. Her arms wrap tight around you, looped at your back and around your shoulder as she fucks up into you at a crushing pace. You whine into the crook of her neck and realize you’re on the verge of tears, an overwhelming wave of pleasure and desperation wracking your body. Quiet grunts accompany her each thrust, slowing just so until it’s a steady pattern you can count to like clockwork, brutal and sharp at every buck of her hips. Your knees are aching, folded as they are, but the tight, coiling sensation within you overrides any and all discomfort, merely a quiet nagging in your brain; your focus is settled precisely on the angle of her cock and how her nails dig into your skin as you grind against each other. She’s close, too. You can feel it. It’s there in the shallowness of her breaths, in the urgency of her pelvis against yours, in the subtle arch of her back. You try to meet her where she’s at in your muddled state, pitching your hips backwards and down when she thrusts upwards––and you know it’s worked when she gasps and her hands scramble to lock together at the small of your back.

“Yes, that’s it darling. Just like that,” Larissa pants, using the leverage of her hold on you to help you fuck yourself. The only sounds permeating the room are that of your mingled breaths and her cock driving into you with a consistent, almost unforgiving rhythm. 

“Pleasepleaseplease, ohfuck––” 

“Y/N–––”

She tenses with you and cries out as your orgasms hit you both at once, ravaging you beyond reason. You’re hyper-aware of the way her breasts feel pressed against you, the way one of her hands flies up to bury itself in your hair as you ride her through your climax. Larissa’s hips stutter as she whines into your shoulder, sinking her teeth into you, and you marvel at the feeling of her muscles clenching around you, from the sinewy stretch of her arms to her thighs rested between your own.

Everything you’d hoped for. Fantasized about. Greedily deliberated again and again whilst watching her across the table in another fancy restaurant in another unfamiliar town.

Larissa is careful as she pulls out of you, slow and deliberate so as not to disturb the tenderness there. You remain curled on top of her but she doesn’t complain, rather rubbing your back in long, languid movements and whispering affirmations in you ear, a sweet mixture of ‘breathe darling, I’ve got you’ and more headily, ‘you did so well for me, you’re so good, you took me so well’. When you allow yourself to fall to the side of her, she shimmies out of the harness and tosses it somewhere off the edge of the bed, ignoring its clatter as she wraps you up in her arms. You burrow yourself further into her warmth and sigh at the feeling, content.

“Now is it my turn?” you ask, voice low and raked over with exhaustion. The belly laugh she gives is worth all the weariness in the world. “You’re incorrigible!”

[preferredjewelers]

Fine Jewelry Collection at Black River Diamond Co. in Medford, WI

Welcome to Medford's NEW jewelry store, Black River Diamond Company. We’re a division of Bay Area Diamond Company - Green Bay's 1 spot for diamonds and engagement rings.

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Address: 753 E Perkins St, Medford, Wisconsin 54451

Phone: (715) 785-7140

[taylorswiftstyle]

Favourite Outfits of 2023: Taylor Swift Style

Events

EB Denim, MTV VMA after party

Oscar de la Renta, Eras Tour premiere

Balmain, Renaissance premiere

The Row, Poor Things premiere

Taylor’s major event appearances this year came in threes: a trio of movie premieres (Eras, Renaissance, Poor Things) and award shows (Grammys, iHeartRadio, MTV VMAs).

If there were a unifying theme (that also extended to her street style) it was a more concerted approach to glam. Whether that was in oversized jewelry like the doorknocker Lorraine Schwartz earrings at the Grammys. Or her heavy stack of necklaces (Joseph Saidian & Sons and Anita Ko) and bracelets (Foundrae, Jacquie Aiche) and rings (David Webb, Ita Jewelry, and that one onyx Van Cleef & Arpels ring #iykyk) at the MTV VMAs.

Or even in more subtle, but still elevated, ways. Like Cartier diamond tennis jewelry at the Eras Tour premiere (a move I like to call ‘spoken word luxury’ - not loud and self-aggrandizing, but not quiet either) or the glam Hollywood glove-like fit of a Balmain gown that was thoughtfully on theme for a night celebrating Renaissance silver, or even a slinky all black look by The Row at the Poor Things premiere that had me whispering “You must be the woman who’s been screwing my husband” under my breath for all the very best reasons. 

Photos by Matt Winkelmeyer, Kevin Mazur, and Gotham via Getty Images.

[placevendomemag]

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