#dom prima

[kristencsummerlin]

More school uniforms. If you have noticed the pattern I use for them is a cent sign. This is because Nickolas High School's mascot is a Nickel. So the cent sign is their only choice of pattern besides plaid and fishnet lace.

Also due to the school having Aquatic beings attending. To keep them hydrated they can simply ask for water and the roof will spray them with water. Sadly though, this means if any student says water, liquid, or aqua they will also get sprayed with water. And if students say "I don't know." They get slime poured onto them. Get the reference? Lol

Anyway more uniforms

Star: Blue and Pink

We start with Star from Danny Phantom. I gave her the last name Thompson because I gave everyone last names.

Spike: Black and Blue

The phandom community has made Spike Jazz's friend and I LIVE for it. My sister was laughing at his tie.

Sidney Poindexter: Blue and White

Like Ember he has a uniform even though he'll attend the school like one chapter/issue. Still worth drawing the uniform. He's also the last of the Danny Phantom characters.

Jenny Wakeman: Blue and Light Blue

Now we're on My Life as a Teenage Robot and those characters.

Sheldon Lee: Dark Blue and Blue

The nerd who has a major crush on Jenny. He's more than likely gonna wear his big coat over.

Brad Carbunkle: Blue and White

Jenny's bestie.

Brit Crust: Black and Orange

The Crust cousins. I think they would have a rivalry with Paulina and Star over who's more popular. Not all popular students get along lol.

Tiff Crust: Black and Orange

The cousins also HATE having to wear uniforms because they love showing off their fashion.

Misty: Purple and Blue

Like Ember and Sydney. She's probably only show up in one chapter as the antagonist or one of the antagonists.

Don Prima: Brown and Orange

This man cried over a scrap on his shoes. You just gotta love him.

Jenny's Exo Skin: Dark Blue and Blue

Again, one time villain. Still she has a uniform.

Glenn Wakeman: Dark Green and Slime Green

Jenny's younger plant cousin. He's like a preteen Swamp Thing. I imagine him hanging out with Dani.

[evielmostdefinitely]

i need more about the wedding or the wedding press tour.

or smut on the train.

all of it. anything.

snow bride |young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader|

prompt: based off the wedding night on the train before the press tour.

contains: smut. 18+. dom/sub dynamics implied. oral fem receiving. pinvsex.

“Wait!” Corio called, hand wrapping around your wrist, pulling you back towards him. Your champagne soaked squeals had him grinning, hand slipping around the white material of your dress. 

“Corio,” You laughed, turning in his arms. “What are you doing?” Your eyes shone, love drunk and glassy with adoration, the high of the wedding, the reception still fresh. Your family, friends, other elitist members had waved you goodbye, with tight smiles and slithering hopes of joy for the newlyweds. 

“It’s tradition, my love.” Corio smiled. Alone, he was more generous with his affection. His hands moved, bending at the knees to hoist you, one arm under your knees, the other on your back, cradling you to his chest. 

You laughed, head tipping back, dizzy off the champagne that seemed to endlessly flow, drunk off the way Coriolanus held you while you danced. He moved into the threshold of the train’s carriage, the wafting scent of roses. Tigris and your other bridesmaids had taken the liberty of decorating the honeymoon carriage. Dozens of white roses, just like the ones from the ceremony, lined the carriage’s space. Dripping wax candles in their holders for a more romantic ambiance. A bottle of champagne and a signed card of well wishes on the plush bed, where Coriolanus set you down. 

You lay there, sprawled, the frill and pearls of your dress around you, veil fanning around your head like a halo. Coriolanus grinned over you, blonde curls fallen from his coiffed hair from the night. 

“How will this do? Hm, for the next two weeks?” Coriolanus reached his hand up, now bearing his own wedding ring, complimentary to your own. “Up to the Prima Donna’s standards?” 

The nickname you despised had you rolling your eyes, shoving his shoulder lightly. “It’s wonderful.” You hummed, blinking up at him. “Much nicer than what I expected.” 

“You didn’t think I’d put you in something like the tributes used to come on, did you?” Corio grinned, stroking your cheek bone affectionately. “Your father would have a noose around my neck before we ever made it to the train station.” 

“No,” You giggled, shaking your head, your hand falling gently on top of his. Rings rubbing, metal on metal. “I just… It’s nice. Feels like home.” Your now shared home with Coriolanus, you meant. A wedding present after the engagement from your father, before you moved into the Capitol’s Presidential Mansion. Always with fresh cut roses, burning candles, and soft fabrics that relaxed Corio. Made it entirely your own. 

“We’ll be back in no time, my darling.” Corio whispered, the pad of his thumb brushing over the soft rouge of your cheeks. “It will be a nice break. Nice to see all of Panem. You can see my work throughout the Districts.” 

“I can’t wait.” You hummed, lips pressing gently into the pad of his thumb. Coriolanus’ cock lurched, a jolt of excitement even at the simple tenderness of your touch. 

You watched his eyes darken, that primal need fell over him easily, lips curling in a sinister smile. His hands slithered up your arms, circling your wrist gently before he pounced, slotting his body over yours, lips pressed to yours. You loved when Coriolanus was passionate rather than powerful. When he’d kiss you like you were his lifeline, like the very thought of his lips not on yours would have him breaking apart. When he took time to explore every inch of your mouth, swallowing your breathy, needy whines, his tongue pushing past your teeth. 

You could feel his erection even through the layers of your dress, pushing into you, hips rolling and rubbing into your own. His hands anchored your wrists down, squeezing them tightly before releasing them, tangling in your hair and veil instead. 

“Corio,” You whined, the tug of your veil still pinned into your hair. “I- Let me take it off.” 

He didn’t seem to hear, or ignored you if he did. His lips trailing up and down the side of your jaw, pushing into the nape of your neck to inhale your scent, the perfume oil you dabbed yourself with before walking down the aisle- it drove Corionalus mad the entire ceremony. His hands tugged at the veil again just to hear you whine, covering his smirk by sucking a bruise into your skin. 

“Corio, please.” Your voice lilted, breathy with desperate pleasure. “Help me take it off.” 

His lips were swollen, blossoming red and plump, his tongue running over the bottom lip. Despite the glint in his eye, he pulled back, offering you a hand. The carriage was beginning to rumble, you could hear the whistles and shouts of the crowd bidding goodbye outside over the crack of fireworks illuminating the Capitol. 

Coriolanus pulled you up gently, a hand on your hip to steady you as the train started to glide. His hands squeezing the fat of your hips through the dress, gliding down your thighs, your claves to shove the fabric back up. 

“No,” You clicked, a huff of annoyance. “You have to undo the buttons.” 

“Oh.” Corio mocked, eyes cutting to yours in warning. “My apologies, Prima Donna. How dare I not know.” 

You huffed, brows furrowing into a sulking frown. “That’s not a very nice way to treat your wife on our wedding night.” You held the bedpost, his fingers trailing up your legs, squeezing over the fat of your ass- playfully or a warning, you weren’t sure. 

“You should be nice to me, Corio.” You turn, batting your eyes at him from over your shoulder. 

He lifted a brow- amused. Fingers hooking the buttons from their fastens, calloused hands ghosting down your spine, leaving you shivering. “I think I’m very nice to you.” Coriolanus declared. 

“You’re teasing me.” You frown, lip jutting partly for show- partly because you knew how much he loved it. 

“I haven’t even begun to tease you, my love.” Coriolanus’ tone dropped to a dark, husky octave that had you shivering, nails digging into the post of the bed. 

 “Corio,” You whimpered, breath caught in your throat. “Don’t be cruel. Be nice to me tonight. It’s our wedding night. No teasing.” 

Corio hummed, loud and dramatic, like he was truly thinking it over. Maybe he was. Maybe he was contemplating being so cruel and teasing you, a punishment for you daring to step out of line- so he could regain control. Or maybe he’d do the opposite, be so doting and ravenous of you, give you the attention you were requesting so you’d become desperate for it even more. Keep you in your place that way, desperate and ruined, only for him. 

Coriolanus pulled the fabric off your shoulders, with a tenderness that made your knees weak, delicately removing the dress from you until you were left bare. Standing before him in your wedding lingerie, a garter on your thigh that bore the same initials stitched as his handkerchief. It was a tradition from the old world, something people had forgotten about or let die out with so many other traditions, but you kept. It was sweet, to you, carrying a piece of him intimately to reveal later. 

Corio’s eyes never left your thigh, sinking slowly to his knees in front of you. His initials there, stitched in metallic red thread to the white silk fabric, tied to your thigh in place. “Do you like it?” You whispered, the flecks of the golden flames from the candles reflecting in his eyes. 

Coriolanus’ gaze lifted to yours, hands cupping the back of your thigh, just above the garter. “You did this?” 

“Well, I-I didn’t make it. I, uh, I had it made but it was my idea.” You blushed, heart hammering. “My grandmother used to tell us stories that her great grandmother did this. It was an Old World tradition, but-but I thought it was… endearing.” 

Coriolanus nodded, eyes flicking to yours, a wolfish grin spreading across his lips. “Endearing…” He hummed, pad of his thumb swiping over the fabric that covered your inner thigh. “Very endearing.” 

“You like it?” You squeaked, nails raking over his scalp, pushing the curls back so you could better see his face. 

“Yes.” Coriolanus nodded. You didn’t think he’d take to the garter over the lingerie the way he did. “I think you look wonderful with my name on you.” 

You blushed, hands raking through his hair. His fingers slipped over your panties, tugging them down slowly. Coriolanus undressed you, just as slowly and tantalizing as before, leaving you entirely bare in front of him- except for your ring and the garter. 

Corio had you pinned to the wall, hands anchored in on your hips, tongue lapping furiously at your clit, running through your folds. His eyes on you, holding your gaze, sharp squeezes to your hips when you’d tilt your head back and look away for too long. 

“Corio- oh!” You whined, pulling at his scalp, pulling him further and further into your sopping cunt. His mouth suckled at your clit. He was always so good at giving head- too good, you’d told him once, at the beginning of your relationship, though he’d never tell you who his past lovers were. 

“‘M gonna- ‘m gonna cum, Corio, please. I-I’m close, I’m so close.” You writhed under his touch, hips bucking and twisting. His hands held your firm against the wall, fingertip shaped bruises blossoming on your skin, eyes on yours, nearly challenging. 

Your fingers curled, nails digging into his scalp, yanking at the curls, moans and whimpers tumbling from your mouth as your vision blurred. You hoped the train's walls were soundproof from the other cabins. Corio would normally mock you for being so loud, tease you with a slanted grin. Thankfully, his mouth was still occupied on you, even as your legs shook and slid down the wall, further onto his face.

Your chest heaved, a sheen of sweat that accompanied your flush over your body. Corio grinned, pulling away, hands still holding you in place. His chin was dripping with your release, and he didn’t dare bother to wipe it away. Instead, he kissed you. Hand gripping your jaw firmly, snaking to the back of your head. It was filthy, him making you taste your own release on his tongue. 

“I want you,” Corio growled, a heaving breath between a rather harsh kiss. “To keep that on.” He muttered, and you knew he was talking about the garter. “And just that on for the remainder of the night, do you understand?” 

You nodded, a pathetic mewl trapped behind your teeth, nose brushing his. Corio’s thumb traced your bottom lip, brushing over the kiss bitten, swollen lip before slowly pressing his thumb in. You took the digit obediently, cheeks hollowing around his calloused finger, sucking lightly. Coriolanus’ cock throbbed at the sensation, at the sight of your rounded eyes on him, sucking at his finger. 

“If you want me to keep being nice to you,” Corio’s chin lifted, looking down at you in that authoritative way that made you throb, aching from the freshness of your last orgasm. “You keep that on. Make sure it doesn’t slip.” 

Coriolanus kept his word. He was nice to you the entire night, long into the morning when you settled into District One. Your legs wrapped around his waist, clawing at his back, pressing his head into your neck to feel closer to him. He covered you with sweet kisses, lips dragging along your cheeks, your jaw, feather light kisses that had you swooning. 

You were aching, linearly limping to the podium with Coriolanus, clutching his arm up the stairs, trying to hide your wince with every step. You’d spend the day in bed after that. Coriolanus would have orders to give, meetings- boring matters you were ok to miss. He’d spend his next night as a married man in the large bath tub with you, petals in the water, your legs on either side of his thighs making the water slosh over the side. 

Every time he heard it announced- Mr. and Mrs. Snow. He would beam with joy. That politician smile, dazzling and smug, holding your arm as you walked to the podium of each district.

[argusarts]

Roy is such a dom yet Jamie is sometimes asking for it.. like... tie me up daddy... I mean

Coach!!! 🤣🤣😏😏💦💦💦

The thought of Roy and Jamie having a love dovey relationship mixed with Roy calling Jamie little bitch prima Donna while fucking him senseless lives in my head rent free, call the security!!!

.cheers!!

Blame that disgustingly awesome episode with Roy obsessing over dicks.

Bonus: found this gif, curtisy of @gay-bucky-barnes so I don't have to imagine Jammie getting rammed by a power dom...

[xuxuzinhoo]

SÓ ROCK - YUTA NAKAMOTO

AVISOS: yuta nakamoto¡ rockstar¡ x leitora • leitora é meio groupie • sexo sem proteção • hard dom × possessivo • dirty talk ● big dick • hipersensibilidade • nipleplay • yuyu narcisista gênio da música • menção ao haechan e Jaehyun • degradação • menção a exibicionismo • sugestivo!anal ● palavras de baixo calão ● yuta xinga descompassivamente ●

"eu queria ser cantor de rock, mas do rock eu não posso ser. sexta feira na minha guitarra ela quica, ela sarra meu pinto é o slash!"

Yuta era seu rockstar favorito. Venerava ele, desde o momento em que estava no próprio quarto beijando os pôsteres dele na parede ou quando era fodida por ele no camarim.

"aquela puta pega fogo cara!" - haechan, empolgado, usa as mãos para tentar ilustrar as incríveis manobras que você fez com ele na cama.

Nakamoto define o "Haechanie" - como você irritantemente chamava- o grande pequeno baterista da banda que abria o show no mesmo bar de sempre, com a mesma música de sempre e mesma incompetência de sempre. Sendo sucinto: era um fracasso.

Yuta no canto do backstage quieto como o habitual, levantava os olhos contra todos aqueles fracassados, empolgados por causa de uma puta suja como você. Queria ser indiferente mas o punho tremia levemente ao trocar as cordas do baixo.

Yuta sabia que você fazia de tudo pra ser a mulher dele, você dizia que o amava para receber um simples e monótono "tá bom" ou as vezes "eu sei gatinha" com um afagar nos cabelos como resposta. O que ele não entendia era você querer chamar ele de marido e sair dando pra qualquer aspirante a rockstar fracassado.

* * *

"Me falaram por aí que tú anda dizendo que eu sou teu marido." - o japonês fala enquanto guarda o baixo na capa, era uma tarde de sábado qualquer em que você mesma se convidou a ir na casa do japonês.

-E qual é o problema ? - arqueia a sombrancelha. Seu corpo estava estirado na grande almofada do chão enquanto colocava a erva na seda.

- Idai que eu não sou teu marido caralho! Porra, todo mundo sabe que você é uma groupie fodida. - o baixo é apoiado na caixa de som do quarto suavemente e as palavras soaram proferidas calmas demais para o impacto de medo que o efeito causou em você. yuta caminhou em sua direção carregando na pronuncia rancor e amargura.

-escuta aqui, sua biscate - a mão esquerda adornou sua mandibula e um sorriso sadico cresceu no rosto. "Eu não sou igual esses merdas sem talento que você abre as perninhas. Sou um puta gênio da música, faço poesia com aquelas cordas." - aponta os instrumentos com mão livre, pois, a outra ainda sustentava o trabalho comprimindo a tua garganta, te encurralando e lhe fazendo encolher mais e mais.

-"faço a porra de obras primas com os mesmos dedos em que toco você" - a mão no teu pescoço aperta mais e você saliva; enche os olhos de lágrimas, então, ele te solta bruscamente "mas você não merece nada disso. Não merece nem meu caralho batendo nessa sua cara sonsa."

-yuyu... - tenta falar mas o ar estava rarefeito.

-eu só continuei te comendo porque você já tá treinada, sabe receber minha pica direitiho. - os dedos esguios estouram o tecido da calcinha escrito "rockstars only".

Ele te invade, fundo e em uma intensidade como se nunca tivesse deixado de estar ali dentro; te alargando. Seus olhos reviram. A boca abre, surpresa. Contrai involuntariamente e o aperta magoando a grossura abrigada em ti. Seu corpo é manuseado por ele e seu rosto é precionado contra o chão, o quadril em cima da almofada empinado e seu grelinho roçando a cada botada.

"Deve ter preparado o cuzinho pra mim tambem né? Você sempre faz... vou meter minha bolas bem aqui ó - o polegar preciona o buraquinho mais estreito. - tirar uma foto e mandar para o seu haechanie baterista filha da puta, daquele grupo de merda."

"Como consegue continuar apertada sendo tão rodada uhm?" - as bolas pesadas raspavam contra ti quando enchiam até o talo, já estava burra só pensando no pau grande demais metendo forte, a buceta toda suja com seu próprio gozo, sensível demais expressando como resposta apenas gritos incompreensíveis e o nome do baixista.

"Deu para o baterista fracassado do haechan e depois para Jaehyun, perfeito vocalista sem talento. A porra da minha guitarra tem mais presença que aquela vadia com pau"

"E depois deu para os dois juntos e ainda sim vive me pedindo pica. Que foi? A mamadeira tava seca? Fuderam frouxo?" - yuta gargalhava em deleite, os olhos brilhavam só de ver a entradinha ficando inchada. Ansioso para o momento em que a vagina não aguentasse mais levar botada, para então, meter no cuzinho apertado.

"Tá na hora de eu achar uma mulher, e parar de comer biscates como você. Sujando meu pau com essa buceta suja de esperma barato e burro."

-Não yuyu! Não! Por favor, não! - súplica ainda com os olhos fechados tonta de prazer. "Eu te amo. Faço tudo por você, eu vou ser só do Nakamoto senpai! Só o yuyu vai me comer! " - as palavras quase se atropelam na afobação.

Yuta esticou os lábios sorrindo.

"Shiu...Tô cansado desse teu choro de puta."

A bandana de yuta faz papel de mordaça socada na sua boca, o corpo indo inteiramente para trás lhe fazendo jurar que o piso de madeira estava rangindo mais alto que os gemidos roucos -e nem um pouco intimidados- de yuta que te falta arrancar a pele, tirar um pedaço seu enquanto segura tão firme entre as bandas.

Os olhos chorando de tesão, nublado só pensando em ser um deposito de porra. Dar prazer a yuta. Deixar ele te meter até você perder o sentido e pedir arrego, só pra ele dar tapinhas na sua cara e te colocar no lugar dizendo que vadias de verdade aguentam toda hora.

Te manipula igual boneca, sobe seu quadril te empina mais, bate na sua bunda a sem aviso já mete no cuzinho para apenas três metidinhas depois encher aquele buraquinho de porra.

"Me disseram que seu cu era virgem, mas você me dá ele em todo santo show em qualquer camarim."

"Sabe bebê... - Nakamoto tira e pau sujo de porra e começa a bombear doido pra começar tudo de novo. "Pode sorrir que hoje eu vou gravar arrombando esse cuzinho. Ele é só meu mesmo."

Antes penetrar o falo duro, o seu cabelo e agarrado e puxado para cima até seu ouvido estar rente a boca do japonês.

"E eu não como vadia suja piranha, é melhor parar de sujar essa buceta pulando de fudido e fracassado por ai , ou então pode esquecer a minha pica."

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Art of Creating Sex Hair Sexy Hair

Summary: This isn't the first time Y/N's done Jensen's hair for a shoot, but there's something about this shoot that's making things pretty rough for her.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. All smut. The tiniest fluff at the end, but pretty much all smut. Unprotected sex, PinV, Oral (m/f receiving) fingering, edging, light orgasm denial, slight Dom! Jensen, face and throat fucking. I think that's everything.

Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Y/N

Word Count: 3,346

A/N: So, this is the very first time I've ever written RPF, hope I don't disappoint. I don't know how often I'll be writing for Jensen, so I think I'll keep my taglists as is right now. Gonna tag my Dean Fics list in this one, but please let me know if you don't want to be tagged in any future Jensen fics and I'll make a note not to include you if there's a next time.

I wholeheartedly blame the gif below for this fic and for forcing me to finally write a RPF. I just couldn't help it. I know the shoot below was actually a bunch of the boys cast, but I left them out of it! Lol!

I'm going to say that the Jensen I'm writing about in the story is, of course a complete work of fiction made up out of my own horndog brain (let's say he's a Jensen from somewhere else in the Multiverse! 😜) and this fictionalized Jensen is single.

Finally, I wrote this pretty quick, so sorry for any mistakes!

The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89

(x)

“That’s great Jensen - this all looks amazing!  Just hold that same pose. Good, good.” The photographer, Jordan, was calling out encouragement to Jensen as he sat on the floor in his ripped up wardrobe. 

Jordan stood up from where he’d been squatting, taking close-up shots and waved to you and Trini, the make up artist. “Could you come do some touch-ups girls, while I switch out lenses?”

The idea of the shoot was supposed to be Jensen recovering from a wild night. As such the direction was for Trini to give him a bit of a roughed up, slightly grubby look and you’d simply been told to make his hair look “tousled”. 

You’d had the chance to work on Jensen’s hair quite a few times now, during the five years you’d been working with Jordan.  He did a lot of shoots for EW and Jensen tended to end up in the magazine quite a bit, given how many copies sold every time he graced the cover.

You’d built a nice relationship with the actor over the eight or nine times you’d worked on him.  He was always friendly, always charming, kind, funny, and never a prima donna dick. Which you were incredibly grateful for, since in this business you put up with a hell of a lot of that. 

Trini finished and moved out of the way so you could get down next to him and artfully arrange his hair so it looked like someone had been running their fingers through it. But using your combs and products to try and make it lay the way you wanted it to, wasn’t really working.  

You let out a little growl as his hair refused to behave.  You looked at him and saw a small smirk playing around his lips.  The near-grin made your stomach tighten and you cringed internally.  

Jesus, I thought I was getting better.

The first few times you’d worked with Jensen, you’d spent the entire shoot with heat shooting in waves across your skin every time you looked into his face, or when he’d lean over and give you a hug in greeting. Running your fingers through his hair had felt like heaven and hell rolled into one and it was everything you could do, those first few times, not to start panting while you worked on him. 

But you’d improved.  Or so you thought.

Now, you gave him a small smile back.  “Do you ever miss your short, easy to manage Dean hair?  Cause I do.” You said, not really meaning it.  You loved his hair no matter what, but his longer hair gave you visions of gripping it tight in your hands while he did unspeakable things to your body.

Jensen chuckled softly and then spoke quietly so only you could hear the low pitched words as they rumbled out of his chest.

“You’re blushing, Y/N.” His grin turned decidedly wicked and you felt yourself clenching around nothing as his tongue peeked through his teeth when he looked up at you where you kneeled in front of him.  “Why are you blushing?”

You felt your cheeks get even redder and you shook your head.  “I just...” Your voice was squeaky and weird and your cleared your throat and tried again. “I’m just frustrated.” You mumbled.

A light came into his eyes that told you he heard the double entendre you hadn’t meant to utter and his smile grew wider.  “I could help with that if you need.” 

You choked on your own saliva at his words and fell into a coughing fit.  Jordan brought you a bottle of water.  “You okay, Y/N?” He asked.  You gave a thumbs up.

“Okay, great.  Then let’s make sure he’s got the sex hair thing going and get these last few shots.”

You coughed again.  “Sex hair?” You asked Jordan, needing clarification on that one.

But it was Jensen who answered.  “You know, it’s supposed to look like someone had it gripped tight in their hands, or that they’ve have been running their fingers through it all night.” He shrugged and looked at Jordan with a nod. “Sex hair.  I get it.”

Jordan nodded.  “Exactly.  If I were you, I’d just use your fingers, it would be more natural looking that way.” He offered his advice and then left to set up the last shots.

You cleared your throat again, and took another sip of the water bottle, feeling incredibly parched all of a sudden.  

You lifted your hands up and nodded toward Jensen’s long locks.  “Do you mind?” You asked.

“Not at all.”

You sunk your hands into his incredibly soft hair and ran your fingers through it, smoothing it back and then tousling it.  You were very close to him, the angle of your body such that you could feel Jensen’s warm breath on your collarbone. You felt the goosebumps form and a little shiver ran through your body. 

You were embarrassed by your very noticeable reaction, but when you looked down into Jensen’s face you could see his pupils were widening, crowding out the mossy green of his irises.

You quickly finished tousling his hair and stood up. You needed to get the hell away from this man before you did something incredibly unprofessional and embarrassing.

Twenty minutes later the shoot was over and the crew was packing up.  Jordan shook Jensen’s hand and Trini gave him a quick hug and then packed up as fast as possible so she could make her date on time.

Once you were all packed up, you went up to say goodbye.  You decided you’d just shake his hand, but Jensen had other plans.  When he took hold of your hand, he pulled you close and under the guise of kissing your cheek he whispered in your ear.

“You sure look beautiful covered in goosebumps and shivers, Y/N.  Meet me in the change room in ten minutes, and I promise to have you shaking.”

When he heard your breathing catch and then speed up at the offer, his voice lowered and he sounded even more sure of himself. “Fuck baby, I’ve imagined you wet and pulsing under my fingers so many times. Promise you’ll come.”

It was everything you could do to just keep breathing, so your nod was disjointed and slightly frantic. He pulled away from your ear and gave you a look that had slick pooling between your thighs. 

Ten minutes seemed like a lifetime. 

You got there in eight.  You knocked briefly and quietly on the door and seconds later Jensen pulled it open and yanked you inside. He closed the door quickly and pressed you up against it. 

He’d already started to change out of his wardrobe and wore only the tight black dress pants and white button down, but the crisp white shirt was unbuttoned and hanging open so you could see a wide expanse of tanned skin underneath.

He braced his palms against the door on either side of your shoulders and then leaned down to place a soft, brief kiss to the corner of your mouth, before sliding his silky lips along your cheek to your ear. 

His voice was low and his breath was hot. “You came.”

“Not yet.” You said, teasingly, pushing the shirt from his shoulders.  “I thought that’s why I was here.”

Jensen pulled back from you and let a slow, sexy smile spread across his beautiful face. He brought one hand to your throat, gripping it gently. 

“That’s right.” He said, rolling his lower body against you in a way that let you feel just how hard he was already. “I promised to make you shiver and shake.” 

His free hand came to push up your skirt and rest against your aching pussy. You were still covered by your panties, but they were soaked through.

“Fuck.” Jensen groaned as he rubbed against the cotton.  “You’re so wet, baby. This is all for me?”

“Hmmfmch” was all you could mumble out as he pressed the drenched cotton even tighter against you.  He wrapped his hand around the crotch and pulled it tight, forcing the soaked material up into your slit, making it rub rough and delicious against your clit. 

You cried out and thumped your head back against the door. He squeezed your throat a little tighter.  

“Shh...you gotta be quieter than that.  There are still a lot of people wandering around back here.  Don’t want to get caught, do we?”

You shook your head and then bit down hard on your lip as he slipped one finger into your folds to tease against your entrance. 

“I’ve dreamed of this cunt for years, Y/N. From the first time I saw you in those skin tight fucking jeans and little white blouse, tied up in a knot.” His voice was hoarse and raspy as he teased your hole, barely dipping the very tip of his finger inside.  

“I’ve wanted so badly to taste it, to feel it quiver, to feel it wrapped tight and wet around my fat cock. I’ve imagined you exactly like this, shaking and squirming, your slick dripping down my hand, just waiting for me to fill you, wreck you.”

Another deep moan escaped you and the pressure on your throat increased again. 

“Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers, Y/N? Do you want to come all over my hand before I make you come on my face and around my cock?”

You nodded and whimpered.  “Yes, god...Jensen...yes!”

He slid his finger further into you and then pulled out so another finger could join the first.  He was fucking you slowly with his hand, his forefinger and middle finger sinking in and out of you, pushing deeper every time.  He was reaching spots you could never reach with your own fingers, while the heal of his hand rubbed circles into your clit.

He slipped his ring finger in with the others, stretching you on his thick, rough digits.  He began ramming his three fingers deep and rough into your cunt, knuckle deep, curling them forward, pressing against your g-spot before yanking you forward by his grip on your cunt, tugging your hips away from the door.

He pulled his fingers out with a squelching sound and you whined at their loss. He ripped down your panties and then slapped his wet fingers against your thigh.  

“Spread your legs.” He commanded and you quickly obeyed. “Wider.” He ordered, his voice gravelly and harsh with heat. You opened your legs as far as your skirt would allow.

He pressed his fingers flat against your soaked pussy before he pulled away and brought his hand back in a hard, stinging smack against your lower lips. A surprised sound - half moan, half squeal - erupted from your mouth, and Jensen slapped the same hand over your mouth, allowing you to smell and taste your arousal on his hand.

“Tch. Tch! Tch!” He tutted.  “What did I say about being quiet? Do you want me to stop?”

You shook your head frantically.  “No.” You whispered under his hand.  “I’m sorry, I’ll be good.”

He removed his hand from your mouth and eased his fingers back into your body. “Good girl.” He said simply, thumbing your clit back and forth.

Your body was clenching around his fingers and you could feel yourself about to go over, but Jensen pulled his hand away at the last second and you groaned, thrusting downward, chasing his fingers.

“I only asked if you wanted to come on my hand, Y/N. I didn’t say I’d let you.” 

Your breaths were quick and shallow and you whined with your need to come, but he grabbed hold of your hand and pulled you over to the little loveseat against the wall. 

Before pushing you down on it, he pushed your skirt up to your waist and pulled your sweater off.  He unclasped your bra in the back and dragged it slowly off your shoulders. The cool air made your nipples pucker even before he flicked them both and rolled them between his thumb and forefinger.

“Fuck baby you have gorgeous tits!  Do you know how hard it is not to stare at them when you’re standing in front of me, leaning forward to run your hands through my hair?  They’re just there in my face and all I wanna do is this.”

He palmed both breasts and pushed them together before lowering his face into your cleavage.  He nipped and sucked at all the soft, exposed skin he had cradled in his massive hands. 

He let go of your tits and watched them bounce before pushing you gently and letting you fall onto the soft cushions of the loveseat. 

He sank to his knees and pulled you forward so he could throw your legs over both his shoulders and then dive into your pussy. There was no gentle easing this time, his mouth immediately went to work on you.  He sucked your clit between his lips and rolled it there, humming against it and causing you to thrust your hands into his hair and tug on his longer locks, just like you’d imagined doing.

“Please, Jensen.  I need to come.”

He let go off your clit and spoke against your dripping folds.  “No, baby. Not until I say.”  He pushed his hard tongue into your entrance and you pulled hard on his hair. “Fuck!” You cried out in a harsh whisper, trying not to come and trying not to scream and the combination did indeed leave you shaking.

It was like his mouth was designed for creating pleasure, and over and over he would use it to suck and bite at your overly sensitive flesh until you were seconds away from tumbling over the edge. 

But every time you’d get close he’d pull away, slow down.  After the third time he edged you with his mouth, he pulled away completely, making tears well up from the incredible need he was creating in you.

“Please. Fuck me, Jensen, please fuck me.”

He placed soft kisses across your breasts before he picked your boneless body up and draped you over the arm of the loveseat. 

“Okay, Y/N, since you beg so pretty.  I’ll fuck you now.” He came around to the front of you where you leaned on your elbows and slowly unbuttoned and then slid off his pants.  You could feel your mouth water as you were eye level with his straining cock, barely contained by the material of his boxer briefs.

He slipped his fingers under the waistband and pushed them down his thick thighs, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach before he grabbed hold of the base and smacked it twice against your cheek.

“Do you want this, baby?” 

You panted and reached your mouth toward his cock, but he pulled it away. “Use your words, Y/N? Do you want my cock?”

“Yes.” You moaned out slowly and reached for it again but he backed away. 

“Open your mouth and take what I’m willing to give.”

You immediately dropped your jaw and stuck out your tongue. He tapped his thick cock against your tongue now before he pressed forward into the softness of your cheek, bulging it outward.

He put his hand on the top of your head and then pushed further into your mouth.  After a couple thrusts forward, he pulled out and then rimmed your lips with the tip of his cock.

“Such a fuckable mouth.  Can I fuck your mouth? Can I fuck your throat? Can you take my cock down your throat, baby?”

You felt your slick dripping down your thigh and onto the cushion under your knee.  “Yes, Jensen, fuck yes.  Fuck my mouth, please I just need your cock.” You knew you sounded desperate, but you were and you didn’t particularly care if he knew it.  

You’d never wanted anyone more in your entire life. Every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire for his touch, spit dribbled down your chin already desperate to feel his cock heavy and salty on your tongue.

It was his turn to fist his hands in your hair as he lined himself up on the tip of your tongue before slamming his cock all the way down your throat. He had your face pressed tight against the curls at the base of his cock while you gagged around the invasion in your throat.  

He pulled back briefly to let you suck in a breath, before he was ramming down your throat again, over and over, making a gluck, gluck, sound every time he hit the uvula at the back of your throat.

Finally he pulled out, ropes of saliva and cum dangling out of your mouth as he moved around behind you. He braced one foot against the seat and kept one foot planted on the floor before he pulled your ass up and back so that it was in the right position for him.

You gripped onto the arm of the couch and tried to push your ass back further so he’d take you, finally.

“Uh uh, baby.” He said squeezing your hips, digging his strong fingers into the flesh there and refusing to let you move.  “Just like fucking your mouth, you’re gonna take what I give you.  Do you want me to give you my cock, bury myself to the hilt inside your cunt?”

You nodded and mumbled incoherently.  It felt like your need for him to fuck you had left you completely incapacitated and brainless. 

He lined himself up at your entrance and you were whimpering. “Okay, baby, can you take all of me?”

More senseless nodding was all you could manage, plus one more desperate whine and moan. 

“Once my cock is inside you baby, you can come, okay? You’ve been such a good girl, letting me fuck you so good.  Are you ready?”

Without waiting for anymore mumbled aquiecence, he slammed his cock fast and deep all the way in, slamming against your cervix as you felt your cunt explode around him. 

You came hard and long, Jensen fucking you all the way through it, and then turning the aftershocks into three more orgasms.  The intense, mind-blowing pleasure just never seemed to end.  Your legs were jelly and you just slumped over the arm of the couch, completely motionless as he continued to slam into your body. 

He pulled a final, pulsating orgasm from your body as he finally slammed himself home one last time, a roar of raw pleasure ripping from his throat.

He fell across your body just as a knock came to the dressing room door.  

“Mr. Ackles?” You heard one of the assistants from the shoot call through the door.  “Are...are you okay?”

You squeaked in fear of discovery, but Jensen covered your mouth and cleared his throat.

“Yep.  Fine thanks, just...stubbed my toe.”

You snorted your laughter under his hand and Jensen nipped your shoulder in retaliation.

“Oh, okay.” The assistant called through the door, and you weren’t entirely sure they were buying it. 

As the footsteps receded from the door, Jensen pulled out of your body and fell down on the cushion, pulling you naked and spent, to lay across his lap, his arms wrapped around you.

“You stubbed your toe?” You asked, a blissed out smile on your face.

You looked up into his face and felt your exhausted body shiver again at the look of superiority and cockiness on his face. His breathing was a little shallow as he raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly say, don’t worry about it I just fucked Y/N stupid and that was just me having the best fucking orgasm of my life because of it.”

You chuckled and snuggled into him, hoping the snuggling was allowed.

Jensen seemed happy with it, since he tucked you closer to his body and pushed your sweaty hair back from your forehead before kissing you softly there.

“See,” he said, his voice a deep, slightly sleepy rumble, “now you have sex hair.”

@akshi8278 , @lgranger67, @maggiegirl17 , @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone , @foxyjwls007 , @b3autyfuldisast3r , @myloversgone , @kazsrm67 , @fangirlxwritesx67 , @kickingitwithkirk , @charred-angelwings , @hopefuldreamers-world , @siospins2 , @deanwanddamons  @deandreamernp , @my-sherlock221b , @jensensgotyoudean  @lyarr24 , @snowlovespie , @stixnstripesworld , @thoughts-and-funnies , @magssteenkamp , @norman1967 , @princessmisery666 , @mishkatelwarriorgoddess , @deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy , @eevvvaa , @b-i-t-c-h-i-e , @twirpbunwarrior , @mysweetlittledesire , @waynes-multiverse , @mrsjenniferwinchester , @bernasaurus , @leigh70 , @sexyvixen7 , @supernatural4life2022 , @dainrumnaheim

[k-white]

Mimmo è mio figlio! il mio protetto! Merita di essere felice e non accetto gente che dice che è solo un criminale violento

Ok come ha reagito ad Ernetso è sbagliato MA non ha pensato ha fatto la prima cosa a cui ha pensato per difendere Simone!

E se non fosse stato per lui chissà come stava Simone

Quindi io non accetto che si parli male del mio cucciolotto!(visto su twitter questo commento btw)

E plus io a Simone e Mimmo LI SHIPPO! Non me ne frega nulla di quanto dureranno a me piacciono un sacco! Nic e Dom hanno troppa chimica mi piacciono troppo insieme e ok I Simuel che so la base della serie e gli sceneggiatori che non sanno scrivere una seconda stagione decente e devono riprendere 80% della prima perché altrimenti non sanno lavorare ma a me la ship piace e mi piacciono loro sono i miei personaggi preferiti

rant over

[youwouldntlietopapa]

For kissing prompts: kitchen counter makeouts with Secondo? 👀

omg, okay this got way longer than I meant for it to. And there is just SO much terrible Italian (thanks, Google Translate). If you have an ao3 account, I will be posting it there also, with translations.

Includes: Making out (obv), light dom/sub, biting, hair pulling, heavy petting, romance, fluff, domestic fluff

+18 MDNI

______________________________________________________________

It had been a long day. Made even longer by the grey skies and the endless rain. The sort of day you’d have given anything to have spent in your own private quarters, curled up with a blanket, a book, a cup of tea, and Secondo. But, as he loved to remind you, duty comes first. Those things were for the evening. When there weren’t a hundred trivial things that everyone felt deserved his immediate and complete attention.

But, at least, it’s evening now. He is in the bathroom, cleaning his paints off, settling in for a quiet night. No parties, no functions, no people. The best sort, as far as you are concerned.

The kettle begins to heat and the rain taps on the windows. You stand in the kitchenette of his rooms, leaning against the counter and staring into your empty mug without really seeing it. Too lost in your thoughts to really take in anything around you completely. Too comfortable and safe in your space to bother keeping your guard up. The soft click of the kettle shutting off as it reaches a full boil is just enough to pull you out of your reverie. Reaching for the handle without fully paying attention, your finger touches the hot metal exterior. Too late to stop the burn even as you snatch your hand away, hissing painfully.

“Sei ferito, amore?” Secondo’s deep voice is soft and gentle. How such a big man can move so quietly is beyond you but, as always, he simply appears behind you. Taking your hand and inspecting it carefully. His lips brush your fingers. “È stato il bollitore a ferire il mio tesoro più prezioso? Vuoi che lo faccia distruggere e smaltire per te?” His tone may be lightly teasing, but you know that he would, in a heartbeat, if you asked.

“Non posso incolpare il bollitore per la mia goffaggine, il mio cuore. Inoltre, sono sicuro che ora sa chi è il mio protettore e ci penserà due volte prima di farmi del male di nuovo.” You slip your hand from his and cup his cheek, stretching up to kiss him softly. “La prossima volta, però, lo voglio morto.”

He chuckles, kissing you again, more firmly. “Qualsiasi cosa per te, mia regina oscura.”

It’s so easy to melt into his kiss. The spiced scent of his soap and the lingering cologne. The warmth of his hands and the press of his body against yours. His shirt hangs open and your hands are already exploring every familiar curve and faded scar. Running through the dark hair. Slipping around his back and hugging yourself to him. “I have been waiting all day for this.” You smile against his lips, barely whispering for fear of breaking the spell. “To have you all to myself.”

His hands catch your waist, lifting you up to the counter top. Even sitting up there, he still stands taller than you. “Always so eager for me, Amore.” Secondo smiles, brushing your hair back from your face, and cradling the back of your head in his large hands to kiss you deeply. Amaro still lingering on his lips. No amount of willpower would be enough to hold back the moan he drags from you. His own rumbling growl matching the weather outside. “Aspettando tutto il giorno. Così pazientemente. E ora eccomi qui. Tutto tuo.”

“Secondo…” You say softly, hooking your legs around his waist. Delicately tracing his jaw. Staring back into his mismatched eyes. “Il mio bellissimo, perfetto, amato Secondo…”

He’d never admit it, never even hint at it, but you know him too well not to see it. Nothing warms his heart so much as loving praise. Hearing the words without hesitation or condition. And, most of all, knowing he can trust them to be true when you say them. He doesn’t smile or say a word, but as your love and devotion wash over him, you can feel him relax, the tension in his jaw and his shoulders melt away. It speaks louder than words ever could and you hold the warmth of it close to your heart.

“Io sono tua. Solo il vostro. Ora e sempre.” Your hands massage into his shoulders, working out the knots as you kiss along his jaw.

“Solo mio.” His hand spreads over your lower back, pressing you closer to him. The other slides up into your hair, gripping just tightly enough to feel the tug. Secondo leans in closer, kissing just below your ear and running his tongue over your skin. His mouth trails down your neck, biting at your shoulder and earning a soft hiss from you. Sucking firmly until a bruise begins to bloom. “Indossando il mio marchio in modo che tutti sappiano di tenere le loro sporche mani lontane da ciò che è mio.”

“Sì, signore.” Your nails dig into his back and you whimper softly. One hand slides down to grab his ass. “Se qualcuno osa, gli taglierò la mano e te la presenterò.”

His grip on your hair tightens, tugging your head back, growling louder. When he claims your mouth, you submit without hesitation. Moaning into the kiss as his tongue rolls against yours. His hand on your back keeps you pinned in place, pressed against his chest. One hand, however, slides between your hips. Running over the front of his trousers. Feeling him pressing against the fabric constraints. Secondo grunts as your hand works over him, not even attempting to free. You’ll pay for it later, you’re sure, and it will be worth every moment. Tormenting him just a little as the opportunity arises.

“Sai cosa ottengono le ragazze cattive, vero, Amore?” He asks huskily, breaking away from your kiss with a wicked glint in his eye.

You look up at him with your biggest, most innocent doe eyes. “Mi? Cattivo? Sicuramente no, signore.”

He smirks, looking thoroughly unconvinced. “Cosa malvagia, sei. Sempre alla prova della mia pazienza.”

“Allora è una cosa molto buona che tu mi ami così tanto.” You give him a sly smile and lean closer, kissing along his collar bone. Nipping softly at his neck. Your hand runs over his warm skin, across his chest. Finger circling his nipple almost lazily. “Quasi quanto ti amo.”

“Quasi?” Secondo chuckles softly, letting you enjoy yourself. Slowly snaking a hand between your legs. “Dubiti di quanto ti amo?”

Your breath hitches as his fingers tease you. It takes a moment to get your composure back. “Mai, signore. So solo quanto ti amo e non riesco a immaginare che qualcuno abbia mai amato un altro tanto quanto io amo te.”

“E quanto è quello, Tesoro?”

When you look up at him, he meets your gaze, waiting. Your own gaze is steady and confident. Enough to have his complete attention. Even his fingers stop their teasing. His heart pounding under your hand pressed to his chest.

“Più di tutto l'oro e i gioielli del mondo. Più di tutti i pesci del mare. Più di tutte le stelle del cielo. Più della vita stessa. Io sono tua. Chiedimi di ridurre in cenere il mondo e lo avrò in fiamme al mattino.”

For a long moment you both stare at each other. Secondo, frozen in place. Not moving or blinking or even breathing. All at once grabbing your hips and lifting you up off the counter, holding you against himself. His mouth claims yours again, fiercely. Your hands hooking behind his neck and returning the kiss with the same ardent passion.

“Satana, ti amo. Ucciderei per te. Morirei per te. La mia vita è tua, mia oscura regina. La mia Lilith.” He says breathlessly, pulling away just enough to look you in the eye.

“Saltiamo il tè e ci rilassiamo sul divano e andiamo subito a letto?”

Secondo closes his eyes and shakes his head, chuckling at your ridiculousness. “Si.”

“Sì, subito.”

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia Di Musica #301 - Weather Report, Mysterious Traveller, 1974

I detrattori di Miles Davis hanno sempre puntato in particolare su un aspetto: non è mai stato un virtuoso del suo strumento, la tromba. Effettivamente l'osservazione ha senso, ma nel progetto musicale di Davis è irrilevante il virtuosismo esecutivo, dato che aveva sempre in mente ben più potenti rappresentazioni musicali. Ma perfino i suoi più acerrimi avversari non hanno mai potuto dire nulla sua sul carisma da band leader e sul suo fiuto di talent scout, capaci di mettere insieme gruppi di musicisti sulla carta perfino antitetici, ma che con lui non solo hanno dato il loro meglio, ma hanno persino continuato e ampliato le sue idee. Questo successe al pianista, tastierista e organista Joe Zawinul e al sassofonista Wayne Shorter. Il secondo è stato il pilastro del secondo grande quintetto davisiano (a cui dedicai il mese celebrativo della 250.ma Storia Di Musica), il primo fu uno degli innesti decisivi in quel piccolo arco di tempo che attraverso i già citati capolavori In A Silent Way e Bitches Brew porta al jazz fusion. Zawinul è il più entusiasta della svolta, e anche quello più aperto alla sperimentazione, Shorter forte della sua esperienza è colui che lo asseconda ma lo tiene anche con un piede per terra. Il mix diviene perfetto quando si aggiunge il musicista cecoslovacco Miroslav Vitouš, virtuoso del contrabasso, formando il trio centrale di una nuova formazione che decidono di chiamare come qualcosa che la gente ricordi facilmente: Weather Report, il bollettino meteo.

Il primo album, omonimo Weather Report, è inciso nel marzo del 1971 in soli tre giorni. Con i tre ci sono il batterista Alphonse Mouzon e i percussionisti Barbara Burton e Don Alias entrambi agli inizi della carriera. Airto Moreira, che invece è l’unico a comparire nelle note di copertina, incide solo qualche intervento. Partono da dove era finita la lezione "elettrica" del Maestro Davis, ma spingendosi verso una spiritualità musicale, con atmosfere ancora più eteree e sfuggenti: la critica ne è rapita, tanto che la rivista Downbeat lo colloca al primo posto come album dell’anno. Il momento creativo è magico, e nello stesso anno pubblicano I Sing The Body Electric. L’album riprende il titolo da un racconto del 1969 dello scrittore Ray Bradbury che, a sua volta lo aveva preso da una composizione poetica di Walt Whitman del 1867. Nell’album compare per la prima volta il sintetizzatore di Zawinul che da qui in avanti caratterizzerà il musicista: Zawinul ne diventerà un pioniere, tanto che alcune grandi aziende produttrici se lo contenderanno sia come testimonial sia proprio come sperimentatore, e molte innovazioni tecniche di questi strumenti, e alcune derivazioni come i vocoder, devono molto all'opera del musicista nato in Austria. Le ultime tre tracce vengono registrate in Giappone durante una tournée del gruppo, e sono utilizzate anche per il terzo album Live in Tokyo dello stesso anno. Dom Um Romao alle percussioni e Eric Gravatt alla batteria subentrano nella sezione ritmica ai musicisti originari. Nel 1973 esce Sweetnighter, più orecchiabile dei lavori precedenti, che è apripista per il disco di oggi, che chiude in un certo senso il primo percorso della band.

Vitouš si chiama fuori, e parteciperà solo ad una traccia di Mysterious Traveller, che esce nel marzo del 1974, frutto di registrazioni del Novembre del '73 e di una giornata di perfezionamento poco prima dell'uscita del disco nel marzo 1974. Infatti è presente solo in un brano, la sua American Tango, musica che più si mantiene legata agli standard iniziali, e lascia il posto ad Alphonso Johnson, fenomeno del basso elettrico, che porta con sé tutta la forza della nuova musica nera; entra nel gruppo insieme al batterista Ishmael Wilburn, il quale prende il a sua volta il posto di Greg Errico, batterista nelle sessioni e nel tour di Sweetnighter, ma che declinò l'offerta di entrare in pianta stabile nel gruppo. Mysterious Traveller si apre con uno "scherzetto": gli oltre dieci, magici, minuti di Nubian Sundance, una sorta di rituale musicale magico con un celestiale coro scat singing, furono registrati in una surreale unica take di registrazione, e per valorizzarne l'effetto, fu fatta passare come un brano live, a cui aggiunsero applausi e brusii di pubblico in post produzione. Il disco mostra come ormai sia quasi del tutto naturale la contaminazione nelle strutture del jazz di sonorità funk, R&B, persino di musica etnica, che proprio in quegli anni stava avendo un notevole interesse di riscoperta. Cucumber Slusher è il funk del basso che accompagna gli assoli di Shorter e le terzine ai piatti di Wilburn e le percussioni etniche, in uno dei brani più famosi della compagnia. Mysterious Traveller è un brano sognante e armonioso, che sfuma nel duetto\scontro tra Zawinul e Shorter di Blackthorn Rose, vertiginosa scalata elettrica. Scarlet Woman, compassata e ritmica e l'intro quasi prog di Jungle Book (che sarà il punto di partenza per chiunque si accosterà alla materia per mille future divagazioni world e fusion) segnano un passaggio storico al pieno utilizzo degli strumenti elettronici nel jazz. Il risultato fu accolto con grande successo sia di pubblico, con il disco che va altissimo nelle classifiche di vendite jazz, e non sfuggì all'occhio attento dei lettori della rivista Downbeat, che lo decretarono disco dell'anno.

Zawinul continuerà ancora a registrare questo jazz-funk-rock fino al 1976, quando l'incontro con un altro genio, Jaco Pastorius, renderà ancora diverso, rinnovandone l'unicità, il suono meraviglioso e distintivo di una band che volle chiamarsi con un nome che tutti potevano facilmente ricordare.

[kasja93]

Hejka!

Obudziłam się koło 7 rano. Pierwsza noc w nowym domu za mną. Sen zleciał niemal natychmiast i nic mi się nie śniło. Nakarmiłam Uszołaki i poszłam się ogarnąć. Tata już kręcił się po podwórku, więc zrobiłam nam kawy. Zjedliśmy śniadanie i pojechaliśmy do Sieradza po łóżko dla taty oraz kilka rzeczy do Leroya.

Tata zapomniał kluczy do komórki w Łodzi, więc wróciliśmy się do domu. Po 15 min od wyjechania okazało się, że klucze nadal były w domu xDDD spóźniłam się przez to do psychiatry. Jednak nie było z tym problemu. Następną wizytę będę miała już poprzez skype… Pani doktor zwiększyła mi dawkę leków i kazała mi nie być tak zrezygnowana co do swojego leczenia. No i oburzyła się na postępowanie Niemców… zapewniła mnie, że nie jestem pasożytem i nie wyciągam lewego l4 tylko jestem chora. Płakałam podczas wizyty. Chce wierzyć w to wszystko…

Zapakowaliśmy pozostałe rzeczy rodziców i przewieźliśmy mamę do mojego mieszkania na czas remontu. Koty zaś zawitały na domku. Przerażone i w ogóle zestresowane. Czarnuch vel Tajson już wieczorem zwiedzała dom i nawet zawitała do uszaków, które ją otupały xD jednak nie było żadnej wrogości a króle „zdominowały” spotkanie xD

Co się tyczy jedzenia? Dużo dziś było… Rano czereśnie i wafle smakowe. Później najlepszy kebab w Kaliszu gdzie odbierałam łóżko dla siebie. I serio kebs prima sort. Świeże warzywa, sporo mięsa i naturalny sos a nie gotowiec. Naprawdę byłam z niego zadowolona.

Generalnie znów padam na twarz. Jednak dziś chociaż mniej dźwigałam oraz nauczyłam się rozpalać piec :) No i wpadło l4… generalnie dzień okej. Jutro jak pogoda pozwoli zrobię wybieg dla uszołaków

Idę spać bo zaraz chyba padnę. Leki zwiększę dopiero w weekend w razie gdybym nie mogła po nich prowadzić.

[segretecose]

gotta be honest w you chief ever since achille lauro ditched boss doms his music started distinctly to fuck less

i don't know to be honest i can't say i listen to his music but i do have to say that mentre cadono i palazzi stupidi ragazzi prima di lasciarsi sono gli ultimi ad amarsi l'amore in un drive in l'amore in cristalli corse di cavalli un bacio e centomila orgasmi ! i do have to say that

[blackrosesnymph]

Spiegaci il dom perfetto per te

Ma che ne so, semplicemente uno che ne sappia davvero qualcosa di BDSM e che sia capace di introdurmi a quel mondo seriamente e con divertimento, non uno che semplicemente vuole fare il maschio alpha perché soffre di evidenti problemi di autostima

Di BDSM ne so poco e nemmeno mi piace probabilmente, ma sono una ragazza tendenzialmente molto curiosa e mi piace provare le cose prima di dire che non fanno per me

[schizografia]

[…] PETER EISENMAN: Io scrivo fiction, non filosofia, e la mia architettura è fiction, non filosofia, e la fiction è mille volte più entusiasmante della filosofia. Qualsiasi cosa sia stata detta di me, la maggioranza dei miei scritti sono fiction; non penso che la Maison Dom-ino fosse un oggetto auto-referenziale prima che io avessi inventato la finzione che ne fosse uno. Quando ho scritto sulla Maison Dom-ino, sulle opere di Le Corbusier, si trattava per me di dissimulare il mio proprio lavoro. Di fatto ciò che scrivo serve da travestimento per il mio pensiero. Dunque non prendete troppo sul serio quel che scrivo o che ho potuto scrivere; io stesso non lo prendo molto sul serio – preciso: in quanto filosofia non in quanto fiction. In quanto fiction, lo prendo assolutamente sul serio (…). Ho senza dubbio letto male l’opera di Derrida, ma leggere male è un modo di creare ed è leggendo male che riesco a vivere nella realtà e che potrei lavorare con lui.

Jaques Derrida, Le arti dello spazio. Scritti e interventi sull’architettura

[latamclassiclitbracket]

Dom Casmurro - Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis

Dom Casmurro é um romance escrito por Machado de Assis, publicado em 1899 pela Livraria Garnier. Escrito para publicação em livro, o que ocorreu em 1900 – embora com data do ano anterior, ao contrário de Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas (1881) e Quincas Borba (1891), escritos antes em folhetins –, é considerado pela crítica o terceiro romance da "Trilogia Realista" de Machado de Assis, ao lado desses outros dois, embora o próprio autor não tenha formulado esta categoria. Creditado como um precursor do Modernismo e de ideias posteriormente escritas pelo criador da psicanálise Sigmund Freud, o livro influenciou os escritores John Barth, Graciliano Ramos e Dalton Trevisan e é considerado por alguns, disputando com Memórias Póstumas de Brás Cubas, como a obra-prima de Machado. Dom Casmurro foi traduzido para diversas línguas, continua a ser um de seus livros mais famosos e é considerado uma das obras mais fundamentais de toda a literatura brasileira.

Wikipedia

Dom Casmurro - Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis

Dom Casmurro is an 1899 novel written by Brazilian author Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis. Like The Posthumous Memoirs of Bras Cubas and Quincas Borba, both by Machado de Assis, it is widely regarded as a masterpiece of realist literature. It is written as a fictional memoir by a distrusting, jealous husband. The narrator, however, is not a reliable conveyor of the story as it is a dark comedy. Dom Casmurro is considered by critic Afranio Coutinho "a true Brazilian masterpiece, and maybe Brazil's greatest representative piece of writing" and "one of the best books ever written in the Portuguese language, if not the best one to date." The author is considered a master of Brazilian literature with a unique style of realism.

Read more about this novel on Wikipedia.

[a-zonzo-nei-racconti-erotici]

Siamo nudi sul letto a coccolarci e a scherzare un po', mi diverto a stuzzicarlo e a prenderlo in giro

"Fai la brava bambina" dice mentre mi sorride bonario.

"Altrimenti?" Replico io, facendo seguire una linguaccia a queste parole, convinta come sempre di farla franca.

A quanto pare, però, stavolta non me la cavo perché vedo il suo sguardo cambiare e farsi serio, quasi esce la scritta full dom e questo implica che sono decisamente nei guai!

Si avvicina fulmineo e tira fuori, da dio sa dove, un paio di manette e di cavigliere. Me le mette ai polsi e le lega insieme, le mette alle caviglie ma mi lascia la libertà di tenere le gambe aperte.

Ridacchio giuliva eccitata e un po' nervosa perché non so mai cosa aspettarmi

"Hai ben poco da ridere, puttanella!" Mi ringhia in un orecchio dopo avermi bendata e avermi dato uno schiaffo leggero sul viso. Ora sono totalmente alla sua mercé.

Prende così a baciare ogni singolo centimetro del mio corpo soffermandosi sui miei punti deboli

"Ti prego..." mugolo esasperata e ormai totalmente fradicia.

L'unica risposta che ricevo a questa supplica è il ronzio del vibratore al massimo della potenza, lo sento scivolare dentro di me senza la minima resistenza. Sospiro soddisfatta nel sentirmi riempita e mi muovo convulsamente per avere piacere.

"Non così in fretta bambina" dice con una punta di sadismo nella voce

Lo sento afferrare le mie gambe e far scattare il moschettone delle cavigliere..ora sono bloccata col vibratore tra le gambe e senza la possibilità di ribellione.

I miei gemiti si fanno più intensi e forti e i pensieri iniziano ad essere sempre più offuscati dal piacere ma riesco ancora a percepire lui e i suoi spostamenti. Non sono però preparata a quello che sta per fare!

Uno schiocco rompe il ritmo cadenzato dei miei sospiri

"Cosa stai facendo?" Dico senza nascondere un po' di timore

"Fai silenzio!" Dice mentre fa calare il flagello in pelle su una coscia

"Come si dice bambina?"

Ridacchio imbarazzata per quell'ordine e perché sento l'eccitazione salire.

"Grazie daddy"

Quella risposta lo innesca ancora di più perché non risparmia nessuna parte del mio corpo, seno compreso. Di tanto in tanto mi ordina di ringraziare e io eseguo ormai arrendevole e sottomessa.

Non soddisfatto di questa tortura inizia a muovere il vibratore dentro di me, a modularne la velocità a suo piacimento fino a quando dice qualcosa di inaspettato

"È tardi, dobbiamo pensare alla cena"

Il terrore di rimanere insoddisfatta mi attanaglia ma sento il suono di una chiamata in attesa e subito dopo lo sento prenotare un tavolo. A stento riesco a tacere

"per le venti va bene cara?"

Riesco a scandire una debole e ben poco convinta risposta affermativa prima di sentirlo riagganciare.

Si avventa di nuovo su di me e finalmente mi libera le gambe mentre inizia a divorarmi avidamente portandomi in breve tempo vicinissima all'orgasmo. Ma si ferma sul più bello solo per stuzzicarmi

"Vieni per me troietta!"

Non riesco a controllarmi ed esplodo in un orgasmo devastante che mi scuote tutta facendomi urlare frasi sconnesse a metà tra un grazie ed il suo nome.

"Ora vestiti e andiamo a cena, devono vedere tutti quanto hai goduto per me"

[gelatinatremolante]

Realizzando adesso quante persone hanno visto per la prima volta Achille Lauro e lui che bacia Boss Doms stasera mentre per noi è la normalità.