#lyrca

[istherewifiinhell]

If you had asked me i would have said my sensory concerns with fabric rely on softness/lack or scratchy and my... hmm. Necessities for presentational accoutrements. Would be the strudyness and fit. And yet these pants im hemming. Nice loose fit, solid black fabric, not soft but at least. Smooth???

But theres a certain hell on earth quality to touching them. Is it. The sound??? No idea NO idea. I can only hope it will LITERALLY come out in the wash.

[artcalledmusica]

May I ask, your name May I ask your name And continue on Non customer I’m venting off on an employee Actuality reality Theirs a few Hey girls ‘Hey girl’ was an old song I just bought the whole album And I’m feeling you in the chorus To an ocean song I want you surrounded a rounded me Need your hugs and smiles I still feel at my old Not It’s primal energy in cased in human form Hear the ocean song Can you read my lyrics Lycra Dear energy you Changing flowers out May I ask your name I have old tempos in my head And I’m stut stut stuttering You make me Wanna be in your energy I have felt harlequins High voltages Some play for some play against In bright lights May I just ask your name I heard the term lady was old Beautiful, heart of mine pulsing Still listening to Bamboo Shoots Wanting to know your name “Hey girl” just in shuffled by i phone Thank them ,I do too I keep myself carrying on But I really want To know Your name Compare Same energies Doing work See the bodies Of I do I don’t try My, when I saw your eyes, I looked upon your figure also, haven’t we energized End of this song Hey girl! May I know your name? The album is at fault when I listened to it all of it makes a difference against singles and who want’s that, taken, you must have or know a girlfriend who wants experience in living, my eyes cast upon until you guide me otherwise, questions of sexual harassment in apps, keeping me from finding love and I’m just talking It’s a same ol vent It’s a Stay safe surrounding Bamboo Shoots Armour A sexy slumber in my thoughts As I’m hearing and writing I haven’t slept You I don’t know Kept me awake What’s your name You have never asked for mine Like concrete written already I’m Mark It’ll be added in my next intro! I don’t sin and miss my mark Your energy moves me Who’s 👽, analyzing this Enquirer-minds want to know Next playlist Of love Or Time just passing I Shakespeare the questions! I do I do I do and do I do But never really tired An so on and on and on An on and on In writings A name in our passings Would be better Even if you are not her I love you and your energy What’s your name Even if not wanting me Can’t we band call I caw call out names I never here mine A joke could be already implemented Upon a Mark I’m not sinning missing my mark Dear lord keep them shuffled out I’ll continue singing until further contact And I do

[roxa-tano-craft]

Pre order at JJ’s Custom Fabrics & More (on fb) closes today!! Have you got your order in? My collage showcases a few of the designs and all 3 bases. They are available in cotton lyrca, woven or viny, so a perfect base for whatever you make!

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

As an autistic person I will never ever understand how Hobie could put on a skintight lyrca suit and then put multiple layers of clothes OVER THAT and was still like 'yeah this is fine. im comfortable. theres nothing wrong with this in fact this is the logical thing to do'

Without a doubt it's the most baffling thing he has ever done and he does a lot of baffling shit on the regular

Like how is he doing that THERE'S SO MANY TEXTURES

Wearing that outfit looks like literal torture and the fact he chooses to do that everyday haunts me deeply

I asked about his red shirt a couple weeks ago and people were saying 'oh no that's a whole suit under there' as if the implication of that isn't terrifying in and of itself

He is a Spider-person I know he fell those fabrics rubbing together. My shirt tag touch my neck and I start throwing a fit meanwhile he's outhere wearing spandex under cotton and leather AAHHHHH it makes my skin crawl 😭😭😭

he looks good but also why is he Doing That

[covetyou]

send in the clown

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: clowns, dubcon, unprotected P in V, anal play, grinding, titty play (clown motorboating), drug use, hotboxing, the shoes stay on, unconventional use of grease paint word count: 4.1k summary: You lose your scarf on a visit to the carnival. Send in Dieter Bravo - washed up actor turned circus clown.

A/N: Happy Halloweekend, friends! Originally this was going to be some dark evil fic with a murderous clown and some non-con, but basically I can't do that. So here you have washed up actor clown Dieter instead, and he's going to rock your world. You're welcome.

This is not inherently scary, but probably something to avoid if you really hate clowns. It's essentially just clown porn. I'm not sorry.

10 points to anyone who can spot the Oscar.

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Want Dieter at the carnival, but don't want the clowns? Check out Candy by @secretelephanttattoo

Loud noises and knives and fire and bodies bent into strange shapes.

It sounded more like a horror movie down on paper, but the lights and music were dazzling, amazing, turning something terrifying into something beautiful.

You sipped too sweet drinks and munched on overpriced snacks as you watched on with your friends, laughing and gasping with them as the sights before you unfolded. A tiny woman bending herself over backwards, shooting apples off of people's heads with a bow and arrow clenched in her delicate feet. A couple swinging through the air, no wire in sight, fabric fluttering along behind them as they flew. Sword swallowers, fire breathers, acrobats, magicians, clowns.

Clowns.

You were mesmerized by it all, taken in so completely, that when you all stumbled out after several hours and made your way home, you didn't even notice you'd left your scarf until you moved to pull it off as you stepped in your front door. They weren't in town for long, things like this never were, so you turn around and head back to your car, driving back the way you came until the big top comes back into view.

It had been almost an hour since you left and the parking lot was mostly empty now, save for a few cars closer to the entrance. The sign was no longer illuminated, but lights shone brightly from inside the gate as a handful of people bustled around, packing up for the night.

You make your way to the ticket booth, spotting a grizzly old man with a toothpick between his teeth closing up, pulling a small box filled with ticket stubs and loose change out from the desk.

"We're closed," he grumbles, not bothering to look at you as he turns the key, locking the booth, and stomps away.

"I know," you shout, feet squelching in a wet patch of grass as you stumble after him. "I lost something, left it here. Do you have a lost and found?"

He stops, eyes you up, then sends you inside, directing you to an open sided tent. You walk in semi-darkness, listening out for the shouts and jokes of the cast and crew ending their day.

Two people sit there, feet up on a box and cards in hand. One has a threadbare sweater thrown on over a skimpy lyrca outfit adorned in sequins, the other looks like he could have been in the audience if it wasn't for the peak of tattoos from the top of his hoodie and across his hands.

They don't notice you standing there, so you clear your throat. Sequins is just about to play a card, but halts mid way through the movement and looks up, raising his painted on eyebrows at you.

"We're closed," Tattoos repeats, not bothering to turn to look your way.

"I lost a scarf. Was told to come here," you explain. You just want your scarf back.

Sequins slaps the card down on the box then sits back, eyeing you up and down just as the grizzled old man did, crossing his toned arms over his chest. "What's it look like?"

"Woolen, red and brown kind of checks. It's pretty big, almost like a blanket?"

Tattoos scoffs, finally turning to look at you. "Oh yeah, that one. Bravo the Clown took it. No one ever comes back for shit they lose at the circus, toots. If you want it back you're gonna have to go ask him."

"Okay, and where can I find this Bravo the Clown."

They send you off to a trailer on the other side of the camp. You hear their laughter as you turn your back and walk away, squelching back through patches of wet grass that hadn't been boarded over.

The trailer is worn and old, a colorful tarp covering the front window and stapled into the ground. "Bravo" is scrawled on the door in sharpie, scribbles of other color around it so it looks like the name has exploded from the door. There's a faint light from inside, and you can hear music playing, but there's no answer when you knock.

You try the handle, the door opening a crack before jamming. You tug harder, and the door swings open, nearly knocking you down onto the wet ground.

Smoke billows out. You almost think there's a fire when you smell something earthy and herbal. Definitely not a fire.

You call out over the music, a repetitive carnival jingle, and when there's no response, you climb up the few steps and step foot into the trailer of Bravo the Clown.

It's dark inside, the smoke barely cleared and the tarp masking any light from outside in a red haze. The herbal stench in the air is thicker inside, covering the stale musky smell of sweat and dust.

When your eyes adjust to the dark through the haze of smoke, you see the place is a mess. Wigs of all shapes and colors are thrown haphazardly onto a crooked shelf on the wall, something shiny hidden behind a puff of rainbows. Shoes litter the walkway, and clothes and costume pieces are strewn over a bench seat. There's a patch where it looks like someone has been sitting, and next to it, your scarf, screwed tight into a messy ball and pushed down into the rest of the clothing.

You approach, going to grab your scarf and leave, when you're distracted by a long mirror sitting to one side, a worn chair in front of it. There's a vanity where brushes and pallettes are thrown, pots of grease paint left open and discarded.

You drag your fingers across the worn wooden vanity. Picking up one pot of paint - a vibrant white - you are moments from swiping your finger across the pristine surface when a gruff voice startles you.

"What the fuck?!"

You spin, paint falling from your hand and clattering to the ground. Stood there is a half man, half clown, joint perched between his lips, makeup smudged over his face. His hair is sweaty, sticking up at all angles, wig nowhere to be seen. You cast your eyes down him. An oversized striped shirt is pulled open, graying undershirt beneath on show, sweat stains at the armpits and a wet patch on the hem. His red pants are unbuttoned, slung low on his hips, his suspenders unclipped at the front and hanging down low behind him. Large shoes jut out from the bottoms, bulbous and curving slightly upward.

"What the fuck are you doin' in here," he says from around the joint, throwing his hands up in the air.

You stumble over your words, stuttering a few times before you can spit it out. He looks at you like you're stupid, like you're the one with paint smeared over your face.

"I- I lost my scarf. They said you had it, I'm sorry, I-"

"What? Do you think breaking and entering is okay because I'm a fuckin' clown," he yells, pulling the door closed and slamming it hard when it gets jammed again.

He stalks toward you, blowing a puff of smoke into your face, making your eyes water, before he flops down into the worn chair in front of the vanity. It creaks as he stretches back, the tip of one of his too big shoes running up your leg.

"Do you think stealing is okay because you're a clown?" you retort, hands on your hips, shaking your head in disbelief. You never pictured your evening ending in an argument with a half-dressed clown.

More smoke puffs from his mouth as he laughs at you, face contorting strangely as he smiles with a down turned red mouth smeared across his own.

"What're you going to give me," he says, pulling his shirt off and throwing it onto the pile on the bench.

"What?"

He takes another long drag on his joint, and lets the smoke billow from his lungs before he sits back and replies. "For the scarf. What's it worth to you."

You watch his hand stroke down his belly, past the wet patch on his t-shirt and down to the front of his pants. He adjusts himself, rolling his hips as he palms his cock through the fabric.

You swallow a lump in your throat. Maybe it's the smoke going to your head, the haze of the room making you feel stuffy and floaty, clouding your judgement. Or maybe you've always had a fucking thing for clowns, you flithy b-

"Anything," you say, before you can stop yourself. He laughs, throwing his head back as he flicks ash onto the floor.

"Then take that coat off and come here. Show me them pretty tits."

You unbutton your coat, throwing it onto the bench with your scarf. You look down, thick sweater obstructing any view he'd have of your chest, and decide to yank that off too, pulling it over your head and discarding it with your coat. You take a deep breath, lungs filling with smoke and the sweaty smell of Bravo the Clown, before you pull down your tank top and bra, pushing your tits out of their cups and exposing them to the cold air.

"Can I have my scarf back now?"

"No! I want a closer look," he pats his lap, visible tent now forming in his red pants. "Come sit down on Bravo the Clowns lap, sugar tits," he says with husky laugh.

You shuffle forward trying not to trip over his shoes as you wonder how you'll perch on his lap with his knees spread so wide. You don't have long to think when he grabs you by the hand and pulls you onto him, your knees straddling either side of his thighs on the chair. It creaks and groans, and you shift on him, terrified the old chair is going to collapse with the weight of you.

He takes a final long drag from his joint, before snuffing it on the vanity and blowing the rest of the smoke into your face. You cough and splutter, blinking back watering eyes, when two large hands come up and grab your tits, massaging them as your chest heaves.

"Nice."

You blink again and look down to see him smiling at your tits, nodding as he massages them. He squeezes them together, watching as the skin squishes and puckers under his fingers. His hands are rough, fingernails painted with chipped polish that glitters in the dim lighting of his trailer. The grimace painted onto his face a stark contrast to the man underneath having the time of his life.

He's entranced, looking at your tits as he squeezes them. Painted fingertips come and pinch your nipples, pulling at them and making you gasp. Your back arches as he tugs, jiggling both as he pinches and laughing as they ripple with the movement. Your hips shift forward, nudging the hardness in his pants, and you fight to still yourself and not grind against him.

Before you know it, he's mashing your tits together again and shoving his face between them, rubbing the scruff of his jaw across your delicate skin, smearing paint all over your chest. He breathes in, and you feel him start to nip and suckle at your flesh as he rubs from side to side, burying his face in you as you push your hips down hard onto his cock.

As quick as he started, he flops back with a sigh, letting your tits fall heavy from his grasp. He smiles serenely as he looks at his handiwork, white and red and blue smeared into a mess of lavender across your tits.

"Think you liked that as much as I did," he taunts, gesturing to where your crotch sits flush against his stiff cock. "Shame you're in so many fuckin' layers." He runs a hand up your thigh, pinging the thickness of your tights against your leg before fingers play with the edge of your skirt where it's bunched around your thighs. He tugs it higher, pulling it to your waist.

He slides his hands back down, thumbs tracing down the front of your tights, teasing the apex of your thighs. One hand holds you there, stopping you from rocking into him again, whilst the other slides between you, rubbing broadly over your damp, covered crotch.

You close your eyes, letting him massage your pussy with his large hand, the sensation muted by so many layers. You rock into his palm as you float along on his lap, lost in his heavy breathing and the monotonous music still jingling along in the background.

He starts muttering, playing with the waistband of your tights, looking for a better way in, a way to get to your cunt that means you don't have to get off his lap. Your eyes snap open, you watch as he shrugs, a wicked smile pulling smeared makeup across his face. He pulls at your tights, gripping in both hands, tearing the fabric and exposing your inner thighs and panties to him. You can't help but moan as you feel his hand find your bare skin, and push against the wet front of your panties.

He lets out a low whistle, he'd barely touched you and you're dripping, grinding against his hand. "I can do one better than my hand," he says, waggling his eyebrows and looking down to his crotch. He's fully hard now, tent more impressive than the big tops outside.

Before he can say another word, you're reaching for his pants, pulling the zipper down and fishing out his rock hard length. He pulls both his arms back holding them up in mock surrender.

"Woah, woah!" he laughs.

You start to stroke his cock, pumping up and down, drawing the precum dripping from his tip over your palm and down his length with each stroke. He's watching you as you play with him, teasing his tip, reaching down into his red pants with your other hand to stroke his balls. They're heavy in your hand and sticky with sweat, but you squeeze them as you jerk him, making him groan, throw his head back and grip the arms of his chair.

Your pussy is cold without his hand, neglected. You don't want to let go of the weight of him, so you rub his tip over the front of your soaked panties, dragging it over your clit and applying pressure as you circle it with his head. You need more, more friction, so you hold him against you, rocking your hips against one side of him as your palm holds him to you in the other.

"Oh, hell yeah. Are you gonna come just from grinding on me?!" he says in disbelief, listening to your desperate moans as you jerk him against your pussy.

"No," you gasp, watching a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face over the layer of greasy paint. The look of him alone is almost sending you stratospheric - the hair, the paint, the sweat - but the friction against your pussy isn't enough. "I want to put it in me."

He looks like he's won the lottery, wide eyes and thrilled face covered in paint nodding back at you, gesturing down to his dick as if to say help yourself.

You yank your panties to the side as you rock your hips into his cock, still holding him tight to you. Your slick pussy glides up and down his length, his head rubbing directly over your clit with each cant of your hips. You're moaning, wiggling on him as he watches straight down at his cock gliding against your bare cunt.

"Do you have a...?" you say, looking around the room for anywhere where he might stash a condom.

"Nope," he says, popping the P. "If you want it, you gotta take it like this."

You don't even consider any other option, you simply plunge your two middle fingers deep inside you, gathering your slick before smearing it around yourself and down the other side of Bravo the Clown's cock. You raise up on your knees, the chair creaking again as you move, and tease him against your entrance before taking him inside you.

"Oh, Bravo," you moan as you sink down onto his cock.

"Thank you, I'm here 'til Tuesday," he jokes, miming a bow from where he's seated. You bet he uses that on everyone. You soon wipe the smug grin off his face when you lift up and slam back down onto him, moaning his name once again before you begin fucking yourself on him in earnest. "Fuck."

"Dieter," he whines as you bounce on him, chasing a high that seems so out of reach with the high already muffling your head, "Name's Dieter."

"Dieter," you groan, bottoming out and groaning as you rock your hips over him, his cock seated deep in you.

"Fuck yeah, that's it," he grunts, clown shoes planted flat on the floor giving him leverage to pound up into you as you meet his every thrust. The chair is creaking, the trailer shaking, your lavender colored tits bouncing with each pound. His glazed over eyes watch them bounce in front of his face, a frown knitting his brows together and creasing the paint slathered on his skin as he tries to focus on your jiggling breasts. You think you see him go cross eyed as he tries to look at both of your nipples at once.

You're about to reach your hand down, circle your clit and bring yourself over the edge when arms wrap around you pulling you toward him, face falling into his neck. You can smell him more strongly here, the smell of sweat and weed clinging to him like a second skin. He holds onto your ass as he pounds up into you, pulling your cheeks apart. From this angle you can feel the grind of his hair against your clit with every thrust, and you muffle your moan into his neck.

"Ohhhhh."

"Gonna have to give me more than that, ain't been long since I last came," he huffs into your ear as he pulls you apart. You can feel the slick smear of grease paint on the side of your face.

There's another loud rip, your tights being torn again, this time from behind to expose more of your ass. He slows down the roll of his hips into yours as he pulls you deeper, and deeper, letting you grind down onto him even easier, the rub of him against your clit almost perfect now. The feel of his throbbing cock deep in your pussy, rough hands pulling your ass open and the scratch of his pubic hair on your clit feel so good, but you can't quite get there, whatever end you're trying to reach chased away by the fuzz in your head.

You whine from his neck, shifting your hips, trying to see if another spot would work better. Bravo - Dieter catches on and you hear his voice rumble from his chest as you rock on his lap.

"What's your favorite color?"

Now hardly seems like the time to get to know each other, but you humor him. "Blue," you breathe, rubbing your nose against his cheek, the smell of grease paint strong.

"Blue it is."

One arm lets go of you and you hear something on the vanity. You keep rocking your hips, still so close but not close enough. He brings his hand back and you gasp at a foreign sensation between your cheeks.

It's thick and slick, swiping smoothly across your asshole. You moan and gasp against his face, halting your movements and lifting off him a fraction. He laughs, swiping his slicked finger back and forth over your ass, circling the tight ring before dipping a fingertip in just as he pulls you back down flush onto his cock.

It's intense, and you moan so loud Tattoos and Sequins can probably hear you.

"And that's improv," he says, grunting as he picks up the pace of his thrusts again.

"Fuck, more," you beg, as he slips more of his fingertip into your ass, fucking you hard now as you grip his neck and bring your face in line with his.

He laughs at you, panting with the effort of fucking you. "Oh you're freaky, I like it."

"Watch who you're calling a freak, clown." Your grip his neck, holding on for dear life, unphased by the spread of his face paint onto your own skin.

Both arms are wrapped around you, one feeling at your entrance where he pounds into you, creamy slick coating his fingers with each thrust, the other between your cheeks, finger hooked into your tight hole. His finger tugs at you with each bounce onto his cock, stretching you and making you feel fuller than you are. You tilt your hips again, clit colliding with his thick hair, gridning against you, and you see stars glitter around your vision. They're so close now, the haze in your brain diffusing the light as it draws closer and closer.

"Hnnnng, I'm so close," you groan, rubbing your nose against his.

"Fuck," he mumbles as you pull his mouth onto yours. You kiss him, moaning and grinding against his lap, his tongue flicking against the seam of your lips just as the stars align and burst in your vision.

You come with a deep groan into his mouth, clenching tight around his cock as he frantically pounds up into you, hips stuttering as sweat drips down his face. You feel him start to twitch and then his cock is slipping from you, the remnants of your own orgasm fading as his cock slides against the outside of your cunt and spurts thick ropes of cum up against his belly, catching the already damp hem of his t-shirt.

You sit, faces together, panting for a moment, kissing him again just before he slides his finger from your ass, wiping the slick onto your exposed skin. When he looks down at his spent cock, he groans and huffs.

"Not again. I like this shirt."

He tuts at himself, flopping his arms down and looking around for something to tidy up with. He gives up, instead grabbing a tin from the vanity, popping it open, and starts to roll another joint on his chest.

You take that moment to climb off him, covering your pussy with the scrap of fabric of your panties, tugging your skirt down and your tank top up to cover as much of you as you can. The paint on your chest will stain, but you'll think about that later.

You throw your coat back on, not bothering with your sweater or the mess on your face, when Dieter addresses you again.

"Don't forget your scarf."

You roll your eyes, casting an exasperated look at him only to see him looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

You take your scarf, unbunching it and immediately sticking your hand in something wet and sticky. Even in the darkness, you can tell it's almost definitely cum. You look over to Dieter, disgusted look on your face as he shrugs his shoulders.

"If I'd known you'd come here begging for some of this," he gestures down his slouched body, "I never would've done that sweet cheeks. That one's on you."

"You're an ass."

"I'm not an ass, I'm the one and only Bravo the Clown." He spreads his arms wide, looking obscene with his flaccid cock hanging out of his bright red pants, belly covered in cum and face paint smeared all over his face. He places the unlit joint between his lips and you walk past him, pushing open the door to his trailer and stepping outside into the clear air. You take a deep breath, head already feeling clearer when you turn back, a question on your lips.

He's stood at the door of his trailer, tucking his cock back in, looking even crazier now that your head is clearer.

"The music?" you ask. It'd been playing this whole time, the same tune over and over.

"It's called method acting, sweet cheeks," he says with a wink, lighting his new joint and tilting his head back to expel a plume of smoke into the night sky.

You laugh, you can't help it, the man is a caricature even of himself, but there's something so intoxicating about it.

"Goodnight, Dieter."

You walk back to your car to the tinkling of fairground music and Bravo the Clown's raspy laughter.

tag list: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @noisynightmarepoetry @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin

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[cur-vy]

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

May I request a Matt Murdock FF with him in the black suit and him saying “I want you wet and your legs open when I want.”

I am so so deeply passionate about his black suit, so this is perfect. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

black lyrca (matt murdock x fem reader)

wc || <1k

warnings || 18+ only. pin v, smut, praise. no use of y/n. minors DNI

masterlist + rules

taglist

Matt strolls down the fire escape steps returning home after an evening of patrol, a wicked smirk spread across his lips. Placing your book flat on your chest as you gaze over at him, watching the way his black suit clung to him, ogling at his muscles tense under the lycra. He stalks himself over to you on the sofa, the look of need written on the bottom half of his face. 

Grinning, you prop yourself up on your elbows. Crawling over you, hovering as he places urgent kisses on you lips. Instinctively wrapping your legs around him, caging him in.

He separates from hurried kisses to husk in your ears. “I want your legs open when I want, angel. I want you wet and ready for me.” Brashly kissing up your neck, his teeth grazing the soft flesh.

Eagerly nodding your head in response.

“That’s my good girl.” Smirking against your skin.

The need between your legs quadrupled. The idea of him wearing the suit did awfully great things to you, it felt so scandalous to fuck the devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

“I need you now.” He softly grunts between pecks along your collarbone.

You were no stranger to these late night sex-capades, in fact, you loved it so much more, the abundance of need he had for you felt like the most addictive drug; you could never get enough and by the way he acts, you knew he felt the same.

Winding your hips up to rub against his clothed hard-on, wanting to relieve some pressure for the both of you.

“Ah ah.” He tuts, gripping the sides of your waist and pushing down into the sofa.

The way he ‘man-handled’ you sent tingles throughout your whole body, it turned you into a pile of obedient mush when he was controlling like this. 

Propping himself on his knees sitting between your open thighs, his hands flat as they glide underneath your nightgown to stroke up your stomach. Playing with your nipples, rolling his thumb and index finger over them as he winds his clothed groin into the warmth between your thighs.

Trailing his fingers down the front of your nightgown, yanking on the bow to undo it and ripping the fabric away from your body to fully expose you to him. Leaning himself over you to linger kisses down your bare chest. 

“No-no, keep that on.” You breathlessly say, gripping onto his makeshift eye mask, desperately trying to stop him from removing it. “Keep it on.” 

Flashing you a quick smirk before he undoes his pants, pushing them down his thighs to pool around his bent knees. His hand slipped into the front of his boxers to stroke himself a couple of times, hastily pulling them down to his knees. His hands hooked onto your waist, dragging you closer to him.

“You sound so needy right now, I love it.” He grins, lifting your hips up to rest a cushion underneath. In response, you lazily drape your legs over his thighs to keep him close.

Aligning himself to you, poking his tip into your slick. Pushing into you in one swift motion until he bottoms out. Taking a moment to urgently kiss your plump parted bottom lip. 

Bucking his hips to re-enter you a couple of times, his mouth agape as he grunts a few strangled curses.

His hands grip the side of your waist, clasping at your skin to use as leverage as he starts to rut into you. You couldn’t help but whine at the way he’d hit you in all the right spots. 

“You take me so well.” Praises roll off his tongue as he rams into you a little more forcefully. “You sound so fucking pretty.” 

Balancing his weight down on your hips to ram himself into you, perfectly massaging inside of you with his cock. 

Sucking in his bottom lip to clamp down on it with his teeth, trying to hold himself off as he relentlessly ploughs into you. 

“I don’t think I can wait-” He grunts in between thrusts. 

Whimpering at his persistent hits, desperately clutching at his hands that are gripped around you. Eyebrows screwing together with your mouth slack.

The way he flinched inside of you told you that he really meant what he said, he was right there and so were you. 

Your walls clamp around him as your orgasm approaches, fluttering around his sensitive cock as he continues to ram into you. Head falling impossibly further back into the cushion behind your head. Matt twitches inside of you one more time before he spills deep in you. 

Rutting into you as you draw out each other’s release.

Moaning his name as praises fall from his parted lips. “Your noises are so beautiful, keep on taking me- you’re doing so good.” 

Slowing down as he continues to fuck his cum into you. 

He loosens his grip on your waist to hook his hands behind your back lifting you from the sofa to pull you to his chest, flopping you both against the leather while keeping his cock buried deep inside of you. Lying on his heaving chest. 

“You missed me that much, huh?” You joke, kissing his clothed chest. 

“Mhmm.” He hums, wrapping his arms around you. “I always miss you.” 

[nepxthe]

Balletcore & Coquette Athleisure

The rising balletcore trend is a cute take on traditional athleisure. It takes elements of ballet fashion and mixes it with street style and trendy athleisure. It’s a fun way to be comfortable and take part in athleisure trends while bringing feminine style into it.  

Staples of balletcore include:

Tops - bodysuits, singlets, sweaters, wrap tops, hoodies, cardigans.  Pants  - leggings, yoga pants, sweatpants/tracksuits.  Skirts - wrap skirts, ruffled minis, tulle skirts.  Shoes - ballet flats and pumps, uggs, joggers.  Other - hoisery, ribbons, leg warmers, scrunchies.  

The popular hairstyles are: slicked back buns, messy buns, ponytails, bobs. 

Key textures: silk, tulle, knitwear, sheer, stretchy/lyrca. 

The key colours are: pink, white, grey, black, cream and brown. 

If your interested in associating eds, certain body types, weights, or skin colours with aesthetics you aren't welcome on my blog or the wider coquette community! 

[skittybot]

in the futute, organised sport will no longer exist. instead, muscular people wearing lyrca will enter a locker room, undress and go into the showers. they will wash and dry each other. they exit the showers and commence having lots of sex and becoming sweaty. infusing their flesh with the scent of lovemaking, drenched in the sweat of their comrades in arms

[savetheghost]

got swatches

left is closest in texture to what ive been using which means i know how paint will interact with it, cooler gray, i kinda prefer the warmer tones

middle has the closest color to what ive been using though and has seems like it has better better visibility, will have to probably get a fat quarter and make a one off with it to see how the paint goes and if theres a difference to the overall transparency when its on someones head, gotta have a balance between ability to see and how visible your face is through the mask

right is a fucking wildcard, its like satin-y while still being matte, nice color for a darker skintone i think but visibility is lower due to the different weave of the fabric and its just overall weird, i feel like itll do that weird bubbling thing that lyrca masks do around the seams

[eurovision-revisited]

1996 Oslo - Number 14 - Tamir Tzaidi - "Eize min olam"

Kdam 1996 keeps doing what Kdam does well. A range of mostly high-tempo numbers with a strong focus on choreography and presentation. This choice is no exception. This year there were clouds in the background. Dana International was supposed to have taken part, but there was a dispute over the song she was to have sung. There was also a terror attack on a bus on the day of the competition knocking it onto a smaller TV channel. Nevertheless, Kdam kept on dancing and singing.

Meet Tamir Tzaidi and his backing ensemble (some of whom I think I recognise from previous years of Kdam). There's a lot going on during this performance. There's a lot of turquoise. A lot performance lyrca. Cheek mics. The second incarnation I think I've found of the lining up behind the singer and making it look like they've got lots of arms, as well as a skirt reveal. There's also a weird asymmetry between the backing singers/dancers on the right and the more pure dancers on the left.

Tamir himself was and is a gigging musician touring and performing all over Israel. This is his only entry to Kdam and he didn't do badly. He finished joint third in a selection of twelve songs scoring points from all of the regional juries, with his peak of popularity coming from the Tel Aviv jury.

The song איזה מין עולם (Eize min olam/What a World) is another that I do not have the lyrics for. I'd guess it's a social commentary song, but with a title like that it could be almost anything. He has a strong voice. It's a fun, sing-a-long, synth driven banger. Perhaps the only thing that lets it down are the backing singers who suffer from the eternal Eurovision problem of finding it hard to sing while dancing for long periods of time. I'm not sure why, but I really enjoy this and can't help wonder how it would have done on a different day with better backing. 1996 is full of up-tempo numbers and this came close to joining them.

[ehgood-enough]

Finally finished up the undies I cut out. Now I can move onto something else

I think I’m going to dig into the rib knit and make some stuff for the warmer weather which I’m sure is going to show up any day now …. Any day now…

Baby yoda is bamboo lycra with cotton lyrca for the bands

Bear is bamboo lyrca from rockerbye with yarn dyed stripes for the bands- which is an awful choose it’s looks good but has no recovery but the waistband is lined with cotton lyrca so it’s only the legs that will suffer. I could add some elastic but whatever it’s good enough. Might have to pick some wedgies but I can deal

Grey is bambo lycra from shear madness. I made these high rise to try out and I really shouldn’t have the medium rise is kinda high already. Oh well

The witchy ones are cotton lyrca from dark matter which is a light cotton lyrca with light cotton lycra from tkb for the bands. I got the bands fabric in a mystery box and didn’t think I’d find a use for them because it’s so bright but they go perfect with this fun witchy fabric. This is absolutely my favorite pair out of all the ones I’ve sewn recently

[parker-d-bloodrose]

Honestly finding fellow queers, even if their queerness is not like my own, in the same or adjacent parts of my hobbies is always cool. For example, I found a sport cyclist - the kind clad in lyrca and concerned with aerodynamics - and he is just absolutely gay. And I'm just like "fuck yeah." Lol

[backjustforberena]

Absolutely love your corlys x rhaenys Modern AU ideas! If you need more persuasion to write it, here it is haha. Any more headcanons?

Aw, thank you so much! I’m writing a chapter-by-chapter outline and I have a few scene snippets written but I’ve no proper time to really write it at present. Headcanons such as these will have to do...

Rhaenys when she first sees Corlys again is wearing a black blazer with silver details, as a nod to her riding habit we see in the show. But it’s very modern, maybe the silver details are a belt around the blazer, or just the buttons? IDK. But a big thing is that it’s not with trousers. It’s with a pencil skirt. 

She never wears trousers when she’s being professional or going to a public event or going out at all. Her wardrobe is all skirts and dresses: She wears silk, full length nightgowns. I really want to keep that classically feminine silhouette as I know it’s important in canon. The fabrics are all very expensive. She does have a leaning towards wearing blue. Would this give me an opportunity to have her needed at a gala and wear some wonderful navy evening gown? Yes. Yes it would. 

Trousers for weekends. She wears jeans (expensive jeans, but still jeans) but only when she’s off the clock, allowed to relax. When she’s with her granddaughters and when she’s on a boat. She also has a running outfit with a red and black lyrca jacket and leggings.

Corlys is less formal. He’ll wear suits, but they are not his go-to. He’s more shirts and a jacket (he so has a brown leather jacket in his wardrobe). It’s because he’s used to being hands-on with the business. But either way, whilst he’s recovering, it’s all comfort: t-shirts, cashmere jumpers and chinos. His pyjamas are a white t-shirt or vest and patterned trousers. Not a full length, we want Rhaenys to be able to admire his arms...

There will have to be a scene where they first see one another in their pj’s. Like, middle-of-the-night, house is silent, the only two people the world kind of schtick. Corlys coming down for some water and maybe Rhaenys is already at the kitchen island with some because she has had bouts of insomnia for the last six years.

[nurtelo]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Athleta Size S Women's HighRise Prism Chaturanga Ombre Stripe Capri leggings.

[jaylexcam]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Athleta Size Small Tankini Black High Neck Keyhole Swimsuit Top Lyrca Padded.