#Lovis

[rely-able]

I drew Lovis and Toast new refs for art fight!

[waterdomemusic]

Colorize 2024 Spring Sampler - Brilliant Compilation - 2024

Review for Colorize 2024 Spring Sampler – Colorize – 2024 Facts Artist: VariousTitle: Colorize 2024 Spring SamplerCountry of Origin: USA, Belgium, GermanyFormat: 6-Track EP, Stream, DownloadGenre: Melodic House, Organic HouseLabel: Colorize / Enhanced MusicRelease Date: 29. März 20246 Tracks • 34m 12s At qobuz available in Lossless16 Bits / 44.1 kHz | CD-Quality English translation? Click on…

[lovifie]

Back from your honeymoon with your husband Simon, one of the first places you visit as newlyweds is a pub down the street where he and his mates usually spend Saturday nights when free.

It is nothing new, a weekly occurrence and in many of those weeks, you were invited. Your phone would usually ping with a voice note from one of the Sergeants drunkenly complaining about your absence.

So you don't understand why you can't rub off the feeling that something is different tonight. You are sitting beside your husband, his hand resting on your hip, his thumb caressing your softness.

Until you realise what's different.

He keeps making you stand up to the bar to order the drinks.

They usually switch every round, every time standing and ordering a different person from the table. But tonight? It has been you, one after the other, again and again. You don't quite understand why and simply shrug it off as boys being boys and wanting to spend time together after being again.

Until you are ordering, and a man you have never met before stands beside you, leaning too much for comfort into your safe zone.

"Are you here alone, baby?" The man slurs his words.

"No, I'm here with my-"

"Your boyfriend? I'm sure your shitty boyfriend wouldn't mind if you went home with me."

He goes silent, the eerie feeling of a presence making you both get quiet. But you know it's him.

"Actually... That's my wife, ya wanker."

And you don't need to turn, to know that your beloved husband has a victorious smile on his face. Happy his little plan worked.

↓ Taglist below cut ↓

@crashtestbunny @going-to-ikea-for-the-fries @waiting-so-long @mothymunson @cod-z

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@vane28282 @dracu1ara @vivi2e @lordbugs @murder-hobo

[vyhonella]

they make me love them every moment of nimona movie

[shotmrmiller]

(secret lovers but simon will not be kept a secret.)

you hadn't liked him from the get go. amongst the regulars that frequent the place you work at serving drinks, had been him; a burly, massive figure that commanded attention even though his clothes were nondescript and blended into the shadows created by the sickly, flickering lights overhead. his broad shoulders were squared, imposing, the fabric of his faded jeans stretched taut over his knees, tapering down to his scuffed sneakers.

him appearing a menace isn't what made him stand out. it doesn't even make him special, to be honest. one too many rowdy oafs call this hole in the wall a haven, seeking solace at the bottom of a thick glass.

it's the very air around him. it's heavy, muted, as if absorbing sound and movement. that one time you had the displeasure of personally handing him an beer, it'd felt suffocating, pressed down on you, made it hard to breathe. the stillness had been almost palpable, the usual hum of the bar nought but a distant buzz, even the clank of the chilled glass on the table had seemed muffled.

you'd felt the drink slosh over the rim in your haste to get away, retreat, escape. he hadn't even glanced your way and you'd been overwhelmed.

fucking hell.

and that's not the worst of it. the way he looks at people is unsettling. his beady eyes glint with a manic, rabid hunger, fixated on any bare legs that come into his field of view, as if he sees nothing but prey. that turns the discomfort that pricks at your skin into disgust.

revolting bull of a man is a pervert to boot.

(sometimes he comes in with others, 3 much more approachable, charismatic men that pop that personal bubble of oppressive silence he brings with him with their boisterous laughter and lively chatter. they're good folk except for when they want to act like your eyes are on your chest.)

so it's a true shame you spent weeks snarking about how foul he is when he's one of the best lays you've ever had in your life. (and continues to be.)

it's all discreet, of course. you can't be caught having a thing with the man you'd cursed up, down and sideways because he wouldn't stop staring at the tits you let him come on that same week.

you wouldn't even know how to explain how all of this started. that'd he'd been a surprised you and strong armed a belligerent drunk off the property for you a while back? that he'd happened to be around when your car got a flat, pulled out a jack from the bed of his truck and told you to sit your 'pretty arse' inside while he changed it? or that after the nth night of him being the very last patron, you realized he'd only leave after you were done with restocking and ready to close up shop?

you kept it all of it on the down low. pretended you couldn't feel his eyes on you, boring holes into the side of your head while at work then garble out his name through the fingers you're drooling over after work.

and it stayed that way for a while. he never stayed longer than you let him (not like that meant anything, he barely let you out the bed to pick up the door dash before he sat you on the countertop and lapped at your sore cunt until you came.)

he rarely used his phone so there was no worry about sudden texts while you had friends around.

it seemed a fine thing at the time. but then he started sitting at the bar top instead of his usual corner haunt, occasionally calling you over with a curl of his fingers (the ones he had you lick clean last night.) he stopped being a total lech, keeping his eyes glued onto you and you only, being so blatant about it that your co-workers offered to walk you to your car later.

embarrassing. you'd meant to give him a talk about laying off the intensity of his stare but it slipped your mind when he slipped into you from behind while fisting your hair.

when your boss is the one that gives you the stranger danger talk, even though you have said strangers love bites mottling the junction of your shoulder, you decide that enough is enough. so after your shift, you ask to speak with him.

only to have him snort in your face.

"don't think so."

before you get to say anything else, he's sitting you on the hood of his truck, legs hooked over his shoulders, eye level with your bare pussy because he'd stuffed your knickers into his pocket before work.

the first glide of his tongue between your folds is deliberately slow, tip catching the bundle of nerves at the top. your palm stings from digging your nails into it.

the second sends a shiver licking up your spine, his hands dimpling the soft of your thighs to keep you from squirming.

"look at me."

your body reacts instinctively at the low, grating tone of his voice and you're peering down at him before your mind can even catch up.

he nips at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "best get used to 'avin' me 'round." this was no conversation.

the tips of his fingers grazing over your wet heat, gently prodding the entrance. when he sinks them in, scissoring, thrusting, you realize he's not going to let you come.

this isn't a reward. this is about to be your punishment.

slick glistens on his knuckles under the streetlight as he undoes the zipper of his jeans, the sound of the metal teeth deafening in your prickling ears.

simon puts his hand close to your mouth like he's done in the bedroom, and you spit on it, like you've done in the bedroom.

the searing (but oh so good) burn is both familiar and not when you take him to the root, a shuddering breath escaping your quivering lips at the sensation of him filling you until the seams feel like they're becoming undone.

he lowers his head to nose your sweat-slick temple, large hands flat by your sides. his breaths warm your throat as he speaks.

"i won't be your dirty little secret, pet."

a hand creeps up to the nape of your neck, claiming a fistful of hair. simon pulls a sibilant hiss from you when he tugs hard enough to ache.

ouch.

"can't shove me in a closet and pocket the key." he rolls his hips once, twice before widening his stance.

oh.

oh no.

"now be good and let me take what's mine."

there'd been no arguing with him before he fucked you in earnest, and certainly not after when he takes you home, spend dripping onto his seat on the way there, where he makes you ride him on the driveway, only letting you go inside once he felt he got his message across.

(message understood.)

the next morning you wake to sore thighs, a throbbing pussy, a dry mouth and a text from your boss.

i've got cameras outside the place, by the way. go home next time.

at least you didn't get fired 🥴

[skyrigel]

Simon had him and you all convinced that it was just sex and nothing more.

“No attachment.” He always said, everytime — sometimes so hurried and forgotten that it's just mumbled against your mouth before he's shoving his tongue down your throat.

Sometimes with so much urgency that it's lost between your moans, no attachment, babe, no attachment. And you believed him because it was really just sex, wasn't it ? There were no pretty dates and no fancy dinner at ritz, maybe those poorly wrapped ones he pretended he had not ordered and takeouts he brought along...but oh please, no attachments!

But maybe sometimes about those walks in the city where he would not so subtly grasp your hand, and you would catch him stealing glances at you while a teenager fiddled with his guitar, rhyming she came, my world lit with narcotic, I am addict.

No attachment but Simon's standing outside your workspace when it's raining —“I thought you might need it.” holding up the umbrella but those two words were there again when you were knew deep in the passanger seat and he was eating you out... because it was casual, right ? No attachment.

And it really didn't burn and ached until you got sick, real sick — puking your guts out and coughing until your ribs gave up, surely he wasn't the best role model of no attachment when he was panting to death as he picked your unconscious frame from the floor, you still remember the faint whisper of his ‘please don't leave me, please, please don't —’ over and over.

And if he wanted for no attachment then he should be gone. Gone and not come back because it was just sex...

Simon shouldn't be mopping the floor, and stirring your soup and touching your forehead every five minutes.

No attachment then why he's loading your grocery and taking out trash and doing your laundry, why he's wiping your tears and telling you it's going to be alright.

Why he's not leaving like he always did because there were no attachment right, but he's right here, tucking you in bed and washing your hair and reading you book.

“Is it some eccentric joke ? Why this Zaid is always growling ?—also when you get alright... we're gonna try it out, lovie.”

You blushed, but it wasn't just what he was suggesting but that word, it felt good.

“S-say it again.” You whispered, shifting your head in pillow. Simon turned back a page he was reading from, your scrunchie on his wrist.

“Zaid growled—” You screwed your face,“—oh, we'll try it—”

“last word. Your last word.”

“Oh.” He said, “Lovie...you don't like it ?”

You shaked your head, sniffing very unsexy-ly

“Call me that...I love it.” Simon pushed up the book up his face, his neck was pulsing with his many veins and you knew the blush that would be blooming on his hard face. Cute.

“Again.” You tilted your head, to get a look at his flushed out face.

“Okay Lovie...sleep now.” He grumbled, flicking your bedside lamp off and bookmarking the book with one of your scrunchie he removed from his wrist.

“Huh...Good night baby.” You said, waiting to be corrected, waiting for those two words to come and upside down it all.

But they never came, like they never even existed, never had a meaning to them at all.

No attachment, lost forever in darkness.

“G'night lovie.” He said so sweetly, and when you closed your eyes this time, you only saw daylight.

Grim Reaper! Simon

Masterlist

[vvenuspng]

lovies

[venus vs. color: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)..]

first palette suggested by @yer-a-legend ♡

[saccharind]

“Darling, I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a long time. How about a photograph of you? There is a spot on my dresser that my eye catches the first thing in the morning and the last thing at night and I can think of nothing I’d like better than to have your picture there —“

from Other People’s Love Letters, edited by Bill Shapiro

[loviely]

i know i'd look for you in every universe but would you look for me? would you leave me there too?

[kimtaegis]

stories of three little birds for @jkvjimin ♡

texts & paintings, by first appearance: Die Drei Spatzen (The Three Sparrows), poem by Christian Morgenstern // In einem leeren Haselstrauch (In a bald hazel tree), painting by 6-year-old me // Three Little Birds, song by Bob Marley & The Wailers // three little sparrows, painting by Annemiek Groenhout // Three Birds, poem by Ben Onachila // Birds on a Branch, painting by James Coffman // Birds of a Feather, song by Billie Eilish

[communist-hatsunemiku]

BecauseImAJinx

[rely-able]

anndd here’s my vampire oc!

[waterdomemusic]

Poli-Poli & Arkem Arknet - Where Dreams Come True - Brilliant Single - 2024

Read our Review and listen to this brilliant EP

Review for Poli-Poli & Arkem Arknet – Where Dreams Come True – Single – Colorize – 2024 Facts Artist: Poli-Poli, Arkem ArknetTitle: Where Dreams Come TrueAlbum/EP Title: Colorize 2024 Spring SamplerFormat: 8-Track EP, Stream, DownloadGenre: Melodic House, Organic HouseLabel: Colorize / Enhanced MusicRelease Date: 29. März 20246 Tracks • 34m 12s At qobuz available in Lossless16 Bits / 44.1 kHz…

[lovifie]

Price had a young girlfriend and did not tell anybody until he decided to get married...

He probably didn't tell them until the night before the wedding…He asked them to come over for a little celebration and everyone expected a middle-aged woman. But when they saw a girl in her mid-20s opening the door with Price they were shocked

Soap probably even asked if she's his stepdaughter LOL

Hey, love!! 💗💗

I wrote you a little something...

I hope you like it 💗

❤️Mr. & Mrs. Price❤️

Fluff | Sugestive | 1547 words | Back to Masterlist

They were having a pint at a pub close to base when he told them. 

“I'm getting married next Saturday, you have the weekend free, so drop by so I can introduce you to the missus.”

Now, Ghost wasn't surprised he didn't know about his captain having a girlfriend, let alone a relationship serious enough to talk about marriage. What surprised Ghost was that neither Soap nor Gaz knew about it. 

“Married?!” Gaz asked, loud enough to make some people turn their heads. 

Price furrows his eyebrow, surprised by the reaction as if he had just told them about what he's having from breakfast. 

“I didnae ken ye had a pretty bird waiting for ye at home, Captain!” Soap says, just as loud.

“Yeah, I have for a couple of years now.” Price simply answers, shrugging his shoulders as he takes a sip.

“A couple of years?!” The three men ask in unison like a bad comedic joke. 

A chain of questions starts to unravel, curiosity for the mysterious woman pouring out; but Price waves his hand shutting them up. “No point in that, you are meeting her this weekend, easier that way”

They begrudgingly agree, keeping to themselves the mental image of the possible woman. She must be around Price's age, so between 40 and 50 years old; knowing how little the man likes to go out they probably met at work so she must be military too. Stern woman. 

Price tells them that is something minor, the close family and a bunch of friends; that they can join at the reception at his house and to dress nicely. 

“No ghost mask.” He chastises the man pointing at him. “I don't want work involved, alright?”

During the week until the wedding, they keep thinking about her, about how she must look like, her personality, her age, her eye colour.

“What do you think she'll look like?”

“In my mind, she's like Laswell… but being into men.”

And out of every possibility and different mental image, the last thing they expected was the pretty thing that opened the door for them on Saturday. 

Pretty little thing, around 25 years old, with the kindest smile on her face even when looking at the three giants on her doorframe, flowy white dress, little hair strands framing her cute face with the rest of it gathered up in an intricate updo in the back hold together with shiny pins and a silky bow. 

“Oh, you must be John's friends.” You say, voice sweet as an angel. “Please, come in, don't just stand there. I'm gonna go get him, be back in a second”

You step back, holding the door open for them, inviting them in and once inside you close the door, walking past them to reach their captain who is looking in the opposite direction, talking to somebody else.

“That must be the stepdaughter… right?” Soap asks what all of them are thinking. 

They stare as you walk up to Price, placing your hand on his lower back making him turn to look at you; a wide smile appearing immediately. He leans forward, his arm moving behind your shoulder and his hand keeping your jaw in place as he kisses you. 

Lips crashing against yours, closing his eyes and letting his tongue into your mouth tasting the champagne you were drinking just a moment ago. A passionate, sloppy kiss that would make a maiden blush at the impropriety of it even for the newlyweds.

“Mate, I sure fucking hope she's not.” Gaz answers after a moment.

The two of you finally pull back, telling Price about his friends arriving and he looks behind you to see them. He smiles, not as wide as when he looked at you, and gives you a quick peck before walking to the door. 

“Welcome, lads. Thank you for coming.” He says simply, crossing his arms and looking proud. You appear from behind him, hand resting on his arm slightly leaning to his side.

“Do you want anything to drink? To eat?” You ask softly, love pouring out of Price's eyes as he looks down on you. 

“I'll help you.” Ghost says, a curl of his lips you could identify as a smile if you wanted to. And once the captain is left with the sergeants, the attack starts. 

“How does an old churl like you manages to get a pretty thing like her?”

“Where do you even meet a doll like her?”

“How many years have you exactly been dating for?”

Ghost clears his throat when he turns around the corner on his way back, with you chirping on his side about how happy you are to finally meet them. He has a more natural smile on his face now, clearly infected with your enthusiasm. 

Price finally introduces you to them, exchanging everyone's name. You hug both the sergeants and shake Ghost's hand, the man glad that you made the observation of his lack of appreciation towards body contact. 

After a little chat, you excuse yourself; promising to get back in a while wanting to talk to your own friends still waiting around the room. It leaves Price on his own and that's when he tells the nosy men how he met you. 

You were his neighbour, sharing half the walls of the old flat he house to live in before moving in together. How he introduced himself to you one day when he saw you leaving your house, how he told you he was military so you wouldn't freak out if you saw him in the middle of the night or suddenly disappeared for months, how after a specially long deployment he got back and you dropped by hours later with a bunch of tupperwares with homemade food “I assumed you would be tired, it's nothing special but I'll save you the hustle of cooking”, about how he had wanted to marry you ever since, how he gave you the tupperwares back one by one so he had more reasons to talk to you, how he finally asked you out with the last one and how after that it all was easy between you two.

The four of them swiftly move to sit down on the kitchen table, Price still telling them everything about you and the relationship. Ghost is just as invested as the other two, trying to play it off as polite interest. Slowly and smoothly people leave the house as the day goes by, the sun having set a couple of hours ago; and you walk into the kitchen, sitting on Price's lap with a sigh. 

“I know it isn't proper of a good host, but these shoes are killing me.” You announce looking at the three men as you bend down and take them off, a sigh of comfort leaving your mouth as you lean back on Price. “I'm also sure you have endurance worse than some stinky feet.” You joke with a tiny chuckle making them smile. 

“Everyone gone, darling?” Price asks, his hands resting on your lap as you nod smiling. He looks up to the boys as he says. “Better to tidy up then”

“Jonathan Price, don't be rude!” You exclaim looking at him. “They are your friends and there are more than enough rooms for them if they want to spend the night. They have been drinking too!”

“Mrs. Price.” John says with a teasing tone, standing up and helping you stand. “Talk to me for a second, love.”

Price bends down to pick your shoes up, holding your hand to walk you to the living room. They hear the two of you whispering back and forth, then silence and lastly the unmistakable sound of kisses. They peak behind the door, managing to see you sitting in the backrest of the sofa with Price standing between your legs, grinding his hips against yours. You moan softly against his lips, before pulling back and whispering something they can't make out; Price pulls back as well and they sit back on their chairs. 

Price walks in just a second later. “Lads… thank you for coming, I'll see you when I'm back from the honeymoon, now… OUT!” He barks the last word making Soap chuckle as they all finish their drink in a gulp and start to walk out of the house, congratulating Price on the marriage and walking out one by one; meanwhile, you remain completely out of sight for them.

“They gone?” You ask for the top of the stairs, looking at Price with a smile. 

“Yep.” Price says locking the door.

“You didn't have to kick them out like that, though.” You say cocking your head with a smile.

“Oh, yes, I did.” He says, turning around to start to walk up the stairs. 

“Why? Afraid they might join?” You say winking at him, making him laugh before he throws you over his shoulder making you shriek.

“Wouldn't you like that, you little minx!” He jokes, landing a smack on your asscheek. 

You gasp dramatically holding onto his clothes. “It's Mrs. Price to you, young man.”

He chuckles, making your body shake, before he throws you down on the bed; him instantly crawling on top of you. 

“Who's your husband, darling?”

“You, Mr. Price.”

A bit more of this

[spiderbitesandvampirevenom]

my partner: "Babe you better not be Cunty Darkrai from Pokemon: the Rise of Darkrai (2007) when I get home"

me:

[sanatomis]

cw. none! except satoru falling asleep in your arms (he snores, it’s adorable).

It wasn’t a surprise to you when Satoru told you he has trouble sleeping. The confession came four months after your relationship became official—which finally happened after many, many years of dancing around one another. In those four months, despite being attached at the hip, you have never, ever seen him fall asleep before you. 

A small, secret part of you hoped for that to change; That your darling would find peace in your presence, and sleep without any sign of trouble. In an ideal world, his nights that were previously filled with insomnia would make way for loving cuddles and some very needed shut-eye. Though, that thought may have been the hopeless romantic in you. 

Of course, none of that actually happened. Satoru still runs on approximately four to five hours of sleep a day, and with the occupation he holds, you think that’s far too little. So, despite your fleeting wish, your relationship didn’t change that part of him—you didn’t change that part of him. Though, even if you’re unable to do much about his (concerning) lack of sleep, you make his waking moments much more bearable. 

His nights are still long, and the time that he sleeps is still short, except now—he enjoys the time that he spends awake. In the middle of the night, while the rest of Japan is asleep, Satoru is awake. Doing what, you wonder? Holding you. It’s all he does until his (still very human) body knocks him out and forces him to rest—he holds you. 

Every night is different, even if his routine is the same. Sometimes he’s seated against the headboard with you in-between his legs, your cute little face squished against him. Other times he’s spooning you from behind, and snuggling into the crook of your neck as he finds comfort in your scent. Though, he plays favourites, and enjoys it most when you’re cuddled into his chest—he gets to shield you from the world, and gets to keep you safely tucked away into his arms. 

Satoru often says he could spend hours simply sitting with you in his arms. You never quite understood why, however. Until now. 

You’re laying on the couch, and it’s not even remotely close to midnight, but your sweetheart is asleep. The faint noise of the TV hits your ears, but it quickly gets overshadowed by the small snores your boyfriend lets out. You quickly bite your bottom lip—cooing over him would surely wake him up. 

Of course, he does this. Of course, he snores. 

You smile at the thought, and shake your head knowingly. Satoru lays on his stomach, in-between your legs, and with his head on your chest. Both his arms are wrapped securely around you, and you fight another smile when he cuddles further into you. His hair tickles your chin when he does so, but you’d rather die than ever have him move away. He’s so ridiculously cute. With his mouth slightly parted, with low breaths steadily leaving his lips, and with all signs of stress faded from his pretty face. 

You bring a hand up towards him. It’s a careful movement, as you’re a little scared of waking him up and depriving yourself of such a sweet sight. Your fingers gently caress his face; from his jawline, to his cheekbone, to his nose. Subconsciously, a little smile appears on his lips, and you feel as if you’re the luckiest person alive for being allowed to witness it. 

Satoru moves shortly after. Not because he’s awake, but because he senses it when you move your hand away from him, and even while asleep—he chases after it. He leans into your touch, and lets out a soft, happy sigh when he does. It seems he found himself at peace once again. 

“So cute, mochi,” you sigh lovingly, and gently start carding your fingers through his hair. You bring your lips to the top of his head, and press a sweet, lingering kiss to it. “You’re so cute. I get it now.”

Satoru is asleep, finally. He’s resting, and at ease, and, well, a little bit loud still as the snores continue on—but he’s so very adorable. 

It makes the next three hours of sitting completely still all worth it. You didn’t need the feeling in your legs, anyway.