#ho tower of god

[otori0]

a couple doodles before my trip

[druskels]

Happy... Halloween....?

+ bonus

[deiaiko]

#6.1 Hoh

Grace braced himself and walked up to the front desk right after Bam left the room. "Mr. Hoh, do you have a moment?"

The man in question turned around, clearly trying to mask his surprise at his unexpected encounter. "Yes?"

Grace took a seat next to him. "Next test is tomorrow. I'm just wondering how you are doing."

The man flinched, "Does it matter to you?"

Grace stayed silent and calm as he observed the fiery gaze that Hoh tried to burn him with. He recognized the emotions behind those eyes; jealousy, concealed rage, and a hint of loneliness. Hoh looked away first and Grace took the opportunity to speak.

"I know we didn't talk much to each other, and I know that you don't like me, or Laure, or Bam–" Hoh flinched again at the accusation and Grace had to stop himself. "So it is. May I know what's upsetting you?"

"It's nothing," Hoh dismissed the topic.

Grace hummed, thinking of a different approach. "Is there anything I can help you with?"

Hoh laughed, "What can you even do to help me?"

"Someone said I'm a good listener–" Hoh rolled his eyes, not that then. He couldn't offer to teach him to control shinsu with the limited time he had. So that left him with– "I can give you some of my points…" That seemed to catch his attention, Grace smiled to himself. Agni was right after all; Hoh just needed to make sure he'll pass the test.

"What's the catch?" Hoh finally faced him, "For the points…"

"Nothing, really. I consider you as a friend, and friends help each other."

Hoh hummed thoughtfully. "Will that be alright with you?"

"Yes." Grace wouldn't be needing them to pass since he has a different test to take, but Hoh didn’t have to know that.

Hoh thanked him after he transferred the agreed amount, and Grace hoped Hansung didn't pull another string that would make Hoh experience the same fate. He could only hope that they would meet again one day.

Masterlist

Previous

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☕ Buy me coffee ☕

[mikey180]

I’m pretty sure I’m the single bastion of Hoh simping in this world, I am BEGGING you for anything of my boy

I understand if you don’t care about him, feel free to send me in my way lmao but if you have any ideas for him like relationship headcanons, kisses, date ideas, cuddles, I will do your bidding if you give me a crumb of content

Oh, you mean our beautiful baby girl? That's fine, darling, I like him too, there's just not enough content for me to get that attached to him at the moment*dramatic sigh*...I don't mind shouldering the weight of carrying his fan service. Choose headcanons for this, do tell me if you have ideas for a one shot.

Hoh-

This man is so shy at first, fidgeting with his nails, biting the dry skin on the sides of his fingers, rubbing his hands on his clothes, anything when he wants your attention or affection but is too scared to ask for it.

Will love hugs, anytime, anywhere. May say a complaint or two, but if you actually pull away he's ready to cry. Keep your arms loose unless he tightens his grip first, I feel he gets claustrophobic easily.

On the topic of kisses, he doesn't know anything. Probably hurts your lips kissing too hard and not in the good way, I mean trying to press a quick kiss to your lips only to be going way too fast and literally slamming his lips into yours. You're not kissing anymore, you're just bumping teeth.

He feels bad about it, especially if he made you bleed, will try again if you ask, might ask you to do it first so he knows how it's done.

I also feel he wouldn't find anything about you to be gross. Ticks you're too squeamish to take off yourself(same)? He's got you. Acne? His nails will pop or extract anything. Lice? He'd pick it out with his hands if the comb hurts. He may not like it, but he'll at least be neutral about it.

Will be protective...in a baby girl way. Just like "Yes, dear, please do yell at that guy that I'm taken because he put his arm around me and yes, I will make you your hot chocolate once we get back to our room."

Likes to be carried, is embarrassed about it, will admit it. He's not tsundere in my opinion, just very shy.

If you pamper him in any way, brush his hair, do his nails, take off his shoes for him, he loves you even more.

He probably has panic attacks often, I see him to have severe anxiety. He doesn't want to talk or have you ask him questions or hear anything, he wants all the stimulation to be taken away. Will probably sit in a corner with a wall to one side and his back and a nightstand to the other just to feel secure. Covers his ears and closes his eyes as he curls up there.(not me self-projecting, not panic attacks, but dang... overstimulation sucks.)

While speaking about hair, he loves his hair. It's naturally that good, but he takes care of it too. Will take care of yours if you let him or if you already do, me may just steal your hair care products or methods. Do wash his hair, he relaxes so well when you do, is practically putty in your hands even if you're just playing with it, will also fall asleep in your hands.

Man probably snores, not loud annoying ones, but the soft ones that are barely heard, ones that make you become accustomed to hearing.

Loves to hear you say his name, yeah baby names are nice, pet names and all, but...Hoh...just in nice quiet moments or maybe if hes emotional.

He likes to just be. With you. But just exist. Let him wordlessly stand up close to you and put his head on your shoulder. He doesn't want a hug or a kiss he just wants to be there, maybe have you tell him about your day.

Small story time as per usual-

You lay there, slightly sat up against the pillows, Hoh laying on top of you as you brush your fingers through his freshly washed hair. "Be careful," he reminds you "wet hair is most fragile". You nod a little, giving a small hum in acknowledgement. He's told you that a hundred times over, but you probably snagged a knot or something without noticing it. His hair smells faintly of rosemary, probably the oil he uses, and you can feel it slightly sticking to your fingertips. He'll probably apologize later when you inevitably wash your hands because of it, but for now you can see his eyelids falling. He's had a long day so you can deal with the oil on your skin till he wakes up. A small kiss to his head and a mutter of sweet dreams and goodnight wishes, you turn the lamp on your bedside table out.

[kaira-diaries]

Teacher's Pet:

⚠️: smut || age gap (18+) || teacher’s pet trope

pairing: professor!in-ho x fem!reader (no games)

wc: 1.2k

a/n: now that I’ve watched LBH’s entire filmography I’m obsessed with his teacher roles…don’t know if should do more drabbles for this story? Kinda like the idea of continuing their relationship.

summary: I feel like the name is self explanatory!

-> Masterlist <-

It wasn’t like you meant to fall in love.

If you could even call it that.

Infatuation seemed more fitting—an unshakable pull, a slow-burning ache that settled deep in your bones. Perhaps even obsession, the kind that took root beneath your skin and refused to let go.

You weren’t some naive teenager.

You were a junior in college, fully grown, well past the age of consent, old enough to know better. And yet, nothing had prepared you for him.

Your Literature Professor.

Older, impossibly refined, with a presence that commanded attention without effort. His voice was rich, deliberate—each syllable a slow caress against your ears. His eyes, dark and unreadable, held the kind of secrets that made you want to drown in them. And when he spoke, quoting poetry and prose with an intimacy that felt illicit, you could do nothing but sit there, enthralled, burning beneath the weight of his words.

It wasn’t supposed to happen that one night.

But it did.

You sank into the plush cushions of his living room sofa, the scent of aged paper and faint traces of espresso lingering in the air. The space around you was a sanctuary of words, lined wall to wall with books that carried the weight of centuries, their spines cracked and well-loved, whispering stories from every corner of the world.

Your gaze drifted across the towering shelves, fingers itching to trace the gilded titles. Then, one book in particular caught your eye—its cover worn, edges softened from years of handling. Curiosity pulled you to your feet. You stepped forward, the floor creaking beneath you as you reached for the novel, its leather binding cool beneath your fingertips.

Flipping it open, your breath hitched. Nearly every page was marked with notes, the margins filled with hurried scrawls in a familiar, precise hand. Observations, questions, underlined passages—traces of a mind that dissected literature with an almost obsessive devotion.

Of course.

Dr. Hwang had always been relentless about annotating. He preached the importance of engaging with the text and of leaving a mark on the page as proof of understanding. And now, seeing it for yourself, you realized he didn’t just teach this—he lived it.

A strange warmth curled in your chest, a quiet thrill at witnessing something so intimately him.

"Snooping?" His voice cut through the quiet, low and smooth, pulling your attention instantly.

You turned toward him, pulse-quickening as your eyes took him in. His usual reading glasses were absent, allowing the warm glow of his deep brown eyes to shine unfiltered beneath the dim lighting. His black hair, normally neatly combed, had fallen into an effortlessly tousled state, strands curling slightly at his temples. And his shirt—half unbuttoned, revealing a sliver of collarbone and the faintest hint of his chest—was enough to send a rush of heat straight through you.

The sight of him relaxed and undone in the privacy of his home, nearly made you come apart.

You swallowed, grounding yourself by pressing the book closed against your palm. Your eyes flickered to the title before glancing back up at him.

"You have quite the collection, Dr. Hwang—"

"In-ho," he interrupted gently, his gaze holding yours with quiet insistence.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "In-ho," you repeated, the name rolling off your tongue with a newfound intimacy as if speaking it aloud changed something between you.

You placed the book back, walking across the living room to him. God he was beautiful..so strong, yet gentle. You nearly shuttered as his hands curved around your waist pulling you into him.

He sighed as his long fingers caressed the skin of your neck, just over your pulse. "This is shameful."

Your lips parted, breath hitching as his hovered just a hair’s breadth away—so close, yet not close enough. The anticipation was electric, a charged silence stretching between you for a fraction of a second before he closed the distance.

The kiss was deep, slow, devastatingly experienced. He didn’t rush—he knew exactly what he was doing, how to unravel you with the way his lips moved against yours, how to make you sigh into him as his tongue teased yours, coaxing rather than demanding. Every motion, every flick, and stroke was deliberate, leaving you dizzy and clinging to him as if he were the only thing tethering you to reality.

Your friends knew you were seeing someone, but you’d been careful—strategic, even—about the details. You never mentioned who he was, never let slip the little things that might give him away. And, of course, you’d completely omitted the one fact that would send them into a frenzy.

His age.

Forty-five. Nearly twice yours.

Twenty-one and forty-five isn’t that bad… right?

The thought alone made you cackle every time you tried to defend it in your mind. Maybe you should feel conflicted. Maybe you should care about the whispers, the judgment, the moral grayness of it all.

But then his tongue brushed against yours again, expertly, wickedly, pulling a soft whimper from your throat, and just like that—any lingering doubt, any concern for right or wrong—simply ceased to exist.

Another hand found its way to the back of your head, taking a fist full of your hair.

You’re probably wondering how the two of you ended up here.

Let’s just say it might have had something to do with your insufferable class participation—the way you challenged him just enough to be intriguing, how you always had an argument ready, your voice laced with just the right amount of defiance to make him smirk.

Or maybe it was the way you chewed on the ends of your pens, absentmindedly biting down as you listened to him lecture, completely unaware of how his eyes would flicker toward you, his train of thought stalling for just a second too long. You had no idea, at first, that he noticed—the way you stared at him a little too intently, lashes fluttering as if you weren’t hanging onto his every word.

And then there were your visits.

The ones that started out innocently enough—stopping by during office hours, armed with questions about literary theory, with scribbled notes and highlighted passages. But then the conversations started to stretch beyond the curriculum, turning into something softer, something dangerous. You’d linger too long, leaning just a little too close, your laughter filling the dimly lit space of his office.

Flirting was inevitable.

Touching came next.

But never kissing..at least not until tonight.

You remembered the first time the air between you changed.

It had been subtle(kinda, not really)—a shift so delicate(You'd beg to differ) it could have been ignored if not for the way it made your pulse stutter(yeah, right). A moment suspended in time, when his gaze held yours for a second too long, when his hand brushed your thigh beneath his desk his fingers lingering, making heat bloom under your skin and warmth pool between your legs.

He was so close, and you hadn't remembered what the two of you were talking about, but did it really matter?

Once his fingers had skimmed the material of your underwear you blinked, licking your lips. "Is this okay?" he had asked. He wanted permission. And while you didn't give it verbally, you embraced his hand pushing it beneath your lace underwear. Wanting his fingers to dig deep into you.

That was a week ago.  

Tonight, he'd invited you over.

And you'd never been so quick to accept an invite. (yikes)

His lips broke from yours, teeth scraping against your cheek as he sucked at your neck, "always so good for me in class," he practically breathed into you. Your hands grabbed at his neck, pulling him in more...if that was even physically possible.

"Always so stunning for me."

Right..did you forget to mention your dress code? And how it drastically got more..dangerous.

It wasn't like this was breaking any rules. Was it unethical? Hell yeah, it was, but what was college without a little drama? You're only young once right?

Time must have warped...or you somehow teleported to his bedroom, and the time read 3 am.

Hell, you couldn't tell which way was up or down as he dragged you into your fourth orgasm of the night, pulling you from your hands and knees to collide with his chest from behind. His moans filled your ears as he nudged into your neck, arms wrapped around your torso, hands tangling with yours.

You knew you were in trouble as he whimpered your name.

But the best part?

He knew he was in trouble, too.

Because no matter how much restraint he tried to summon, no matter how often he reminded himself of the lines he shouldn’t cross, you had an unshakable grip on him. It was maddening—this pull, this undeniable force that wrapped around him like a vice, refusing to let go.

You were young. Too young for him.

Beautiful, in a way that was effortless, in a way that made it impossible not to look.

And smart—so fucking smart.

It was your intelligence that ruined him the most.

He had noticed you the moment you walked in on syllabus day, slipping into your seat like you belonged there, like you were meant to be seen. There had been something about the way you carried yourself—self-assured, observant, a quiet confidence laced with just enough mischief.

Then you spoke.

And that was it.

Sharp, articulate, never hesitating to challenge an idea or poke holes in an argument. You were fearless in the way you debated, your mind quick, your words calculated. He told himself it was admiration—professional, appropriate. But admiration shouldn’t make his chest tighten when you look at him like that. It shouldn’t make his thoughts wander to places they had no business being.

And yet, from the moment you took that seat, he was doomed.

->Part Two Here<-

[mikey180]

It really went "whomp whomp"

BRUH WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT CUT I JUST REALIZED IT

[filthygalli]

Unholy

Fem!Reader x Priest!Hwang In-Ho (one shot)

Warnings: 18+, Sexual Innuendo, Not for religious people tbh, mention of fingering, sex, bibles, beliefs, and many more that I forgot. Badly written and also not proofread.

Word Count: 1747

Author's Note: I wrote this while waiting for my friends outside the lobby of my school, it took me an hour to construct something like this but I feel like it's bad, please let me know what do you think! 🥺🖤

You're not as faithful as your parents, they pray everyday and night, thanking god for everyday life that God made for them, going to church every Sunday, worshipping their god, offering help at the church when they can—while you their only daughter and child aren't that faithful, you respect it though, it's just you have more important things to do since you're in college and also working as a librarian at a local Library not too far from your house. You work there for months now and honestly, you enjoy it. You get to read your favorite books while helping the locals to find their own books, recommending them books, telling them where it is located, it's simple but you enjoy it.

One day, there's this Tall and handsome middle aged man went inside the library, he's alluding, his jaw is Sharp, his hair looks soft and fluffy—it almost cover his forehead, it's also a dark brown color, you looked at him from up to down, he wears a rimless glasses, pushing it up on his nose with his index fingers, he wears a black pants, a leather boots that heels clicked everytime he walks—he looks hot and sexy, yet innocent. Too innocent looking for an old man like him, you also noticed his clothing, similar from what the priest wears, black button up sleeve that hugged every muscle on his figure, the way his biceps tightened around the sleeve of his shirt, veins popping out as he adjusts the sleeve from his elbows, then he walked towards you—Wait Towards you?!—His gaze on you is soft and quiet, he slowly walks towards you, the heels of his leather booths echoed through the thick air of silence, You gulped as he smiled at you before speaking, “Hi, Good morning.” He said leaning down a little at your table, Your breath hitched as his dark brown eyes turned up to look at you, ‘God…’ you thought, a silver cross necklace hangs on his neck as he leaned down, “Hi, Goodmorning Sir..” you mumbled as you tried to pretend that your busy, “I'm sorry to bother but I need some help to find a specific book..” he said as he deeply chuckled, ‘Fuck, he looks and sounds so hot’ you thought as you gave him a shy smile, “Ah..What kind of book is it?” You said slightly fixing your skirt as you stood up, He paused for a moment, “Well…I-” he hesitated before chuckling again, “It's a book about.. Erotic fiction,” he said scratching the back of his neck, avoiding your look, ‘Oh…not so innocent at all’ you thought as you gave him a smile, “Well, we have a lot,” you said chuckling at him, “yeah..” he muttered as he smiled back, he smiled brightly, “Follow me, Mr..?” You said walking towards the book section as you turned back to him, “In-Ho, Hwang In-Ho.” he looked down on your figure as he towered you, “Mr. Hwang…please, Follow me.” You said as he nodded, following you after.

“Here we are,” you said as you pointed at the bookshelves full of erotic fictions that Mr. Hwang asked you, “That's a lot…” he said as his eyes wandered through numerous books. In Front of him, his eyes twinkled at the different colorful and dark book covers, “What do you recommend? Ms..?” he said eyeing you, “Y/n L/n” you mumbled as he nodded, “Y/n..” he tested your name on his lips, he liked the sound of it, it's unique and beautiful—perfect for such a beautiful woman like you, “Well, Nice to meet you, Ms. Y/n.” He said extending his hand for you to shake, you looked at his hand, Fuck his hand look so big compared to yours, it's veiny and it looks soft—You extended your hand as you felt his soft touch against your skin, you shook it as Mr.Hwang didn't break eye contact with you, “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Hwang.” You muttered, “In-Ho, Call me In-Ho, Sweetheart.” You blushed at the name he called you, Sweetheart? You repeated the name inside your head, you smiled slightly to yourself, Mr. Hwang noticed it, he smirked as he pulls his hand away from your grasp, “So,” you breathe out, “It's quite odd for someone like you to find such books like these–” you said motioning the books around the two of you, he chuckled deeply, “I like reading, it's just,” he stopped for a moment, unsure of what's he going to say, “I wanted to try the uhm, this kind of genre.” He said as he slowly looked away from you, embarrassed. “I see, well, there's a lot of books that are great under the genre that you're curious about,” you said as you slowly wander your eyes around the bookshelves, finding a specific book that might interest Mr. Hwang—He glance at you; admiring your innocent features, the way you would look at him…it's pure innocence, your soft and pinkish lips, he also noticed your hands earlier , the way his own hands gripped yours, your delicate touch made him shiver a little, The way your skirt hugged your curves—it fits perfectly on you, the only thing he can think about is bending you over on your table as he raise your skirt, spanking your ass hard that'll leave marks on your skin for days, or maybe bending you over as he slid his fingers inside you, pumping in and out of your pussy teasingly as you beg him to go faster as you chase your high, he felt his pants get tight as he thinks about his unholy thoughts about you, for god sake—he’s a damn priest, why would he think such things like this? He'll burn in hell because of you, but his soul is worth burning if he sinned because of you.

He'll make you quiver, shake, and whisper his name like a fervent prayer.

His eyes grew darker, as you explained every detail of the book that you recommended to him. At this point he doesn't need that book, he needs you, he yearns for you.

“Mr. Hwang?” You called his name, “Hmm?” He muttered, snapping himself out of his thoughts, “I said, Would you enjoy these?” You said bringing the two books from your hand to his face, he looked at the dark cover of the book, it had skulls and roses on it, ‘Haunting Adeline’ he read the book title in his mind, “Oh..what is it about?” He asked tilting his head a little, “Well…it's a cat and mouse trope, he stalks this girl and do stuffs to her..” you said almost a whisper, he noticed that you were shy, he finds it adorable, “Ah, I see…that'll do, I'll let you know if I liked it or not,” he chuckled which made you chuckle too, “Alright, just bring it to my desk so I can log the book under your name,” you said as you gave him a knowing look, he nodded and followed you behind.

You logged the book under his name and asked for his details, “Sorry but…what's your name again?” You asked slightly embarrassed. That's a big lie, Of course you know his name. He chuckled, “Next time…I'll make sure you'll remember my name.” He teased as he deeply chuckled, the sound of his chuckle sent shivers down your spine, “It's Hwang In-Ho, Sweetheart.” There is it again, that little nickname. “Right, I'll make sure to remember it this time.” You gave him a smile as you gave the book to him, “Here you go, Mr. Hwang.” he grabbed the book on the table, still looking at you, “I told you to call me In-Ho, sweetheart.” he said as he grinned, “In-Ho…Alright.” You say as you nodded, he left after that.

In-Ho went out of the Library, his mind is full of your image all he could think about is Y/n. Y/n. Y/n. Y/n. He can't stop himself from thinking such things about you, he feels disgusting, pathetic—he’s a fucking priest! First, he borrowed a book that it's clearly not appropriate for him to read, second, the way he imagined how he will bend you over and fuck you all over the bookshelves in that library makes his pants tight, he groans to himself as he reach his house, throwing the book on the coffee table, he sat down on the sofa as he questions himself about what he just did a couple of minutes ago.

Reading is one of In-Ho’s hobbies. He likes to read any kind of genre of books, he owns tons of erotic fiction in his home, it sounds odd that a priest who's supposed to be reading bibles and pray every day and night likes to read unholy fiction novels. But, earlier at the library it's his first encounter with a woman like you, you're beautiful unlike other women that he had one night stand with, Christ—he’s a priest and he does one night stand?!—He likes how calm you are, how cute you are when you get shy or stutter a little when he looks at you, he yearns for you, he wants you badly, and he'll make you his no matter what.

You sat on your chair doing paperwork as the priest from earlier came across your mind, you thought of how handsome he is for a priest, how veiny his hands are, how fit he is—is he really a priest?—how he looks at you with those eyes, it's not just a normal look, it's the hungry gaze, how his pupils dilate when he looks at you, it's weird because priests should be reading bibles instead of erotic fictions, right? Also…a dark romance book too? You wonder if he likes to read books like that, you wonder what book is his favorite, or where and what church is he a priest on because you want to see him on that altar speaking words of god as you hear it as words of lust, how you want him to moan your name like a prayer, spread your folds like a page from a Bible, or bend your back on the table like how he bends the spine of the book where words of god is written, you feel a pool of wetness on your thighs as you squeeze them together, it feels so illegal, thinking this way, it's filthy and disgusting, Yet you love it.

Author's Note: Aaaaaaa omg thank you for reading my works, we're so close on 300 flowers!! I'm so touched for having such kind and loving readers like y'all:(( I'm going to keep publishing my works for y'all! More updates soon! Thank you!🖤🥺

[bedlam-barbie]

Crawling back to you

Or Attention part 2

Part 1 Part 3

Pairing: In Ho x recruiter!reader ; slight salesman x recruiter!reader for the plot

Warnings: hurt no comfort,some suggestive language, reader has BPD, mentions of mental illness

Summary: 3 months after that faithful night in the club, they meet again, only this time, the Frontman was not going to let her go so easily. 

Word count: 4.2k

Author’s note: I am so beyond grateful for all your comments and likes! I was truly not expecting for you to like my work. I was half expecting it to flop lol. Anyway, I am unsure where to go with this story if I should leave it as a two part or write more. So please tell me if you have any ideas or suggestions regarding the direction it should go in. In other news, it kind of got me excited to write for the Salesman as well. So please let me know if you are interested in a Salesman centric one shot. The Salesman’s name will be Gong Yoo as I am not creative enough.

The room was immaculate, every detail meticulously curated, as though plucked straight from the pages of an opulent design catalogue. Rich, dark drapes cascaded elegantly over the towering windows, leaving just enough of an opening to let the faint shimmer of stars peek through, casting a delicate glow into the space. Furniture in nude fainted colors. The air carried a quiet sophistication, but it felt almost surreal. If she didn’t know any better, she might have believed she’d just had sex in a high-end furniture showroom.

She quietly put her bra and underwear on, starting her search for the rest of the clothes throughout the apartment. The man she had just slept with was watching her every move from the top of the king size bed, an amused smirk on his lips.

“You know most women would jump at the opportunity to spend the night with me”

“Please, you already know I am not most women” she replied rolling her eyes. “Have you seen my shirt?”

“And what do I get if I help you?” he asked coily, slowly moving towards the woman like a predator watching its prey.

Her face turned to meet his, his eyes taunting her looking for a reaction. She tilted her head and gave him an innocent look. One of her hands sneaked around his neck, her fingers playing with his dark locks.

“Nothing” she said simply and then yanked him by his hair downwards. “We have an agreement, Gong Yoo, and I don’t very much enjoy when my toys overstay their welcome.”

“Tsk, and here I thought we were friends” the man replied amused, a sharp knife appearing suddenly, its blade now resting just under the woman’s chin.

Her soft giggle filled the room at the sight of the blade. This was exactly why he was her perfect match in her nocturnal activities. She did consider the Salesman, a friend of sorts. Well, as good of a friend a psychopath can be. Her head moved slightly, enough for the knife to press between her lips. Her tongue danced around the silver metal.

“And I thought you knew who you were sleeping with” she said casually. “Now, I do need to leave, we have an early flight tomorrow morning.”

She let go of his hair and took the sharp object out of her mouth. His body was still pressed to hers, wearing nothing and God he did look good. But somewhere in the back of her mind, was a familiar older face, chiseled to perfection, dark orbs full of secrets that could stare into her soul who knew her inside and out. She quickly dismissed the thought, focusing on the scene in front of her instead.

“How could I forget? It’s not everyday that the games celebrate 30 years. How would you like to be my date?”

She was not easily surprised by the man. She had come to know him almost better than herself in the last 3 years. And much more in the last three months. It all started once the games of 2020 ended and they went out for their yearly blackjack event. The night began as a way to hurt their boss, but the more days had passed she realized she liked the Salesman’s company. Not in a romantic sense, but definitely sexually. It was a welcome distraction from work stress and more importantly. From him.

It was almost unbelievable how she let a man toy with her emotions again. A part of her wanted to yell that she was over the man behind the black mask, that his rejection did not sting at all, that she simply went home with the Salesman that night because she wanted to. Not out of vengeance. Gong Yoo had become in a weird way her safe space. While the man was deeply disturbed, she saw him as predictable. When the words regarding the gala left his mouth, she was speechless. He could read the confusion of her face and smirked.

“Well, darling, we both know why we started our little randez-vous. The Frontman will be there, no doubt with a date, so I believe it would be in our best interest to show up together.”

“Interesting, and what is in it for you?”

“Oh, I am sure you can find a way to thank me that night” his eyes were dark and intense, watching her every move.

“God you truly are a narcissistic psychopath, huh?” she asked giggling like a schoolgirl.

“And you are such a borderline cliché, my dear” his smirked grew. “Do we have a deal?”

“Absolutely.”

There was an undeniable comfort in the rhythm they had fallen into. Their days followed a familiar pattern: each would go about their routine, which, now that the games were over, mostly revolved around endless paperwork and researching potential recruits for the next year. The office was stark and quiet, tucked away in the bustling heart of Seoul. Some days, the real fun began after hours. They’d invent new ways to compete, often over the most ridiculous games, challenges that almost always escalated until one—or both—ended up naked in her apartment or his. The routine was theirs, equal parts playful and intimate, a strange solace in a world that had once been chaos.

The woman couldn’t lie, not even to herself—she wasn’t over the Frontman. In fact, she hated how deeply he still had a hold on her, so much so that even hearing his name felt like a fresh wound being reopened. Every thought of him sent a volatile mix of emotions crashing through her—jealousy, pain, anger. She presumed it was all of them but mostly she felt worthless, abandoned. The demons in her mind weren’t new; they had taken root long ago, feeding on every rejection, every unanswered plea. And every time she recalled that morning, it brought her back to feeling like a forgotten child, desperate for even the faintest trace of love. But she wasn’t that child anymore. She had stopped begging a long time ago.

So his invitation, although unexpected, felt like the right call. Although not wanting to admit it even to herself, it gave a strange sense of comfort that Gong Yoo would be there by her side and she did not have to face their boss alone.

As they stepped into the dimly lit ballroom, her eyes instinctively scanned the space, searching for the black mask—and, more importantly, the man behind it. It was clear he played a significant role in the event’s orchestration. The room demanded respect. Every detail, from the grand chandeliers casting a warm, subdued glow to the meticulously placed furnishings, exuded deliberate perfection. The air was crisp, almost unwelcoming, with stone statues lining the room, their lifeless eyes seeming to watch her every move with an air of expectation.

A symphony of classical music filled the space, the notes rising delicately from a live band tucked into a corner near the expansive dance floor. The atmosphere reeked of opulence and elegance, yet an undeniable chill lingered, making the grandeur feel eerily detached. Conversations hummed softly, muffled by the anonymity of the masks each attendee wore. The VIPs, ever distinct, were adorned in elaborate gold masks, while the guards stood out with their pink ones. Management’s masks, jet black and severe, carried an air of authority, while hers—and those of the other recruiters—were a deep burgundy, striking but unmistakably subordinate.

She opted for a long gold dress. Her gown was a statement in itself, perfectly at home in the opulence of the ballroom. The fabric shimmered like molten gold under the dim light, every movement catching the soft glow of the chandeliers above. The structured corset-like bodice hugged her figure, cinching her waist and giving her the regal posture of someone who belonged in a room like this. The neckline swept off her shoulders, its draped detailing softening the otherwise commanding presence of the gown, leaving her collarbones and shoulders beautifully exposed.

The skirt flowed effortlessly to the floor, its subtle draping at the hip enhancing her curves and giving her an almost statuesque elegance. It was the kind of dress that didn’t just demand attention—it commanded it. Her strappy gold metallic sandals clicked against the marbled floor. Gong Yoo wore a burgundy suit perfectly tailored to his measurements, looking almost like her perfect accessory. They walked arm in arm to the bar.

“You clean up nicely, darling” his voice purred in her ear. “All of this for little old me?” he added mockingly.

“You know it, baby,” she whispered playfully. From the outside, they looked like the perfect couple. Too bad her eyes were looking for a particular figure in the sea of bodies.

And then she saw him, At the grand balcony overlooking the masses. The Frontman was a picture of restrained elegance, dressed in a sharply tailored black suit that exuded authority and quiet sophistication. The fabric was rich and matte, absorbing the dim light that filtered through the grand balcony. Beneath the perfectly cut blazer, a matching black vest hugged his frame, its buttons glinting subtly, accentuated by a delicate chain that trailed from one pocket—a subtle yet striking detail that added a vintage edge to the modern ensemble. His tie, jet black like the rest of his attire, was perfectly knotted, a seamless continuation of his sleek, monochrome look.

Seated on the grand balcony, the ballroom’s muted hum stretched out before him, but his focus remained inward. A glass of deep amber liquor rested casually in his hand, the light from the room catching the liquid’s warmth. His  posture relaxed but deliberate, the weight of unspoken thoughts settling on his sharp features. The boutonniere pinned to his lapel—a delicate arrangement of soft blooms—offered the only contrast, a fleeting touch of life against the otherwise dark, striking uniform. His familiar mask perfectly put onto his face. For just a moment, she forgot how to breathe. It was as if he felt her eyes lingering on him and instinctively went to her.

He raised his glass in her direction and tilted his head slightly before resuming his chat with presumably Il-Nam. The minor interaction made her pulse raise, blood rushing to her ears. God, why was she acting like a stupid little girl with a crush? Was he right that morning? Was she that pathetic? She quickly downed a glass of champagne.

“Atta, girl” Gong Yoo said amused. “ Just remember this is not the place for table dancing”

“Hilarious, does the humor come with the personality disorder or did you pay extra for that?”  she asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Who said I am wearing any?” she replied, smirking slightly.

“There she is.” He laughed, a sparkle playing behind those eyes. “Maybe you should stop speaking like that or I might come to collect that favor you owe me.”

“That’s if you can catch me before I turn into a pumpkin, Mr. Salesman. Now come on, I would like a dance” she replied innocently.

“Your wish is my command, darling”

As they weaved their way through the sea of elegantly masked couples toward the center of the dance floor, her gaze instinctively flicked to where she had last seen In Ho. But he was gone. Still, she could feel him—his presence lingering like a shadow, his eyes tracking her every move from some unseen vantage point. It sent a chill down her spine, but she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it. Not tonight.

The quartet began a new melody, its hauntingly beautiful notes echoing through the grand ballroom. Taking their positions, she and the Salesman fell seamlessly into the rhythm, their movements effortlessly synchronized. His precision was remarkable, each turn, step, and sway executed with an almost mechanical flawlessness that both impressed and unsettled her. He led with quiet confidence, his hand firm yet gentle on her waist, guiding her through the intricate dance as though they’d rehearsed it a hundred times.

Her gown shimmered with every twist and spin, catching the light as their bodies moved in perfect harmony. For a moment, the rest of the room seemed to melt away, the opulent surroundings fading into the background. Yet, even as she danced, the weight of unseen eyes bore down on her, a reminder that the game they were all playing was far from over.

As Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons no 8 : Winter began to play, a chill swept through her, and with a sudden turn, she felt a cold hand grip her arm, pulling her toward him. Her breath caught in her throat. No—it wasn’t just any man. It was In-Ho. Her In-Ho. God, how she wanted to slap herself for thinking of him like that. With flawless precision, he guided her every step away from the eyes of Gong Yoo.

“In-Ho,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Hello, little dove,” he replied, his tone heavy with menace. “Did you enjoy playing house with Gong Yoo?” His words dripped with sarcasm.

She could feel herself getting angry again. How dare he speak to her this way after he was the one who pushed him towards the other man, himself?

“Funny. Almost as funny as your face that night in the club.” She replied coolly, maintaining his gaze. Although she could not see his face, she felt his body tense up , his grip on her waist hardening as well.

“Are you in love with him?” he asked directly.

“What is between me and Gong Yoo is none of your goddamn business. You are the one who threw me out like a rag doll you were done playing, or don’t you remember that? And now you are doing what? Ambushing me?”

Her words cut through the air like a knife, a sarcastic smile plastered on her face trying not to raise her voice. Although she did love indulging in creating chaos, she believed there was a time and a place. Surrounded by her colleagues and all the potential donors for the games? Not a bright idea. There was a certain way she enjoyed chaos, calculated, ruthless, like a contained flame. Moreover, the woman was very much aware that tonight In Ho was to be selected as the new Host by Il-Nam. As much as she hated his guts, she would put on a show, a pleasant smile and clap for the man. That being said, it was taking everything in her power not to yell and hit him.

“I knew you were not going to pick up my calls so instead I opted for a more discreet way. I wanted to talk to you about what happened.”

“What is there to talk about? We fucked, I thought you loved me since that’s what you claimed and then you threw me out. I was being a stupid pathetic girl. There is no big mystery to elucidate.”

Even speaking of what had happened, made her feel mortified. How mortifying it all sounded on her lips. Her eyes were searching the crowd for her date, hoping he would swoop in and save her, but he was nowhere to be seen. Serves her right for believing that he was actually a friend.

“If you are looking for Gong Yoo, Il-Nam wanted to speak to him.” The Frontman spoke as if reading her mind. “Your sociopath in shining armor has more important matters to attend to” he added.

Although she could not see her face, she felt a flicker of jealousy in his words. The mask he wore was impenetrable, but something in his voice betrayed him. A part of her wanted to kiss his worries away to tell him how everything between her and the Salesman was nothing but a physical affair. She would have taken him into her arms, taken his mask off and caressed his handsome face. Snap out of it, you are truly pathetic.

“As much as I loved this dance of ours, Sir, I fear, I need to go and powder my nose, otherwise I might have to shoot my brains out” she said, a fake smile playing on her perfect lips.

In-Ho sighed, but he released her as the final notes of the song drifted into silence. She bowed respectfully, her movements precise, and he tilted his head slightly in her direction—an almost imperceptible acknowledgment. For a moment, she stood still, her gaze lingering on him. But then, with a practiced smile, she turned and made her way toward the restrooms, weaving through the crowd.

Her body shook involuntarily, the emotions bubbling up inside her like a storm. A rush of anger, bitter and raw, mixed with an ache deep in her chest. It felt like her heartstrings were being pulled and twisted, as if every step forward was one taken away from the person she used to be. She clenched her fists, her perfectly manicured blood red nails digging into her skin, the sharp pressure enough to draw blood from the palms. The sting spread through her hands, but she didn’t flinch. She couldn’t afford to. It was the only way she knew how to keep the chaos at bay—how to stop herself from spiraling into a panic attack, or worse, breaking down in front of everyone.

Her method wasn’t graceful, but it was hers. Unrefined, perhaps, but effective. It anchored her, forcing her to stay in the moment, to keep the lid on the storm inside.

Once inside the restroom, she leaned against the sink, her fingers trembling as she fumbled for the powder in her clutch. The mirror in front of her reflected a woman she barely recognized: the smile from moments ago still lingering in her eyes, but beneath it, there was something fractured. Something torn. She closed her eyes for a brief second, taking in a steadying breath, and then began to pat her face gently, as if each motion could somehow smooth out the tension knotting inside her.

Her hands moved automatically, as they always did when she needed to hide what was truly going on. She applied the powder with care, trying to ignore the way her heart was racing, the way her mind threatened to break free from its restraints. Each tap of the puff against her skin was a moment of false peace—a temporary illusion of control. She hated it, but at least it worked.

With one final sweep of her hand, she put the powder away and adjusted her hair in the mirror. She could hear the music still playing softly in the background, but all she could focus on now was the quiet rage that swirled within her. She wasn’t ready to face him again, not yet, but she would. She always did.

Taking one last breath, she straightened herself up and walked back into the crowd. No one would see the cracks. She made her way outside in the gardens. A beautiful labyrinth laid before her eyes, flower bushes in her sight. Her hands opened her clutch again and pulled out her case of cigarettes, carefully taking one out and lighting it. As she took the first drag, she felt her heartbeat slowing down, closing her eyes. His scent lingered in her nostrils. Musky and seductive mixed with his body odor. The same scent she spent hours scrubbing off her skin in the hot shower after the night they spent together.

“Can I have one of those?” his voice rang behind her.

“What? Are you stalking me now?” she asked harshly without moving an inch.

“No, the atmosphere was stuffy and my social battery in speaking to the VIPs was slowly drained”

He sounded sincere, she thought, though she didn’t give him the satisfaction of another glance. Without a word, she reached into her bag and handed him one of her Marlboros. In-Ho removed his mask, setting it down gently on the marble fence. The action was deliberate, almost ceremonial, as if the mask itself deserved reverence.

They stood there in an uneasy silence, the kind that hung thick in the air, neither of them willing to break it. The Frontman searched for her eyes, but she refused to meet his gaze, doing everything in her power to avoid it. Instead, she focused on the cigarette between her fingers, drawing in a steady breath of smoke, feeling the burn in her lungs.

She took a sip from the glass of champagne she had grabbed on her way outside, its coldness a fleeting distraction from the heat building inside her. Above them, the stars twinkled, casting a soft glow across the garden, and the faint hum of music drifted from inside the building. If it weren’t for the tension hanging between them, the scene would have almost been romantic. The flicker of stars in the sky, the music, the champagne—everything about the moment was meant for ease, for connection. But there was no peace here, not with him, not with the weight of the situation pressing down on her.

She clenched her jaw and took another drag from her cigarette, determined not to let her mind wander too far.

“You look breath-taking,” he admitted, breaking the silence.

“Thank you” she replied coldly, but his compliment awakened something inside her. Warmth pulled through her body.

“You know, gold was my ex wife’s favourite colour” In Ho spoke, his eyes trailing in the distance.

The woman looked up to him and for the first time he saw how handsome his face was looking under the stars. Although a part of her wanted to quiet him, she decided against it, instead opting to understand where this little confession was going.

“She loved gold and white roses and those American pancakes that I know you also enjoy so much” he continued. Her eyes looked at him with caution, almost testing to see where the conversation was headed.

“What happened to her?” she asked softly.

“She died.” He admitted while taking another drag from the cigarette, looking down. “You know she loved Vivaldi’s seasons, particularly winter number 8. She always said it reminded her of me”

“Cold, sharp, determined. I can see that.” The woman replied quietly. “But also oh so captivating and tragically beautiful” she added, her words more of a whisper to herself.

His eyes lifted to meet hers, and for a fleeting moment, the tension dissolved, leaving only a fragile, unspoken intimacy between them. In-Ho hadn’t expected it, the sudden wave of tenderness that swept through him, but it was undeniable—and strangely welcome. Something ached deep within his chest, raw and unresolved. Perhaps it was the pain of speaking about his late wife after so many years, or maybe it was the way the moonlight kissed her skin, making her seem almost otherworldly, like she didn’t belong to this grim reality they both inhabited.

He wanted to pull her into his arms, to bury his face in the warmth of her shoulder and murmur apologies that had long been buried beneath layers of regret and silence. He wanted to tell her how sorry he was—for everything. But words stuck in his throat, too heavy to form.

Instead, he flicked his cigarette against the marble, extinguishing it with a sharp twist of his fingers. The ember died quickly, leaving only a faint wisp of smoke curling into the night air. His hands drifted back toward the cold, familiar weight of the mask. It was easier that way—to retreat behind the impassive facade, where vulnerability couldn’t touch him.

But for a single beat, he lingered—just long enough for the ache inside him to remind him of what could never be.

“Are you and him a couple?” In-Ho asked suddenly, his eyes going back to her, studying her face.

“No,” she laughed dryly. “I am not that stupid, I am very much aware of the kind of person Gong Yoo is. He is great in bed, but I am not naive enough to think I can save a psychopath”

“Then why are you here, with him?” Curiosity took the better of him before he could stop himself.

The woman hesitated, wondering if there was any point in answering. Silence might have been safer, but perhaps it was the champagne loosening her resolve—or the charged atmosphere pressing in around them. Something inside her shifted, compelling her to seek his gaze, searching for answers she wasn’t sure she wanted to find.

Was that jealousy lacing his voice? Pain? Or just cold, detached curiosity? After all, the Salesman had taken away his favorite toy. But was that all she had ever been to him—a possession, something to flaunt and control? The thought twisted uncomfortably in her chest.

She clenched her jaw, torn between bitterness and intrigue, unsure whether she wanted to push him for the truth or leave it buried where it belonged.

“It sounds insane, but I know what I get when I am with him. The lines are clear, I can see his intentions behind every gesture. I don’t have to worry myself to death about what he wants, I already know it. Sex, an accessory on his arm, a thrill. Someone that challenges him. He is easy”

“Unlike me”

“Unlike you” she confirmed while finishing her own cigarette.

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

Enough

Player 001 x reader [SMUT]📸

Masterlist <- Comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Brat reader, brat tamer Young il

“I fucking hate it here” you declared to the group of guys you hung with. Gi Hun looked at you, while Jung Bae voiced his agreement, Dae Ho… well, Dae Ho stuffed his face.

(Y/n), it’s honestly not as bad as it -“ young il began.

“Are you fucking stupid?” You looked at him in disbelief. His eyes widened as you spoke to him in such a disrespectful manner, “seriously, Young il? “Not as bad”?! We could’ve fucking died, last game… don’t you remember?” You tapped your temple.

“Well, we didn’t die” he said, his voice small. He didn’t know what to do; scold you for how you spoke, or kiss you for it.

“No maybe not. But seriously? What about next game, huh? What about the game after that?” You questioned him. You stood, getting in his face as he sat. “Are you dense?”

“That’s enough, (y/n)” he said calmly. He loved seeing you riled up, it excited him. You were a hot head, could be a problem, but he could handle problems quite well.

“Obviously not. Because your moronic ass thinks it’s “not as bad”” you mocked him. The other men had excused themselves, you were in the midst of an explosion and they didn’t want to get hit by the shrapnel.

“(Y/n)” he said again. “I said that’s enough.”

“You don’t understand what enough is” you replied, your voice escalating. “You seem to think that just because they feed up, and give us beds, and clothes, I’m wearing a 3 day old blood stained shirt” you tensed thinking about it.

“Enough!” he said, standing he got in your face. “You think I like being here? No. But I’m trying to make them beat of it. You think I don’t have something to go back to? I do. I have parents and a fucking brother. You think I don’t know how you fucking feel? I do. I don’t want to be in here either” he said. “But if you think for a single second I’ll sit down and let you talk to me like I’m a fucking idiot, you’re so fucking out of your mind.”

You were backed against the wall. Your lips just barely touching his. The air between you too was thick with sexual tension, as the air around you always was. You took a breath, gearing yourself up for more argument.

“Shut up” he said. “I don’t want to hear talk of it anymore” you obeyed quietly. You shrunk, the weight of his presence was heavy. You pouted and walked away, knocking his shoulder with yours. The PA system warned that you had 5 minutes before bed time. You chose to lay down as far from Young il as you could.

He looked at you, you were so mad at him. Yeah, everything was going according to plan but you were so fucking angry it turned him on.

He awaited the dead of night, when he was sure every player was asleep. He found his way to you.

“(Y/n)” he said quietly .

“Don’t fucking talk to me” you said. He smiled, his cock jumped. God how he loved a fucking challenge.

“Don’t give me attitude” he replied, moving your body to be in bed with you.

“Get out of my bed” you say. “Before I pummel your fucking face in”

“Wow, such fighting words for a princess” he answers, wrapping his arms around you.

“Young il”

“Yes, princess?”

“Get your dick off my ass” you spit. “I can feel it.”

“My god, you’re so sharp. What will make you feel better hm?” He pondered.

“Getting the fuck out of here” you answer curtly. You weren’t going to lie to yourself, the way he was diffusing you right now was intoxicating. Young il was intoxicating, he was like a drug. You loved fighting with him, always pushing buttons to get him to tower over you, just so you could weasel your way out. You knew exactly where this was going to go.

“No, you’re tense. I can feel it.” He remarked. “You’re so frustrated, aren’t you?” He coaxed. He knew he found your sweet spot as you leaned your body against him.

“Maybe.” You say, not willing to admit that you wanted him. His hand snaked down your pants, your breath getting caught in your throat. His fingers brushed your clit. “Please” you pleaded breathlessly.

“Oh? Do you want something from me?” He asked. You hummed your response. “Well, just as well, I need to know what you want, angel. I can’t read your mind”

“Touch me… please” you asked quietly. Arousal coating your voice.

“Aw, you said “please”” he chuckled. “I guess I have to give in since you’re being so sweet” he circled your clit softly with his fingers. “Such a sweet little girl” he whispered tauntingly in your ear.

“Shut up” you said. He motions stopped.

“I’m sorry, you said stop?” He asked, you groan in frustration, bucking your hips against his hand.

“No, i said “shut up”” you repeated, his hand stayed frozen in place as you moved against it, seeking friction. A wicked grin spread across his face.

“Oh, i see” he roughly inserted 2 fingers in side of you. You whimper quietly. “Is this what you wanted angel? To be wrapped around my fingers and whimpering like the little depraved girl i know you are?” You bit your tongue, any wrong words could stop this in an instance.

“Yes daddy” you breathe out heavily. He looked down on you, his cock straining in his pants.

“Can I use your pussy, please?” He asked, not really a question but more of a warning on what he’s going to do. You nodded feebly.

“I can’t hear you” he responded patiently.

“Yes. Please” With a swift, almost violent motion, he pulled out his cock and spun you around to face the wall, pressing your front against the railing surrounding your bed.

“Wait we have to be quiet” you exclaim

“Shh, no one will care. Now, bend over and present yourself to me like a good little slut." Young il replied. His hands roughly palmed your ass, spreading your cheeks wide as he aligned his rigid member with your dripping entrance once more. With a harsh thrust, he buried himself balls-deep inside you, his pubic bone grinding against your clit. “That's it, take my cock like you were made for it,"

A sinful moan slips from your lips as you take his cock gratefully

“Please Young il, use me” you begged. Young il's grip on your hips tightened as he began to piston in and out of you with brutal force, each savage thrust jolting you forward against the railing.

"You want it rough, huh? You want to be used like a cheap whore?" His words were punctuated by the lewd slap of skin on skin, the sound echoing through the quiet room. Young il reached around to fondle your breasts, pinching and tugging at your nipples as he drove into you relentlessly.

"Yeah, that's it, moan for me," he snarled, his pace increasing until the stairs creaked under the force of his thrusts.* "Let them hear what a filthy slut you are for me. Begging to be fucked, screaming my name..."

He brought his palm crashing down across your ass, the sharp sting making you yelp and arch your back into him. He repeated the blow again and again, each slap marking your ass with his possession.

“You like that, you dirty little cumslut?” He spat, he breathing ragged with lust. “You want Dady to claim every inch of you?” His fingers delved down between your thighs roughly circling your clit furiously at your clit as he continued to pound into you. The combined sensations sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Come on, (y/n), I can feel you tightening around me” Young il growled, his thrusts growing erratic. “Give it to me, let go and soak my cock with your juices” he begged.

“Oh, Young il, I’m going to cum.” I say as i try my best to keep quiet. My feeble attempt at not possibly drawing anymore attention to your bed. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your soft skin as he felt your inner muscle start to spasm around his cock. “That’s it, cum for Mr, (y/n). Milk my dick dry with that sweet little cunt”

His own release was imminent, the pressure building at the base of his spine. With a final and brutal thrust. Young il buried himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsating as he spilled his cum deep within your quivering depths.

“Fuuuck, (y/n)” he groaned. “Take it all” As the tremors of your orgasm subsided, Young il slowly withdrew from your spent body, his softening cock slipp`I``no free with a wet pop.

“Holy shit” you gasped as he collapsed beside you.

“Yeah?” He chuckled, cradling you in his arms. “I hope your attitude is gone now”

“Well, i think it’s subsided for now” i agree curling into him. Sighing with contentment. A big yawn left your tiny body.

Taglist

@christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21 @nakiio5775 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @watasinekoru @player279achlys @galaxygurlll @angelofthorr

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Lyric Subgenres

This is a summary of the kinds of poems that lyric poets return to most frequently. It is convenient to be able to name a poem by its kind, because you can then compare it to others of the same kind. Examples:

Address to the reader - "Pray thee, take care, that tak'st my book."

Ballad - "There lived a wife at Usher’s well, / And a wealthy wife was she; / She had three stout and stalwart sons, / And sent them o’er the sea."

Child's poem - "The Little Black Boy" (Blake)

Dawn poem (aubade) - "Get up! get up for shame! the blooming morn / Upon her wings presents the god unshorn."

Deathbed poem - "I heard a Fly buzz — when I died —"

Debate-poem - "Body / O who shall me deliver whole / From bonds of this tyrannic soul? . . . / Soul / What magic could me thus confine / Within another's grief to pine?"

Echo-poem - "Then tell me, what is that supreme delight? Light. / Light to the mind, what shall the will enjoy? Joy."

Ekphrasis (poem on an art object) - "Ode on a Grecuian Urn" (Keats)

Elegy - "Felix Randal the farrier, O is he dead then, my duty all ended?"

Emblem-poem (allegorical object) - "The Sick Rose" (Blake)

Epigram (short, pointed poem) - "I am his Highness' dog at Kew: / And pray, good sir, whose dog are you?"

Epitaph - Underneath this stone doth lie / All of beauty that could die.

Epithalamion (wedding song) - "And evermore they Hymen Hymen sing, / That al the woods them answer and theyr eccho ring."

Hymn - "Jerusalem, Jerusalem / Lift up your gates and sing, / Hosanna in the highest . . ."

Inscription - "I the poet William Yeats . . . / Restored this tower for my wife George: / And may these characters remain / When all is ruin once again."

Letter - "This is my letter to the world / That never wrote to me."

Lover's complaint - "And wilt thou leave me thus?"

Lullaby - "Lullay, lullay, thou tiny child."

Muse-poem - "The Solitary Reaper" (Wordworth)

Nocturne - "'Tis the year's midnight, and it is the day's."

Pastoral (rustic poem) - "The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing / For thy delight each May morning."

Political poem - "Easter, 1916" (Yeats)

Quest-poem - "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? / Thou art more lovely and more temperate."

Religious poem - "I saw eternity the other night."

Romance - "The Eve of St. Agnes" (Keats)

Seasonal poem - "Sumer is icumen in, / Lhude sing cuccu!"

Self-reflexive poem - "I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers."

Shaped poem - "Easter Wings" (Herbert)

Song - "It was a lover and his lass, / With a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no . . ."

Twin poems - "The Lamb" and "The Tyger" (Blake)

Valediction - "Adieu, farewell earth's bliss."

Variations on a theme - "Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Black-bird" (Stevens)

There are many other such that one could name: the bird poem, the eclogue (a dialogue of shepherds), the georgic (a poem on farming), the testament (a poem making a will), the conversation poem (a poem of a middle, or familiar, style recounting a conversation among friends), and so on. The essential thing is to realize that almost any poem is a repeat of a preceding genre, perhaps an answer to it, perhaps a revision of it. Thinking “What kind of a lyric is this?” makes you more aware of its place in a genre tradition, and of its response to that tradition.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[otori0]

[druskels]

idk

[phyrestartr]

Prisoner of the Coast | Sukuna x M!Reader (WIP)

#SFW wip, reader is a water dragon, sukuna is a ronin, lore, mythology, there's plot, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, probably sad ending?, AU note: I JUST WANTED TO POST SOMETHING IDK

tags: @kamote-kuneho @prettorett @memedealer-exe @tr4nniez @better-imagination-9 @flowersatwork @memedealer-exe @silvern1006

Fear was not what he felt. Ryoumen Sukuna did not fear you who he faced; he was not a weak man. He was not a faint-hearted warrior. He was not a coward. But gleaming, ghastly eyes reminded him of mortality. Of the very human blood embedded in his veins. 

And the longer those round, moonlit eyes stared, the longer they sliced through the endless, empty blankness of the forgotten seaside palace, the louder that sound of drumming shook Sukuna's skull, against his ribs. But he was not afraid; he did not fear the gods. He would not fear one of their ilk in the flesh. 

The sound of water shifting echoed in the infinite void, dancing off distant walls as shards of light managed to catch on gentle, lapping wakes. Yet your head never moved an inch. Sukuna had seen other snakes do the same in his travels, keeping their heads still while their bodies squeezed and slithered–but their eyes were bound to fall closed. Yours stayed awake. Staring like the head of a Lion Dance puppet. Abnormal. Unaware of such abnormality. 

Sukuna gripped one of his swords tightly, ready to quick-draw if you'd chosen to strike. Gods were like that–hateful, horrible, honourless–and he expected nothing less from a beast like you; however, you'd been meandering towards him his entire stay, he realized too late. Slow. Quiet. Patient. The way one might approach a scared animal. 

I'm not getting paid enough for this shit. Sukuna found a smile, though. Maybe I’m getting paid too fuckin’ much. Who the hell does this thing need protecting from, huh? 

The question gnawed on his mind as your grandeur size became near-tangible–then, your eyes closed. Right when Sukuna started to make out the glint of scales against the moonlight of your eyes, the shimmering glow vanished, leaving only dappling sunlight streaming in from time-worn holes in the towering ceiling. 

“What do you want?” A man’s voice, your voice, asked from the shadows. The source was lower than before, ringing from a height so oddly human it gave Sukuna whiplash. 

“Ho? A shapeshifter?” Sukuna wondered, grinning. “You think you can take me on like that?”

“I don’t intend to ‘take you on’ at all, samurai.” You sighed and paced. Sukuna followed the sound of bare feet stepping on stones, coupled with the stiff drag of something scratching against the floor. Perhaps a tail? Perhaps fins? He didn’t know. The sunlight protecting him proved too stark against the shadows you dwelled within. 

“Someone has sent you here,” you decided. Sukuna felt your stare on him, though he could not see the twin lights. “My parents.” 

The grip on his blade lessened. “More or less. Said there was a godling that needed babysitting.” 

“Babysitting–?! The fucking audacity. Well, I promise you, this isn’t babysitting.” You snapped, bitter. 

Sukuna smirked. Never did he imagine a god-like thing would be so rough around the edges. “Then what would you call it?”

“Imprisonment.” You stepped toward the light when you said it, coming from an angle Sukuna didn’t expect, making him whirl in place and face the shadowed silhouette standing too close yet too far away. “And you’re my own, personal jailer.” Then, after a moment, you added, “Well. I guess it is glorified babysitting afterall. Expensive babysitting, at that. Congratulations on the easy money.” 

“That mean you’re gonna make this simple for me?” Sukuna asked. He tucked his arms into his sleeves as he waited for you to say something, but you only stepped back into the empty blackness filling your glorious cage. 

“Might as well,” your voice echoed, wilting, “I don’t care to leave this place anyway.” 

“‘N why the hell not?” He asked. 

But there was no answer; there was only the quiet splash of water, and twin ghost lights disappearing into the depths.

[mikey180]

UGHHHHHH I OWE YOU MY LIFE FOR THE HOH CONTENT

You seriously got me giggling kicking my feet twirling my hair thinking about gently kissing him after a hard day and pampering him by brushing his hair, and maybe giving him a massage to help him relax…….. maybe cuddling him after and talking to him softly while I run my fingers along his horn and his hair………. You have no idea how much I want to make that man feel safe and comfortable dude it’s unreal I love him

He will get as much hot chocolate as he wants

How could you do this to me (highly affectionate)

Actually, same. I feel like he's just so wholesome and sweet. It is a shame there's not more content on him, he was a beautiful design. Anytime you want him, I don't mind, dear.

[sugurusladyknightt]

what i'm thinking of right now is what if someone tried hitting on you out while out on a date with your love.

satoru would've stepped away to grab the ice cream that had you waiting in a line for what you thought would feel like forever. it was fun though, the two of you pausing your initial conversation about the days plans in favour of people watching and listening in on the very scandalous conversations of those who stood with you in line. your eyes meeting in shock or surprise every so often, doing your best to disguise your laughs and gasps with charades of idle conversation and your own scandalous conversations referencing drama that, mind you doesn't really exist in your lives at the moment.

while he was a way your getting hit on by some creep. it didn't come off that way initially, but man was this getting uncomfortable fast. can this guy not take a hint? he's asking for your number once again and your refusing once again politely at first, and more stern as the advances keep coming. your not used to people that won't listen when you speak. since when did back off mean come closer? since when did i'm not interested become im only playing coy? since when did im taken, leave me alone translate to my relationship isn't real or isn't important to me at all and id be happy throw it away for someone who doesn't understand basic boundaries and uses those god awful, suffocating, nauseating colognes?

drawing closer and closer to you. face far too close to yours, breathe stank too. yuck. he's gaining confidence now, fully convinced the 'boyfriend' you were talking about was an excuse you'd made up. your just nervous is all. playing hard to get.

panic starts to set into your bones. he's leaning back, all cocky now.

it's incredibly frustrating to know a simple no doesn't suffice, but unfortunately, we're all far too familiar with that fact.

come on doll face, this 'boyfriend' of yours doesn't have to know. quit playing so high and mighty i know you want me.

you think you might throw up. theres a confident smirk playing on his ugly mouth, when an ice cream cone hits him right in the centre of his face. comically sliding down his face, incredibly slow. the smirk drops so quick, and satoru gracefully enters the scene.

sun creating a halo around his fluffy white hair, your ho is glowing. signature classes sat pretty, low on his nose, his skin a little flushed from the heat (hence the ice cream) he's holding two more cones in his hands, walking towards you and and the offender, mock sympathy in his voice. as he expresses apologies that to just might seem sincere if your that stupid if you tried hard enough. grabbing the cone of his face to meet his eyes.

satoru has a incredibly towering stature, and while this wasn't news to you, it's quite impressive to see its advantages in real time.

peaking down at the face behind the sweet creamy mess, satoru recoils. "ew." his tone dripping with absolute disgust. turning around to make his "bleghh" face as he presses the now ice cream less cone into the man's hair. like a sad party hat above his head an sticks on of the other two, being careful to use the flavour he knows you like least, straight back into his face. massaging it around to cover as much of the monstrosity as possible before nodding proudly for his work. a pat on the make, and he's turing on his heel towards you with that blinding smile on his face.

dramatically, satoru drapes his hands over you shoulders, and leans his weight it, a pout on his strawberry glosses lips. "babyyyyy, the sight will haunt my night mares, scary people out there" he tuts standing straight with a satirical furrow between his brows. he should have been a theatre kid with all these dramatics. though you were greatful, and relived. he makes life feel so easy. it's contagious.

he looks down at you through his sunglasses small smile playing on his lips, face no longer contorted by an expression of discomfort or disgust.

satoru hands you the last cone. after all the two he got for him have served greater purpose than satisfying his sweet tooth. strong arm loosely hangs from you shoulder as you walk off leaving behind the cheap excuse of a man now covered in creamy deliciousness far too good him. your laughing at something satoru said as he glances back to see yhe newest addition to his hit list muttering to himself as he try's to get the ice cream of his over gelled greasy hair, fake designer top and horribly ugly face. satoru thinks he should just keep it as it was. ice cream was a far more pleasant sight. he looks back down at you eating away at your cone, there's a little caught at the corner of you lips.

smirking he leans down to lick it off, taking advantage of the angle of your head above his to make his eyes wide and pretty for you the same way he would when he was licking something else. your flustered, mouth open, paused mid sentence and your eyes wider than his now.

(the audacity of this man. nothing is gonna manage to kill you quicker than his charm.)

wide eyes portraying his faux innocence drop to a sultry lidded gaze leaning in to kiss away another but in the other side. your fingers going up to feel if there's anything there on instinct.

he stands up quick, back to his faux persona of a very mature and collected version of himself ( the kind no one would guess bounces of the wall when left unattended), pinching your check acting as if nothing had just transpired. like the subtle innuendo was felt only by you, and was nothing more than a fantasy of your own making. "are you blushing?? god baby your such a pervert. is that all i am to you???"

and he's back to the dramatics. rolling your eyes you shrug him of and continue. he stays, right where he is. watching you, his love walk ahead, he feels himself let out the dreamy exhale of a lovesick fool, he'll be the first to admit that for you, he is nothing else.

a quick jog is all it takes to catch up to your quick steps. arm coming back around your shoulder he leans in like he weighs the same as the feather. burying himself close to you. you smelt sweeter than ice cream. his hair tickles your neck, and your his face. the fabric of his shirt against your own.

"baby"

a hmm is all he gets in reply, to busy lapping away at your cone to pay attention to the kind, sexy clown you call you boyfriend.

he got you your favourite flavour after all.

extravagant gestures weren't something satoru shied away from, as we have gotten to see up close today. he was loud and carefree but he was yours. and you his. walking side by side, his arm around your shoulders, head resting close to you. he can feel your pulse (his posture must've looked horribly uncomfortable to someone watching from outside the moment shared by the two of you).

it's peaceful like this. despite the bustling crowds and busy chatter around you, you shared a feeling of peace in that moment. body held close to the one you loved, despite the heat your far from bothered by the proximity. he smells so good.

then it hits him.

no sweet treat :(

the gravity of the situation quickly makes it self clear to him, but his salvation, his light at the end of the tunnel, as always, is being held delicately in your hands.

"you wouldn't mind sharing with your brave, fearless, super funny, super hot, super saviour knight now would do you baby"

and he's batting his eyelashes all pretty and shit

[archgabrielangel]

uhhh rating the first and last lines of riordanverse series (yes all of these get above 5s 💀)

-The Lighting Thief

"Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood."

iconic. what's a halfblood? there's suspense. why percy??? tell me?? 10/10

-The Last Olympian

"For once, I didnt look back."

such a great ending, he's moving on and thinks he's gonna have peace for once. so naive. 9/10

-The Red Pyramid

"Look, we don’t have time for long introductions. I need to tell this story quickly, or we’re all going to die."

huh??? whatsgoingon???? even more suspense 10/10

-The Serpents Shadow

"Brooklyn House is open for buisness."

mediocre considering the other 2 books ended with the sentence just mixed around but I still like it;) 8/10

-The Lost Hero

"Even before he got electrocuted, Jason was having a rotten day."

not giving us much to work with. like ok?? also who even are u?? 6/10

-The Blood of Olympus

"The bronze dragon spread his wings and they soared into the unknown."

AJHSJSJS. need i say more? 10/10

-The Sword of Summer

"Yeah, I know."

hes so relatable. 100/10

-The Ship of the Dead

"But in the meantime, as Loki once said, we can choose to alter the details. That's how we take control of our destiny."

ho o o oly shit. 9/10

-The Hidden Oracle

"My name is Apollo. I used to be a god."

wow way to give it all away. but great segue since we all (kinda) knew what happened to him in BoO. 8/10

-The Tower of Nero

"Call on me. I will be there for you."

ohmygohsohmygoshohmygosh. this sentence is like a warm blanket being wrapped around your shoulders. it's like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day. I may have cried??? you'll never know. 1000/10 I totally did cry

(btw this is edited since I didn't spell thief right the first time😭)