even worse when the second part isn't a recommended post after you finish reading the first

just a little something i came up with :]

Youtube is full of ads, spotify is full of ads, tumblr is full of ads, pinterest is full of ads. Everything uses ai. Every new update makes the website/app worse. Youtube auto translates almost every video I want to watch. Sometimes pinterest only loads ads for me. Check out this new ai feature. Here's a new update that breaks ur laptop. Here's a new update that breaks ur phone. Why are u complaining about ur phone, just get the newest iphone lol. Join my patreon. Join my membership. Pay a monthly membership to get all features. Upgrade your membership to get even more features. Subscribe to netflix. Subscribe to disney. Subscribe to amazon. Subscribe to hulu. This content isn't available in ur country. This content was removed. This website was removed. This feature only exists for apple. This app only exists for apple. U need to a WiFi connection to play this game. U need an account. We need your email to finish creating this account. We need your number to finish creating your account. We need your id to finish creating your account. In order to delete your account please write an email. In order to delete your account you need a laptop. Oops our database was hacked and ur information was stolen. Ur data was sold from this random website u used once 10 years ago. Spam call. Spam call. Spam call.

i dont thinkg i will be able to sacrifice my yaoi time for my career bro

god bless mob psycho for having a main character who has a more dangerous kinda scary side to them and having the ending not be "yes!! we defeated the scary alter ego!!!" and actually be "everybody has a part of themself that they struggle with. in order to grow as a person you have to accept all parts of yourself". hell fucking ues

yes, ma'am

clark kent x editor!reader

Summary: Clark likes his editor, even if she's a little mean to him.

Word Count: 12.1k

Content: 18+, smut, clark is a disaster and a yearner, reader is a little mean but clark is into it, piv sex, oral (f!receiving), clark whimpers, light angst, reader is described as having hair

To Read on AO3

Daily Planet, Metropolis - 9:47 AM

The hustle and bustle of the newsroom is already well underway by the time Clark Kent makes an appearance. The way-too-big gray suit that he wore at least once a week is crumpled, the coat nearly hanging off his shoulder as he tries to make sure he hasn’t lost any of the papers that are haphazardly hanging from his open bag while balancing a cup holder with four cups of coffee from the nice coffee shop down the road.

Other employees step around the frazzled man as he makes a beeline for his desk, flashing smiles and good mornings to everyone along the way. He’s stopped just shy of his destination as Lois Lane pops out in front of him, eyes heavy with exhaustion, as she eyes the paper cups before plucking the one with the most sugar listed on the order sticker. “Thanks,” she mumbles as she turns around, making her way back to her desk, muttering some stuff under her breath about having to rewrite the byline for her article again.

Clark barely has time to stutter out a ‘you’re welcome’ before he realizes the missing coffee cup has caused the cup holder to begin to tip sideways, the other three coffees teetering dangerously close to disaster. Clark can already see the next two seconds flashing before his eyes: spilled coffee and the exasperated look from everyone around him.

That is, until a perfectly manicured hand shoots out from behind him, deftly swiping the cup holder from him before all of the cups spill over. He follows the hand to its source, landing on your face… your very stern, eyebrow cocked in disbelief, face. “Seriously, Kent?” you ask with a scoff as you set down the holder onto his desk.

I FUCKING LOVE THIS OH MY GOD

pairing: hwang inho x fem recruiter!reader

warnings: dubcon/noncon kissing, age difference, psychological elements, eventual smut, angst, slowburn.

synopsis: you were sick of his empty gaze haunting you. all you wanted was to start afresh.

part: 1/2

A/N: this is mid, i'm sorry. please ignore any mistakes. feedback is appreciated.

MASTERLIST | BUY ME A KOFI

When it hits 9 pm and I pull out this combo:

Ps: I have severe writers block. Help

BOOM SHAKALAKAA

You weren't new to the spotlight.

You were used to your body being picked apart — your walk, your lips, the shape of your collarbone in a campaign for Saint Laurent. But this?

This was different.

What started as a blurry photo, you walking into a hotel, him following behind, no words exchanged, just the faint suggestion of his hand at your back, turned into a wildfire of headlines. No statement. No confirmation. Just silence and a slow unraveling of every detail you thought you could keep for yourself.

They called you all kinds of things.

You told yourself it didn't matter. You told yourself he didn't care. And maybe he didn't, at least not in the ways that showed.

In the quiet of his Gangnam penthouse, legs tangled under expensive sheets, you'd once asked him, "Do you care about the noise?"

He didn't answer at first. He never rushed with words. Just reached for your ankle under the covers, fingers warm, and tugged you toward him with that maddening ease. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

"They don't know you."

He kissed you slow that night — the kind of kiss that didn't try to prove anything. Just stayed.

Still, the tension built with every new article, every speculative video breakdown, every side-eye at fashion week. And maybe you could've lived with all of it, if not for what happened in Cannes.

You wore archival Versace — black, backless, with your hair slicked up to show every angle they said made you "look older." It didn't matter. You still felt their stares when you walked into the afterparty alone. Their whispers, their camera phones tilted slightly down, like they weren't really recording but always were.

You knew where he was. He was always close.

You caught his eye near the bar, his suit immaculate, hair neatly styled, drink in hand. He didn't smile. He never did when eyes were on him. But he watched you like a man who already knew what it felt like to lose you.

And then Jay appeared. Mid-20s. Model-slash-actor. Pretty, confident, loud in the way only men your age could afford to be.

"Didn't think I'd see you here alone," he said, grinning like he knew something you didn't.

"I'm not alone," you replied, turning your body ever so slightly away.

"Right," he laughed. "You're with... him."

You didn't answer.

Jae leaned in, his voice dropping as he added, "Come on. You're gorgeous, but you're not dumb. He's old enough to be—"

"You done?" said a voice behind him.

Not loud. Not aggressive. Just there. Just him

Jay froze mid-sentence.

Byung-hun stood a step behind, posture relaxed, expression unreadable. But his voice cut through the air like a warning bell — quiet, and impossible to ignore.

Jay's smirk faded. He looked between you both, then backed off with a half-laugh, half-apology. "Didn't mean anything by it," he said. But he left fast.

For a few seconds, the world quieted. Just music, muted voices, and the space between you.

"You didn't have to do that," you said softly.

He didn't look at you right away. Just watched the crowd, unreadable as ever. "You didn't want me to?"

"No," you admitted. "I wanted you to do more."

His eyes shifted then. Slow. Sharp. He stepped closer, hand brushing your back with just enough pressure to make your breath catch. Across the rooftop, a camera flash went off.

You didn't flinch. Neither did he.

Let them take the picture.

You were done pretending you weren't his.

The internet did the rest.

A TikTok edit — you on the red carpet, walking ahead of him, hips swaying in couture. He pauses a step behind, gaze locked on you. The sound is slowed. A breathy remix of "Older" plays under the clip. The top comment reads: "He's looking at her like she's already gone."

Another post goes viral — a paparazzi shot outside a hotel. You're mid-laugh, head tilted back. He's looking down at you, one hand resting protectively at your waist. His other hand holds a phone. His body is turned toward yours like it's muscle memory.

Then came the video.

Leaked. Not posed. Just a quiet moment in his kitchen: you in one of his shirts, barefoot, slicing fruit at the counter. He walks in behind you, says something too soft for the mic to catch. You smile, barely. He leans down and presses a kiss to your shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world.

No makeup. No angles. Just him. Just you.

The comments flood in.

He didn't ask you to deny it. Never once asked you to hide. But you could feel the shift in him every time someone younger, prettier, bolder, tried to touch what wasn't theirs.

Sometimes, when you were lying in his bed after the city had gone quiet, you wondered if this was still about you — or about everything he thought he didn't deserve.

One night, on the balcony of a hotel in Milan, you found him standing with his back to the city. His sleeves were rolled up, collar undone, moonlight brushing the edges of his hair.

You stepped beside him, silent.

"Sometimes I feel like I'm ruining you," you whispered.

He didn't move. Just looked at you, steady.

"You're not."

"They don't take you seriously anymore," you murmured. "People think I'm a phase."

He turned to you fully now. You hadn't even noticed your hand curling into your sleeve, like you were bracing for something. He reached for it, gently, thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist like he was memorizing your pulse.

"They can talk all they want," he said. "But they don't get to touch you."

You didn't cry. Not then. But something in you softened, like tension finally released from the bone.

The morning you left for a campaign shoot in Paris, he didn't say much. Just walked you to the car, pressed a slow kiss to your temple before the door closed.

Someone caught the moment. Of course they did.

By the time you landed, it was all over social media: you in sunglasses, him in black. His hand in your hair, his mouth just barely grazing your skin.

The caption:

"Older men don't look at women like that unless they've already chosen them."

The comments:

You saw the post late that night, lying in bed in a Paris hotel suite.

You didn't reply. You didn't like it.

But you saved it.

And you watched it twice.

And then, just once more.

who wouldn't want to be his controversial young gf?

wattpad saw this first request box is open!<3

FORGIVE ME FATHER, FOR I HAVE SINNED [insp.]

Santiago Cabrera in For Greater Glory (2012) Charlie Cox in There Be Dragons (2011) Montgomery Clift in I Confess (1953) Heath Ledger in The Order (2003) Daniel Brühl in Intruders (2011) Joaquin Phoenix in Quills (2000) Michiel Huisman in Indian Horse (2017) Jean-Paul Belmondo in Léon Morin, prêtre (1961) Gael García Bernal in El crimen del Padre Amaro (2002) Mads Mikkelsen in At Eternity’s Gate (2018)

˖ ࣪✦ sangwoo × f reader | nsfw, mdni!

sangwoo’s weaved in and out of your life, blurring the line between a carer and a lover. old feelings of spite and shame resurface on your last night together.

sangwoo had a way of burrowing under your skin. like an itch you could never reach, unless you clawed into yourself and ripped the flesh apart just to get to him.

he always showed up just when seeing him was the absolute last thing you needed. and that was especially true for now, more than ever.

but when your phone lit up on the bedside table with an unknown number, you knew he was back for you— and you just caved. it’s all you knew how to do with him.