#me my loop earbuds

[torchickentacos]

I loooove slowed+reverb video game soundtracks on youtube, but so many of them have rain/campfire/etc ambience. and sometimes I like that, but depending on the specific ambience track, it sets off my misophonia and turns into auditory superhell for me (rain especially) so I need to figure out how to make these on my own

[lovevalley45]

accidentally blasted out my eardrums trying to move my laptop n pressed the volume button all the way up so ‘survive’ started up from EPIC and i nearly died

[theradicalace]

breakroom napped so hard i dreamed about being clocked in and working

[horanghaepower]

Trying to buy good earbuds for concerts and now my yt feed is convinced I'm either a percussionist or a dj

[melonpond]

I love you weighted blanket. I love you noise suppressing ear plugs. I love you heated blanket. I love you candles and lotion and fluffy socks and dim lamps and permanent blanket forts and anything else that makes the world a lil comfier and less overstimulating :)

[oetscop]

oh my god im so overstimulated today im like. constantly about to cry. i tried to just sit in the bathroom for a while to get away but ITS FUCKING PACKED IN HERE TOO!!!!!!!! hghhhhhh please leave me aloneeeeeee

[ggcassanova]

am i treating my earbuds worse or do they just not last as long anymore

[isasweetie]

‎♡‧₊˚ boat days with rafe are always prissy!readers favourite days.

you loved them because it felt like the one moment rafe’s mind wasn’t elsewhere. usually he was a stressed, impatient man, but when he’d find the time to take the yacht out far and just park it there and soak in the sun with you, he was always happy.

rafe was doing his morning workout while you soaked in the sun that reflected from the water, a shirley temple in hand that rafe made you at the bar. peacefully content, your stomach rested on the longue chair as your back tanned, glowing from the tanning oil that rafe had applied for you while complaining about how oily it felt and how he was gonna have to wash his hands.

with a sigh when you realize your drink is empty, you call rafe’s name to get you another one — not in a bratty way, you just knew rafe was always glad to keep you content, so he would make you another, even if he did mutter ‘i’m not your fuckin’ servant’ every time.

he comes over, pausing his workout. “yeah, baby?”

“can i have another drink?” you ask, turning over to lie on your back so you can face him.

“yeah, i got you,” he takes the empty glass and makes you another shirley temple, then brings it back to you. “need anything else?”

“umm..” you try to think, biting on your inner cheek. “dunno if i really want tan lines, can you help me untie my bikini top?”

“this isn’t france, baby, can’t sit outside with your tits out,”

“do you see anyone around? we’re in the middle of the ocean,” you ask. “didn’t know you were such a prude, just wanna tan my chest,”

“m’not a prude. fine, sit up. c’mon,” he relents, and you sit up.

his big hands fidget with the little bow on your triangle bikini, untying both knots. “there you go,” he pats your shoulder. “gotta go back to working out, you good here for like, fifteen minutes? not bored?”

“i’m fine. thank you rafe,” you smile up at him, pecking his lips while he’s still crouched down.

he nods, giving you one last look with his pretty baby blues before turning to go to the back of the boat to finish his workout.

you spend a bit of time on your phone while you’re still sat up, taking photos of the water, and topless selfies to absolutely send to rafe next time he’s at the office, and take sips of your shirley temple. then you apply some tanning oil on your front and tan that side for a little while, putting in an earbud to listen to some lana del rey.

after a while, you’re overheatting, even with your drink. but thankfully, rafe is feeling the exact same way. he finishes his workout and comes back to you all sweaty.

“hey,” he breathes out, taking the earbud out of your ear and stealing a sip of your drink so he can get his breath back.

“rafe!” you whine, swiping your drink back.

“usually when people say hey, you say hi back,” he says sarcastically, teasing you. “anyway, c’mon, we’re going swimming, i’m hot as fuck and you’re coming with me,”

you nod and he helps you up. he takes you to the edge of the boat. “we’re gonna jump, you good with that?”

“nervous,” you admit, staring off the yacht and into the blue water.

“you’ll be all good. i’ll hold your hand,” he assures, grabbing your manicured hand. “on three,”

he counts down, squeezing your hand each time. when he gets to three, he jumps and pulls you with him.

the water feels cold and refreshing against your warm body. you can’t help but think that your blowout is ruined from the water, but rafe will pay for another one if it upsets you. giggling, you resurface, looping your arms around rafe’s neck, topless chest pressed against his. “that was fun!”

“yeah?” he can’t help the little smile that appears at your happiness. “c’mon, let’s go again,”

with an eager nod, he helps you onto the ladder at the back of the boat, and you grab his hand when he walks you to the edge again. he counts down again, and you jump. it continues like that for 7 minutes until you get chilly.

rafe gets you a towel embroidered with his name (of course), and leaves you to warm up in the sun.

at the end of the day, you’ve changed into a spare sundress kept below deck, because rafe is cooking dinner in the mini kitchen on the yacht. you watch him cook, drying your hair off with a towel, then recurling your eyelashes and putting your lipgloss back on that wiped away.

you sit down back outside, both of you eating your dinner as the sky turns into this gorgeous swirl of pink, orange, and yellow while the sun dips down.

with the golden hour highlighting every feature on your boyfriends face, the feeling of your wet hair soaking the back of the dress, and putting the most delicious food in your mouth, you’re absolutely sure you’ll never get sick of this.

“i think the water is gonna tarnish my necklace,” you tell rafe gently as you help him wash the plates after. your hand subconsciously fiddles with said necklace, the one that has his initial on it. rafe’s very proud of that necklace.

“well we can’t have that, yeah?” rafe smiles, putting his hands on your waist. “we’ll buy you a new one tomorrow, hm? real gold this time, no cheaping out,”

you smile and nod, and he kisses you in a way that’s gonna screw you up forever. being with him is like paradise.

[vampirebiter]

guilty is such an addicting song tbh..

[iamthatonefangirl]

unexpected - nsfw bucky barnes

ngl I like this one🥺🥺 hope you do too. based on this ask

~~~

the second you ended up in Bucky Barnes' bed, he was completely taken aback.

he had been so used to your soft, quiet demeanor...

~~~

you were one of the administrative people that worked on the first floor of the building.

the first time he saw you, he had been on his way out of the building one day while you had been making photocopies. you had to be new, he determined; there was no way he wouldn't have noticed you before.

the more he paid attention to you from afar, the more he became aware of the way your coworkers always seemed to be socializing, but you were happy to put your earbuds in and keep working through your lunch hour.

thus, Bucky learned fairly early on that you were the kind of person that was quiet, kept to themself.

that was kind of ironic given the fact you worked in a building that screamed extravagance, that practically begged for the attention of not only everyone in New York, but everyone in the world.

the irony intrigued him.

he felt drawn to you, given that he was also the quiet, peer-in-from-the-outside type. but he didn't want to keep to himself when it came to you; he wanted to walk up to you, speak to you, and see if you would be willing to come out of your shell for him, too.

even though he hadn't gone out of his way to speak to a woman since... nearly a century ago, he couldn’t deny his attraction to you. even though you seemed shy, you still managed seem so carefree and unbothered. you were who you were, and that was that.

he admired that about you.

he eventually gathered the courage to come talk to you one morning. with a peace offering of coffee, of course.

as he walked into the building, he wondered, what the fuck do I say? why didn't I think this through before?

he ignored the way all your coworkers stared as he walked past their desks and right up to yours.

"hi," he said. "you probably already know who I am, but-"

"Bucky Barnes," you said softly. "of course I know you."

you proceeded to introduce yourself to him before quietly asking, "what brings you to my desk this morning?"

"it'd be wrong of me not to bring the pretty girl a coffee, don't you think?" it was cheesy and he knew it, but the way you smiled made him relax a bit.

and god, that smile of yours was sweet enough to melt his soul.

he asked you about your work, and you admitted you were shocked he might actually be interested in the kind of boring work you do.

"I'm not a hero like you, or anything," you told him with a self-deprecating laugh.

"oh, come on. your job is more important than anything we do," he told you with a genuine smile.

your flustered reaction made his heart warm. it was the same whenever he gave small compliments like that: you'd just smile, unsure of what to say, and look down as you redirected the conversation, smile still intact.

after a few weeks of watching you get flustered whenever he would compliment your intelligence, your smile, or anything really, he finally asked if you'd join him for dinner.

~~~

the fact that Bucky fucking Barnes of all people was asking you out threw you for a loop.

any time he came up to your desk to visit you, it immediately became the highlight of your day. it drew attention from your coworkers that you didn't necessarily want, constantly asking about him and what it was he wanted from you. dealing with them felt worth it, though, because you were the one on the receiving end of his attention.

you honestly had no clue what you were supposed to say to someone as charming and as handsome as him.

you knew what your mind was thinking whenever you saw him. but those nasty thoughts weren't exactly polite, casual conversation topics, now were they?

somehow, you managed to find the right words, and now you were going to have dinner with him.

you didn't know if you'd ever felt this excited or this nervous in your life.

~~~

you should've known he would be the most chivalrous man on the planet, given the time period he'd grown up in.

picking you up, opening the door for you, pulling out your chair for you...

he noticed how it only made you more flustered.

he paid the bill, obviously, and you knew the second he asked you if you wanted to come to his place, you would say yes.

~~~

the best way he could describe what he felt for you was pure adoration. you were so shocked by his polite gestures, it was truly adorable.

even better, you were so easily impressed. he could say anything about his job, and you would swoon, acting as though he'd just told you he'd solved all the world's problems.

he might have bragged a little too much about himself just to see that flustered reaction of yours, but that was neither here nor there.

every smile on your face, every soft laugh, every little stutter of yours made his heart jump in his chest.

he almost felt like he was imposing when he asked if you wanted to come back to his apartment. he didn't want to push you too far, didn't want to make you think that he expected anything from you. he would be totally fine if you just came over for a drink and a chat before he drove you home.

but the second the front door was shut behind you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him against you, leaning back against the door.

the sudden confidence took him by surprise.

"you wanna?" you whispered, looking down at his lips as you said it.

his mouth went dry as all his blood rushed south.

"yeah, doll. if you wanna," he whispered back.

he was ready to kiss you gentle and slow, take you back to his bed and make soft, sweet love to you that matched your soft, sweet personality.

your fingers found his hair, your grip tight, and you crashed his lips to yours. he about choked at the sudden motion, but no way was he complaining.

he quickly matched your fervor, kissing you back like his life depended on it. his thoughts went out the window as he focused all his desire into the kiss.

you kept pulling him closer, tugging on his hair hard enough to make him wince.

"shit, too much?" you ask, quickly backing off. you'd gotten ahead of yourself, and you were ready to start apologizing like there was no tomorrow.

"fuck, no, not too much. do that again," he orders, melding his mouth with yours once more, pressing his hips against yours more firmly as he pinned you against the door.

he held you there, keeping you in place and relishing in the delicious feeling of you yanking at his hair and digging your nails into the back of his neck. after a few minutes, though, he began to come back to himself.

"come on, you deserve better than a rough fuck up against the door," he tells you, completely out of breath. he's about to speak again when you interrupt him,

"what if I don't want better?" you utter. his eyes dart up to meet your gaze, and he sees the glassy look in your eyes, looking at him like he's a piece of meat. "what if I want you to take me up against the door, give it to me however you want it, sir?"

if his cock wasn't already hard, it was now.

"shit, you're something else, you know that?" he laughs to himself, considering the weight of your words. he should be a better man, should take you to his bed and hold you close while he takes his time with you.

"is that really what you want?" he questions. everything you're saying sounds like an absolutely devilish wet dream, but that's all he can think about: it sounds like a dream.

he can't fathom the idea of taking you like this just because it's what you think he wants.

"we can go slow. you don't have to-"

he can't even finish his sentence before you're interrupting him again.

"do you really want it slow? 'cause with the way your cock jumped when I called you 'sir,' I'm getting the impression you might want to have your way with me right here, right now," you tell him, your gaze roaming over his face from his mouth to his eyes, still kneading his hair as you say it.

he's rendered speechless.

"you want me to beg for it? get on my knees and convince you?" you mutter to him when he doesn't respond. "pretty please, Bucky?"

your words are about to send him into a spiral. he's about ready to grab you, hold you down while he does exactly what you asked him to and just use you for as long as he wants.

"you really want it that way, huh?" he smirks.

"unless that's not what you want," you backtrack, trying to give him an out.

no way in hell is he going to take it.

suddenly, his hands on your hips grip you so much tighter that you gasp at the pinch on your skin. his whole body is against yours, and you can tell he's not holding back anymore, his innate strength pushing you against the door. you couldn't move if you wanted to.

"you say 'stop' at any point, and I will, got it?" he whispers, his nose brushing against yours, feeling his breath on your upper lip as he speaks. you give an eager nod, and a smirk plasters itself on his face.

he looks you up and down, the necklace dangling on your chest, how pretty you look in your sundress, the sandals strapped to your feet.

"I want it off," he hisses, reaching for the fabric at your waist. "strip. now."

you kick off your sandals and he gives you enough room to yank the dress over your head, revealing the lacy set you're wearing underneath. in navy blue. his color adorning your skin only makes him feel that much more possessive, that much more appreciative.

"you wear this for me, baby?" he asks as he runs a flesh finger over the lace of your panties, slipping under the band and pulling before letting it snap back against your skin. it doesn't hurt, but you're so on edge right now that the motion makes you flinch. "answer me."

your hands have found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him like your lifeline. "yes, sir," you whisper to him, resting your head back against the door.

"good answer," he smirks once more, before continuing, "take off my belt. hand it to me."

your hands are shaky, but you're nothing short of ecstatic to do whatever he says. you look up to his eyes to find him staring back at you, as though trying to read your thoughts. your thighs clench as you maintain eye contact, pulling at the belt buckle and yanking the leather from its place around his hips.

he notices the way your thighs press together as you push the belt into his hands. he brings his hand up and into your line of vision, twirling his finger in the air to direct you to turn around.

"hands behind your back," he tells you once you're facing the door, pressing your cheek up against it. he doesn't give you a single second to follow through on the order before he's grabbing your wrists and yanking your hands behind your back, proceeding to bind them together tightly with the belt.

"next time you don't listen to me, this goes around your neck, got it?" he asks with a rough yank of the leather on your skin.

you barely contain the whine that falls from your mouth before responding, "yes, sir."

he pauses for a moment, assessing the way he has you pressed up against the door, admiring his handiwork where he’s tied your wrists.

"all good?" he asks you.

"I’m good," you affirm.

next thing you know, he's pulling you away from the door and stepping you back until you feel a soft rug under your feet.

"get on your knees."

you don't hesitate, not failing to recognize the plush of the rug under your knees. you silently thank him for it.

and then he appears in front of you, in all his beautiful glory. from the moment you met him, you imagined this, wondering what it would be like to fall to his feet, to be on your knees for him.

"you follow orders well, babygirl," he taunts, hands running through your hair and gently holding your scalp. he pushes your face up against the rough denim over his bulge.

you might come on the spot.

"never would've known you were such a little slut, you know that?" he says, continuing to hold your face against his clothed dick. "I quite like this side of you."

you finally let out a moan against him, your eyes shutting as you let him handle you.

he yanks on your hair suddenly, tilting your head back up to look at him. he seems to be inspecting you, taking in the sight of you on the floor in front of him. he releases one hand from your hair, moving it to press two vibranium fingers against your mouth. you don't hesitate, quickly parting your lips to let him push them inside.

"thought about putting that pretty little mouth on my cock, but I think you like this better, don't you? letting me fuck your face with my fingers probably makes you even more humiliated, even more wet for me, doesn't it?"

your eyes fall shut once more, nodding and moaning shamelessly around his fingers. your hands struggle against the binds behind your back, and the feeling of arousal pulses through you even harder at the reminder that you're truly at his mercy.

he watches you for a few minutes, thrusting his fingers in and out of your mouth as you begin to drool all over yourself, losing yourself more and more with every one of his movements.

"think I'll be nice to you tonight. think I'll fuck you through the bed instead of on the cold, hard floor," he tells you, pulling his fingers from your mouth and taking hold of your chin with his hand coated in your saliva. "what do you say?"

"thank you, sir," you moan out.

"good girl," he tells you, bringing his hands to your arms and helping you to your feet. his hands then dig into the skin at your waist, and you yelp as he tosses you over his shoulder, placing a slap on your ass as he does.

"don't worry, I'm not gonna drop you, pretty girl," he says as he walks, and you think he had to have been reading your mind.

the second you're splayed out on his bed, he's parting your thighs and pulling down the lace of your panties, then pushing a pillow under your hips to put you on perfect display for him.

"look so good for me like this, doll," he groans and begins to shed his own clothes. you watch with glazed eyes as he reveals his beautiful tanned skin, and then-

you're embarrassed by the moan you let out when you see his massive dick.

"don't worry, baby, I'll go slow," he whispers as he leans into your ear, kissing over your neck.

"no," you breathe out, desperation taking over. "just fuck me, Bucky."

"I'm not gonna hurt you," he whispers.

"but you don't know how good it hurts," you say, looking into his eyes. "please, please, I'll tell you if I can't take it. but god, I need it, Bucky. please, sir," you whine out, every last shred of your dignity gone, deliberately laying your soul bare for him.

fuck. he's fucked.

"goddamnit, doll," he tells you as he pushes your legs even further apart, bringing his hips in line with yours. "you really want it? then beg me for it again, or I won't fuck you at all."

you might sob when you hear that. "please, Bucky... wanted this for so long. want you to take what you want from me, please..."

you hear yourself continue a quiet litany of "please" over and over again.

"shit, need a condom," he says, as though he's just thought of it.

"I'm safe," you beg of him, "I need to feel you, Bucky, please..."

and by all means, he can't resist you.

you hear him practically growl, and then he finally presses in.

your noises are animalistic, completely raw and unfiltered at this point. nothing compares to that stretch, you want to tell him, nothing is better than the sting.

he does go slow, still worried about actually hurting you, taking care to watch your face the whole time. you're fucking gorgeous like this, hands bound, sweat dripping down your forehead, begging him to split you open.

"I'm not gonna last, fuck," he breathes into the skin of your neck, barely able to contain himself.

you take a few deep breaths and force the words from your throat, "me neither, it's okay..." the words come out so quiet as you focus on the feeling of him.

he pulls back and forces himself back into you, so fucking tight around him. at this point he's joined in on your cacophony of unabashed moans.

his hands hold your hips in place, letting loose as he fucks you into abandon.

this is exactly what you wanted, you think, as you feel him bury himself in your guts over and over again.

"Bucky, Bucky, I need-"

you don't have to finish your sentence before he's sucking his thumb into his mouth before pressing it to your clit.

"want you to come on my cock, like this, baby. can you do that for me?" he says, his own voice shaky as he loses his own composure.

"yes, sir," you whisper, and then you're bucking your hips up as much as possible to meet his.

you cry out as you come, your whole body having been waiting for this moment, to finally let go at the will of Bucky Barnes.

the view of watching you come for him is more than he can handle, and he's not far behind.

"w-where?" he grits out.

"told you. I'm safe," you whisper to him.

he should be smarter. he should pull out.

he doesn't.

he's letting go only seconds later, the warm feeling filling your stomach as he releases, buried to the hilt inside you.

he barely moves off of you before collapsing into the bed, completely worn.

you both take a minute, catching your breath, before you pipe up.

"my hands, Bucky," you begin, and he quickly sits up to undo the belt bound around your wrists.

you both lay back, and he pulls you in tightly against him, kissing over your forehead.

"I did not see you being the type to like it rough," he admits to you, tracing his fingers over the planes of your face.

you smile a little. "is it even fun if it's not rough?" you tease back.

"don't say that, I might take it as a challenge," he smirks.

"you can prove me wrong in the morning," you offer.

"yeah. in the morning," he confirms, and presses his lips to yours.

you both think the same thing to yourself: it's always the quiet ones.

~~~

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list part 1: (send an ask or dm to be removed)

@starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm @avengemepercy @mandoloriancookie @starstruck-cowgirl @doubledizzy22 @yvespecially @shereadzzz @blaineandergel @flow33didontsmoke @iiamlynn @belovedmoony @tellybearryyyy @doilooklikeagiveafrack @analovesmarvel @izzy698 @ketchumid24 @annabethboleyn @luv4koo @buckyseternaldoll @planetzeidy @thegirlfatherr @cieraboobear @wint3rbarnes

[tunaricebowl]

i don’t know which autistic/adhd/any kind of neurodivergent person needs to hear this but: make a “just in case” bag

this is a pic of mine. it contains:

loop earplugs on the zipper

prescription glasses with a clip on sunglasses attachment

my public transport discount card

a pen

a glasses cloth + wet glasses wipes (which can also be used to clean my hands if needed!

wireless earbuds in case my headphones give out

tips for my apple pencil + silicon covers if i need a different texture/the sound is too loud

a sanitary pad (not for me, as i had a hysterectomy, but i like carrying one around for my menstruating friends)

a pouch with hair ties for when my hair bothers me

autism lanyard (not pictured, as i put it in after i took it)

will i use these every day? not necessarily. but it’s good to have these all in one place in a little pouch so it’s easy to throw into my bag as i use different ones for different occasions. that way i don’t have to think about all these things individually.

it might seem like common sense for some people, but i didn’t think of this until recently. so i wanted to share this in case it could be handy for other people. some more ideas for what to put in your bag under the break. you can make this as big or as small as you like so some ideas may seem a bit big

powerbank + cables (preferably a powerbank that has a LOT of charge)

snacks (do keep an eye on the expiration date)

painkillers/emergency meds (same thing about the expiration date)

sewing kit

deodorant/perfume

mini fan

hand warmers

scissors/nail clippers (for when tags/threads/your nails are bothering you)

tweezers

lucky charm (i have my lucky cat keychain. it just calms me to have)

plushie/stress ball/fidget toy

mints/a mini toothbrush and toothpaste

extra pair of underwear (for if you suddenly need to stay somewhere overnight or if an accident happens)

comb

band-aids + disinfectant

hand cream/soothing cream

soap/soap leaves

similarly, some mini shampoo or mini body wash (again for if you suddenly need to stay the night. there’s probably already some wherever you’re staying but again. this is a just in case bag)

q-tips

chapstick

makeup remover wipes

razors

hand sanitizer/general sanitizer

wet wipes/tissues

foldable bag

ruler/tape measure

this is a lot but keep in mind, these are just ideas. you don’t have to use everything, just pick out which things you think would be handy for you and make your bag accordingly. do feel free to add onto the list if you have any other ideas.

[aerequets]

growing up reading + watching stories I would always wonder why villains would draw out the moment where they thought they had the hero beat. I would always wonder why they'd waste time gloating and monologuing and torturing or whatever when they should just kill them and be done with it!!

but I understand now.

there has been a fly inside our house for the past few hours that won't leave no matter how many doors we open. Now I am about to go to bed and it is in my room. the tiny room I share with my sister. I know that stupid fly is watching me with it's stupid bulbous eyes as I swat blindly like the big slow dumb human I am. I know it's smug. I know it's purposefully ignoring the door that I've opened 7 times now. I know.

I know if I ever caught this fly it would not be a quick death. quick death would be a mercy bestowed by desperation. if I got my hands on this fly it would be slow . I would tape it to the wall and put my earbuds playing flowers by miley cyrus next to it on full blast on loop. I would feed it raisins and boiled eggs. I would put it on a string so the next time it flies I can yank it back and it can be reminded of when it flew around me, taunting, not taking heed of the opportunities it had to just leave me alone. because it was never about killing the fly until it decided to torment me. I was fine having it in the house. like whatever. but to insist on encroaching specifically upon the 100 sq ft space that has no place for 2 and a fly. You are out of line. I will be the villain this time. I understand now

[hoshifighting]

I can’t wait for the day you decide to give us staff woozi😭🫶 Like yes give me that man ⚰️⚰️⚰️

staff!woozi

WARNINGS: suggestive, wet dream, mentions of animes.

staff!woozi who’s practically part of your nervous system, making sure your mic is hot and those earbuds don’t fry your brain mid-show. he’s always just there—like this phantom, gliding in with his little toolbox, brows furrowed in that way he thinks makes him look tough, but honestly, you’re kinda finding it cute now. he doesn’t even have to look at you anymore; just one twitch of your finger, and he knows exactly how to tune your sound to perfection.

you’re halfway through soundcheck, squinting against the stage lights that feel hot enough to cook you alive, when your left earbud goes all staticy. and before you even manage to do your little signal—a quick point down—he’s already behind you. no warning. just his voice in your ear, all low, like he’s got some big secret: “left one’s crackling again?”

you turn, one eyebrow up. “damn, woozi, you psychic now or what?”

he just huffs, pulling the earbud from your hand with this look like, duh. “you’re predictable,” he says, but there’s that ghost of a smirk, just the tiniest hint of it, which—yeah, okay, it gets to you a bit.

he’s fiddling with it, fingers so precise you swear it’s like watching magic. “you keep playing with ‘em too much. one more yank, and i’m replacing it.”

“not my fault they suck,” you mutter, grinning when he gives you that little glare, one that says i dare you to test me.

“try it again..” he mutters, his voice dry, clipped. he’s already yanked a whole mess of cables and tested every single one, but well, it’s jihoon. he’s on his perfectionist shit.

“testin’… one, two…” you go through it, all monotone, like you’re recitin’ a grocery list.

he glances up, hands fiddlin’ with some random connector piece, but he’s noddin’, brows all scrunched up like he’s concentratin’ on the meaning of life. and then, without even lookin’ at you, he says, “speak up like you’re actually performin’—not just for me.”

staff!woozi, in his worn-out, slightly-too-tight black t-shirt, earphones looped around his neck like some kinda edgy fashion statement, looks too good for your eyes.

“i am performin’,” you toss back, brows raised. “just, y’know, waitin’ for the tech crew to keep up.”

he scoffs, and finally, he looks up, an eyebrow quirked in that way he does when he’s two seconds away from roastin’ you to death. “keep up? alright, superstar, let’s get your fancy ass mic workin’ then.”

staff!woozi who's always fumbling with your clothing as he fix the mic return on your back. mumbling something about the mic feedback being all off. and with this stage clothing, the skin-tight fabric practically painted on you, there’s no space to breathe—let alone to move. so when he reaches to adjust the receiver on your back, the boy have no gentleness to tidy it up.

“how can you even breathe in these? hold still.” he sulks. his fingers brush against your skin, just under the edge of the outfit, and you swear his touch is cool, like ice, but somehow it sends this weird heat up your body. his hand skims along your back, his fingers grazing just under the fabric, feeling way more personal than it should.

“this is… really necessary?” you breathe out, tryin’ to keep your voice casual, even though your heart’s doin’ that embarrassingly loud thud-thud thing.

he doesn’t even look fazed, just gives you a quick, smug look, like he can sense your pulse trippin’ over itself. “unless you want the mic feed to sound like a dying robot… yeah, this is necessary.”

his hand lingers just a second too long on your skin before he adjusts the strap at your shoulder, his thumb grazing the edge of the outfit. you’re caught somewhere between wantin’ to annoyingly roll your eyes or “hornyly” roll your eyes.

staff!woozi who somehow, always ends up next to you on the road, no matter where you sit, and by now, you’ve kinda claimed his shoulder as your own personal pillow. he doesn’t complain—just settles in, eyes closed, arms crossed, and lets you drift off.

but today, as your head leans into that familiar spot, his voice pipes up. “y’know, there are other seats.”

you crack an eye open, only to see him smirking down at you. he’s lookin’ all pompous, like he’s finally pieced together your little routine. “it’s just… comfortable,” you mumble, shoving your face back into his shoulder, feelin’ the soft weight of his hoodie, and okay, maybe the solidness of his arm too.

he chuckles, a sound that’s too close to teasing. “oh, so i’m a human pillow now?”

“pretty much,” you mutter, pretendin’ to yawn. “it’s just… efficient.”

next thing you know, you’re both out cold, side by side, and the crew’s gotta wake you both up at the next stop. you stumble out of the van, all bleary-eyed and yawning, both of you with puffy eyes, while the rest of the team’s trying not to laugh.

staff!woozi who watches animes during his breaks. you’re sittin in the dressing room, half-done with your makeup, feeling that pre-show buzz, and there’s woozi, huddled over his phone, totally zoned out in his own world. you’ve seen him do this before—earbuds in, watchin’ his anime.

so today, curiosity gets the best of you. you wander over, leanin’ over his shoulder, catchin’ a glimpse of bright colors and characters moving around on his screeng

“you’re into this?” you ask, unable to hide the smirk as he looks up, caught.

he pulls one earbud out, glancin’ at you like he’s deciding whether or not to share his “serious” interest. then he sighs, almost reluctantly, but starts explaining the plot, his voice just a little too enthusiastic. and you’re nodding, totally faking that you get it, but he’s so damn into it, you can’t help but get a little wrapped up in his excitement.

when you’re waiting for the other idols to finish up their set, the two of you are back in the dressing room, side by side, watching some random episode. you don’t know half of what’s going on, but jihoon’s talking fast, pointing out characters, explaining every little detail like it’s life or death. you just follow it because staff!woozi is hot.

you don’t know how you ended up here, exactly— n woozi’s hotel room, in your freshest hoodie and sweats, hair still a bit damp from your after-show shower. but you’re here, a slice of pizza in one hand and woozi right next to you, already deep into the latest anime episode like he’s watching some masterpiece.

it started simple enough, you mentioning anime to him once. you barely know the basics, honestly, but your friend is an encyclopedia of every single plot twist, so you could at least fake it a little. and you’d swear woozi’s eyes practically lit up when you said you’d “totally be down to watch something with him, if he had recommendations.” it became your thing on tour—grabbing a pizza, lounging in his room, and watching the latest episodes like two kids after school.

but right now? you’re barely paying attention to the screen. woozi’s sitting next to you in this black tank top, arms looking like he’s been lifting soundboards for fun, thick enough to make your mind drift way off the anime plot. his shorts? even worse. you didn’t even realize a person could look that good just sitting down, like he’s giving you a whole show without even trying.

“are you even watching?” he mutters, catching you totally off guard. woozi raises an eyebrow at you, smirking. damn, he knew.

“oh, yeah, totally!” you stammer, nodding way too enthusiastically. “i know… exactly… what’s going on here.” but that smirk just grows, his gaze sliding back to the screen as if to say, yeah, sure you do.

staff!woozi, who hardly tears his eyes from the screen the whole night, so focused it’s like he’s analyzing every frame. you’re beside him, bundled up in his bed, head lolling as the exhaustion finally takes over, pulling you under. he glances at you every so often—at first just a quick look to make sure you’re out, catching the soft rise and fall of your breathing, the way your lashes brush your cheeks in the low light. you’d been running on fumes all night, so seeing you drift off wasn’t a surprise.

but then, he hears it—his name, whispered under your breath, soft like it’s the only thing on your mind even while you’re dreaming. his focus shifts. your back arches just the tiniest bit, your brows drawn together, thighs pressing tight like you’re holding onto some sweet secret even he isn’t supposed to know.

and suddenly, he’s more tuned into you than the screen, pulse pounding in his ears.

woozi pretends this never happened. or tries to.

staff!woozi, who’s suddenly got a whole new edge to him the next morning, acting all distant like you didn’t just watch an entire anime season in his bed last night. on the plane, you figure things’ll be back to normal—you’ve got this routine where you always end up leaning on his shoulder, especially after long nights. but today, he’s keeping a solid inch between you both, arms crossed like he’s suddenly allergic to any kind of closeness.

you try once, shifting a little closer, giving him that sleepy, half-pouty look that usually does the trick. he just leans away, adjusting his earbuds like he didn’t notice.

you huff. “yo, what’s your deal? i’m just trying to sleep, and you’re over here playing hard-to-get?”

he glances over, raising an eyebrow.

“don’t act like you’re too good for it.” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms. “you let me last night.”

“yeah, well, I’m not your pillow today. i gotta keep my neck in one piece.”

you nudge him with your elbow. “since when did you start caring about your neck, huh? you’re literally hunched over soundboards for a living.”

he shoots you a side-eye. “and maybe that’s why i need to protect it now.”

you snicker, leaning back, but there’s that stubborn pout on your face. “whatever, woozi. don’t get mad at me just ‘cause you didn’t sleep enough watching the show without me.”

you’re still leaning back, sulking a little, when you hear it — just a low mumble under his breath. “not my fault you were… moaning my name last night…”

your head snaps around so fast you practically pull a muscle. “excuse me?” you whisper, eyes wide as saucers.

he stares at you, lips parting slightly as he realizes he definitely said that louder than intended. his eyes dart away, and he’s already sinking into the seat like he might disappear.

you blink, heartbeat going wild as you piece together last night, flashes of the dream you’d had flooding back—heat and skin and his name on your lips. you remember waking up in his bed, flustered and warm, rushing back to your own room before he could see the look on your face.

“so… you heard that?”

his hand goes up to rub the back of his neck, cheeks reddening under that deadpan expression he’s clinging to. “yeah, uh… kinda hard to miss...?”

you bury your face in your hands, groaning, but you can’t resist sneaking a glance at him. he’s biting his lip, looking anywhere but at you, and you swear there’s a faint smirk he’s trying to hide.

“god, woozi, you could’ve just… i dunno, woken me up or something!” you mutter, feeling the burn creep up your cheeks.

“yeah, right,” he snorts, glancing back at you now with this smug little glint in his eyes. “like you’d want that.”

[secretlytranced]

i need to confess to you that I've made my own brainwashing machine v1.0

I put my earbuds in, wrap my head in a full sleep mask, clamp my nipples with the vibrating clamps, plug my pussy with the lush... and turn on brainwashing files.

I'm out cold within moments, just floating and being edged and emptied and refilled with mantras that wont stop looping in my ears.... the pleasure and words shoving me deeper and deeper until there's nothing left and it's so so fucking amazing.

I did an hour this morning and I just want to be there all day long...

[n1ceguyen]

2AM Mistakes (Huh Yunjin x M!Reader)

Chapter 2: Something Between the Silence

(Yunjin POV)

The silence in the hotel room wasn’t peaceful.

It was the kind that buzzed under your skin—the kind that came after too much noise. Too many lights. Too many people telling you how to feel, who to be.

Yunjin lay sprawled across the bed, hoodie pulled over her head, fingers curled around her phone. The screen was black, but the song still echoed in her head.

2AM Mistakes.

She hadn’t been looking for it. She wasn’t even looking for music, really. Just… something. She needed a walk, needed air, needed space. Rehearsals were done, her face was scrubbed clean, the makeup wiped away, the smile with it.

The streets outside had been cold but quiet, a relief after constant motion. That’s when the track showed up on her feed—bare title, no artwork, just vibes.

She clicked.

And everything slowed down.

No overproduction. No agenda. Just a guitar, a mood, and that low-end beat that felt like a heartbeat trying not to break rhythm.

She’d left a comment without thinking. Just typed what it felt like: a song for walking home when it’s too cold to care how lonely you are.

She didn’t expect a reply.

But he responded.

Y/N.

No bio. No face. Just a few tracks, all lowkey and raw in the way only someone who wasn’t trying to go viral could pull off.

And for whatever reason… she kept talking.

He wasn’t trying to impress her. He didn’t even know who she was. She wasn’t Yunjin from LE SSERAFIM in that chat. She was just a girl who hummed a melody into her phone, late at night, hoping someone would understand what it meant without asking too many questions.

And he did.

He built on it. Turned it into something fuller. Played it back like it already belonged to both of them.

Now she was lying on her bed, alone, replaying that version again through her earbuds.

Not idol-perfect. Just real.

She scrolled to the last message she’d sent him. A new voice memo. Lighter than the first—less heavy, less sad. Still her.

She typed:

hj_426: this came out of nowhere. but maybe it’s the next part. tell me what you hear in it.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, then hit send.

A knock came from the shared suite door.

“Unnie,” Eunchae’s voice came muffled through the door. “You alive?”

Yunjin blinked, sat up halfway. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“We’re ordering food,” Sakura added. “Want anything?”

“Whatever you get is fine.”

“No complaining if it’s spicy again!” Chaewon warned.

Yunjin smiled faintly. “Noted.”

The footsteps faded.

She loved the girls. They were her second home. But lately, she’d been feeling like her body was in rooms her mind wasn’t. Like she was performing even when the music stopped.

The silence returned.

She opened the voice memo app again. Hit record. Hummed something softer, airy, like light cracking through thick clouds. Just a sketch.

She sent it.

Whatever this thing was with Y/N—it wasn’t normal. But it felt necessary.

Still no names.

Still no faces.

But something was starting to sound like it mattered.

(Y/N POV)

Y/N stared at the waveform looping on his screen.

The new melody she sent floated like fog. Delicate, but not weak. The kind of tune that made you stop what you were doing without realizing it.

He layered in some ambient textures—soft pads, slow reverb trails. Nothing flashy. Just enough to let her voice breathe.

He sat back. Exported the new draft.

Her message from earlier was still up:

hj_426: this came out of nowhere. but maybe it’s the next part. tell me what you hear in it.

He cracked his knuckles, then replied:

Y/N: there’s something in it that feels like… letting go. like the moment after crying where you’re just tired, but okay. i added a bit of ambient stuff. want me to send it?

She replied almost instantly:

hj_426: yes pls i’ve been refreshing like a psycho lol

He laughed quietly, sent the audio, then waited.

A minute passed.

Then:

hj_426: oh wow okay this might be my favorite one it sounds like… if a memory could sing

Y/N read that more than once.

Something about the way she worded things—it was like she was writing feelings without decoration. Just saying them straight.

He let the track loop in the background and typed again:

Y/N: random question but have u ever had a song that made u feel like… you didn’t write it like it was already there, just waiting for you to hear it?

hj_426: yes those are the best ones they come out like secrets you didn’t know you were hiding

He nodded at the screen.

Then paused.

He wasn’t usually this open. Not even with friends. But the more they talked, the less it felt like he was performing for someone. The less he needed to.

He rubbed his jaw, then added:

Y/N: hey speaking of music kinda random but i’m actually going to a concert this week

hj_426: oooh who?

He hesitated for half a beat, then typed:

Y/N: don’t judge lol friend had an extra ticket it’s for this kpop group le sserafim

He watched the typing bubble appear… then disappear… then come back again.

hj_426: lol why would i judge?? they’re good u into them?

Y/N: kinda? heard a few songs but my friend’s obsessed figured i’d tag along haven’t been to a concert in forever

hj_426: nice they put on solid shows should be fun

Y/N raised an eyebrow.

Y/N: you sound like you’ve seen them live or something

hj_426: yeah you could say that

He didn’t think much of it.

Just figured she must’ve seen them on tour or something.

Y/N: not really a “concert guy” but who knows maybe this one changes that

hj_426: maybe keep an open mind could surprise you

Y/N: i’ll let u know how it goes unless u ghost me before then lol

hj_426: not a chance we still got a whole album to write 2am mistakes is just the beginning

Y/N leaned back, staring at the city skyline just barely visible through his window.

Still no name.

Still no face.

But whatever this was—it was real enough to keep him awake.

[uncuredturkeybacon]

𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which she never forgets

You never really liked the sound of your own voice until you heard it through someone else’s ears.

Specifically, through Paige Bueckers’ ears.

But that came later—after countless open mic nights, endless rewriting of choruses, and one very particular Thursday where she stood over your shoulder in the corner of the UConn student union and asked, with casual curiosity, “Is that you singing?”

You looked up from your screen, half-thinking it was a classmate. Your fingers were still hovering over your laptop keyboard, GarageBand open with an instrumental looping softly. You'd been tweaking a chorus for over an hour. Your earbuds dangled around your neck. You hadn’t even realized she could hear it.

There she was. The Paige Bueckers. Hoodie up. Smoothie in hand. The girl who practically carried UConn’s women’s basketball on her back and still had the nerve to look soft around the edges, like she didn’t even realize she was famous.

“Uh... yeah,” you answered, cautiously.

“It’s really good,” she said, sliding into the seat across from you like you’d invited her. “Kinda like something you’d hear in an indie film. But not corny. Honest. Real.”

You blinked.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about my voice.”

She smiled, and you were ruined.

You were a junior at UConn. Major: English. Minor: late-night songwriting sessions and existential spirals. Your social media had maybe 2,000 followers, most of whom followed you for clips of you singing in your dorm or behind coffee shop pianos. You weren’t famous. You didn’t want to be—not really. You just needed a place to put all the feelings you didn’t have room for in your chest.

Music helped with that.

And somehow, so did Paige.

You started running into her more often after that day. At the same dining hall. In the library café. Once at a random volleyball game where you were covering for a friend on student media duty. Every time, she’d walk right up to you like you were the only person she wanted to talk to.

Eventually, you started texting.

Then hanging out.

Paige wasn’t like other people. Not in the obvious way—the accolades, the cameras, the constant pressure—but in the quiet ways. She never talked about herself unless you asked. She asked you questions with that soft tilt of her head, genuinely curious. Like she cared about your favorite chord progression, your mom’s homemade cinnamon rolls, or how you came up with metaphors for heartbreak like you’d been through it a thousand times, even if you hadn’t.

One night, you were sprawled out on the grass, heads close, stargazing because your dorms were too stuffy and neither of you wanted to say goodbye yet. The grass was a little damp, but she didn’t complain. She wore the same hoodie she always did—oversized and worn at the cuffs.

You glanced at her. “You ever think about how weird this is?”

She turned to you. “What is?”

“This. Us. Hanging out. You’re... well, you. And I’m just some girl who writes songs that barely hit 3,000 plays on SoundCloud.”

She smiled at the sky. “Yeah, but you’re also the girl who says stuff like ‘my lyrics sound like bruises under a microscope.’ That stuck with me.”

Your heart did a little somersault.

It was after one of those nights—one of those perfect, incomplete nights where you thought maybe she’d kiss you but she didn’t—that the song began to write itself.

You sat cross-legged in your room, guitar across your lap, the taste of Paige’s laugh still fresh in your mouth. You strummed a lazy chord progression and started singing without thinking.

Let’s fall in love for the night And forget in the morning

Because that’s what it felt like. Being with her was like suspending reality for a little while. Like pretending that labels and timelines and futures didn’t matter.

You remembered her telling you about the pressure of being perfect. About fans expecting her to be a leader even when she was scared. About how lonely it got, being seen as a brand more than a person.

Play me a song that you like You can bet I’ll know every line

You had this unspoken thing where you’d trade playlists. She loved old-school Drake. You had a soft spot for Hozier and Arctic Monkeys. One night, she sang part of your original song back to you—off-key, badly timed, completely sincere—and your heart nearly imploded.

I’m the girl that your girl hoped that you would avoid Don’t waste your eyes on jealous guys Fuck that noise

You remembered the frat party where some guy tried to chat you up and Paige appeared like a shadow at your side, arm slipping easily around your waist. She didn’t say much, just stared the guy down until he left.

She never claimed you. Not out loud.

But sometimes her fingers lingered a little too long on your wrist. Her gaze dropped to your lips mid-sentence. She called you “trouble” like it was her favorite compliment.

I know better than to call you mine

That line was the hardest to write.

Because it was the truest.

You performed “Let’s Fall in Love for the Night” at a lowkey open mic downtown. The coffee shop was half-full. You were wearing your favorite thrifted jacket, fingers trembling slightly on the guitar neck. You didn’t know if she’d come.

She did.

Stood in the back, hands in her hoodie pocket, eyes on you like you were the only one singing in the room.

Your voice steadied as you hit the bridge. She tilted her head, like she already knew it was about her.

And maybe she did.

After the set, she found you outside under the buzzing streetlight.

“You wrote that about me,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

You tried to play it cool. “Maybe.”

She stepped closer, blue eyes searching yours.

“‘I know better than to call you mine’... that’s the part that hurts.”

You swallowed. “I just didn’t think... I mean, you’re Paige Bueckers. You’ve got the world in your hands. You probably don’t need me complicating things.”

“I don’t want perfect,” she said. “I want real. I want you.”

The silence between you stretched long and electric.

“I want you too,” you said.

She reached out, tentative, like she was afraid you'd disappear. Her fingers brushed your cheek. Then her lips were on yours—soft, steady, certain. Like a verse you’d been humming for weeks but finally got right.

You didn’t expect anything from the video. Not really.

You posted it on a Tuesday night, around 11:47 PM — the sweet spot between vulnerability and impulse. You hadn’t even planned to upload it, but Paige had been curled up next to you on your dorm bed, hoodie sleeves covering her hands as she watched you scroll through takes.

“You should post it,” she murmured, voice low and close, her chin resting on your shoulder.

You glanced at her. “It’s not perfect. I messed up the bridge a little.”

Paige shrugged. “That’s what makes it you. It’s raw. Honest. Besides…” She tapped the screen to pause the video where your lips were slightly parted, eyes closed mid-verse. “You look like you mean every word.”

You did.

You really, really did.

So you posted it.

let’s fall in love for the night and hopefully we never forget (original)

At first, it was just your usual: classmates, a few mutuals, supportive friends in the music department. The likes trickled in. Comments followed — a few emojis, a couple of “who hurt you” replies.

But by the next morning, it had over 20,000 views.

Then 40,000 by lunch.

Then 75,000 by dinner.

You were halfway through writing a midterm essay on “tragic romantic archetypes in modern poetry” (which, ironically, felt very on brand), when your phone started blowing up.

Not from strangers. From people you knew. Teammates of Paige’s. A few students from your songwriting workshop. Even your high school choir teacher messaged you.

But it wasn’t until Paige commented that the floodgates really opened.

Her profile — with its little blue check and almost a million followers — slid into your notifications like thunder in the middle of a quiet room.

“i know better now.”

And that was it.

No name. No tag. But if people had been speculating before, now they were spiraling.

You looked over at Paige, who was lying back against the pillows, scrolling through her own phone like nothing had happened.

“…You know better now?” you teased, raising an eyebrow.

She glanced at you, playful. “I do.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” She sat up, tucking one leg under her. “I know better than to just sit back and act like this is temporary.”

Your heart stuttered.

“Paige…”

She took your hand, warm and calloused from years of basketball, and ran her thumb along your knuckles. “I know we never talked about, like, what this is. But I’ve been thinking. I don’t want to be someone who you write songs about and then pretend it didn’t mean anything. I want to be the one who shows up to every one of your open mics. I want to be the reason your next love song doesn’t have a sad ending.”

You blinked, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat.

“I didn’t mean for it to get so big,” you said softly. “The video. The lyrics. I just… I wanted to remember what it felt like.”

“I’m glad you did.” She leaned in, forehead resting against yours. “Because now everyone knows what I already knew.”

You swallowed hard. “What’s that?”

“That I’m yours. And you’re mine. If you want to be.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I want to be.”

Her lips were on yours in the next second — slow, reverent, sweet. Like punctuation on the end of a sentence you’d been too scared to say out loud.

That weekend, Paige posted a story of the two of you sitting at a keyboard in your dorm. Your hand was guiding hers over the keys. You were both laughing. There was no caption. Just a soft filter and the subtle sound of your song playing faintly in the background.

You didn’t need to define it. Not right away. But people started to connect the dots.

IS THIS PAIGE’S GIRLFRIEND?!? She wrote that song. She WROTE THAT SONG ABOUT HER. I’m gonna cry in the corner brb. Wuhluhwuh??

And you?

You weren’t just some girl with a guitar anymore.

You were her girl with a guitar. Still making late-night demos and scribbling lyrics in the margins of your notes. Still performing for small rooms with too much heart.

Only now, when you sang that chorus—

Let’s fall in love for the night And forget in the morning

—you knew you never really had to forget.

Because Paige stayed.

And in the mornings, she was there — hoodie-wrapped, sleepy-eyed, fingers tracing idle chords along your spine.

You still wrote about her. Only now, your love songs had softer endings. Warmer ones.

Ones that stayed.