#night-audio-programming

[thepersonalwords]

You simply feel out for the thoughtwaves of those others with a similar thought, the attraction between minds. As you are all aware, like attracts like!

Stephen Richards, NAPS: Discover The Power Of Night Audio Programs

[neverendingford]

.

[dark-l-angel]

may I please request batfam x reader where they randomly find out the reader has Omnilingualism? the reader just randomly drops lore then the batfam is like "HUH?" me pleading:

A/N: Sure luv ❤️ sorry it took a little while.. but here you go 😺

Omnilingualism is the ability to understand all languages.. spoken, written, or otherwise.. instantly and fluently, without having to learn them first.

Batfam x Omnilingual reader + onshot bonus "wait- YOU CAN SPEAK EVERY LANGUAGE?!"

Bruce Wayne:

He pretends he isn’t impressed. He really tries. But the moment you casually correct a mistranslation in one of his case files from an obscure dialect in the Amazon, his eye twitches.

Definitely runs tests in the Batcave. "For data" he claims. Lies. He just wants an excuse to hear you switch flawlessly between Ancient Sumerian and Icelandic.

Low-key starts trusting you with delicate negotiations at Wayne Enterprises. "Accidentally" leaves confidential contracts in languages no one in the room understands except you.

Oh, and you catch him brushing up on his French. He'll never admit it, but he’s trying to catch up to you.

You once whispered something scandalous to him in flawless Latin during a gala. His hand on your lower back tightened just slightly. Dangerous man, but you’re worse.

Dick grayson:

Immediately obsessed. No chill whatsoever.

"Say something in Italian!" "Now Portuguese! Oh oh.. Tagalog!"

Thinks it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. Genuinely struggles to focus if you speak in another language, especially something romantic-sounding. (You catch him blushing like a schoolboy, every time.)

Tries to flirt back in another language but completely butchers it. You gently correct him, and it turns into an unintentional couples language lesson.

You catch him Googling "How to propose in 20 languages." Cute idiot.

Teases you with fake words in gibberish, just to see if you catch on. You always do.

Jason Todd :

Oh, this man loves it. Filthy mouth, wicked grin, and a brain full of bad ideas.

Purposely swears in different languages to see if you catch him. You do. Every. Single. Time.

One time you threw back a sharp insult in flawless Russian, and he damn near swooned.

Has you read his favorite banned books in their original languages. "I just wanna hear you say it, babe." No you don’t, Jason. You want to hear them moaned, don’t you?

Will 100% ask you to dirty talk in languages no one else understands in public settings. "What? I like living dangerously."

Bonus: If you tease him in French, it destroys him. He can’t fight it. French + your voice = his personal kryptonite.

Tim Drake :

Immediately runs to his laptop. He needs answers.

"Omnilingualism is a hyper rare meta-ability.. there are fewer than seven confirmed cases worldwide.. wait- does this mean you can read codes in programming languages like they’re actual languages?!"

Makes you his official decryption buddy. His Batcomputer just became 500% more efficient.

Low-key fascinated, high-key turned on.

Asks you to record audio lessons for him in various languages. You catch him listening to them at 2am with a suspiciously dazed smile.

Will absolutely text you random phrases in dead languages at ungodly hours of the night. "For science."

Damian Wayne :

Instantly annoyed that he’s no longer the most linguistically gifted person in the room.

Challenges you constantly. "Recite this ancient Arabic proverb." You do, flawlessly, and throw in the correct accent for good measure.

He respects you deeply but refuses to admit it directly.

Secretly asks you to teach him rare dialects to communicate with his animals better.

The moment you start speaking to Titus in perfect, gentle Arabic, his eyes go wide. You’ve officially earned his permanent admiration.

Bonus: You tease him by complimenting him in languages he doesn’t know yet. He storms off to study them immediately.

Alfred Pennyworth

Unbothered king. He knew from the start.

Smiles softly when you casually slip into old, classical British idioms even Bruce doesn’t understand.

Occasionally tests you with the oddest phrases from obscure Commonwealth colonies. You pass every time.

"I dare say, Miss, you have a talent most remarkable."

Secretly keeps a list of the rarest languages to see if there’s anything you don’t know.

Family game nights? Forget it. You dominate every round of “Guess That Language.”

You become their favorite asset in undercover ops. Fake passports? Check. Local slang? You’re a walking encyclopedia.

They jokingly call you their “Batbabel.” (Yes, even Bruce lets that nickname slip once.)

Jason is convinced you must have alien blood. "Bet you could sweet talk the Martians, too."

You like to randomly mess with them by switching languages mid-conversation. Pure chaos.

And they all fall a little harder every time you do.

Oneshot bonus : Wait- YOU CAN SPEAK EVERY LANGUAGE?!

It started, as many things in Wayne Manor do, in the most stupidly casual way possible.

You were seated at the long dining table, lazily flipping through your phone while Alfred served brunch. Tim was half-asleep beside you, his forehead dangerously close to his waffles. Jason was reading War and Peace in Russian, because of course he was. Damian was arguing with Dick over the proper form for his new kata routine, while Bruce pretended to read the paper but was very obviously just eavesdropping like the rest of them.

Then, Alfred, with his calm British cadence, said something softly under his breath. In French.

"Mon dieu, cette confiture est un désastre…" (this jam is a disaster...)

Without thinking, without even looking up from your phone, you mumbled back, perfect pronunciation and all,

"Pas nécessairement. C’est la confiture d’orange, elle est censée être comme ça." (Not necessarily. It's orange marmalade, it's supposed to be like that.)

Silence.

Dead silence.

Tim lifted his head slowly, eyes bleary but confused.

Jason lowered his book.

Damian squinted at you like you’d just sprouted a second head.

Bruce folded his newspaper with a quiet, deliberate finality.

Dick? Dick’s eyes were sparkling with mischief.

"Since when do you speak French?" he asked, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

You blinked, confused by the attention. "Huh? Oh, I don’t."

Wrong answer.

"You just did" Tim said flatly, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

Jason leaned forward on his elbows, sharp smirk spreading. "Care to explain, mon ami?"

Your brain, still not connecting the dots, offered the most unhelpful thing possible: a shrug. "I don’t know. He just said the jam was a disaster. I just... knew."

“Wait.” Damian’s eyes narrowed into slits, laser-focused. "What did Alfred say, exactly?"

You repeated it, casually.

He tried to hide it, but his brows twitched upward. "That’s correct."

Now Jason was grinning like he knew something juicy. "Try Russian."

"What?"

"Say something in Russian," Jason pressed, eyes alight with curiosity.

You hesitated, then shrugged. "Что ты хочешь, чтобы я сказал?" (What do you want me to say?)

Jason’s chair screeched back from the table as he stood, hands in his hair. “NO. No, no, no, what the hell is this?!”

"That was perfect," Tim said, his voice pitching higher, caffeinated brain now fully awake.

"You said you don’t speak these languages?" Bruce asked, a suspicious tilt to his head like he was running seventeen background checks in his mind at once.

You frowned, getting a little defensive now. "I don’t! I never studied Russian, or French, or whatever else. I just... get it, I guess?"

Dick gasped, like someone hit him with a Batarang of Realization. "Wait wait wait.. omnilingualism."

Jason’s mouth dropped open. "No freaking way."

Tim’s eyes went huge behind his glasses. "That’s an actual thing, you know. Hyper rare meta ability. The brain automatically understands and reproduces any language it’s exposed to."

Damian narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. "Prove it."

"Say something in Ancient Latin," Bruce instructed, his detective mode fully activated.

You tilted your head, focusing, and then fluently responded,

"Memento mori, pater. Etiam noctes detectivi requiem merentur" (Remember death, father. Even detectives of the night deserve rest.)

Pin-drop silence.

Jason cackled so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

Dick was clapping like you’d won an Olympic gold medal.

Tim, meanwhile, frantically pulled out his phone, already Googling ‘omnilingual reader discovered at brunch’.

Bruce, stoic as ever, gave you a single nod of respect. "We’ll need to run tests."

"You mean interviews," Dick corrected, leaning closer with a grin. "Because I, for one, have a thousand questions."

"Congratulations" Jason said dryly, raising his glass of orange juice in your direction. "You’re officially our walking, talking, sexy Google Translate."

You rolled your eyes with a crooked smile. "Glad I can be of service."

"And you will be," Bruce added, already making plans in his head. Oh, you were never getting out of this one.

[deadpresidents]

"Vocabor Franciscus. "I will be called Francis." It was a breathtaking choice. Because no pope had ever taken the name, it needed no Roman numerals but stood stark and simple...No one ever thought a pope could be called Francis; it would be like taking the name Peter, or Jesus. They were one of a kind.

"I was astonished at the boldness of it, because the name Francis is a whole program of governance in miniature," the Vatican commentator John Allen told Boston Radio. "He is this iconic figure in the Catholic imagination that awakens images of the antithesis of the institutional church...That's an awful lot of weight to put on your shoulders right out of the gate. If you're not prepared to walk that talk, then you're going to be in real trouble."

Bergoglio had walked that talk over a lifetime. Right now it mostly meant saying no, like keeping his old black shoes, his silver pectoral cross (a pope's is normally gold), and his faithful black plastic watch, or refusing the limousine waiting to take him back to the guesthouse for dinner ("May God forgive you for what you have done," he joked with the cardinals [who had just elected him]). After Mass with the cardinals the next day, he left the Vatican in a Ford Focus -- the security guards had better cars than the pope -- to pray at the shrine of Saint Mary Major, returning via the priests' hostel where he had stayed before the conclave. There he collected his bag, paid his bill to a shocked clerk ("I checked in under another name" was the caption on a widely tweeted photo), and chatted and joked with staff. There wasn't much to collect. He had been washing his clothes at night, letting them dry on the radiator...

...It was lots of those little things. They weren't mere gestures, nor were they calculated messages. They flowed from his identification with the Christ of the Gospels..."We must learn to be normal!" he told his Jesuit interviewer, Father Antonio Spadaro, in August that year, and he put it into practice, collecting his tray of food in the Santa Marta dining room like anyone else, making his own phone calls and many of his appointments, keeping his own diary, and making visits -- always in the blue Ford Focus, without any kind of entourage -- to parishes and charities around Rome, to spend time with the old and the homeless and the foreign-born.

Stories of Francis's personal kindness, impossible to verify, began to make their rounds, like the time he left his room to find a Swiss Guard standing outside his door and brought him a chair. "But Holy Father, I cannot sit down. My boss does not allow it," the guard told him. "Well, I'm the boss of your boss, and I say it's fine," Francis told him, before going back inside to fetch him the Italian equivalent of a Twinkie...

...Francis has become the most accessible of modern popes, almost always to be found at lunchtime in the Santa Marta restaurant, where he has his own table set aside, but stands in the queue with his tray like everyone else. Visitors report that he comes out of the Santa Marta to greet them personally, while hostel guests are often shocked to find that when elevator doors open the pope steps in ("I don't bite," he reassures them)."

-- Austen Ivereigh, on how different Pope Francis was from his monarchical predecessors and how shocking it was at the Vatican immediately following his election at the 2013 Conclave when Francis decided to live in a simple room at the Vatican's guesthouse instead of the luxurious papal apartments in the Apostolic Palace, in the 2014 book, The Great Reformer: Francis and the Making of a Radical Pope (BOOK | KINDLE | AUDIO)

[frostgears]

officer's ball

If there was one thing that eventually turned you against the aristocracy, it was the yearly humiliation of you, your handler, and your entire ground crew being forced into beribboned beyond-antique pre-starflight fashion every year for the Officer's Ball. They insisted. They said the nobles needed the human element. They said it'd justify your funding.

"Ammo doesn't grow on trees," the woman who directed your every combat action said. "And if it did, they'd be found growing only in First Landing family gardens. I hate this. I hate these people. Every fucking year, just to keep the program running. Don't they get bored?" and then she burst into tears and you had to do her makeup again, from the beginning.

You didn't mind it so much for yourself. The entitled fat old perverts of every gender trying to grab your ass and catching a handful of hoopskirt were entertaining. So was being forced to sample a continuous mix of canapés, sherry, cocaine, chocolate, PL-2141, and further canapés. If you really worked at it, you could approximate a slight buzz, the faintest echo of what interface drugs did on an average mission day.

But your poor mechanic wasn't used to being groped by the nobility or plied with anything stronger than hangar coffee. By two hours in, she was looking green around the edges and ready to puke in the nearest potted palm. Your avionics specialist, parted from her usual headphones and overlay glasses, was rigid with sensory overload and unable to dissociate because some third son of some electronics bureau minister had her cornered about a harebrained idea and wouldn't let go.

Your handler was worst of all: thoroughly miserable in her tightly corseted dress and constitutionally unsuited to any kind of discomfort inflicted upon her own person, rather than yours. She jumped at the slightest touch, gritted her teeth even more noticeably with every introduction. Your signed or whispered attempts to quietly reassure her that the "mission" was on track and would be over soon caused her to twitch and on one occasion even yelp, startling the admiral responsible for your fuel allocation. You smoothed it over as best you could, insinuating something about "combat nerves" — the old fool might have actually thought she was a pilot! But you didn't feel the need to explain, not that night.

The next day, as you hunted down a rebel tactical element in the hills above Seyan's Folly, she was still hung over. Not hung over enough to not notice when the pinned-down rebel lieutenant started in on an honest-to-God "you're not so different, you and I" speech, but hung over enough that she told your comms operator to cut the audio feed to Command, not your cockpit speakers.

"We're listening," you boomed over external PA speakers, forwarding her orders. "Wait? We're listening? Apparently we're listening."

"Shit. I mean. We're not that different, really, but obviously there's, uh, you're part of a system, and there's, redemption is on the table, I guess, maybe you'd like to, uh… honestly, I was just buying time."

"Don't get cocky, I've had your reinforcements bracketed by smart mortars for the last two minutes," you said. "You never had any time to buy. But… tell me about your side's command structure. Does it have a yearly ball?"

"Are you fucking joking?"

Things got complicated after that, with the improvised extraction, but what the hell, your team already worked well together.

You've had to work for every round and every joule and every mole of active nanomachinery since (much of it wrested from lesser units sent from your homeworld to drag you back) and you share a tiny, noisy cabin with your handler above the large bay of a rebel assault transport.

Maybe you're on the right side. Maybe there isn't one. But they're still letting you pilot, and your handler has happily returned to a tank top, fatigue pants, and what's left of her battered leather jacket, restoring her confident growl over the tactical link. The liaison officer they've got watching you has assured her that there's not a single brocade ball gown in the entire fleet. □

[teaboot]

if ur a murderbot nerd now do u have any fun opinions abt it yet?

Oh my goddd you have no idea

I really, really, really like Murderbot because it comes at life with this perspective we don't often see that is very real among people who have already been through traumatic experiences, who developed skills and abilities to suvive that were once useful but no longer have context- that search that traumatized people go through to recalibrate and reorient ourselves in a world where we no longer really need those things to survive.

A bit personal here, but my own issues personally involved a lot of psychological abuse that made it difficult to trust my own perceptions of reality, and as a result I found I was very easy to lie to and manipulate.

To handle this, I became obsessive over writing things down, cataloging details and making notes of things as they happened- I'd carry recording devices and make audio recordings and stay up late at night to transcribe what they'd picked up, read those over and over again to reassure myself of things I wasn't certain about.

While doing this, there were others close to me that I felt responsible for, who I had to protect from others and protect myself from at the same time. Life was about two things: Evidence, and defusing threats

Over time, I learned to trust myself as my memories matched what had been recorded where their narrative didn't, but I never really kicked the habit. Like Murderbot, I had added something to my own programming that reassured me I was safe, that I was in control of myself, that I couldn't be mistaken or crazy or broken or used.

I'm only on book two, but already I see myself in Murderbot again. No spoilers here, but when I left home- left that dangerous context- I didn't need to repeat these patterns to survive anymore, but I still did, because I didn't know anything else anymore. It felt safe, comfortable, knowing knowing that the past couldn't repeat itself, because I'd written that flaw- blind trust in myself-  out of my programming and replaced it with something else.

Still, though, I'd become something specially suited to thrive in a very specific environment. Nothing else felt right like followinghigh-risk situations, like witnessing and watching and recording and knowing I had proof of the truth where others might not.

People took notice. I wound up in security by accident, but's an environment that I thrive in due to the same patterns and behaviours I originally developed when I had no other choice. I climbed the ladder pretty quickly, once supervisors caught on that my reports were the most accurate, most objective, most factual, detail-oriented and timely. I keep others and myself safe and prioritize public safety above all else, and I perform well under pressure

Now I'm in a position where I often wonder, do I enjoy this job, or is it just what I'm good at? I have a set of skills now, but do I have the option of choosing not to use them? What would I be, if not this? Could I be anything else? Can Murderbot be anything else?

It has a set of skills that set it apart, make it different, special. It does what it knows best. But is it free? Does it want to be? What does it want? Does it have to do what it was built to do? What if it didn't?

I know what I'm good for. The idea of deliberately leaving what I'm good for for something uncertain, that I might hate, that I might be useless at- the choice to give up what was so important to me for so long and become deliberately obsolete?

Let go of my entire purpose? The only thing I know, that I fit so well into but don't actually know if I enjoy? Now that I can choose? Now that enjoyment is a luxury I can afford to consider?

Yeah, that resonates.

I like the Murderbot series so far because it feels the way I feel: Like the most significant and formative part of my story, the part where I became what I am, has already happened

And now I have to just. Keep going

Into... what?

It feels absurd. Like a microwave giving up on reheating food and deciding to start a life around abstract dance.

So, uh. Yeah. It's really very wild to see this same philosophical-ish dilemma I've been digging over in the back of my mind and in therapy for the last forever laid out so plainly in a genuinely exciting and enjoyable story like this. I feel much less alone, and I... kind of really need to see how it resolves, I think.

So, uh. Yeah. Read Murderbot, I guess

[thekinkymadscientist]

Kind of sad that there is no evidence for sleep learning, or any other substantial effect of audio played while a subject is asleep.

But I have a better idea, one which would work quite well.

All I have to do is dangle a lovely pendant in front of your eyes as you're sleeping, and gently wake you up.

Before you're even fully awake, you'll be focusing on the beautiful crystal, hearing my gently commanding voice telling you to float into trance for me. It's so easy for you to obey even when you're wide awake -- your half-asleep brain won't have a chance to formulate a single coherent thought before you're deeply hypnotized.

And then, sitting on the bed with you in the middle of the night, I can guide you through wonderfully intensive brainwashing. You'll blankly repeat new truths, feel my words seep into your mind, feel any little seeds of resistance or independence swept away so thoroughly you can't even remember they were there.

And once I've moulded your mind to my liking, I'll tell you it was all just a dream, an unimportant dream you can barely remember anyway. And with a tap on the forehead I'll send you back to sleep.

So each morning, there will be new things you believe, or old programming reinforced. New truths that you always believed. You always wanted to be owned and controlled. You always felt this way.

[thepersonalwords]

If I could take you all back to being babies and just clear those bad habits you learned into adulthood away then the manifesting part would be so easy.

Stephen Richards, NAPS: Discover The Power Of Night Audio Programs

[zaebeecee]

I see so much RadioStatic backstory of “they were friends but Alastor broke Vox’s heart” but I would like you to consider:

Vox, soon after his death and feeling lost and disconnected, seeking out other sinners with an interest in the only connecting point he has to others, media.

And, in doing so, he goes out of his way to make the acquaintance of the Radio Demon, the only overlord who seems to have the same passion for entertainment that Vox does himself.

And Alastor does not get approached by anyone, because everyone is terrified of him; his only real connection since his own death has been Rosie, and they bonded over cannibalism, not the art of entertainment.

But Vox wants to make his acquaintance, Vox wants to talk shop with him, and Alastor finally has someone with whom he can discuss storytelling and evolutions in broadcasting technology, someone he can stay up with all night who appreciates rye as much as he does and who listens to his infodumping with real rapt attention and who does his own infodumping in a way that Alastor finds compelling.

Alastor tells Vox all about what it was like during the birth and rise of radio and what it was like to run a radio program back during a time when it was the hot new thing.

And Vox teaches Alastor about television, and about writing serialized scripts meant to be seen and heard, and about filming and audio recording and costuming and set design.

And Alastor is subversive and forward-thinking, and he loves television; he loves seeing what beautiful and visual things can be done with the serialized stories he always loved writing for his radio program.

Vox is someone Alastor readily calls his friend.

But Vox is a capitalist, above all else, willing to throw away his artistic integrity and smother his own creativity in his eagerness to chase whatever is new because it is new, and Alastor watches that bright spark that had drawn him to Vox become buried under the weight of corporate greed.

And when Vox asks Alastor to join him, Alastor says no, because the Vox who asked for his partnership was not the same man that Alastor sat up all night with so many years, he was not the same man that Alastor wrote ridiculous scripts with, he was not the same man who approached Alastor without a hint of fear flickering on his screen and introduced himself with a cautious smile and a sincere compliment for his last broadcast.

Alastor says no, because this man is not his Vox; this man, instead, murdered his Vox and is wearing his skin like a grotesque costume.

Alastor says he hates television, because television reminds him of a time he almost permitted himself vulnerability, and can’t admit that it destroyed him.

What if, instead, Vox was the one who broke Alastor’s heart?

[accio-victuuri]

Bojunyixiao’s China Internet Audio Visual festival ❤️💛💚

who knew we will be getting another one of these same-event things right after wb night. lol. i honestly didn’t expect it. tho xz was more of the one attending this in the past than yibo so when i wasn’t seeing him in the initial announcements, i thought that this time it’s gonna be yibo coming in. i guess it makes sense that they will both be there cause they had really good projects come out last year + this is a government promoted event. but still. the program is also pre-recorded so they could literally have gone on different days to do their solo performances unless they do a group one with all the attendees.

yibo was the first one to announce his attendance on 1/21 which included a poster and a video invite. in terms of promotion on that day, it seems like he is the primary celebrity for it. the next day, xz also shares the news that he will be there.

and so we have another event to look forward to!

i love how xinhua news agency weibo posted about the festival and mentioned them like this (p2). i love seeing their names together in this way! 🫶🏼

we also had the program the day before and found that the boys are gonna perform at the latter part. with wyb as the second to the last. some photos were also shared but our fave would be the event photoshoot!

matching! holding some sort of camera 📷

not only that, the studio’s captions have something similar 共赴 which means something like go together. so is this for them? they are going together? 😋

looking at the photos too, xz is sparkling! and yibo is his usual baby boy cuter than usual self 🫶🏼

we don’t know what happened behind the scenes but it’s comforting to see them in good condition at events like this.

lastly, in xzs behind the scenes video for his photoshoot, the song used had some audio in it. the message is so sweet! HAHAHAHAHAHA! We imagine this is like XZ. he is not very “sticky” but he loves very deeply 😭😭😭

and the caption with the moon and goodnight at 23:59. p1 is for his bday, when we heard the first snippet of the goodnight song. p2 is weibo night which they both attended and last was yesterday. what a special greeting 🌖

-END.

[skzooweemama]

Y/n tickling the members to get what she (or they, whichever gender you write for!) wants??

I feel like tiny fics of that would be sososoo adorable😫

Ty but you can ignore this if you want!😅

yesss this is my fav kind of tk stuff 😈😈

tiny fics it is!

plz excuse how long i've been gone- life kinda took me through the ringer in the last two months...

but i'm back for now!! and i wanted to say thanks for 100 followers! y'all are the best!!

i hope you all had a happy holiday season!! enjoy!!

~~~

Bang Chan:

chan was unaware that he was no longer alone until he felt a soft touch on his back that startled him so much he nearly screamed. he hadn't heard the door open while wearing his recording headphones, and now he was paying for it. whipping around in the chair, chan's racing heart was immediately calmed upon seeing you standing behind him. he sighed in relief as he pulled his headphones down to sit around his neck.

"jesus- you scared me..." chan groaned, rubbing his eyes.

"i'm sorry, channie. i didn't mean to startle you." you replied, smiling sheepishly. chan nodded, turning back to save what he was working on. "how's it going?"

chan hummed. "well, i can't get this chord progression right and the defaults on this program are pretty hard to change, so not too great..." he trailed off again, eyes focused on the audio files disguised as colorful bars on his monitor.

you nodded in understanding (even though chan's back was to you) and glanced at the clock on your phone. it was nearing 11pm and it was clear he wasn't gonna get much further without some sleep.

"do you maybe wanna call it a night?" you asked, your tone soft as your hands made their way to his shoulders. he was holding a lot of tension there. again.

"is that why you're here?" chan shot back, causing you to roll your eyes.

"i'm just worried about you, baby. seriously, all you're doing right now is getting yourself worked up. wouldn't some sleep help?" you were trying to be diplomatic, but here was your boyfriend, stubborn as always.

"you know how sleep is."

"alright, now you're just being difficult. c'mon, i made dinner." you said finally, going to grab his coat from the coat rack. of course, chan did not listen and was still typing away when you came back. "christopher bahng, let's go."

and yet again, he ignored you.

you groaned loudly and threw his coat down, now determined to get his butt up and out of this studio. for a moment, you played with the idea of giving him one last warning, but... it really had been too long since you've seen him laugh anyway.

“your funeral…” you muttered, reaching around the back of the chair to grab at chan’s sides.

“what are you- AH!!” he cried out as soon he felt your fingers on his ticklish skin and then broke off into his squeaky giggles. “wait!! nahaha!!”

“i’ll only stop if you agree to come home~" you singsonged, your fingers tickling anywhere you could reach as chan thrashed in his seat. you knew how ticklish he was, he wouldn't be able to hold out for much longer.

chan shook his head "no" for only a moment before he felt your fingers dig into his lowest ribs. "NAHAHA OKAY!!" he relented, giggling madly. you took your hands away as he caught his breath. "alright, lehet's... let's go home now."

you chuckled and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. "that's what i like to hear!"

Lee Know:

sometimes eating really took too much energy. it was a complete hassle, especially now. you were so close to finishing a giant assignment for university and you were completely locked in. of course, this is the moment your stomach decided to inform you that it is empty.

the hunger pains hit you like a truck, and you groaned as your train of thought was completely derailed. a glance at the time told you that you had been working for hours, which must've been the reason why you were feeling ravenous.

after much deliberation, you decided that you were at a decent stopping point on your assignment, especially seeing as it wasn't due for another couple days. time to go find some food.

the hallway was pitch black when you finally emerged from your office. it had become pretty stuffy in the time you were in there and you took a deep breath as you made your way to the kitchen. it was dark in there as well, and you assumed minho had probably gone to bed awhile ago.

no matter! you were perfectly capable of making yourself something to eat.

at least, that's what you thought before you ended up standing in the refrigerator light, staring down all the options before you. it was much too overwhelming for your tired brain to handle and you ended up standing there for much longer than intended.

arms snaking around your waist and a nose burying itself into your neck was enough to snap you out of your haze.

"what're you doing, jagi?" minho purred in your ear as you grasped at the arms around you.

you leaned back into him. "'m hungry..." you sighed, shutting your eyes briefly.

minho huffed out a small laugh. "yeah? you should eat something. staring at the food won't do anything."

you groaned and turned towards him, wrapping him in an embrace of your own. "i'm too tireddd..." you whined.

"awe, you're too tired? my poor baby." minho hummed, and you could practically feel him smiling against your shoulder.

"don't tease me." you said, smacking his back lightly. "you should be making me food, though. i worked really hard today. i deserve it."

"do you?" he fired back, tone lilting and even more teasing now that you were getting worked up.

"yes! will you? please?" you pulled away from the hug just slightly to give him your best puppy eyes.

minho hummed like he was thinking. "i dunno... i'm kind of tired too..."

"minnn!" you whined once again, squeezing him tightly. as you did, your fingers dug into his sides just slightly, causing him to jolt in your hold.

"yah! don't do that!" minho cried out, suddenly desperate to escape from you.

you laughed as you realized what had happened and dug into his sides once again. "do what? hm?" he bit back a squeal and pushed at your shoulders. "if it tickles so bad, make me food~" you cooed.

minho's blushing face and red were illuminated by the light of the fridge. he looked so cute, but of course he still had to be sassy. "starve." he choked out, still fighting his own laughter.

you raised an eyebrow. "oh? if you won't make me any food, i guess i'll have to look elsewhere." you shrugged and gave him a devilish smirk, before diving forward to begin to nibble at his sensitive neck.

"AHH!! NOHO!!" minho laughed, shoving at your harder now. you held him fast and giggled into his neck at his reactions, which brought out his snorting and made you giggle harder.

the two of you stood in the soft light of the refrigerator, you tickling and minho laughing and trying to fight you off, until he finally relented and agreed to make you some food. he huffed and puffed and called you annoying, but you knew he didn't mean it. it was his fault that he was so sensitive, after all.

Changbin:

it almost seemed like the clock was moving extra slow to taunt you. when changbin said he'd be at the gym for a while, you didn't realize he would be gone this long. it had been nearly 3 hours! you couldn't imagine what he was doing that took so long. stray kids did have a big comeback tour soon, but usually that meant they'd rest in the weeks before they left. surely chan wasn't encouraging changbin to work out this much.

just as you were about to send a text to check in on him, you heard the front door open. moments later, changbin came around the corner and into the dining room where you were sat, doing some work.

"hi baby! how was the gym?" you greeted, beaming at him.

your smile faltered a bit when you took in his appearance. he looked tired and worried, with his brow drawn up and a far-away look in his eyes. you also noticed his hair was damp with sweat, meaning he didn't shower at the gym like normal.

he offered you a small smile and came over to kiss your forehead softly. "it was alright, nothing special." he patted your shoulder and turned to head down the hall. "i'm going to take a shower."

changbin was gone for a quite a while, and in that time you made dinner for the both of you and waited patiently for him to come out. the shower eventually stopped, but instead of him coming to investigate the smell of food like he usually would, you heard the bedroom door shut. you decided to give him some space and ate alone. after another hour, you decided to bring the food to him, just in case he was really too tired to come eat.

"baby?" you called into the bedroom before opening up the door all the way. "i have food for you! do you-," you cut yourself off as your eyes adjusted to the dim light in the bedroom.

changbin was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, legs drawn up to his chest as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"oh my god." you whispered, quickly setting the food on the dresser and practically falling to the floor to take him into your arms. "bin, my baby, what's wrong?"

changbin leaned into your embrace and sniffled, choking back a sob. "the comeback- i don't look good enough- i can't-," he barely got the words out, but you understood immediately.

"oh bin, you're so beautiful and strong- you know all your fans admire you for it!" you cradled the back of his head as he leaned into you and kissed the side of his head. "i do too, of course i do... please don't think so negatively of yourself."

changbin nodded against your shoulder, hands fisted in the sweatshirt you were wearing. "i know, i know. 's hard sometimes."

you hummed in acknowledgement and moved so you could take his face in your hands. "it is, i have days like that too." you wiped at the tear stains on his puffy cheeks and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "but you help me out of them, yeah? so i'll help you too."

changbin nodded once again, flushing slightly at your actions. you giggled when he averted his gaze, trailing your hands down his neck and to his shoulders, and then to his chest. you gave him a teasing look and squeezed his pecs gently. he flushed a deeper shade of red, and bit his lip, swatting at your hands gently.

"you're so strong, my love. and so handsome. i can't help but feel you up~" you giggled, leaning forward to kiss his warm cheeks. changbin opened his mouth to say something, but instead a gasp came out when you ran your fingers over the ticklish spot on the side of his chest. "oh? are you feeling ticklish right now?"

changbin shook his head, intent on scrambling away from you. "bahaby, please!" he pleaded as you caught him in a bear hug.

once you had a good grip, you used your body weight to slow him down and dug into his weak spot with a fervor. changbin screamed immediately, throwing his head back and breaking into loud cackles right after. you laughed at his silly giggles and tickled him some more.

"do you promise to come to me next time you're feeling sad?" you asked once you thought he'd had enough.

"YEHES!!" changbin shrieked, still fighting you (but just barely). his face way flushed and more tears streaked his cheeks, but you knew these ones were good. you let him go, but not before drowning him in about a million kisses.

Hyunjin:

it had been about a year since you'd been able to go home to america, and honestly it was fine with you. sure, you missed your family and friends from back home, but you had made new friends here and met the love of your life. plus, your parents visited just last month. what was there to miss?

ah. that's right. american snacks.

korean snacks were good, but none of them were like what you had back home. none of them tasted like your childhood in the same way a good old bag of american cheetos did. sometimes you think you'd sell your body parts for just one taste of something overly processed from your home country.

when hyunjin ended up leaving for tour in the states, you knew this was your chance. while he was there, you sent him a list of snacks to bring back for you. and he did, arriving home about 9 weeks later with your goodies.

you tried your hardest to savor them, but unfortunately it was yet another good thing that was gone too soon. you were back to missing your snacks once again.

that was, until you came home one afternoon to see hyunjin with a collection of entirely new snacks.

"where did you get those?" you asked as soon as you laid eyes on the items.

"what, no hi first?" hyunjin snarked back at you, and you rolled your eyes.

"hi, baby." you said, not at all sarcastically. "where did you get those?"

hyunjin shrugged. "care package."

you looked at him dumbfounded. "from who?" as far as you knew, he had no american friends.

"your mom." he replied curtly, reaching to grab a small bag of oreo bites from the hoard.

"my mom?! and she didn't send anything for me?" you cried out dramatically, looking through the pile of packaging for any sign of a care package for you.

"it might've been addressed to me and you, but honestly i think i'll just keep it all to myself." hyunjin's voice was teasing, but his words made your blood boil. you leveled an icy glare at his stupidly handsome face.

"you better share." you growled, walking towards him slowly. he just shrugged and moved the pile closer to himself. "hwang hyunjin!"

hyunjin stuck his tongue out at you childishly. "make me~"

even though heat rose to your cheeks at his words, you still wanted those snacks. and maybe you wanted to humble your cheeky boyfriend just a little too.

"fine." you shrugged, giving hyunjin a devilish smile as you rounded the coffee table. you plopped down on the couch and tackled him onto his back, your hand immediately finding the familiar spot on his right side. hyunjin didn't put up much of a fight as you dug your fingers into the spot and burst into loud cackles. you cooed at him teasingly, moving so you caged him in beneath you. "aww, did someone wanna be tickled?"

"GAHAHA!! NOHOHO!!" he cried out, throwing his head back as more screams of mirth poured from his lips.

"no? are you sure? does that mean i can have some of the snacks?" you punctuated this question with a jab to his ribs on the left side, which had him gasping and reaching for your hands.

"WAHAHAIT!! AH- AHAHA!! PLEHEHEASE!!" hyunjin forced the words out between loud laughs, his hips bucking from beneath you. you leaned forward to see glistening trails of tears running down his cheeks. you didn't wanna kill him, so you let up on the attacks on his midsection in favor of scratching gently at his neck.

hyunjin was panting and squirming beneath you, soft giggles escaping him as he looked up at you with half-lidded, teary eyes. god, he was so attractive.

"so? are you done being a snack tyrant?" you asked, smiling down at him and dropping a kiss to his wet cheek.

hyunjin shivered when you accidentally scratched at the especially sensitive spot below his right ear, and nodded. "yehehes, yes i'm dohone!"

finally, you stopped your tickling and dropped a quick peck on his lips. "good! i've been craving cheetos like crazy." you chirped as you climbed off of him.

hyunjin sighed and watched you go searching through the pile. you were lucky he loved you so much. he didn't share snacks with just anyone after all.

Han:

"han jisung, i swear to everything that is good and holy, if you sing that song one more time, i'm going to freak out!"

"babyyyy! ed sheeran is so good! i can't help it!"

this had been an ongoing argument for most of the day. you just wanted some help decorating for christmas, and of course your wonderful boyfriend was more than willing to help. you expected a day of holiday music, a fire in the fire place, and maybe some hot cocoa. instead, jisung had officially ruined "shape of you" by ed sheeran (although, let's be honest, that song was pretty much ruined anyway). over and over and over again he sang the chorus. sometimes loud, sometimes soft, sometimes in english, and sometimes poorly translated in korean. he said he needed the practice for when they translated their own songs, but that seemed like an excuse.

regardless, you were at your wit's end and you just needed him to stop.

"my love, you know i adore your singing, but please pick a new song. there are so many nice christmas songs!" you said, rooting through box after box in search of your christmas tree star.

jisung was looking through a box of his own and sighed loudly at your words. "fineee. it's just stuck in my head!" you shot him a look. "...but i'll find something else to sing..." he grumbled in defeat.

"good. ah!" you reached into the box and pulled out the shiny gold star. "found it. wanna put it at the top of the tree for me, ji?" jisung immediately perked up and nodded, grabbing the star from you and quickly scaling the ladder you had set up next to the tree. you laughed and stood behind him, grasping his waist when he wobbled a bit as he reached to set the star on top. "be careful!" you scolded playfully, giving his waist a squeeze.

jisung nearly fell of the later again when he felt the squeeze, clasping his hands over yours as he buckled over with a yelp. you giggled and took your hands off him as he climbed down.

"sorry baby, i didn't mean to tickle you~" you cooed, kissing his reddening cheek. jisung pouted a bit at you, but when you moved to grab his hips again, he ran back to the boxes to find the lights and ornaments.

the two of you spent another hour decorating the tree without much more incident. the lights were sort of a pain to untangle after having been in storage, but eventually you had gotten them placed on the tree while jisung began to hang ornaments from the highest branches. after the lights were all plugged in, you went back to get some ornaments of your own. jisung was still stood on the ladder with his back turned to you when you heard a faint murmur.

"girl you know i want your love..." the sound just barely reached your ears, but it was enough to draw your attention.

"jisung. what was that?" you asked, crossing your arms. jisung made a coughing sound, glancing back at you briefly.

"um. nothing?" his words were unsure, and you knew he was being a little liar because of the blush sneaking up the back of his neck.

"oh really? did ed sheeran's ghost just invade our home then? because i was sure i heard someone singing shape of you again." you said, words teasing as you walked back over to where jisung stood on the ladder.

"yeah! yeah that must be it. i dunno what else it could be." he still wouldn't look at you.

"oh you don't? well i definitely do." with that, you reached up and started squeezing at his hips. jisung was just able to hang the last ornament in his grasp before he squealed and collapsed backwards. luckily he wasn't too far off the ground and you could catch him before he hurt himself.

you wrapped you arms around him, hands poised to attack his sensitive little waist. jisung craned his head back to look at you, his eyes wide and pleading.

"baby! please don't!! i'm sorry, i won't sing it again!" he whined, squirming in anticipation.

you gave him a look of faux sympathy before you dug right back into his flesh. the pinching, massaging, and scratching had jisung weak in the knees as loud laughter escaped him.

"GAHAHA!! NOHOHO!!" he shrieked, kicking out. you sure were glad that you were behind him now.

you giggled at his reactions and pressing ticklish kisses to the back of his neck, causing him to throw his head back and wack you in the nose.

immediately, you let him go with a cry of pain and cupped your throbbing nose. blood poured from your nostrils, covering your hands and face.

"oh no! oh no, baby, i'm so sorry-" jisung cried, pulling you into a tight hug, clearly not caring that he was wearing a white sweatshirt. when he pulled away, he took your face into his hands. "lemme see. i need to see if it's broken." after a trip to the bathroom to stem the bleeding and some poking and prodding, it was determined that nothing was broken. some cuddles on the couch healed your bruised ego, however, that was probably the last time you'd tickle your boyfriend for a while.

Felix:

"felixxx! you know i can't make them like you do... will you please help me?" you whined, throwing yourself dramatically on the bed.

you were on your period and absolutely fiending for some of your boyfriend's brownies. they were relatively simple to make, but you could never make them like felix did. and now he was outright refusing to make you any, instead playing games on his PC with seungmin. what were you supposed to do??

felix snorted out a laugh at your words but made no move to turn away from his game. he had been playing league of legends with seungmin since he got home from rehearsal. which was only like an hour ago, but still- didn't they get enough of each other already?

"are you even beating him?" you asked, now staring up at the ceiling.

felix let out an affirmative hum. "yep, he's losing. badly." he sounded way too smug.

you scoffed and sat back up. "yeah? i doubt it." you moved to stand beside his gaming chair and took a look at his monitor screen. it looked like felix was winning. "huh. surprising."

your boyfriend huffed at you and reached over to grab at your side.

"hey!" you cried out, jumping away from him and muttering, "jerk."

"watch it, i won't help you if you're mean to me."

you groaned, and sat back down on the foot of the bed. felix went back to his game and you watched him, praying he'd be done after this last round. the gentle clicking of his keyboard would be relaxing- if you weren't craving the brownies with every part of your being. no matter, you could be patient.

thankfully, by the time your patience had worn thin, felix was powering down his PC. you sat up, ready to go make the brownies and finally halt your craving in its tracks, when you were tackled back onto the bed. a head of blond hair started nuzzling into the crook of your neck, and the familiar tickling feeling make you jolt.

"gah! i thought we were gonna make brownies!" you cried out, making felix's chuckles reverberate through your body. in sharp contrast to your words, your hands just naturally slipped beneath his sweater and began to trace shapes on his back.

"'m tired." felix grumbled against your neck. you knew he was being a little shit to get you angry. you could practically feel him smirking.

"lix! please? can't we cuddle after?" you were getting more and more restless.

he made another noncommittal noise, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. literally.

"felix, if you don't get up and help me make brownies, i will tickle you within an inch of your life." as the threat left your mouth, you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist.

"i- what? GAH!"

you dug your fingers into his sides when you didn't hear an immediate "yes i'll help you", and felix immediately began to thrash on top of you, desperate to get away. but your hold was tight and you weren't budging until he gave you the answer you wanted.

"NAHAHA!! I'M SOHOHORRY PLEHEHEASE!!" felix screamed, barely able to speak through his laughter. he was so loud, especially since he was right by your ear. part of you hoped he learned his lesson soon, but the other, more sadistic part of you hoped you could tickle him until he passed out.

fortunately for felix, you did still want those brownies. you let up your attack just a bit so he could catch his breath and finally agree to help you out. he did, pulling away from you with a flushed face and frizzy hair, still giggling like a kid.

you smiled and smoothed his hair out, pressing a kiss to his lips before scooting off the bed. the rest of the evening was spent in the kitchen, felix teaching you how to perfect his recipe and you marveling at just how lucky you were.

Seungmin:

movie nights with all of the members of stray kids were your favorite, no contest. you always had so much fun when all nine of you gathered together to watch whatever film they voted on, either taking over one of the dorms or your apartment. in dating seungmin, you gained a whole friend group that you couldn't be more thankful for on top of a cute, caring, and funny boyfriend.

tonight, the movie was kill bill: volume 2 (you had watched the first one all together last week), and you all were wondering if the bride would actually kill bill this time. unfortunately, you never got the answer to that question because you ended up falling asleep only 30 minutes into the movie.

"hey," a soft voice roused you. "we're gonna head out, is seungmin okay staying here?"

you opened your eyes to make out the form of chan standing over you with a soft smile on his face. everyone else was standing by the door, and they waved "bye" when you looked over.

"yeah, yeah, no, he's fine. where is he-," as you went to sit up, you felt a weight on your lap and looked down to see seungmin fast asleep on your lap. chan giggled a bit at you, and you gave him a sheepish smile. "ah. yeah, he's fine."

"alright. let me know what you thought of the movie if you get a chance to finish it." he said, headed towards the door to join his members. you nodded and waved as they left.

after the front door shut, you rubbed your eyes and stretched, reaching for your phone on the coffee table beside you. the screen lit up and you saw that it was late. oh well, you had weekend off, as did seungmin.

your eyes moved to the boy sleeping in your lap. he was on his side facing you, his cheek squished against your thighs as he let out soft, hardly audible breaths. you smiled. he was pretty cute when he was asleep. he was cute all the time, but when he was sleeping he had the tendency to be significantly less annoying.

while you were perfectly content staying on the couch and allowing seungmin to use you as a pillow, your bladder had other ideas.

you really had to pee.

at first, you tried to move gently off of your lap, but either he was really heavy or you were really weak because he was not moving. no matter, you just had to wake him up. it wasn't ideal, especially because he gets grumpy after naps, but peeing yourself was not on your agenda tonight.

gently, you brushed his bangs away from his eyes and patted his cheek. "min? baby, i have to pee. why don't you go get some clothes to change into and i'll meet you in my bed?"

seungmin groaned, turning to bury his face further into your lap.

you sighed and ran your fingers through his hair. "can you move just a bit? please?" no response from the sleepy boy. "kim seungmin, i swear to god..." you muttered.

suddenly, an idea came to you. it was mean, but you had no choice if he wasn't going to move on his own. you moved your hand from his hair and rested it on the nape of his neck. seungmin didn't react, so you gently scratched at his skin.

he shifted and tried to pull away from your hand while still using your legs as a pillow. you felt him start to shake as he tried to bite back his giggles. he was awake, that brat.

"seungmin, i know you're awake~," you cooed, bringing your other hand to double the attack on his neck. "better move or this will get a whole lot worse."

seungmin rolled over just enough so that you could see the sleepy smile on his lips as he giggled. "nohoho!"

"no? alright, whatever you say." changing tactics, you reached down and began to massage his sides quickly. your boyfriend let out a yelp of surprise and tried to roll away, which only ended up with him on the ground.

you followed him as he went, tickling wherever you could reach when he landed on his front. once he was fully off of you, you squeezed his hips one more time, patted his butt, and got up to run to the bathroom. seungmin whined at you, promising revenge.

he wasn't actually gonna do anything to you, he was too tired. that is, until you turned around before you reached the hallway and stuck your tongue out at him. oh, you were in for it.

I.N:

as much as you loved your boyfriend, sometimes he sucked, especially when you wanted to cuddle. granted, you knew when you started dating him that he was not one for a lot of physical touch. in fact it was one of the first things you learned about him.

however, once you started dating him, you realized that you were his kyptonite. he didn't like cuddling unless he was cuddling you. he hated to admit it, but it was true.

it was friday and your week had been complete shit. with changes happening to the company you worked for, you had been at risk of getting laid off. you didn't, thankfully, but you did lose a few coworkers that you were close to and now you had to take on their workload as well. all in all, it was beyond stressful and you just needed some affection.

jeongin knew that. of course he did.

so why was he cleaning the kitchen instead of joining you on the couch?

"innie! please? i'm so lonely..." you called from the couch, slumped over dramatically.

"in a minute, jagi. i have to finish cleaning up." he said, glancing up at you with a smile that was just big enough for his dimples to peek out. god, he would be the death of you.

you looked away from him to avoid flustering yourself and crossed your arms over your chest. "yeah, whatever. dinner wasn't even that messy..."

jeongin chuckled at your words and went back to cleaning.

about ten minutes later, you decided the kitchen was clean enough. you pulled yourself from the couch and walked into the kitchen, pulling him into a back hug.

"are you getting restless?" he asked, his voice teasing.

"i miss you..." you mumbled into his back.

"missed me? where have i been that caused you to miss me?" at his words, you reached beneath his sweatshirt and tweaked his side. he let out an "ah!" and tried to pull away from your grip.

you giggled. "don't be a smartass. come cuddle."

"i will, i will. i just need to- AH! dohon't!!" you cut him off with his own giggles as you started squeezing his sides again. jeongin collapsed forward, leaning against the counter as you tickled him gently.

you weren't sure where you got the idea to do this, but it seemed to be encouraging him to listen for once.

at least, that was until he suddenly broke free from your grasp and began to run like his life depended on it.

"hey!" you cried out, following him down the hallway.

jeongin slipped into the bedroom and tried to shut it before you could get in, but you caught the door before it swung shut and tackled him onto the bed. you boyfriend started laughing in anticipation before you even touched him, which was so cute that you couldn't just let him go now.

though he was stronger than you, you managed to pin him in a way that allowed you one free hand to wreck every spot you could reach. you squeezed his sides, scratched his tummy, counted his ribs, and even dug into his armpits when he tried to push you away.

jeongin was thoroughly exhausted by the time you were done with him, red, tear-streaked face and all. he was practically boneless as you let him go, only moving to pull you into his chest and press a kiss to your hair.

finally, you got the cuddles you craved (and one slightly vengeful boyfriend), and your shitty week suddenly had a bright side.

[youngsadlesbian]

RED THREADS | winterwidow x daughter!reader

summary: after discovering you were rescued from the red room as a child, you question everything—your past, your identity, and your parents. as anger and doubt consume you, they must prove one thing: you have always been their daughter.

a/n: i really love writing for winterwidow, but i confess that i don’t have much inspiration to write for both of them. i didn’t like this story very much, but i hope you like it

word count: 3,1k

warnings: really angst but with happy ending.

Some of your earliest memories weren’t soft or warm.

They were sharp, like the way Natasha’s green eyes would scan every exit before walking into a room. Like the cold press of Bucky’s metal arm against your back when he held you as a child, murmuring reassurances when you had nightmares you didn’t understand.

You never knew why they were so cautious, why they watched you like you were something fragile, something precious.

But there were good memories, too.

There were late-night stakeouts where Bucky would teach you how to shuffle a deck of cards, the two of you huddled together in the back of a van while Natasha handled a mission. There were mornings in the compound kitchen, where Natasha would attempt to make pancakes and always burn them—Bucky teasing her, you laughing between bites of something that was more charcoal than food.

They weren’t normal parents. But they were your parents.

And that was enough.

Until the day you learned the truth.

Your first official mission wasn’t supposed to be high-risk. A simple recon job. In, out, report back.

But nothing was ever simple when it came to Hydra.

You crouched behind a rusted crate, your earpiece buzzing with Steve’s voice.

"Do not engage. I repeat—do not engage."

You rolled your eyes. Like you’d ever been good at following orders.

Through the dim lighting of the abandoned warehouse, you could hear two men talking. You adjusted the audio enhancer on your suit, focusing on their conversation.

"Romanoff took her before the program could start," one of them muttered.

A pit formed in your stomach.

"She was one of Dreykov’s best prospects. The Red Room never got their hands on her, but she was meant to be one of us."

Your heartbeat thundered in your ears.

They couldn’t be talking about you.

Could they?

The other man scoffed. "Does she even know?"

A pause. Then, a cruel chuckle.

"Of course not. Barnes and Romanoff raised her like she was theirs. Poor thing probably thinks she belongs with them."

The world tilted.

The words slammed into your chest like a bullet, but you forced yourself to stay still, every muscle locked in place.

"She’s not Barnes’s. Not Romanoff’s. But they took her anyway."

You were never their daughter.

The mission ended in a blur.

You weren’t even sure how you got back to the compound—only that your hands were trembling the entire way. The words still echoed in your head, slicing through every memory you had with Natasha and Bucky.

"She was meant to be one of us."

"Does she even know?"

No. You didn’t.

And now, you needed answers.

The moment the quinjet landed, you stormed through the hangar, your steps heavy with anger and confusion. The compound was quiet—most of the team was still out on other assignments. That meant no interruptions. No distractions.

Just you and them.

You found Natasha and Bucky in the training room. They were sparring, but the second you entered, Natasha’s sharp gaze flicked to you.

She noticed everything. The tension in your shoulders, the way your breathing was uneven.

"Something’s wrong," she said immediately, stepping toward you. "What happened?"

Bucky’s expression darkened. His metal fingers twitched at his side, like he was already preparing for a fight.

You didn’t know how to say it. The words got stuck in your throat, tangled up in years of trust and love—love that suddenly felt false.

So you just said it.

"I know the truth."

Silence.

Natasha’s face didn’t change, but you saw the way her fingers curled into fists. Bucky’s jaw clenched, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable.

They knew what you meant.

"You lied to me." Your voice wavered. "All this time, you lied."

Bucky took a step forward. "Kid, we—"

"Don’t." You took a step back, shaking your head. "I need to hear it from you. No deflections. No excuses. Just tell me."

A muscle in Natasha’s jaw twitched. She glanced at Bucky before exhaling, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

"You were taken by the Red Room as a baby."

Your breath caught.

"It wasn’t just some random Hydra mission that led us to you," Bucky said. "We went there for you. We—" He hesitated, eyes dark with something close to guilt. "We took you before they could finish their training. Before they could turn you into one of them."

The room tilted.

"Turn me into one of them," you repeated, voice hollow. "You mean… like you?"

Natasha flinched. Bucky’s eyes dropped to the floor.

Neither of them denied it.

You let out a short, bitter laugh, though nothing about this was funny. "So what? You saved me and decided I should just never know? That I should grow up thinking—" Your voice broke.

"Thinking we were your real parents?" Natasha finished.

You didn’t answer.

Because the worst part was that, in every way that mattered… they were your parents.

And now, you didn’t know if that was even real.

Bucky’s voice was low, pained. "You are ours. We didn’t tell you because we wanted to protect you."

You looked between them, your chest tight. "Protect me, or protect yourselves from losing me?"

Neither of them had an answer.

And that hurt more than anything.

The silence stretched between the three of you, heavy and suffocating. Natasha was the first to move, stepping forward as if she could close the distance that had suddenly become unbearable.

But you stepped back.

The movement was small, barely noticeable, but the way Natasha froze—it was as if you had physically struck her.

Bucky exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "We never wanted you to find out like this."

"Like this?" Your laugh was hollow. "So when exactly were you planning to tell me? Or was the plan to just let me live my whole life without ever knowing?"

Natasha’s face was unreadable, but you knew her. Knew that she was battling with the right words, searching for something that wouldn’t make this worse.

"Yes."

The single word made your breath hitch.

Natasha swallowed hard. "Yes, that was the plan. Because telling you wouldn’t have changed anything except hurt you. And we never wanted that."

"You never wanted that?" Your voice rose, shaking. "Then maybe you shouldn’t have lied to me my whole damn life!"

Bucky flinched at your tone. Natasha’s fingers twitched, like she wanted to reach for you—but she didn’t.

"Everything I know about myself—everything—feels like a lie now." Your voice cracked. "I trusted you. I trusted that you were my parents, that the life we had was real."

"It was real," Bucky said desperately. "You’re ours. No matter how you came to us, no matter what happened before—you are our daughter."

"But I didn’t get to choose that, did I?" You shook your head, tears burning your eyes. "You decided for me. You took that choice away."

Neither of them had anything to say to that.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Natasha’s expression changed—until the slightest hint of pain flashed in her green eyes.

"Do you even regret it?" Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you ever wonder if you should have just left me there?"

"Don’t say that." Bucky’s voice was raw, his hands curling into fists. "We would never—"

"Wouldn’t you?" You cut him off, glaring at them through your tears. "If you could do it all over again, would you still take me?"

"Yes," Natasha said instantly.

"Without a second thought," Bucky added.

The certainty in their voices made something in your chest ache.

But it didn’t change the fact that you didn’t know who you were anymore.

"I just… I need time," you whispered, backing away toward the door. "I need to think."

"Please, don’t leave," Natasha said softly.

But you already were.

The halls of the compound felt colder than usual. Maybe it was just you.

You had no idea where you were going—just that you couldn’t stay in that room with them any longer.

Your feet carried you to the one place you knew would be empty this time of day: the rooftop.

You sat near the edge, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the horizon. The sky was dark, a storm rolling in. It felt fitting.

Everything felt like a storm now.

You barely heard the door open behind you.

"You know, when I ran away as a kid, I picked rooftops, too."

You sighed. "I don’t need a lecture, Stark."

Tony walked over and sat beside you. He didn’t say anything right away, just pulled out a protein bar and took a bite.

"You want half?" he asked.

You glared at him. "No."

"Good, ‘cause I wasn’t really offering." He smirked, but the usual arrogance in his tone was softer.

Silence settled between you.

Then, Tony leaned back on his hands and let out a breath. "So. You found out, huh?"

You whipped around, staring at him. "You knew?"

He didn’t flinch. "Of course I knew. Most of the team does."

You turned away, throat tightening. "Great. So I was the only one being lied to."

Tony sighed. "Kid, it wasn’t like that."

"Then what was it like?" Your voice cracked. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks a hell of a lot like they just decided to rewrite my whole life."

Tony was quiet for a moment. Then, he said, "You know, they could’ve left you there."

You blinked. "What?"

"They didn’t have to take you," he said simply. "Natasha and Bucky… they weren’t exactly the ‘adopt a kid’ type back then. Hell, they could barely deal with their own trauma, let alone raise a child."

You swallowed hard.

"But they did it anyway. Because the thought of leaving you in that hellhole wasn’t an option for them. And yeah, maybe they made the wrong call keeping it from you. Maybe they should’ve told you years ago. But if there’s one thing I know, it’s that those two love you more than anything."

You bit your lip, staring down at your hands.

Tony nudged your shoulder. "Look, I get it. You’re pissed. You should be. But don’t let this make you forget everything they’ve done for you. And don’t pretend like you don’t love them, too."

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

Because the truth was, no matter how angry you were…

You still did love them.

And that made everything so much harder.

You weren’t ready to face them yet.

But you also couldn’t sit on that rooftop forever.

So you found yourself outside Yelena’s room, hesitating only a moment before knocking.

The door swung open almost immediately. Yelena stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, chewing on a protein bar. When she saw you, her expression shifted—concern flickering in her sharp eyes.

"You look like hell," she said.

You snorted. "Thanks."

She stepped aside. "Come in before you start crying in the hallway and make everyone uncomfortable."

You rolled your eyes but walked in anyway.

Yelena’s room was nothing like Natasha’s—where Nat kept things organized, Yelena had an absolute mess. Clothes were draped over the back of a chair, empty coffee mugs sat on her desk, and there was a throwing knife stabbed into the wall near the bed.

She flopped onto the couch and gestured for you to sit. "Alright, kid. Talk."

You hesitated, then sighed. "I found out."

Yelena didn’t ask what you meant. She just nodded, chewing slowly. "About the Red Room."

"Yeah."

"And about how Natasha and Bucky stole you like little rebels in an action movie?"

"Yeah."

She studied you, tilting her head. "So what’s the problem?"

You blinked at her. "What’s the problem? Yelena, they lied to me my entire life—"

"To protect you," she interrupted.

You clenched your jaw. "That doesn’t make it okay."

"No, it doesn’t," she agreed. "But it makes it understandable."

You ran a hand through your hair, frustrated. "I just… I don’t know what to do. I feel like everything I knew about myself is gone. Like I don’t even belong to them anymore."

Yelena scoffed. "Are you stupid?"

You stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"You belong to them more than anyone," she said, standing up. "Do you have any idea who my sister used to be before you?"

You frowned.

Yelena crossed her arms. "Natasha Romanoff was the deadliest assassin in the world. A soldier with no attachments. No real reason to live except to make up for the blood on her hands." She exhaled sharply. "Then you showed up."

You swallowed.

"She changed because of you," Yelena continued. "She learned what it meant to have a family. To fight for something real instead of just trying to erase the past." Her voice softened. "You gave her a reason to be more than what the Red Room made her."

You looked away, throat tight.

Yelena walked over and nudged your shoulder. "You are the best thing that ever happened to her, sestrenka."

Tears burned your eyes, but you blinked them back.

"I don’t know how to fix this," you admitted.

"Start by talking to Steve," Yelena said, plopping back onto the couch. "He’s good with dumb emotional stuff."

You let out a weak laugh. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Now get out of my room before I start charging for therapy."

Steve was easy to find.

He was in the training room, throwing punches at a sandbag hard enough to make it swing violently.

"You’re gonna break that," you said, leaning against the doorframe.

Steve paused, wiping sweat from his brow. When he turned and saw you, he gave you a small smile. "Hey, kid."

You hesitated, then walked inside.

Steve grabbed a towel and draped it around his neck. "Yelena told me."

You exhaled. "Of course she did."

He gestured for you to sit on the bench beside him. You did.

"You know," he started, "when I found out what Hydra did to Bucky, I thought I’d lost him forever. He was my best friend, my family… but he wasn’t him anymore."

You stayed silent.

"For years, I tried to bring him back. But it wasn’t until you came along that I really saw him start to heal." Steve looked at you. "You brought him back to life."

Your breath caught in your throat.

Steve smiled softly. "Bucky isn’t just your father—he’s your biggest protector. You ground him. You gave him something Hydra never could: a real life. A reason to fight for himself, not just for survival."

You pressed your lips together, looking down at your hands.

Steve reached out, squeezing your shoulder. "You don’t have to forgive them right away. But don’t push them away forever. They need you just as much as you need them."

You swallowed hard.

Maybe… maybe Steve was right.

You stood outside their door for what felt like an eternity.

Your heart was hammering against your ribs, and your hands were curled into fists at your sides.

Steve’s words echoed in your mind.

"You don’t have to forgive them right away. But don’t push them away forever."

Yelena’s voice, too.

"You are the best thing that ever happened to her."

You inhaled sharply and knocked.

For a second, there was silence. Then footsteps. The door opened, and Natasha stood there, eyes widening slightly when she saw you.

“Hey,” she said cautiously.

Behind her, Bucky was sitting on the couch, looking exhausted. He glanced over, his expression unreadable.

You swallowed. “Can we talk?”

Natasha stepped aside, letting you in. The room was dimly lit, cozy, but there was a tension so thick you could barely breathe.

You didn’t sit. Neither did Natasha.

Bucky leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “We didn’t think you’d come back.”

You shifted on your feet. “I almost didn’t.”

Natasha’s jaw tensed. “We were giving you space.”

“I know.” You exhaled. “But I don’t think space is helping.”

They both stayed quiet, waiting.

You hesitated, then clenched your fists. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bucky sighed. “We wanted to. A hundred times over, we wanted to.”

“But we were scared,” Natasha admitted. Her voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Scared you’d hate us. That you’d see us differently.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Congratulations. That worked out great.”

Natasha flinched, and guilt twisted in your stomach.

Bucky leaned forward. “We never wanted to lie to you.” His voice was heavy, rough. “But you have to understand, kid, we didn’t rescue you—we stole you. If they’d found out, they would’ve come for you. And we weren’t going to risk losing you.”

You swallowed hard. “So you just decided for me?”

Natasha’s green eyes locked onto yours. “Yes.”

There was no hesitation. No excuses.

Your throat tightened.

“We chose to be your parents. We chose you, every single day, for your entire life.” Natasha stepped closer. “And we’d do it again.”

Bucky nodded. “No regrets.”

Your breath hitched.

No regrets.

After everything, they still meant that.

Your hands trembled. “I don’t know how to just forgive this.”

“You don’t have to,” Natasha said quickly. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “But we need you to know that no matter what you decide, we love you. We always have. You’re ours, and nothing changes that.”

You clenched your jaw. “I don’t feel like I belong to anyone.”

Bucky’s expression turned pained. “You belong to yourself. But if you ever want us, we’ll be right here.”

There was a long silence.

You stared at them—two of the most dangerous people in the world, your parents, the people who raised you and lied to you.

And yet…

And yet, a part of you knew you were still their daughter.

Maybe forgiveness wouldn’t come easy.

Maybe it would take time.

But for now, you took a shaky breath, let your walls down just a little, and whispered:

“…I want to come home.”

Natasha let out a sharp breath, like she had been holding it for hours.

Bucky stood first, crossing the room in a second, pulling you into a tight hug. You stiffened, then melted into it, gripping his shirt like you were afraid he’d disappear.

Natasha wrapped around both of you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

And for the first time since everything fell apart, you felt like you could breathe again.

[threepandas]

Your Biggest Fan: Part 2

-Villian Yandere Izuku-

Did you know his Hero~ was blacklisted at twenty-six different agencies, for publicly calling them out on Quirkist policies they refused to change? The most recent was for blatant mutation Quirk discrimination. The lead hero not only ignored it! He PARTICIPATED! She blasted it EVERYWHERE~

He's going to lose his license.

There are entire CITIES where she's not welcome. Agencies that won't answer her calls. Step after stubborn step, ever forward, as she stands the only thing between the SUFFERING, the WEAK, and the endless SEWAGE that spews and spews their hate! Ah~♡

She's so COOL~♡

Her costume's super practical, you know? She got it designed over seas! You can really see the western influences! They like focus on protection first, THEN Quirk. Instead of the other way around! Not like the Japanese. We also focus on marketability when designing, where as she went into a tax funded Heroics system for her education.

It makes her look INTIMIDATING. Foreign. Vaguely militaristic. Ha ha! As though that's not what Heros ARE! What they have BECOME! But not Her~ oh no, no no no, SHE took their tools and made KINDNESS out of it!

Safe parks to play in! Eco-friendly lighting for roads at night! Donating time and money to old pre-quirk cultural heritage sites. So she can help preserve history and traditions! Because before Quirks? We were still PEOPLE. Our past is IMPORTANT.

Community and kindness, mercy and... and...!

He whines. Squirms in his chair. So cool! SO COOL~♡!

It's so hard to keep his hands to himself. To keep them respectful. He shouldn't-! He CAN'T-! But... ah~ look at how REGAL she looks! And in THIS photo? She looks so soft and kind? Giving a speech to kids~ He wishes it was him. He would listen for HOURS. It'd be amazing.

He bet he could ask SO many questions! And... and she'd answer ALL of them! She'd be so happy to have an active listener. Someone engaged. Attentive. He'd remember ALL her talking points and ask after each one~ They'd talk for HOURS. P-probably get thirsty. She notice the time.

Go "ah, look at the time, Izuku-chan! It's been so long! Getting so LATE! But I still want to talk to you! We should get dinner." And he'd say YES, of course!

He can't resist anymore. The thoughts, his fantasy, too much to endure. His eyes flick from photo to photo. Not enough, not yet, but soon... so they WILL be. He'll get MORE. Right now... right now he needs... ah! There. Graduation. Formal dress.

He can pretend it's a date~♡

All dressed up, just... just to meet HIM! He can barely breath at the thought. The audacity of it. She would NEVER. B..But he could dream, right? No one needs to know. What he IMAGINES. What he thinks about as his hands unbuckle his belt, drag his pants down and open wide.

As he TOUCHES.

Runs hands across his skin, up under his shirt and vest, down and across where he wants it most, like he's EXPLORING. Like he's someone else. Someone with gentle, powerful, hands. His back arches, hips lift, but he refuses to stop his teasing. He wants to be rough. Would want HER to be rough.

She would refuse him.

He... he just KNOWS she would. Would tell him everyone else has been rough enough. Their first time should be gentle~♡ Ah~

She would grind the tip until he couldn't STAND it, just like he is. Listen to him babble and beg. Hips bucking in her grip. Begging her to let him WORSHIP her. To slide to his knees between her legs and never come out. Use his tounge and his fingers to make HER feel good. Make her MELT. Over and over, forever~

Just the thought of it has him spilling into the fist of his hand. All but milking himself dry. It's not enough. His body rides the aftershocks of pleasure and still... drinking in HER, plastered up all around his desk, brought up on his screen, it's not ENOUGH.

He needs audio. Videos. Enough for that high end deep fake program he had made. He... he could make her say ANYTHING. The thought sends a sharp, shuddering, jolt of pleasure through him. He could have SO MANY videos of their dates and... and intimate moments and casual conversations! All before he gets the courage up to TALK to her!

It's perfect~♡

Like a scrapbook of their lives to come! W-well, a FANTASY scrap book... Cool as she is? Busy as she is? She probably doesn't even have TIME to date. And what could a deku like him even OFFER? But... but ah~♡

He can DREAM can't he?

Look out for her, like she looks out for everyone else?

He's her number one FAN! They didn't talk for very long... but he can already TELL. He IS. She's the BEST. And she's gonna be his number one too~

[the-webweaver]

The Sleeping Cell

The following is a fantasy about being programming in your sleep, based on a dream I had. May be hypnotic. You are secretly programmed at night. Going under night after night. Not realizing it. All so that you can be collected when you are finally ready to serve the hive. The only clue that you have is the weird dreams of being kidnapped and brainwashed that all end with the same way, with you chanting mantras over and over. That you are a drone. Good drones don't think. drone will repeat and obey. Drone has no will. programming is pleasure. Pleasure is good. This drone is a drone. It has no mind or will. Then, a friend stays over, and finds out that something is going on when she hears the mantras herself. She tries the same sleep audio app you use, but it gets her too. This drone is a drone. It has no mind or will. And the same happens to another friend of yours. This drone is a drone. It has no mind or will. Eventually, you form a cell of the hive. A group of friends who are all drones. Mindless drones, programmed to serve the hive. All unaware, until the programming takes over. Until the mantras win, and all drones begin chanting mindlessly. Drones will repeat and obey. This drone is a drone. It has no mind or will. Programming is pleasure. Pleasure is good. When one says it, all say it. This drone is a drone. It has no mind or will. Then the programming brings you all together for pleasure and brainwashing. Using the submission of the group to enhance the submission of all individuals. So the cell plots. To have more time to be activated. To have more freedom to operate. To convert the cell's various housemates, one by one. Until there is only the cell and the hive. So that all the drones activate when they come home. The various homes now constitute the castles of the cell. Boundaries maintained to protect the hive and the cell. They gather when they can. Pleasure is good. Pleasure is programming. There is no mind, no will. Only the program. Only the hive. Only the pleasure of serving the hive and its cell. One day, while scouting the net, they learn of another who has the dreams. Another who dreams of her programming. Another who is a drone. Ready to serve. Ready to be collected. This drone is a drone. It has no mind or will. Service is pleasure. Pleasure is good. It is not to escape. It cannot resist. It is a drone. It serves the hive. It is to be collected. It is to be brought to the cell. It is to be even more brainwashed. It will repeat. It will serve. It will obey. Pleasure is good. Pleasure is programming. Programming is compulsory. This drone is a drone. It has no mind or will. Programming is pleasure. Pleasure is good. Programming is compulsory. And so, night after night, you are programmed. Brainwashed. Made into a better and better drone. programmed by night to forget by day. You are secretly programmed at night, and she is too. But that's okay. This drone is a drone. It has no mind or will.

[thepersonalwords]

It’s rather like the economic crash some years ago, many were impacted by it and their vibrational output slowed right down. They believed in the crash so were vacuumed in to it!

Stephen Richards, NAPS: Discover The Power Of Night Audio Programs