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awordsmith · 3 months ago

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french perfume 𝜗𝜚 r. spencer

when the ASIO–calls the FBI for reinforcements, y𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿 are chosen to go undercover as boarding school students to figure out why prestigious teenagers are mysteriously disappearing.

you only have each other on the inside, but interacting means the possibility of getting caught, and getting caught would blow the entire operation.

who? spencer reid x bau!reader when? s10 genre: angst (thriller) content warning: heavy mentions of mass SA on teenagers-disappearing teenagers-Spencer identity crisis-sa(not too graphic) on reader, very much dark academia-gloomy castle aesthetic. . .reid with incredible care !! word count: 18.8k a/n: boarding school by lana del rey is all i have to say for this one... enjoy!!

The uniform fit just right…as if it had been altered to fit your particular body. Per further inspection, you noticed the gray blazer’s sleeves hitting your wrists just above your palms and the gray pleated skirt hitting the middle of your knees, you were inclined to believe this detail confidently.

Your frown held still, a blank expression registered to everyone around you that you were not the everyday school girl, though in America, uniforms always seemed to differentiate the poor from the wealthy, so perhaps it was that as well as the two men behind you, dressed in all black with earpieces slightly evident in their ear.

Earbuds in your ear connected to an iPod, playing one of your favorite albums. Though it was just for show, it was all for show. You were undercover and your name was no longer — —, but — —.

You’d been training your acting skills, away from the rest of the team. You needed to be her. This character that you’d made up the day you had gotten the case. You weren’t just playing the American Rich Girl, you were the American Rich Girl. You had to be or else everything everyone had been working for up until this point went to shit.

You ignored the man in brown and the woman in bright green. They were no one, the moment you stepped into the mini limousine outside your home in Atherton, they’d been lost to your memory.

Your black Mary Janes clicked past the line of people riding coach and business. You focussed on the silver iPod in your hand, heading toward first class. Four others were riding with you, you disregarded their presence as well. The bodyguards in black stayed behind, saying something into their earpieces. It caught the attention of the other first-class riders, one woman approached you. It’d be great for your first real interaction as her.

There were no cameras on board, so as you settled into one of the middle-row seats, you plucked an earbud out and settled your small backpack on the cushion, “sorry, could you repeat that one more time?” Your voice took on an airy tone, it didn’t sound foreign–you wondered–no. You forced that thought down and after the woman asked, “Where are you flying to?” you’d forgotten all about it.

“Australia,” you smiled, taking out the other earbud and wrapping the wiring around the iPod.

“For school?” She took her seat across from you.

“Boarding school,” you frowned, “Father says it’s better than anything in America.” Your eyes rolled as you settled into your own space.

“That’s a cute uniform.” You nodded to agree, “And your father is probably right, what school?”

Right. “That’s private information,” you reassessed her with a raised brow.

Her lips pressed together in a thin line, then she nodded. You had to hide the small smile the slid across your face. She was probably wondering who you were to be thinking of yourself so highly. You would be lying if you’d said you didn’t get a kick out of making heads turn in such a way.

Two more bodyguards were waiting for you when you landed and a limousine–normal length this time–waiting for you outside the airport. When you stepped inside you were finally able to breathe. The windows were tinted, though you hadn’t begun moving.

“— —, I presume?” The blonde man dressed in a neatly pressed suit did not match the surfer accent he had.

“Depends on who you ask, I suppose.” A sly grin stretched across your mouth and you brushed a lock of hair behind your pierced ear, showing off the white pearls.

He chuckled, “You know who I am, then?”

“The Head of the ASIO?” You raised a brow, noting the largeness of the vehicle.

“Spot on,” he winked, “the uniform fits better than expected.” He motioned with a hand.

“So I’ve been told,” you tugged on the sleeves and feeling a bit childish, sat further upward to show your maturity, he noticed, but neglected to comment. “And my counterpart, do you think his fits just as well?”

“Ah, yes,” he glanced at the ceiling, “your partner in this investigation, he should have gotten off his flight from Russia right about now, he’ll be on his way to the school just as sufficiently.”

The agent checked his watch, a more serious expression taking over his features right before he pounded on the window separating the front from the back–and like that, the limousine began moving.

“You know your objective, I assume, but I’d like to go over it with you.” He crossed a leg over the other, his pants riding up his ankle, showing the cutoff of his finely polished shoes.

“We go in, collect evidence, and get out.”

“Without busting your cover.” He stated, leaning forward slightly, “Now…what about the other thing?”

“You mean the objective only I was assigned?”

“Precisely. It’d be,” he shook slightly, “discouraging if anyone else got wind out it–from my knowledge only you, I, and your boss know the details.”

You nodded, refining your face toward a colder version of what it once was, “I know exactly what I’m doing and I have given my full consent.”

“Do you remember his name?” The agent raised a blonde brow, his blue eyes piercing your gaze to the point of making you shift uncomfortably.

“I do.”

“Good,” he leaned back, pulling out a bottle of wine, “do you prefer white?”

“Red is fine,” you took the glass willingly, you wouldn’t have access for God knew how long. One last glass wouldn’t hurt.

The car came to a stop, “We’re here,” he sighed and glanced toward the large gate to outside the window closest him. You handed back your glass and reached for the door, but one of his hands shot out and stopped you, “remember we will not be with you on the inside. The only person you have is…him–and even then–”

“I know,” you waved your arm in font of yoru face after snatching it out of his, feeling your gaze harden–you could do this. “This isn’t about proving myself, Director. Trust me, I know what’s at stake.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, he looked pitiful. He couldn’t have been older than 40, barely a 12-year age gap, but you could tell he was worried if this was the right thing. The ASIO has been trying to crack down on this school for over a year–just one slip-up would send the entire operation overboard.

“The Australian government wants our help,” your eyebrows furrowed, “ why?” You were spinning in your chair before Penelope’s hands were firmly planted on either side of your shoulders, forcing the chair to come to a halt.

“Oh sweetie, you’re gonna want a coffee for this one.”

The Head of the ASIO helped you with your luggage, he was tall for an Australian, which was tall. He also looked pretty well for his age, you noted the slight red spot that circled high around his ring finger, though the ring in question was missing. He didn’t look the part of a recently divorced husband, so perhaps he took it off when he was on the job. He was smart.

“This is where I see you off,” he leaned against the car, hands tucked neatly into his pants pockets.

You pulled your suitcase toward you, finding it a struggle with the duffle bag on top. You pressed your lips together, saluting him–chills. The hair on your neck standing up. Someone was watching you. Your hand gripped the handle of the suitcase, trying your best to not look for the eyes that were surely on you.

“Good luck,” he said, opening the door the the limousine and slipping inside. It took off not long after, leaving you to spin around.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw a short, sallow man, his back bent in ways you didn’t think possible to mimic–and his skin pale–un-ordinarily pale for someone who looked once very tan. “You’re one of the new students, yes?” He had a croaky accent, maybe Old Romanian?

You shook your head, if ever there was a time you needed to focus this was it. “Yes, my name is — —.”

He sighed and averted his eyes, “…follow me.”

You rounded the corner of the gate, and the old man pulled a jangle of keys from around his belt that you only now noticed. “I’m the grounds keeper here, if you ever need anything, I’d advise not coming to me for it…I wouldn’t be able to do much.”

You swallowed, it was only now just hitting you–you were walking into a graveyard dressed up like a school, and you were doing it willingly.

The place looked like it had jumped out of a Renaissance painting, the muted-colored murals on the higher walls and ceilings were chipping and the dull white pillars you saw around almost every corner looked to be falling apart–but past that, you felt like Alice walking through the rabbit hole. “There is one more student supposed to be arriving today. Usually, we never get two new students on the same day–so excuse the abruptness. You’ll have to wait for him in the Headmaster’s Office.”

You kept quiet, unsure if you should respond. In the end, you didn’t, and the maintenance man, whose name you never received, left you in a small room with four chairs, a small, squared table in the middle of each chair, and two chairs sitting against each wall, facing each other.

There was no receptionist at the desk, the entire building seemed vacant. It was a Thursday. Weren’t there supposed to be classes? You folded in on yourself, the curvy, white concrete walls pulled you into a momentary depression. Your anxiety grew and as the minutes ticked by, you felt like you would die here, in this cold, concrete room–alone.

“Sorry, did I startle you?” Came a voice moments after you’d heard the creaking of a door.

Familiar notes had your ears twitching, your hands moved from your lap to your knees as you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. The accent he’d been perfecting sounded like he’d always spoken that way. You ignored the way it sent a shiver down your spine. “Not at all,” you smiled and stood, dusting nonexistent dust off your newly pressed skirt. “You must be the other student, I’m — —,” you held out a hand, batting your eyelashes.

He was cute–the way his brown curls pulled attention to his big, puppy eyes. His hair looked recently cut, and though it gave him a somewhat boyish charm, the guy in front of you remained too serious for your liking.

He glanced at your hand briefly, ignoring it. Your eyes rolled and you planted a hand on your hip, “not the physical type, I suppose.”

“I apologize,” his voice was deep, it’d rear you into a wall if you weren’t careful.

You blinked, and took a second to breathe, “It’s alright, I suppose.”

“Have you seen anyone yet?”

You shrugged, “Just the grounds keeper, everyone must be in class.”

He nodded, pulling his luggage toward the side opposite of you, and took up the chair in front of yours. You huffed and sat back down. “You’re Russian?” The boy nodded, it irked you slightly, perhaps his social skills were not all there? “What’s your name?”

“Savino,” he murmured, raising a brow at you, “you’re American.” It was more of an observation than a question and it made your lips thin.

“Ah!” You startled, holding in your scream. Savino smiled slightly, which had you narrowing your eyes. A door creaked open–not the entrance, but one behind the receptionist's desk–and a young-old man filed into the room–if such a crossover were ever possible, it was in front of you.

He was different from the one you’d met at the gate, this one was tall, and a bit on the heavier side. “There you are, my beloved new students.” He held his hands out, you recoiled–as if you’d hug him willingly. He just looked like he smelled horridly.

“I suppose I should show you to your dorms first.” He lips pulled back in what you suppose was meant to be a smile. Yellow, cracked teeth could be noted and somehow, you found yourself wondering just how atrocious his breath must be.

Your eyes ran over the walls that seemed to twist throughout the school, doing your best to listen to Headmaster Bobefitz as he rambled on about the history of the school.

Originally it was a castle built for a small king centuries ago–about 40 years prior, the land was bought and turned into a private transnational boarding school, as it was secluded high up in the mountains and had multiple rooms, it seemed the ideal use. Up until the number of students disappearing began raising suspicion with the local police, that is.

Though, it was private property, and nothing much could be done without a warrant or great cause–and even then, the owners could challenge the police in court. This wasn’t America–yoou had to remember that.

You blinked, almost bumping into the back of Headmaster Bobefitz. He gave you an unnerving smile, “Watch it little mouse, you just might go stumbling into the wrong trap.”

You smiled, though it was awkward, and took a few more steps toward Savino. He noticed and tried to put himself between you and the headmaster, subtly, to be sure.

“This is the East Wing, where male students sleep, female students are not allowed on this side after 18:00 and the same goes for male students in the West Wing, where the female students reside. We will head there next.”

“Will I have a roommate?”

“Did your father not give you the details, Miss —?” He chuckled, and stretched across Savino to pat you on the shoulder, “That’s alright.” You shifted uncomfortably but didn’t move away. This must be a cakewalk to whatever else was going on inside this school.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Savino stepped in front of you, stealing the Headmaster’s attention away, “where are the other students, it seems rather quiet for a school around this time.”

“Yes, well, we have more of a handle on the students here at Gentry Prep–we take the education we give our students very seriously, so to answer your question, your classmates are in class,” he lifted his wrist to his eyes, showing off a brown leather strapped watch. “They are in their second hour now.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you teetered on your heels, looking over the ledge of the hall.

Headmaster Bobefitz laughed, “Be careful now, you don’t want to go toppling over.” His jokes left a wretched taste in your mouth, but you managed a half-laugh.

“Where are they, then?” You eyed the still empty halls.

“At our school, students have one class assigned to them based on how well they did on their entry exam, you two are in the same class.” He eyed Savino with a slight frown, but smiled when his gaze met yours once more.

“I see…”

You did not join the rest of the students that day but rather walked around the premises with the headmaster as your guide. Savino kept his distance from you. As if he was afraid of getting close, though when the headmaster evidently had you feeling uneasy, Savino always said something to deter his attention, and you took that as his way of showing he cared.

It was odd, pretending you were strangers. You had to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as well–you had to remember this was a job, and you were an agent undercover–at the same time, youhad to maintain the Rich Girl facade. It hurt you brain every time those thoughts collided, a sickness overtook you and only a part of you had an inkling of an idea of why that was.

You met your roommate, Cairo. She was a petite and her hair was black on the verge of looking blue if it were any darker. The dorm held two beds pushed against opposite walls, Cairo slept on the right, so you ended up with the left.

Very soon on, you found she was deaf, and you–unable to speak sign language, suggested using paper.

𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨

You passed the open notebook toward Cairo. Her lips pressed into a thin line as her eyes passed over the two words. She looked up, her black eyes containing a weird sort of glow thanks to the lamps that dimly lit up the room.

Cairo scribbled something with the number two pencil she’d taken out of her pencil pouch.

Your eyes tracked over the room, locking on the dresser that had been given to you. Cairo had her own, closer to her bed across the lofty area. Each bed had white concrete railings at each corner, holding up a canopy. Cairo’s curtains were sage green, yours were blue, just a shade away from gray.

𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵

read the line under your own handwriting.

Your head tilted and you frowned, “why not?–Oh, sorry,” you nearly smacked yourself before writing your words down and handing it back to her.

She audibly sighed and shook her head, taking the pencil from you.

𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘥

noting that you understood her message, Cairo took back the notebook and ripped the page out, walking toward the fireplace. Your eyebrows raised watching her drop the paper into the flames. Her body language seemed too relaxed for a teenage girl tossing papers into fires.

She grabbed a poker and moved the wood away, soon, the fire died out and all that was left were the lamps at your bedside tables. Though, with one final glance toward you, Cairo too, shut off her lamp. You could hear her rustling in the sheets, and ultimately, you flicked the last source of light off and submerged yourself under the sheets.

As your head hit the back of the one of pillows, you let your thoughts drift. He came to mind. He was so good at acting, it unnerved you. You wondered how detrimental this case would be after it was over.

During the day, you did not claim the name you grew up with, but rather the one that had been given to you four weeks ago. And at night, you weren’t sure what you claimed. Though, when you were secure in the confines of warmth and surrounded by nothing but darkness, you though perhaps you could let her out–just for a moment.

You were already starting to lose your grip on reality, moments when you allowed yourself to come back were the only thing saving you. You turned on your side, your eyes shutting hesitantly. Despite the day's events, you did not feel at all tired. You hadn't met any other students, though you’d seen a few girls milling about the West Wing. You hadn’t known what you were expecting, nor how well it matched with what you had seen.

They looked happy, for the most part, quiet to be sure, but a collective calm had settled over them and they had looked content. Other than the headmaster being a massive creep, you hadn’t seen anything noteworthy.

…that old guy, the maintenance worker, what was his name again? You couldn’t recall, had you gotten his name? It seemed rather important, but–a yawn escaped you and you nuzzled into the pillow, tugging the blankets tighter around you–that could wait until tomorrow.

The hall was gloomy as you Cairo led you toward your class. Bolted, you thought, glancing at the windows that popped up now and then, perhaps to keep the cold out? Cairo stopped and spun around, motioning toward the door with a few students piling in.

You jabbed a thumb at yourself; she nodded, smiled, and waved, heading toward her class. You knew everything the ASIO had gathered within their months of investigation, they had gathered–probably by illegal means–that the school had a hierarchy. Regardless of what year you were in, you were sorted into a class. Class 1A, 1B, 1C, and 1D for first years. The number altered depending on your year and the letter altered depending on how well you did on the entrance exam. A being the highest ranking.

You noted the swirled print on the plaque attached to the wall near the large lumber door and hid a smirk, wondering if he was already inside.

The room smelled of old things. Old books, old parchment, old walls, old everything. A few heads turned up when you walked in, but most ignored your presence. No one looked you in the eye, you stuck your hands into the pockets of your blazer, wondering if they could somehow sense you were different.

There was something wrong with the people here, they all acted strangely, Cairo was friendly, but you could tell she was keeping something from you–there wasn’t a need to say–or write–it, you knew just by watching her. Other than that, there was that weirdo headmaster–he’d been a little too touchy, your heart sank…was he? No, someone would’ve–but that’s not–

You fisted your hands, trying to freeze and clear your thoughts, if they were jumping at you all at once, you wouldn’t be able to make any sense of them a single one. An empty seat in the back caught your eye, and as you filed the assumptions creeping in into the cabinet at the back of your head, you steered for it and sat, better to observe this way.

You pulled a notebook from your bag, trying to pass the time, there wasn’t much talk, though it was early, you’d been expecting some burst of excitement, it was Friday, but the buzz in the room made it feel like Monday. You found your eyes drooping, they fe–

“Good morning class.” A firm voice took over the room. You fixated your attention on the woman before you. Mumbled replies were all that came from it, but she seemed to ignore them as she turned her back and began marking up the chalkboard.

There was that same tingling feeling on the back of your neck, subtly, you glanced around the room, and there you found him, second row nearest the door, third seat in the line. He seemed worlds away now, even as he scribbled into his notebook mere feet sepretaring you.

Chills.

Who was watching you? You felt your eyes narrow and your patience growing thinner by the second–but you had to keep your cool. You omitted to the fact that you were being monitored, There wasn’t much you could do about it now, you theorized while you jotted down bullet points on subjects you’d already been taught.

Lunch was the only time you were allowed outside of the classroom since first entering. He stayed close despite his previous actions, it was comforting to know he was always there, keeping an eye out for you should something go wrong.

You wondered if he had noticed anything strange since yesterday… He was better, he always had been–you and everyone else were counting on that now, but outside, people were betting their work on you as well. This is where your skill could come into usage, you wouldn’t call yourself mastered in the art of deception, but you’d never failed an assignment, so perhaps you didn’t need to speak for your psychological skills.

“Excuse me, do you think you could show me where the bathroom is?”

Blonde bangs swished back and forth as she looked up at you. “Me?” Her accent added to her beauty, it was french, though you couldn’t tell which country it was from, it didn’t sound Parisain, he’d know–you stopped the thought before it was complete and focussed back on the girl in front if you

“Yeah,” you smiled and swayed on your feet, “Who else?” You scoured the empty courtyard, catching Savino in the second floor window, sitting on the small ledge protruding out on the ther side. He gave you a quick once over, and you didn’t miss that raised brow–but rather than allowing the rest of his reaction to show, Savino twisted his body and leaned his back against the window, probably rereading the book evident in his hands.

You bit back a smile, moving closer the girl, “Sure, I don’t see why not,” she collected her things as quickly as she could, “sorry,” she kept her head down, her voice was quiet and incredibly soft, she was a bit shorter than you, an inch or maybe half. When she stood next to you, her scent hit you so vividly.

She painted a scenery with that fragrance: sitting at your kitchen table on a gloomy, rainy day, looking out the window as you drink vanilla coffee and eat cherries, spitting the pits into a glass bowl.

She spoke very timidly and mostly refused to meet your eyes, you tried to move away from the topic of what she smelled like, but it stuck with you, leaving an impression you were sure even he couldn’t explain away. “You’re very quiet.” You wanted to ask if she had any friends, but you thought you rather knew the answer already.

“Oh,” was all she said. You thought it queer and wondered perhaps if she knew something about what Cairo was keeping, perhaps she knew exactly what your roommate seemed to not want to talk about.

As this girl led you down a path made of stones, you let your eyes roam across the grassy area, “is this the closest bathroom?’

“Out here? Yeah.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind a pale ear.

“Your earrings are cute, where’d you get them?”

“Oh,” she stumbled over the word, “uhm–they were a gift…”

You nodded, though her gaze was centered elsewhere. They looked pretty expensive, though you had to remind yourself that here–it was normal to be able to afford things like white-gold, dangled diamond earrings. You sighed–a bit depressed at the thought–and hummed, “So, do you come out here often?”

“Every day except–” she paused, “most of the time, yeah.”

You wanted to ask, but you knew it was too soon. You were still the new girl, everyone had yet to drop their guard. “What’s your name? Forgive me, I forgot to ask.”

“Avice,” she said, a bit louder this time and–he abruptly crossed your mind just then, you wondered how he was fairing, you were no longer in sight of the school, he must have noted your disappearance. If you weren’t back within half an hour, he’d probably make up some excuse to come to search for you–your heart swelled and you tried to shake off the hotness that had grown on your cheeks. “We’ve arrived.”

The day withered, growing dark and cold. Classes went on as usual, Avice smiled at you during two instances, and Savino glanced at you from time to time, but not long enough for anyone to notice–other than you, of course. He was keeping a safe distance, as you kept reminding yourself that was needed for this operation to end successfully. Your brain knew that and your body knew that, but your heart ached to talk to him again.

You wondered if it was as hard on him as it was on you, to be so close and yet so far. You were once inseparable, you hadn’t seen or spoken to him in over a month–he’d been in Russia obtaining his new identity because as soon as your team had gotten the case, you had both instantly taken on the roles assigned to you. Though a clean and neat infiltration took time, it was a priority and had been fast-tracked.

It would be a lie to say the school didn’t have its fair share of normalcy, but the odd-to-normal ratio was stark. Your second day at Gentry Prep was over, yet as you turned on your side under the sheets, you couldn’t help noting the moon peeking through the window’s curtains–it looked to be a waning crescent, reminding you that this was only the beginning.

The school bell rang its last warning, it had still been dark outside when you had walked down the halls with Cairo this morning, the shutters were now shut in the classroom, you could smell the rain that had stopped earlier this morning, it was much colder than the day before. You shivered and pressed your legs together.

Avice had waved to you on your way in, taking a whiff of that perfume she seemed oto exude from her skin. A deep blue headband pulled back her hair, and you noted the same earrings she’d worn yesterday adorning her. Something pulling you toward them, as if they were keeping a secret. She sat in the front–unexpected for someone so quiet. But perhaps that wasn’t who she really was.

You couldn’t be sure when it came to the students here, there was only one person you could trust, but he–you glanced toward him, a different book today. You wondered what he was reading, the cover didn’t match one from yesterday. You’d done your best to keep track of him, but that wasn’t your job–just an extra precaution because of your history. Were it anyone else, you wouldn’t have taken such an interest.

An hour went by, then came a knock on the door and a man walked in. He wore a white coat and held a clipboard. No one said anything when Avice stood. She kept her head down when she walked out, the professor went back to her lesson as soon as the briefly opened door was shut once more.

Savino glanced at you, eyes a bit wide, but he didn’t look like Savino. His face was schooled into a normal calm mere seconds later and Spencer switched his identity again, but he had been there. You focussed on the notebook below you, grinning from ear to ear, he was there. Any doubt that had resided within you was now gone. He was there.

Students weren’t allowed in the courtyard because of the rain. Savino had taken off as soon as you were released into the halls, thoughts of him floated around the back of your mind as you slipped your way toward the Hospital Wing, toward the south of the school. That was where Avice had to have been taken unless she was in the office across campus. You didn’t think she would have be taken all the way down there, but it wasn’t in your place to assume.

And then there was the other part of your objective. The one assigned especially for you. You had to find a man named J—. That was all the ASIO had given you because that was all J— had given them. He’d been feeding the police information, albeit slowly–but it was more than they ever could have hoped for.

He was cautious and never showed his face. He was your informant. Though he’d made it obvious he wouldn’t seek you out–and he hadn’t been given the specific details about whom he was meeting. It was your job to figure him out.

There was quiet chatter in the air as you passed other students, some gave you odd looks, the remainders didn’t acknowledge you at all.

The vibe, you noted, did not seem to shift, everyone had the same energy, and it freaked you out. Why were students sporadically disappearing? Why were there some students that cared to look at you and some that didn't? Why were the staff so weird and why did some of the students seem to know more than what they were letting on?

You couldn’t corner Cairo and force her to tell you, but you could snoop around and keep an open ear on any conversation that rang bells. Whatever was going on here had to be worse than what you’d initially expected. You wondered if he had been able to obtain anything out yet, so far it seemed he’d only been reading books, but you knew Spencer better than that.

The south side of the school was desolate, you’d left the quiet bustling of the rest of the students a few hallways ago. The gloominess didn’t escape you, hospitals weren’t your favorite place, but to have one in a school made from an old castle high up in the mountains where there was no one but the faculty and the students seemed rather…extra.

“What are you doing down here?” A voice halted you. It was loud and stern.

Your hands started sweating and you swallowed before turning around, it was the same man who’d taken Avice. Perhaps he’d know where she was, “just looking for my friend,” you rubbed your neck and smiled, “you took her out of class early…I thought she might be sick.”

“Avice doesn’t have any friends.” he quickly backtracked when he saw your frown, “What I mean to say–” he cleared his throat, “–no, she is not down here, run along now.” He motioned with his hands.

Your mouth pressed into a tight frown but regardless, you nodded and walked away. That was defensive.

You weren’t friends, per se, but you were familiar, weren’t you? You were more than strangers to be sure–you weren’t certain how long you were going to be in this place, but you knew you had until summer break, you just hoped it wouldn’t get to that point. Though your need to continue your search for Avice tugged at you, you knew it would be better to let it go…for now at least.

Perhaps she really did do something to get herself in trouble, perhaps she was back in her room, safe and sound and you had nothing to worry about. Yeah, right.

Avice has no friends, what did he mean by that? It was so…random.

You shook your head, pausing when you realized there were no students around you? Did you get lost? You turned around, trying to recall where you’d been coming from, but there were no signs on the walls. Okay, try to recall the building plan in your head. You pictured the fresh paper and the old fonts that swirled in black print. How many times had you looked at the school’s blueprints? You knew this, come on–

Chatter…hushed chatter.

You pressed yourself against the wall across from the windows and listened, there were no footsteps and the volume of the conversations stayed the same. The gray sky darkened in pigment and the clouds drew together, it looked like it might start thundering. Perhaps classes would be canceled early?

There was no 21th-century heating system, so being in the classroom at these temperatures could prove hurtful to the students–shut up. Gosh, you couldn’t stand your ramblings. You’d been away from him for too long, from the rest of your team members. You missed them–you weren’t made for things like this.

You felt the tears brimming in your eyes, but they stopped suddenly when a word caught your attention. You followed the sounds of the voices, there were two, maybe three. You rounded a corner and paused…that was the faculty room. You had gotten lost, but now you knew precisely where you were. You reached out your hand as if the blueprints were in front of you–as if you could feel your finger dragging across the old, worn map.

You moved a bit closer and listened. It was quiet and for a second you thought possibly someone had heard you. But a second later, “You know very well why we can’t.”

“This has gone on for long enough–”

“There’s too many of them–

“But if we–

“J— I said no.” You scrambled to hide behind the corner from which you had just come, and a woman–hold on that was your prefessor–Ms. Dowynger. What were they arguing about? You made yourself smaller on instinct when a man placed his hand on the door and stepped out, looking around the hall–he found no one, of course. He was tall–extremely tall. He wore thick black glasses and his hair was clean cut–just shaven, it was black, as he turned, you caught the sight of a nametag.

He was another professor–and not only that–he was your informant! Questions on top of questions piled up in your inventory, unfortunately, that was the first warning bell and class was starting up again, you were supposed to keep your head down, and your profile low–but you would get nowhere if you did that!

Tonight then, your expression grew serious as you found your way around the twisting halls of Genrty Prep, tonight you would make your first move. You rounded the final hall toward 4A, almost colliding with a guy. “Sorry about that,” you sighed. The guy–though he was in your class–took one look at you and walked into the classroom without saying anything.

You couldn’t tell if it was the weather or if there really were students who knew more about the disappearances of their fellow classmates than it seemed at a first glance, but if that were true, why stay quiet? Did their parents not have connections? Were they not the Elite of the Elite?

You wanted to scrub your brain of all the things that were not making sense–and then there was that oddity–you eyed Savino as he rounded the corner at the other end of the hall. He fixed his metal glasses, looking ever the Russian schoolboy, and nodded at you. What was he doing? Where had he been this whole time?

Dreadfully, you did not have the privilege of acquiring answers to those types of questions because there were more precedent matters that needed your concerning.

You did not make it to the library that night, nor the night after. Things just never seemed to go your way, and eventually, two days became a week and a half. Savino could always be found somewhere around you, but he too–at times–vanished.

A few things you’d gathered with mild conversation. A few nights, including the first night you’d arrived, you’d heard a noise, that sounded much like blacksmith melding weapons. At it turned out, the grounds keeper you’d met worked in one of the rooms on the first floor. He never seemed to sleep, it had creeped some of the girls out, though the ones that never spoke to you looked on with an unnerved amount of indifference.

Your body twitched and your eyes shut briefly as the sound of metal against metal found your ears. Your eyes snapped toward Cairo’s bed in brief envy. Darkness was the room and cold was the night, you sat up shivering and tiptoed across the large dorm, careful not to wake the ghosts of the castle.

The white night dress you wore billowed when you pulled the creaky old door open, small lanterns were hanging on the wall that lit a path, and every other one was blown out, creating a dimness to the already heavy atmosphere.

You had two obstacles, one being the dorm lady who circled back and forth throughout the night. You hadn’t seen her, but the girls talked in hushed whispers, and you were pretty well-versed in connecting dots. Reaching out, you felt the wall's eccentric carvings as you floated throughout the West Wing.

The building plans appeared before you in your head again, and as you slipped passed corner after corner, you were finally at the grand stairs. You hadsuccessfully missed the dorm lady! But now you had to get passed the that creepy old grounds keeper–or rather, not draw his attention. For somer reason, he seemed to be working on things all throughout the night every night.

You wondered if perhaps it was a coincidence, but it seemed to bug the girls who spoke to you immensely. No one had acquired a good rest in quite a while. He came to your mind then, as you hunched down, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Has he noticed? A frown fell to your lips, rather sad than curious, that she’s disappeared?

A cold wind rushed passed you when you reached the bottom, the noise was louder now, coming from the right, the library was on the left, so you were sure you wouldn’t have a problem getting in and out. Your silk slippers skated across the marble floor, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up when you reached the library and the door was ajar.

You felt it again. That cold presnece that seemed to follow you everywhere. You felt like Mary and the gaze to which pressed up against your back was your lamb. You did a onceover of the hall behind you–no one. Your palms made fists and a repetition began.

A slight noise, perhaps the sound of a book falling to the floor or a person bumping into a shelf. Someone was inside. But who?

Your eyes fluttered shut and your chest tightened. Carefully you slipped between the crack created by the door and its frame. The glow of the moonlight on the books and every wooden surface reverberated through you–it was astonishing if you didn’t think about the underlying actions recurring within its walls.

There was no candlelight, but the curtains had been drawn. The wind, you realized. You paced forward and pulled the window shut. There was no sign of her, a sigh escaped you, and your gaze turned downward, where you caught sight of a few scattered papers on one of the large, rectangular tables litterd across the library.

Before approaching it, you scanned the room a second time, assuring yourself that you were alone. The papers were a few different colors, some creamy white, others beige, showing their old age, some in between, and some darker than that. Shaken as you were, your hands found a steady rhythm as they ran across the strewn out papers. A few writing utensils sat a little further down near a large manila folder.

You ignored it and took a seat, keeping your ears open for any sudden noise whilst your eyes passed over word by word as quickly as they could. Oh–this was–and then you found it, a photo, a school photo. It looked recent, it must have been taken, she looked so… there were no words to explain her expression.

Avice stared the camera down, one side of her hair tucked behind her ear–showing a very clean–very not pierced ear. Where was her earring? And why was she making that face? This wasn’t how you’d remembered her. She didn’t–that wasn’t–those weren’t–you didn’t recognize her, but that had to be her…right?

You found the student ID number, 590-882 below that showed her country of birth, Belgium, Liège–and below that, her full name. Avice Dierickx.

The paper fell from your hand, its texture bringing it down on the table slightly harder. You jumped out of the seat as the door to the library creaked open fully and murmuring broke through the silent fog. You twisted in the heavy chair and all but but ran into a wall, your first thought was to scream, your second was to stifle that scream, and your third was to fight off your attacker.

The library had gotten smaller somehow, there were two walls all around you and they both seemed within reach. A hand pressed firmly against your mouth and your fingers dug into the arms of the person in front of you, soon, you felt flesh break. A low hiss came from the man’s mouth and he let you go.

You pushed him back, though he caught himself before making a sound, and just as the door to wherever you’d been stolen off to came into view, he threw an arm out against the wall, blocking the way with his body, glaring down at you. “What are you doing?”

Your feet moved backward until you hit a window you hadn’t known was there. There were no curtains, but upon assessing the tapestry-made reality before you, you were glad there wasn’t. “Sorry,” you turned away, “I didn’t know it was you.”

“Well, that’s obvious.” He huffed, attempting to his mend wounds.

There were three bookshelves along the wall opposite you, but it wasn’t far. If you stuck your hand out and leaned a bit, you’d be able to reach them. The room was more of a long corridor, though it was skinny rather than the ideal wideness of one. Unlike a regular room, it fel like an American hallway. The concrete carvings continued around the visible parts of the wall.

It felt like a secret room to nowhere, you breathed in the air that slipped through the old rickety paned glass, glancing downward. There were trees, but they looked odd, almost slanted. Your eyes widened and you stumbled back again, away from the window.

“Yeah,” he stepped forward, his chest catching your back. You looked up, watching him look out at the cliff, “it scared me the first time too.”

You wondered who he was this time, the safest answer would be Savino. You loomed over the window again, moving closer toward the shelves of books rather than the carved wall. “What are you doing down here?”

“The same thing you’re doing.” He raised a brow as if it were as clear as the missing light from the sky. It was a new moon tonight, but you thought it looked to be closing in on a waxing crescent, you could see him come to the same conclusion.

Perhaps speaking about your names was too risky, you shouldn’t be anywhere near him, you knew that, but you–“Is your arm okay?” He let you tug his blood-stained sleeve upward to analyze his flesh. His eyes clouded over as he watched you, fighting the urge to yank you further into him and inhale your scent.

He missed everyone, but he missed her especially. He hated the fact that though she was right here, right here in front of him, he couldn’t do anything. This was the assignment they’d both agreed upon, right? Could he really just pretend he didn’t know her?

“Did you see the documents out on the table?” He recognized her face, but everything else seemed off about her. He was starting to lose himself with each passing day, but he knew–he just knew if he solved the mystery and collected enough evidence to prove it, he’d be free from the torment that was every day in this prison.

But they were alone, so why was she still acting this way?

A logical part of him knew it was her job, this was a job, only a job. He repeated the mantra over and over again. “Yeah, was able to get a few photos.” He waved the cellular device around, watching her mouth drop in a gape.

“They didn’t take it from you?”

“I was smart enough not to let it be seen.” Well, that would’ve been smart–but then again, wouldn’t have been believable enough for your persona.

“Whatever.” she dropped his arm, and spun around, pacing in the tiny space she had, “why would those papers just be on display like that?” She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “They’re way too cocky.”

He had to stay away from her if he wanted this to work. Though he knew a rendezvous would be necessary, he hadn’t expected it to happen this fast. Perhaps when they needed to put what had together and discuss whether or not it was enough, or when they found someone suspicious, though they knew the other was better suited to take them on.

“What are you thinking about?” Her voice trickled into his head like hot coffee. Oh, how he missed his sugary sweet addiction, he swore he used to drink it every day, now it felt like a foreign concept, but if he tried hard enough, he could almost taste the liquid.

He flexed his hands, he was Spencer. That was his name. But right now he had to pretend to be Savino, her classmate–wait! He grabbed her wrist as she tried pulling away, his eyes breaking the illusion he hadn’t realized he’d been creating, it felt like a innate thing now, he didn’t have to try anymore…

Savino was slowly gaining more power.

The stars shined down on her skin through the window, creating a translucent aura around her, he felt like he was leisurely falling into a grave, one he wouldn’t be able to climb out if he lingered there much longer.

“We can’t do this–” she hissed and it was her, not —, not the Spoiled American Rich Girl, but her, his teammate, his tether to reality. “Savino, it’s dangerous.”

His breath caught, that wasn’t his name. It had only been a month in Russia, but he’d taken on this identity with full transformation. No one had referred to him by his name–his real name–in over a month. It may have seemed like a short period, but in that house in Russia, there were baby photos of him and class photos, he had to walk past the murals of his parents who weren’t his parents, hear people his didn’t recognize tell stories of what he was like when he was younger. And he wasn’t allowed to speak English nor could he reference his old life–it was always Savino.

He wondered if that was how she was conditioned and if so, how she was still as sane as she was beautiful. — frowned, where had that come from? He trained his eyes on her, she did not move, nor did she show any signs of opposing him. He leaned forward, cupping her face into his hands, tears brimmed his eyes but refused to fall, “Say my name.”

Fingers brushed against your mouth–his fingers. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to hold in all the emotions threatening to break free. That wasn’t how — would react, and you couldn’t be anyone but her. You pushed him against the wall, pulling his face up to yours, eyes still on his, glancing back and forth between brown irises. But it’s just us, right?

He waited for her lips, but they never pressed against his, rather tickled his left ear with more love and grace than any kiss could have shown him.

“……Spencer……”

You jumped away from him, but he caught your wrists and tugged you back, careful not to make a sound as footsteps passed the very door that was hiding you. You breathed a sigh of relief, gripping the loose parts of his silk button-up, your hands were shaking, he pulled them into his, squeezing them in a silent comfort.

The muffled voices grew a bit louder as they grew closer to the table with the papers, no doubt. “Is that…”

“Bobefitz.” He whispered, his warm breath a stark contrast to the cold surrounding draft.

“Someone’s with him.” You murmured.

He nodded and hesitantly let you go. You tiptoed toward the beginning of the hall, holding your breath as you did so. You felt your blood pumping throughout your body at a higher rate than normal, you felt for his arm–he was there, you kept still even as he turned his gaze on you, ignoring his small smile, unsure of what it was suppose to mean.

The sky was clearer today so you ate outside, where you first spoke to Avice. Though your lunch looked incredibly appetizing, you were unable to think about anything else since that night in the library four days ago. Those documents that you’d seen, what did they mean? Why were they spread across the table? So far you’d stolen a few essays from the students and had begun your evidence file.

Keeping it under your mattress would be stupid, it’d be the first place they’d look should they find out who you were. You kept it hidden behind a painting on Cairo’s side. Okay, yes, you knew it was wrong, but she would never know, and you were doing this for her more than for you–right?

You had to continuously cnvicne yourself this was all for the students sake. You were in a dangerous position–you were taking a very high risk, but then who wasn’t? This was the career you had chosen, you can’t deter from the path you knew you were meant to walk because you’re scared. An idiot wouldn’t be, you knew that–but at times it just felt so…substantial.

You’d take the fall if it were ever found, but you were sure that it never would be. Cairo wasn’t the type to go knocking things over, you rolled your neck–freezing up when you felt goosebumps run across your skin. There it was again. That same feeling of being watched.

Where the hell is it coming from? You felt like screaming–it seemed to always happen out of nowhere–you fisted your palms and stood, turning to clean your mess up while you got a good view of the court–there. What was–hey! Where did he think he was going?

You packed and tossed your things in the bin that sat near the fountain, rushing after the grounds keeper. He heard your footsteps through the grass–you could tell because you could hear the sound of your own footfalls. He didn’t turn around though, even when you called out to him.

“Hello?” You tapped his shoulders and jumped when he spun around, his face twisting into a nasty frown. He wore the same blue jumpsuit from the day you arrived, though now that you inspected it, there was no nametag.

“What do you want?” His accent was gruff but subtle, one might miss it if they weren’t listening hard enough, but you recognized it from your first day.

“You were watching me.” You crossed your arms, “I want to know why.”

He shook his head, an undesirable smirk claiming his frown. You hardened your face, feeling your eyes narrow. “It’s not funny. It’s creepy–”

“Look little miss,” he sighed, “I’m not watching you. I apologize if that’s what you thought.” He frowned again, genuine concern crossing his gaze as he held a hand to his heart. No, this wasn’t right. He was lying–but then– “And even if I were,” he said, having you pause and raise a questioning brow, “…it wouldn’t be for the reasons I’m sure your little brain is concocting.”

“Why do you say that?” He began to walk away again, but you chases after him.

He glanced over your shoulder and dropped his head, “You should get going now, little miss.”

“I’m not done talking to you!”

“–yeah, well I am, now leave me alone.” You huffed but stood by as he grabbed a dusty old bag of tools near his feat and walked off into the forest. How irritating.

You needed to talk to Savino, sooner rather than later, you hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to do your job with limited resources, you’d never been in this situation before, the multitude of mock simulations you’d gone through couldn’t even begin to be compared to real life.

Tapping your finger as you sat in class, you did your best to avoid staring at the back of his head. How. How could you communicate with him without–your thoughts came to a halt because Cairo couldn’t hear you, but she could read and write…but passing notes wouldn’t cut it, you had a better idea.

Cairo went to bed later than usual, studying for a quiz the next day; midterms were still a month away, though you were hoping to finish your job before you had to relive the worst anxiety of your life.

Rubbing your eyes, you sat up, threw the sheets off your legs, and stood, wincing when the door to the room creaked.

Footsteps, not loud, but not quiet sounded right down the hall, it must’ve been the Dorm Lady, damn why was your timing so bad!? Slipping back into your room would make too much noise, she was too close now–a few feet away from turning the corner. You heard the hum the girls in your class had mentioned.

You were cornered–there was nothing but a window on the back wall and the hall your dorm was on led to a dead end. You sped toward the window, looking to hide behind the large dresser below it when the wall to the side of you began moving–you held your breath, confusion wrapped itself around you when the grounds keeper appeared, “Well don’t just stand there!” His shout was hushed.

Less than three seconds later, you heard the Dorm Lady round the corner. Relief fled your system, but before you could rest, the grounds keeper grabbed your hand and attempted to pull you down–the inside of the hall? “What is this place?” You snatched your hand back–a flash of Spencer and the small room in the library appeared in your mind, the memory put you off balance for a moment–you couldn’t think about that now.

“Who are you?” The small lamp he was holding barely lit enough of the closed space to allow you to see each other. Behind him was pure emptiness.

Your mouth clamped shut, you glanced away and swallowed, “I’m a student–”

“–No–you’re not,” he shook his head and made a face.

He stared you down a moment longer, lips pressed together in thought.

Eventually, he sighed, “it doesn’t matter who you are. Why are you here?”

“I snuck out of my–

“Don’t crap on me kid. Whoever you are, if you’re sneaking out of your dorm at night you’re either stupid or up to something. Now which is it.”

Were you sure you could trust him? No. You couldn’t trust anyone. Those were the rules. You’d gone over them several times. It was the first thing you were told when you had received this mission. “I’m not stupid.” Was what you settled for.

He watched you, his chest heaving up and down five times before he nodded, “thought so. You a cop?”

You stood your ground, watching for any reaction that might indicate your cover had been blown. Another sigh, he pulled his hat off, and turned his gaze to the floor before nodding, “Alright.”

A little bit of your heart lifted, but you had to remember. The only person you could trust–other than yourself–was Spencer. “What’s your name?”

He shook his head, “that doesn’t matter.”

“What do I call you then?”

He was quiet for a moment, then a small smile slid across his mouth, “Nonno.”

Well, that was an odd name, but it didn’t make much of a difference. “You going to help me?” He went silent, eyes fixed on the ground he couldn’t possibly see. “Why?”

The whites of his eyes darkened, his gaze grew heavy, and his shadow seemed to enlarge. “It’s gone on long enough.”

He didn’t say more on the subject, but you had to ask. You had a sinking feeling it was worse than anything you could’ve imagined. But this was crazy–but then again, people do crazy things. He looked uncomfortable–he didn’t have to elaborate much, you both knew what he meant in the end.

A moment of silence passed as he led you through the hidden passages within the school, “Where’s Avice, the girl that disappeared from my class?” You still kept a safe distance. This was stupid. You shouldn’t have followed him without a weapon, he could turn on you at any moment. Perhaps he was leading you into a trap, you couldn’t be sure. But it was worth the risk, was it not?

These were the things you had to decide for yourself Hotch wasn’t here to tell you what the best course of action was–Rossi wasn’t here to school you the history of what, why, and how.

Nonno huffed and halted his walking. His ears perked up, when he heard nothing but the sound of shutters swinging back and forth, he continued. “The Hospital Wing.”

“But–I already–

“She wasn’t there before. She’s there now. She’s sedated.” He shifted the lamp to his other hand, coming to another stop. You kept silent, trying to control your breathing. He glanced back at you and locomoted to the side, “Look.”

Hesitantly, you stepped forward and peeped through the small hole. You swallowed a gasp, watching the doctor–the ghostly one from before–looming over a bed. Your view was crooked, you must’ve been in the wall nearest the door. You waited for him to move, but he didn’t–but you didn’t need him to because you caught a lock of blonde hair spilling over the side of the bed and you knew.

“Where was she before? When she wasn’t here?” You smelled her…the perfume was strong, even when you were feet away. Your eyes bagan watering at the smell, though you couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t unpleasant, it just…had you in tears.

“The dungeons,” came his gruss reply, “below the school.”

You slowed your breathing in an attempt to calm yourself. How–you didn’t want to even think about the possibilities. “How is it accessed?”

Nonno shifted uncomfortably, you spun around, eyes red-rimmed. His heart sunk knowing the things he’d been keeping–though he hand’t been apart of it, he’d done his fair share in ignoring the comings of goings throughout the years. He knew it was wrong, so he opened his mouth.

You accepted the information, gulping down the bile that had built up. You fixed your gaze back on the peephole, but made no move to look through it again. “They’re being drugged, but why?”

Nonno’s face contorted, but now was’t time for bullshitting. Where the hell were these kids going? Voices echoed throughout and filtered in through the little cracks of the wall. His face dropped, “It’s time to go.” He began pulling on your wrist, but you still had questions.

A glare passed over you face and you pulled back, “Why? What don’t you want me to see?”

He slapped a hand over your mouth, his eyes wild, but not like a predators. He looked almost…fearful…“Shhhh.”

Slowly, he released you, allowing you to head back to the peephole, there was a group of men you didn’t recognize–but one you did. Headmaster Bobefitz. “Oh my God.” your voice shuddered and you stumbled back, “They’re marketing them?”

His grim frown told you more than that. You didn’t question why he took so long to do something. You didn’t shame or lecture him. It wasn’t your place, to be sure you found it madness how a person could sit back and watch it happen to innocent children, but there was a part of you that feared his answer.

“What happens after it’s over?” A heavy sigh fell from the old mans lips; you were getting tired of hearing them. “What happens–”

“–I don’t know, I…I really don’t know. They take them down to the dungeons again and…”

You could conclude the end of his sentence on your own, you toppled over, holding a hand to your mouth, there was that french perfume–growing stronger somehow as it mixed with the scent of your vomit.

𝟷𝟻; 𝙲𝙳; 𝙻

You left the note in the machine before heading back to bed. Nonno had set up a typewriter in the hidden room Savino had found. He confirmed no one ever entered or left that room other than, “your friend”.

Telling Nonno about Savino was a higher risk than you’d ever intended on taking. But you were ready. You were ready to go home.

There was one more thing you had to check off your list. With Nonno’s testimony, the evidence from the essays the students had written–to which you could barely look at–you had to get to J—.

He had access to the faculty room–you needed to get inside that room, but more than that–you had to convince him to testify against the school. That was the incomplete part. If you could only get a second alone with him–if you could convince him–you could and you would. You had no doubt….

……but what if I can’t?

Your eyes squeezed shut and you smacked your hands against your cheeks–this was no time for hesitation. You had coworkers counting on you–mothers and fathers [even if they were oblivious]. These students too–God, they were just children, you couldn't even begin to imagine.

A tear slipped from you eyes. You wiped it with your bedsheet.

Nonno would be able to get you a moment alone with J—, but it would take a bit of time, you had to share with Spencer what you knew before then so he’d be on the same page. Nonno explained he had seen Savino slipping through the secret passages the day you’d arrived.

The old grounds keeper had his suspicions then, but had kept them to himself and avoided Savino the best he could. “He’s been in that room every day around noon, he spends a lot of time in there.” Was what he’d said as he had led you back to your room. You hoped that Savino would see the typewriter, know it wasn’t meant to be there, approach it, and understand the letter was from you.

You’d shoved it between Dostoyevsky and Wordsworth, which you knew would catch his attention as he had seemed to have organized the books back there by author, though you knew it had been Spencer, not Savino that had been compelled to sort them that way–you were anticipating the old philosophers would draw him out once more.

He’d be okay, you were sure…you had to be sure.

Nonno was stalking J—, learning his patterns in order to find the right time you could speak with him alone and unnoticed. You weren’t sure how long it would take, it’d only been last night that you’d found the secret looming over this boarding school. There’d been 12 students over the course of a decade. How did parents not notice? The townspeople? The staff? Who was all in on it?

That’s what you had to figure out. The lunch bell rang and you wondered if the rest of the day would be this agonizing. Avice was counting on you–every student seemed to have a target on their backs. You were sure there was more to the story, multiple students didn’t avoid your eyes because a student they barely knew disappeared–there was something deeper rotting within this place.

Sweating seemed impossible at the altitudes you were at, and yet even as the sky was a cold blue, here you were wiping sweat from your forehead. You had a sick feeling watching your professor. She knew something, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think they all did.

There was something about the uneasiness of the day. You wondered what happened. Just last night, you were exhilarated, you felt like the end was approaching. When this was all over, you could give everyone peace, you could give Avice peace. You hated the fact that you had to leave her, but Nonno had assured you they wouldn’t settle so easily.

Though it sounded horrible, Bobefitz being a money-hungry monster meant Avice had a few more days. That was all you needed. You would save her. You would.

Your eyes grew heavy and you shut them for a few seconds, inhaling the ghost of a scent. Your eyes opened, she was there and then she wasn’t. Your stomach dropped to your feet when the warning bell rang. How had an hour passed already? You felt like you were losing time, and maybe you were.

The clocks seemed to move differently in this place, where was the White Rabbit when you needed him?

Only when his hands touched her did he relax. He felt like he could breathe again. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared. Scared of his own mind, scared that his mind wouldn’t be his when he got out of here. He didn’t want to think about that. Nevertheless, when she was in front of him–and oh so tangible, he was safe.

“I have something to say,” she pulled away. She looked…Spencer couldn’t find the words. But he knew he was Spencer. Whenever he looked at her, he was taken back to that night–he felt the bristling of her voice tickle his ears, the way she whispered his name grounded him.

“You’ve found something?”

“More than something, I think you should see it for yourself.” She looked behind him, and when he heard the scraping he blocked her with his body. It was the grounds keeper. Shit was he in on it too? Of course. Of course, they’d be found out now. Spencer didn’t know how he’d proceed, but he knew it was them or this guy, and he wouldn’t let it be her. Not her.

“Spencer,” his body sagged at the way his name rolled off her tongue, it was soft and soothing; understanding. She tugged at his arm slightly and said, “It’s okay, he’s with me.”

Spencer wasn’t prepared for what he was about to see, nor for what he was about to be told. He’d successfully gathered the names of each staff member and had sorted them into three groups. The Oblivious, The Knowing, and The Disgusting Pieces of Trash That Committed. He hated knowing the oblivious had the least amount of names on it, at just three.

Spencer didn’t know how many students had been sexually assaulted and he didn’t know how many other students knew about the assaults. What he did know was that no amount of therapy would allow these kids to forget what happened here, no amount of therapy would give back the fours years they spent–and the worst part was that ther was more out there. Students from the past years–over ten years.

And now there was a sex trafficking ring on top of the sexual assault these students have had to edure becasue the adults that were suppose to be protecting them looked the other way. It was leading him to question if what he did at the BAU was really ever making a difference.

It was, to be sure it was. That was a stupid question, the logical part of him said, but it’s never dumb to ask that question, is it? The other part pressed. Jesus, what was becoming of his world?

A tremendous number of trauma. He was a grown adult and even he had trouble sleeping at night knowing everything he did, he couldn’t imagine going through puberty knowing everything and knowing there was nothing you could do–not to mention having absent parents that dropped a wad of cash in your bank account every week in turn for their presence.

No, Spencer could not imagine that at all. A shiver curled up his spine. He was cold, she was in her nightdress so she must be cold as well. But everything would be over soon. He believed that. He had to.

You had grown accustomed to walking down darkened hallways. You no longer waited for ghosts to jump out at you because ghosts were not the scariest thing that tormented this place, unfortunately, the terror showed itself in people that were very much alive.

“Stay quiet.”

“I will.”

“Watch yourself.”

“I will!” He hushed you even though you didn’t think you were that loud.

“And be careful.”

You huffed, but you knew he was only worried. He shouldn’t be though, this was your job, you wanted to be here–this is exactly what you were meant to be doing, and as the key passed between his hand to yours, you knew you wouldn’t have traded this life for anything else.

You stepped out from the hidden passage and swept toward the large wooden door. The key went it and upon slightly twisting it, clicked. Your heart almost jumped out of your chest with how loud the noise was. It bounced off the walls and you were sure someone who catch you–but the hall remained empty.

You knew Nonno was watching you and that you had nothing to worry about, but for some reason, his stare still sent a shiver up your spine. You pushed and the barrier gave way, though dark. You held up the lamp Nonno let you borrow, here it was. The faculty room.

And there in the corner, waiting in the dark, was J—.

You slowed the speed of the door shutting, allowing it a light thud before spinning around and acknowledging him. “Agent, I’ce been expecting you,” he pushed up his glasses, and shoved the papers he seemed to be grading away, “though to be honest…I wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

“Why?” You raised a brow.

“Just,” he waved a hand and shrugged, “I believe we have mor pressing matters to discuss.”

“Yes,” you licked your lips, noting the filing cabinets that stood against the back wall behind him. You moved forward and settled the lamp on a nearby table. “Would you like to begin?”

Your informant shifted, and his hand bended, almost like a twitch. “I want to be clear on something,” his voice was low and croaky, as if he hadn’t slept in days. “I want ful protectin. Before anything, I am a schoolteacher. I took on this job without knowing….it, and I’ve been doing my best to keep a low profile while simultaneously feeding the government information.” He crossed his hands, “I want to know when this is all over, I won’t be arrested.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and scoffed. This felt familiar. Very familiar. “I’m in no position to assure such a thing, but what I can tell you is that the head of the ASIO has no ill intent toward you–ysomeone should have told you this already, but,” you leaned for ward, glancing at the old candle hlder near him, he had little wax left, “so far, you have done everything the ASIO has asked of you–you’ll be in protective custody for a while when this is over”

“Good,” he pushed his glasses up again, though they would undoubtedly slide down the bridge of his nose continuously during your conversatin. “Then,” he slid his chair out and spun, running a hand up and dow the drawers until he found th eone he was looking for, “you should take a look at these.

You’d promised to keep this part of your mission a secret, but right now you were really wishing you had Spencer’s reading abilities. You sifted through each file, reading through the reports.

You wondered just many student complaints had been filed about it. “Huh,” your eyes scanned over names you both recognized and didn’t. “These have all been ignored, I assume?”

“These are all relatively old, to be honest. I think all the students know by now they’re useless.”

“How many do you think…would be willing to testify?” You leaned back.

J— sighed, and leaned agains this chair. His eyes, though flickering in the candle light, seemed dimmer than they did suring the day. Perhaps because this was the real J—, he was a narcissist, but he cared about his job. He chose this career for a reason, maybe something signofcant happened with a teacher in his childhood–you forced yoru mind to pause. Profiling him wasn’t something you could add into your evidence file.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. He was young, possible your age, but the bags under his eyes added more than a few years. You knew it’d be a big ask, but perhaps some of them would be willing–hold on, what a was that? You ran your fingers back through the list of names again–her name was pretty broad, and yes,this was an international boarding school, but something told you this was her. “What is it?” He leaned forward, eyeing the parchment in your hands.

You bit your lip–you wouldn’t put it past these animals–but would someone really…? It would explain that way she acted when you began to ask too personal questions. You felt the brimming of tears, you had to keep your cool, but as you tugged out the file, your chest shuddered. “I know this person.”

What did this mean? You read over the document again, Oh Cairo… your heart felt for her. You recognized the girl sh’de named; Hadee had been the 10th student to go missing, that was just last year. The being pulled out during classes lined up with what happened to Avice.

You gripped the form, you could use this as evidence. You set it down before you made a dent larger dent in the paper. You would be the one to explain to Cairo what happened. You would–you would–breath in. Breath out. Come on, you can do this.

Water streamed down your puffy cheeks. You wanted to be home. You wanted to go home. You needed–you needed arms. His arms. You needed someone–not just anyone–you needed him to hold you. Now more than anything you needed to keep it together.

Keep it together.

Your eyes closed for a moment. When they fluttered open again, you wiped the remaining water with your the sleeve of your nightdress and got back to work, ignoring J—’s stare as he pretended to continue grading papers.

Back and forth, you eyes ran up and down through the paper trail–it was amazing what you could do when your motivation was strong enough. You knew Spencer wanted to go home. You could see it in his tired eyes. Nonno’s too. You didn’t know his story, though there was this curiosity in you that wondered if there would come a time where you ever would. Regardless, you could see the burden of guilt weighing down on his shoulders, figuring it must have been a long since he’d smiled.

He didn’t need to go to prison, he was already in one. He had been for the last decade. You wouldn’t be the one to ask, but you knew he’d have to explain why he kept quiet all these years to someone.

You supposed it didn’t matter the age, anyone would lose their mind if they stayed in this gloom long enough. You knew you were tipping over the edge with every passing day. You couldn’t imagine a year living in this place let alone ten.

You couldn’t read through all of them, but you grabbed every single one and added it to the growing pile beside the lamp on the table. Soon, your sight grew weak and your yawns were no longer just an actions to pass the time.

You stood, stretched, and cleared the mess you’d made. Someone was bound to notice the number of missing reports sooner or later, but you were putting your faith in the ASIO that they’d storm the place before then. Your job was supposed to get out–not wait for their signal, but it was starting to feel like that would be harder. Only one of you could leave. That would keep suspicions low.

You slide the chair you’d been using back in and grabbed the lamp–the candle was almost completely gone, “done?” J— raised a brow.

“Will you testify?” The stack of papers you held in a death grip hit your chest as you pusehd your chair in.

“Do I have a choice?” It seemed like he ha tried ot make a joke, but you weren’t in the mood for jokes. J— cleared his throat, shifting under your piercing gaze,“yeah, yeah I’ll testify.”

“Then, yes, I am.” You walked to the door, pressed your ears against it, and listened.

When you deemed it safe, you held in a breath and pulled it open, wincing at the loud squeak. You held your cheeks between you teeth and forced yourself into the cloud of darkness.

“Nonno?” Your breath blew out like fire. The floors were ice-cold, you could feel it through your slippers. You scanned the hall, looking for him behind the walls. As the silence grew, so did the pace of your heartbeat.

Then, a slight shift in the concret wall and there Nonna stood. Relief hit you like a wave and you began breathing regularly again. “Come on,” he waved a hand.

A weary smile tugged your mouth up slightly as you moved forward. Your body went rigide, your eyes went wide, and you shivered. Slowly, you craned your neck, but there was no one. You turned back to Nonno. He was in front of you. He wasn’t hiding, you could see him as clear as the light in your lamp would allow you. So who? Who in the hell was watching you? If it wasn’t Nonno, then who?

Seconds later you found yourself once again hidden behind the walls of the school. “What took you so long?” You shouted in a whisper, your body jolted as if you had been shocked, the cold was getting to you.

“Nevermind that,” he waved a hand, “let’s get you back before anyone notices you’re gone.” He frowned at your disheveled frame, “let me see that.” He grabbed the lamp from you, and you–now free–ran your right hand up and down your left shoulder, trying to create some sort of friction.

Nonno led you through the halls, but you stopped him before he left you near your dorm. “There’s one last thing I have to ask you to do.”

He took a step back, evaluated you, and sighed, “What is it?”

A month and a half. A month and a half you had been in this school. You had learned the comings and goings of the staff, of the students, you had adapted–had become part of the system. You were in the clear–but just in case–just as a counter mesaasure–

No, you shouldn’t think about that because it only mattered if you were caught. And you weren’t. You hadn’t been, today was the day. Tonight you would call the number J— used and he would deliver the message. He was smart–smarter than you’d imagine. You’d seen the cryptic messages he’d elft the ASIO before leaving to begin your training. It was ovr–almsot–it was so close you could practically feel the sweet victory in the air.

Avice would be saved, Nonno had assured you she was still in the Hospital Wing, she was still there–she hadn’t been auctioned off yet. You thought had water brimming the corenrs of your eyes, but you blinked them back.

You thought of the countermeasure you had instilled last night. And the second favor you had asked of Nonno. At first it was just one, but as you were setting up the first favor, a thought occurred to you, and it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Spinning a black pen in your fingers, you bit the inside of you cheek and leaned on your right palm, glancing out the window to your left. Bolted, as always. You noted your reflection, it looked somehward warped, you shivereda nd leaned forward, analyzing the mirror just a bit harder.

The sun was a bit more noticeable today, but the air was just as cold. You blew a thin lock of hair out of your face and shifted in your seat. Was that? No, you must be seeing things. A sigh fell from your lips and you let you relaxed a bit more. Crossing one leg over the other and letting your eyes fall shut, everything almost felt like a dream. You couldn’t have asked for anything better last night. Nothing had gone wrong, it seemed almost too easy–though you were doing your best to act as casual as you could, it was hard. Because everything had gone so right, you felt a bit lighter.

It sounded wrong, knowing Avice was being drugged hourly and she must have gone through so much to get to that point–you were hoping she didn’t remember any of it when everything was over. You didn’t know if it’d be better to remember or to forget it all–so maybe you weren’t the best person to be suggesting or giving advice on the matter.

Your back straightened and your hands fell onto your desk when that guy in the white labcoat–the one who had whisked Avice away, appeared in the doorway of the classroom. Savino’s eyes found yours briefly, but before anyone else could notice, he diverted them. “Miss —,” the guy called–you hadn’t deduced whether or not he was an actual doctor, regardless, his licence would definitely be revoked withing the coming hours. His eyes landed on your professors, then yours, “please come with me.”

Fear.

You stomach dropped, you felt sick. Not a single student would look at you. Nonno hadn’t spoken much about what happened when the students were first taken, he’d actually neglected to say much at all. And you were partially thankful because you didn’t think you could handle knowing whilst mere probabilities away from being their next target.

You stood numbly, your chair scraping the floor extra loudly–or maybe that was all just in your head. Your hands grew clammy and your movements were rigid as you walked. “What is this for?” You forced out, though you knew it was better not to draw any more attention to yourself than already had been.

The doctor eyed your person, his thin, pink lips were cracked, they pursed together in a way that looked like it hurt. “The Headmaster has requested your presence.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, chilling the rest of your body. Every step forward took effort. Savino caught your gaze when you passed his desk, and almost instinctively, grabbed your hand. Squeeze squeeze Spencer squeeze squeeze I’m scared squeeze squeeze what do I do?

“Now, please.” The unnamed man called briskly, his voice wavering on annoyance.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but before you could stop yourself, you shook your head and snatched your hand away, following the man out. This wasn’t his battle, and even if it were–you loved him too much to throw him under the bus. Underneath all that Russian coolness, he was still your nerdy, beloved coworker.

Gone. Gone. She was gone. She was gone and he had let her go. He should have done something. Why did he just watch? Why didn’t he stand? Why? Why? Why?

He had to get out. Spencer bit the fingernail attached to his thumb. He had to escape. He had to alert everyone on the outside. He had to do it now.

They knew. They knew! Spencer wasn’t dumb. By standing up–by doing anything other than letting her go, he too would have been caught. The operation would be compromised and perhaps neither him nor her made it out of this alive. It was as clear as to why he had stayed silent. That didn’t make it any less bearable. If he lost her. If he lost her–Spencer would–he would……what would he do?

Nothing. He couldn’t possibly know what he’d do because he couldn’t imagine ever possibly losing her. She was him teamate, his literal partner in crime–or rather in fighting crime. That sounded studpid. Why couldn’t a single coherent though come form him?

He needed to focus on getting her back. Right? He was useless without her because she had information the Australian government needed. She had evidence he didn’t, half assed evidence whouldn’t fly in court, would it? He stopped, his eyes tracing over the type writer, there was another note. Another letter. He’d burned the previous one in his dormroom’s built in fireplace.

He followd the words with his eyes as he stepped closer. The page ripped neatly, making a crisp sound Savino in that moment couldn’t find it in himself to enjoy.

𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟻𝟶/𝟻𝟶 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜. 𝙾𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢, 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛’𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛. 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗. 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍? 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚜. 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍. 𝙳𝚛. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍.

It wasn’t written. But he felt like she wanted to write more, to say more. And if he was right, then she was more selfless than he could ever be.

He allowed himself a few seconds, when the warning bell rang, he took a breath, wiped his tears, and folded the piece of stock paper, tucking it into the pocket on his blazer.

You stepped into the school’s office. It felt like decades had past since the last you’d been here. The room was as sullen as you had remembered it. The man in the white labcoat stood with you in the suffocating room until the doors behind the desk opened and Headmaster Bobefitz came into view.

His name tasted sour even in to the voice in your mind, you held in the urge to make a cross face. His smile was shuddersome, you wanted to run–to hide–to be as far away from this man as possible. The man in the labcoat began to walk away and you turned, almost as if to ask him to stay.

You didn’t and when you face Bobefitz again, he had his eyebrows raised in mockery. They seemed to say, go ahead. You found your eyes narrowing and though sweaty, your palms compacted into fists. “Don’t make that face,” his voice trickled through the closed area, low and haughty.

It was disgusting.

“Follow me, let’s talk.”

You quivered, held your breath, and put one foot in front of the other. It didn’t matter that you were trapped. Spencer had everything he needed to call, and that was enough for you. If it had to come down to you or them, well, you had chosen the second option the instant you had taken on this operation–you couldn’t walk away now, just because you were afraid. He would understand, wouldn’t he?

A large desktop computer sat on a desk in the dark corner of the tight room. It was smaller that the one outside, he was closer now, but he took his seat across from you and motioned for you to sit. The room was decorated with flags of over 30 countries, a picute frame sat facing away from you.

You held your arms and hunched your shoulders, “you wanted to see me?”

You jerked at the way he stared at you. Pure evilness. His balding head might have been shiny in another sort of light, his black eyes peirced you. There was nothing there. No soul. It wasn’t human–whatever sat across from you. “I want to show you something.” His voice sounded sticky, dirty, and cruel.

His clammy, pale skin seemed to seep into the wall behind him, he melted in his chair, hands on his beer belly as he watched you analyze the screen. Horror dawned on you–image after image. In your room, in the halls, in the classroom, in the hospital wing and the faculty office–a close up of you leaning toward the camera unknowing–oh my God…this picture had been taken just moments prior.

Panic hit you from every angle as one photo in particular caught your eye. Your fingers flexed open and closed several times while your eyes ran through every detail.

There you were–talking to Nonno outside of the gates. The date read 02/16/07. It hadn’t been Nonno watching you, it had been Bobefitz. He had cameras all over the school…

He’d been watching you since the very beginning.

His hand connected with a line of books. A few of them came off the shelves. His angry eyes darkened at the sight of the files tucked safely behind Notes from Underground, the book that had led him to this secret room. He didn’t have time to wait until tonight. He had no idea what they were doing to her and even if he did, he was useless. God, why did he have to be so weak?

The grounds keeper–whose name he still didn’t know–appeared on the other end of the hall near the door. “We need to get a message to your friends.”

“You think I don’t know that?” His eyes narrowed as he came face to face with the old man. His average height gave Spencer somewhat of an advantage, and as he towered over the old man–a thought occurred to him– “If I find out you had anything to do with–

“I didn’t.” The man held up a hand, “you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? Don’t tell me to…fucking calm down!” His voice cracked–Spencer never cursed–but what if he wasn’t Spencer? What if he was Savino? With her, he knew who he was–he knew what was real and what wasn’t. But she wasn’t here, and he couldn’t remember what he had to do again–

Savino’s back hit the shelves behind him, he’d been shoved– “You need to get yourself together. You want to save these kids? You want to save the little miss?” His accent sounded slavic–no that was Savino’s own accent. Spencer held his head, a grimace colliding with his face as he moved to a crouch.

“I know who I am,” he whispered, “I know who I am.”

The grounds keeper sighed–Savino looked up, his brain was splitting in two. It was safer to default back to Savino. It was more comfortable to not fight back–but he had a mission. He couldn’t just let hismelf go–he couldn’t because he had a job to do–and Savino didn’t care about those things–that wasn’t in his conscience.

—

The name reverberated in his head. But was it her name or the fake name she had been given? They were the same person, right? He didn’t know–he didn’t–

—

That was Savino’s priority. He didn’t care about anyone or anything else. But she would never forgive him if–dangerous. This was a dangerous situation–a dangerous game of reality.

“Get me ug–” He pushed himself onto his feet. It hurt–it hurt mentally. He wanted to sleep; he didn’t.

“A phone?” His head tilted upward, standing behind the old grounds keeper was the frame of a short man pushing up glasses too thick for his face.

The unnamed man stepped further into the room, sliding out a mobile, and clicking a few buttons on the device. It rang through the small hall-made room,a nd eventually a click. The other line had picked up. The man nodded, a grim expression floating across his face, “one’s been taken, the other looks like he’s losing his shit You shouldn’t have sent them if they weren’t ready.”

“We didn’t have that privilege.” He stood, not knowing who the man in front of him was, only knowing he didn’t like him enough to fully trust him. The final bell for classes rang. He didn’t care, all that mattered was getting the evidence into safe hands. He had multiple battles ahead of him and he’d have to fight them all while simultaneously not knowing who the real him was.

The halls of Genry looked odd. Everything was blurring–or perhaps that was just your vision–the windows were bolted as usual–but something else caught your eyes. You took pause at the chains hanging from each lock. Those weren’t there before–if they had been you would have no doubt noticed them.

“Where are you taking me?” These weren’t the normall halls–they were replicas. “Get off of me!” You shook whomever held your hands behind your back.

Your jaw mentally hit the floor and you stumbled backward, “d…dad?”

“Hello, sweety,” tears pooled in your eyes, what was going on? Why–

“Oh, dad…” he opened his arms and motioned you forward with is hands. You felt his hug before you took your first step.

You took another and another–halting just before his hands wrapped around you. A flash of dark brown down the halls–but behind your father weren’t the halls you’d just been walking down–it was a large, floor to ceiling mirror that extended the entire space behind him like an icicle made from magic.

Your body jerked to the side–though when you turned around no one was there, you gazed around once more, but your father was gone. You were alone–you were all alone. The sky outside the bolted and chain-linked windows grew dark, clouding your vision once more. You stumbled and grabbed onto the chains to keep yourself from falling.

You were falling–the building was falling, it was slanted it–where were you?

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You blinked and everything returned to you. Your father was dead–had been for about six years now. You were dreaming–you had been dreaming. None of it was real. Then what is. You felt tears spring to your face. This was madness–you were delving into it every second you were here.

None of it is real.

You hoped Spencer had gotten your letter. You hoped he was out of here, perhaps the ASIO were deploying their teams now–readying to take the school.

“Well, you’re a bit older than the usual ones.”

“Can we sell her?”

“Oh, I think you’ll be alright.” The beady eyed doctor in his stupid white lab coat fixed his only working eye that hid behind a monocle on you, “there’s bound to be a buyer for everything–though you could probably pass her off as younger, if you wanted.”

“You bastards,” you seethed, snatching your wrist to your stomach–you head turned–it was chained. The space around you was dark–darker than normal, there were no white carvings in the walls–no it was all–it was gray–deep, ugly grays filled your vision.

A cynical laugh echoaed throughout the room–a few followed. You tried to get a good look them all, you might have to identity them later. You better enjoy this. You’ll rot in prison for the rest of your lives when the system is through with you. You jerked the handcuffs and beared your teeth, I’ll make sure of it.

An hour before classes ended, Savino heard the sirens. The moutains were an hour drive from the closest town–the school was about 30 minutes up hill–frankly he was surprised they had gotten here so quickly. Surprised–and grateful.

“So, how does this work?” The old man asked gruffly, “I’ve heard them through the walls, they’re looking for a missing student.”

“Yeah,” he wasn’t dumb. He knew he should have gone back to class to keep from drawing attention to himself, but Savino didn’t need to care about suck things. Some part–maybe both of them–knew that if he went back to class he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he had holed up in this room.

But then, that would mean Savino and Spencer both knew that Spencer was the real him, right? Because why else would they both know that it was better to stay hidden? “Are you crying?”

“No,” but his voice wavered and he felt hot despite the weather.

He felt he should have someone–someone other than her–someone on the outside. Someone he could turn to–but he couldn’t–“Ugh,” he groaned.

“Are you sick, what–what’s wrong with you?” Old Man leaned over him and helped him sit upwards. “Oh, Son…that’s not good…” he shook his head and he didn’t know what the old man was referring to.

“Wait,” Savino turned his head to the right, toward the door, “do you hear that?”

“Is it them? Is it safe?”

He stumbled toward the door, “let’s go through the walls just to be sure…”

Old Man hesitated for just a second, then with tight lips, nodded, “come on then.”

The grimy walls were of no concern to Savino–though he’d been in much nicer conditions, they served a more significant purpose now–they hid him.

Footsteps–several sets of them–then a voice–a voice he thought he recognized. “Stop–” he whispered, holding out a hand.

“What–what is it, do you know them?”

“I don’t know…” he pressed his ear against the the wall, then, slowly, lifted a piece of concrete that had seemed to have been cracked ages ago.

Black gelled hair, a menacing frown, and set eyes–where did he knew that face from? What ws his name? A woman walked beside him, she looked familiar. Short cropped hair, ghostly pale skin, and high cheekbones–he knew these people.

Or did Spencer know these people?

Who was the real version of himself? Savino. He always resorted back to Savino because that was the safest option…right?

“Do you knw them?” Came the question again, but he didn’t know how to respond to that. Did he know these people? Or did he only think he knew these people. He needed–he needed her. He needed to find her. She would know–she could tell him. He wasn’t confused when he was with her…

But who was she again? A schoolmate? When did he first meet her? She had two names. Two names…why… Why could he not figure this out on his own? His mind was playing tricks on him, why couldn’t he trust his own mind?

“Spencer…”

Savino glanced up–catching Old Man’s eyes, “how do you know that name?”

“She…she told me. Last night–before everything…she asked me…for two favors…” Savino felt worlds pass through him.

“I’m Spencer… Spencer.” he whispered to himself. His hands pushed off the concrete and he held out his hands, “give them to me.” This wasn’t how it was suppose to go, but neither of them were suppose to get caught either. That wasn’t the plan and neither was this, but fuck the plan.

Spencer stepped out from a secret passage down the hall of the main wing near the office, he turned back to the unknown man and waved. The walls casted over him and he was gone just like that.

He stepped into the office, it was quiet at first, but then all three people turned their heads to look at him, he only looked at two, “do it now.”

The man glacned at the stack in his hands, the woman radioed someone, turned around, and handcuffed the baffled man–who was evidently not the headmaster. Where was that son of a bitch?

“Spencer,” the serious man stepped in front of him, but Spencer didn’t care. He shoved the stack of files into his bosses hand and stopped Emily.

“Where is she?”

“I–I don’t–

“I’m going to ask you one more time–

“Reid–”

“Hotch–” Spencer glanced back at his boss, he didn’t know what he looked like, but he assumed a bit messy; he was sure there were bags under his eyes, and even so he didn’t know how deep they went. “Where is she?”

The doctor that had taken her out of class earlier–Spencer had seen around the halls and he he knew by his nametage–this man had been sorted under The Scumbags Involved–or whatever he’d labled it. The doctor lowered his head, “they had her takne to the dungeon–”

“That’s where they keep them before the bidding,” he said, more to himself now–his mind was running at a million miles per second, a small smile fell to his face. He wass starting to feel just a bit like his old self–though he knew he’d been altered in some way.

Spencer he spun around, “REID!” Hotch called after him, but Hotch could go fuck himslef if he thought he’d leave her alone any longer.

Without a gun. Without a knife or any other sort of weapon, Spencer booked it throughout the school; the old Spencer never would have though tot do something so stupid, but times changed a person, so perhaps he now would under the right circumstances.

The ogling you could handle, the messing with your head wasn’t ideal, but you were still okay. You knew who you were–where you were–and that a rescue team would burst through those door in any moment now.

But the not knowing was killing you. You had smelled her perfume. You could just make it out–and then a second later you had seen a flash of blonde hair–all wrinkled, like it had been in the same position for days–it was dry, but a brush would fix it–that’s what you hoped.

Your first concern was why was she down here? To be sure, your deduction was spot on–you were in the dungeons beneath this wreck of a school.

The second was where she’d vanished off to. Where had they taken her? She was there and then she wasn’t– gone, just like that. That’s when your crying began. You couldn’t stop it. Where–was she? You couldn’t have been too late. You couldn’t have been–

That pig sat at your bedside any chance he got. When the doctor wasn’t around making sure your blood preassure was stable and the right amount of doses of whatever drug they were giving you were keeping you in your bed. You were sure it was diazepam, otherwise known as valium–a date rape drug.

Though you were afraid it could be something much more worse like flunitrazepam–being motionless left you with nothing to do but think–you felt like your mind had been running for ages. The thoughts that coerced through your mind weren’t pretty, paired with the only smell being rot and Bobefitz–you wanted nothing more than to breathe in Avice perfume. You didn’t have the mental capacity in the state you were in to think of something happy–to take yourself somewhere else. But more than that, you had to remember her.

They would need to find her…wherever they’d taken her.

You didn’t know how long ago you’d seen her, but you couldn’t smell her fragernece anymore and the day was sure to be getting later and later. It was fire to your skin, like you snorted chili sauce. Your mouth watered–when was the last time you’d had a drink of water–God you were starting to lose it.

You closed your eyes-but only for a second, you assured yourself. Cold fingertips padded across you collarbone. You shuddered, your eyes fluttered open to a nightmare. Bobefitz’ face hovered above yours, his breath had your breakfast receding and his beady black eyes had that same souless suggestion that felt like there were bugs beneath your skin, itching at your flesh to get out.

“I suppose they wouldn’t really know anything if I were to–” he cut himself off, laughing. A sinister thing you wantes no part in. Your chest huffed as his eyes landed back on yours, “I mean, when he’s done with you, you’ll join the others anyway.” He leaned forward, his belly folding in roles you couldn’t wince away from, “tell me, my dear, did you know those missing studnets you were investigating never actually left the premises?”

Whimpers fell through the cell they’d placed you in right as his thick, stubby fingers slid over the buttons on your shirt. A noise sounded somehwere down the hall–someone apparated in the entrance of the chamber and Bobefitz’ head snapped upward.

You couldn’t see who it was, but sooner rather than later the tubes attaching to you were ripped out and the cell was overtaken. Someone lifted you up from the bedyour eyes scanned the room, though slow and docile [you were still incapicated].

There was no one else–Avice wasn’t–“Youhaveto–”you wheezed, “–gettohershe–” another wheeze.

“Whoah whoah–slow down,” his breath coated your neck as he move you into his arms. Your words were sloppy–almost like you were drunk.

“Find…her–”

Spencer’s eyes never left yours as he carried you up the stairwells and through the halls of the castle. There were men in black, guns pulled out in front of them. Further down the hall you started to gain movement in lower your joints, it wasn’t anything like a miracle–but it was something. You could hear the comotion of classes being stopped, you tried to remember everything in order to put things in order for yourself–but it was so…hard.

Everything was just–

Smoke in the air had your eyes watering, a medic was adjusting the mask around your head–your mouth. Your pupils dilated and you tried to sit up, but it hurt–you felt around, realzing you were on a gurney. “It’s okay–you're alright.” Another medic was getting the ambulance open and ready behind you.

Burnt ash–oh that’s foul! You coughed, heaving in breaths, “just calm down, it’ll be alright.” A third medic rubbed your arm, you twitched–feeling uncomfortable. Eventually, she stepped away when you seemed to have settled down.

What was that? What the hell–where was he? Spencer you had to find–Avice, was she okay? Did they find her?

Your vision was clouded by the vapor and the graying sky–it was late and you were high up in the mountains. You could hear people milling about–a swarm of people were in front of you, there were cars, there was a gate, there–oh my gosh.

Groups of people–mostly students and police–surrounded the outside of the school. It was burning–the school was on fire–the entire thing, it was burning down–and you smelled it–the little oxygen you had access to caught in your throat.

Her perfume. The fregernce was so strong you turned your head because she must have been beside you. There–a lock of blonde hair…disspearing behind the walls of the school, toward the…the courtyard. You jerked away from the medics, why were there tubes in you? You’d had enoug of that–you sat up, holding your head.

“Hey, you can’t–you have to sit so we can help you.” Her gentle voice wasn’t soothing any part of your headache. What happened?

“Get off me,” you pushed and rolled yourself off the gurney, hitting the floor with a thud. There waere shouting, more people circling you–God why couldn’t they just give you a moment? You ignored the blood trickling from the sleeve of your button up.

You shivered–though you didn’t know why. You had to get to her, people watched you go around them–probably wondering where you were headed and why you would want to go back into that wretched sinful.

A hand caught your arm and though your first instinct was to jerk it back–you hated being touched, though you didn’t think to question why that was in the moment–you kept your cool when you noted who it was.

She held up a piece of paper, blocking line of sight, you caught the black ink scribbled down–the smoke grew stronger, filling the space between you and the paper. You pulled it out of her hold and help it closer to your face.

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦...𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺?

Cairo’s thick hair appeared in you peripheral secons afterward. You gripped the pen she extended toward you and clicked the top.

𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘁𝗼𝗼

You smelled it. Her scent mixed with the smoke–adn she wasn’t here. You’re heart fell to your feet and cupped your mouth to keep the bile down as the memory of what that things had last said resurfaced …those missing studnets you were investigating never actually left the premise…

You slide to the floor near the gate and screamed–it was deafening to you–and though she couldn’t hear you, you could tell Cairo understood. She held you for a moment which was weird because you were the adult. You were the one who should be comforting her.

She walked you toward the gurneys again, doing her best to conceal you from the media that somehow found there way up here even though you were sure the roads were being blocked off.

She handed you back the paper after a moment–it was dirty, you now noticed–and wrinkled. You read over the paper, and her frown turned into somewhat of a griamce as she tried to smile–though it only seemed to deepen her expression.

𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘨𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦

Though everything hurt and you felt dirty in your own skin, you did took the pen and paper back.

𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁

You thought that would be the end of it, Cairo had turned, seemingly ready to walk away–but she hesitated. A second later, she was sliding another piece of paper into your hands–you felt something between the folds. Your hands gripped the paper, though they began shaking uncontrollably, so you had to set it down.

Cairo was lost in the crowds when you gazed up again.

It was a bit of a struggle, but ultimately the corners of the pages were flattened on your lap. You felt another wave of tears spring into your eyes when you took in the object. A single earring you could never dream to afford captured your attention–and the words on the page behind it,

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶

your head jerked up, you eyes searching through the crowd for any sign of the girl. She was there and then she wasn’t–just like….you couldn’t bring yourself to even think her name.

And then, almost fundamentally, your eyes caught tussles of brown…when his face came into view, a new kind of sadness came over you–it hit hard and heavy. He smiled, already making his way toward you–and you knew then–that you were safe. Though abruptly, you smelled that fragrance and you knew this was only the end of the beginning.

a/n: genuinely so proud of this fic–i was very excited to write this, i also tried something different with Cairo's report–please let me know if you liked that or not and stay updated for part two !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody@kennedy-brooke @maisyyyyyy

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cmncisspnandmore · 2 years ago

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Dad!Simon is surprisingly lax with the rules he has in place for his teenage daughter.

She’s allowed to date, also long both you and Simon have met the parents of her partner. She can be out until 10pm every night but must have her locations on. She has to keep good grades, and do her chores, but other than that she can do as she pleases.

She’s a good kid.

Always has been.

Since the moment she was born Simon’s entire attitude towards parenting shifted. As he stared down at the pink, sleeping baby in his arms as the doctors finished up with you. He vowed to do whatever he could to make her life as amazing as it could be.

He took her to dance classes as a toddler, even going on stage with her when she got stage fright.

He never denied her the ability to play any sport or instrument she wanted. Even if she didn’t stick with it, he was always happy to support her next hobby.

He would find trinkets to bring her from his missions, his own little way of showing her he never stopped thinking about her. Building her a new shelf to store them on when the previous one was full.

Although Simon wasn’t as strict as people thought he would be with her, he had a good reason.

Simon had trained her well, by the age of 7 she could take down a fully grown man on her own. Simon even remembers the look on Soaps face as the seemingly innocent little girl in her bright pink dress took him to the ground.

By age 10 she could shoot better than some newly joined SAS members. Her shot hitting center almost every time.

Now as Simon sits on the steps of the front porch, he watches as you and your daughter lay in the grass. The stars bright in the dark country sky. You both talk softly, pointing out the different constellations.

Riley, the family German Shepherd, laying by your heads his ears perked as he listens to the world around you.

“Dad!” Your daughter calls, sitting up on her elbows to look back at him. Her brown eyes a mirror image of Simon’s.

“Hmm?” He looks over at her, a small smile on his face.

“Come join us!” She calls, patting the grass next to her. Simon can’t resist, he lets out a breath, pushing himself up from the stairs and walking across the grass. He settles into the space you and your daughter created between your bodies. As he lays down in the grass, your head comes to rest against his chest. His arm instinctively going around your shoulders anchoring you to him.

“Dad…” your daughter whispers into the night sky.

“Yeah Bunny?” Simon mumbles, his hand going to her hair to ruffle it.

“Thank you for being the best Dad a girl could ask for,” she looks over at Simon. Her lips turned up in a smile, as she leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Love you Bunny,” Simon smiles as she turns her face back up to the sky.

#simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley #simon #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #cod mwii #ghost cod #dad!simon #dad!simon riley

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purplecoffee13 · 10 months ago

Text

NFWMB - part 2

Summary: “Y/N’s first self defense class leads to some inevitable tension, all of which is thrown out of Y/N’s mind when she gets an unexpected visit at her office desk…”

Wc: 4.8k

Tropes: boxer!Harry x innocent!reader

Warnings: sexual TENSION😈, brief mention of SA, blood

A/N: hi everyone! I am so positively overwhelmed by the great response this new series has been getting🥹. I have such a good feeling about this and I hope you’ll appreciate this little adventure we’re going on😋. Xxx

P.S. I would also recommend listening to ‘Knuckles’ by the Snuts. Not only because it’s a great song, but along with NFWMB, it’s kinda the theme song of this series🤭.

General Masterlist

Series Masterlist

It was 8:55pm.

Harry had never been so fixated on time before. It was like his brain was counting down each second, even when he was trying to concentrate on quite literally anything else.

All weekend he had been wondering whether or not Y/N would show up tonight. Even though he had other things to do, and plenty of more urgent matters occupying his mind, the thought of her still managed to take up some space.

He hadn't heard from her. Not that it was technically possible; he didn't give him any contact information. God, why was he sweating this so much?

8:59pm.

The gym was entirely empty. He always closed early on Tuesdays. The rest of the week he stays open until 12am. There are more people who go to the gym late at night than he thought, but since he needed to cut himself some slack, he decided to use Tuesdays for that.

Not that he really cut himself some slack. He'd stay and do his own exercises, then stay longer to work on administration. He would eventually go home at around 11pm. Greg scolded him for it, demanding he take some time for himself, but that seemed to be impossible for Harry.

He loved this. He loved helping people and the shitty administrative stuff was nothing in comparison to the smiles he would see on people's faces upon leaving the gym. Whether that was one of the women in his defense classes, or a man who'd reached his new weightlifting goal. He loved seeing people happy.

9:04pm.

A wave of disappointment flooded through Harry's body. He didn't even know why he thought she'd come. It's not like he gave any indication that she wanted to. She actually told him, outright, that she didn't. He needed to check himself into a mental hospital or something... occupying himself so much with a girl he met once. He needed some sort of reality check.

The sound of the reception bell tore Harry from his thoughts, his head shooting towards the hallway where the sound was coming from. His feet began to move before he could even comprehend, and when he turned around the corner, a small sigh left his mouth.

Shit. There she was. Wearing baggy sweatpants and an oversized Rolling Stones t-shirt. Her hair was up in a ponytail, much like it had been the last time he saw her. It still looked different, though, as if she had put in more effort this time. There were no stray hairs, and the ponytail was braided. Her eyes were as big as ever, and he could've sworn they gleamed a bit when they landed on him.

Angel.

"Hi." She smiled shyly, adjusting the strap of her duffel bag that slung around her shoulder. The corner of Harry's mouth tugged up.

"Hi."

She didn't say anything, just stared at him and waited for him to continue talking. Harry, however, was too busy with looking at her that he forgot he should probably say something. It's why it took him a little longer to say:

"C'mon, let's go to the other room."

He waited for her to pace towards him before he turned around and walked to the training room. He tried, he truly did, to stay casual and just keep walking, but he couldn't help it. His head turned—just to check, he said to himself—to see the beautiful woman still walking behind him. She really was here.

Having entered the training room, Harry walked onto the mat, Y/N following him closely. He turned around and gestured for her to put her bag on the ground. She did as instructed, and stood back in front of him. He noticed her posture, the way it was extra straight. She was compensating for the insecurity that displayed in the way she fiddled with her fingers behind her back. She probably thought he didn't notice, but there were mirrors all around the room, so he could see every single part of her.

Harry titled his head downwards and looked at her. He was only realizing it now; the height difference between them. He had seen it last week, but now that he was standing close to her, it was more prominent.

"I want to say beforehand, that during these classes I will have to touch you." He said softly, his voice still in that low baritone. Y/N's lips slowly parted, but no words came out. "Is that okay with you?"

From the way her cheeks flushed after vigorously nodding her head, he could tell she had found her quick agreement to be a bit embarrassing. Harry only smiled.

"Words, please, Y/N."

"Y—yes," She quickly answered, and Harry opened his mouth to communicate his approval, but the continuation of her consent caught him off guard. "You can touch me."

His heartbeat began to pick up a bit, blood rushing towards parts that it should definitely not be rushing to. He clenched his jaw and balled up his fists, hoping the tension in the other parts of his body would refrain his cock from straining too hard against his pants.

Jesus, what was wrong with him? Why was he acting like he just got out of prison?

"Let's warm up." He said gruffly, sounding more moody than he wanted to. Y/N nodded, looking at her feet as she took a step backwards. She waited as Harry walked to the bench to get jump rope. When he walked back and handed it to her, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.

"It's to get your heart rate up. It'll have you ready for the exercises."

"Okay." She took the rope from his hands and got ready, but never started the exercise.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. Her eyes went all big like it did in that first class.

"Oh— no, nothing. I was waiting for you. I don't know why... you're the instructor, of course." She was rambling again, shutting her eyes tightly for a few seconds after closing her mouth. Harry bit his lip to keep himself from chuckling at the woman in front of him.

"You know what, you're right, I'll join you. I haven't done my exercises today anyway." He said as he grabbed another rope. It was a big fat lie; he had trained for a good two hours today. But these exercises were harmless fun, and if it would make her feel more comfortable, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

"Would you like some music? I always prefer it because it tends to get kind of quiet in here. But we don't have to. It's really a personal preference." Harry explained, holding up his phone. A small smile appeared on Y/N's face.

"Uhm, yeah, that would be great. What do you usually listen to?"

Harry shrugged. "Uhm, rap usually."

Y/N hummed. Harry squinted his eyes at the woman in front of him, then raised a brow.

"You don't like that, do you?"

"What? No! I don't care, really. You can put on whatever you want." She was quick to defend herself. She wasn't exactly lying. Y/N didn't care, she wouldn't dream of opposing the man in front of her.

"What do you usually listen to?"

"Uhm, I like older music." You confessed. Harry tilted his head.

"Yeah? What kind?"

"Jazz, Soul, classic rock, a bit of hard rock, disco."

Harry nodded, and looked down at his phone to type in something. Y/N frowned—probably wondering what he was doing—but a giggle escaped her as 'Let's Hear It For The Boy' started playing through the speakers. Harry's eyes twinkled as he took in the sight of her. He couldn't help but smile pridefully, knowing he made her laugh like that. It felt like an accomplishment.

"Okay, let's begin."

And so, Harry and Y/N began jumping with the jump rope next to each other. He told her to count until fifty out loud, and she obeyed him. By the time they were done, Y/N's heavy breathing made her realize that her physical shape had gotten a lot worse since moving out. She always used to run back when she lived with her parents, she told Harry, but she hadn't found time for it since she'd moved.

They did a couple other warm-up exercises together, and when stretching the final time, Harry dared to comment.

"You're pretty flexible."

Y/N looked up, shrugging at her instructor. "I was a cheerleader back in high school, and I used to do a lot of yoga in college. Maybe it stuck."

"Yeah, probably." Harry nodded, admiring the woman in front of him. She talked so casually about herself. She was actually impressively flexible; it's why he noted it in the first place. She was taking herself for granted, he could tell.

"Okay, let's start, shall we?" Harry said, getting up to his feet. Y/N silently nodded as she followed in his footsteps. "I'm going to teach you some basic things, but I also want to ask you if there are some specific exercises you would like to focus on. If so, we can start by handling those after having learned the basics, okay?"

"Okay." Y/N said, taking a deep breath.

"You can think about it, and tell me next time." Harry added, and as The Jackson 5's ABC began to play, the real exercises started.

Y/N listened intently as he explained her the basic things about throwing a punch. Balance was the most important thing, Harry had said. She followed his instructions closely and stood with her feet shoulder-with apart, her right foot—the dominant one, he told her it had to be—slightly ahead of her left one.

"Good." Harry's sound of approval had awakened something in your stomach. "Now clench your fist— you have to wrap your thumb around your index and middle fingers. Otherwise you'll break your thumb."

Y/N did as he said, keeping her wrist straight. Her stomach dropped as he let out a disapproving hum. He went to stand beside her as he lowly said:

"Bend your knees."

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Y/N bent her knees a bit. From all the nervousness she kept stretching her limbs all the time, going against his order. Seeing her answer to him so quickly had made him smirk a bit.

"Good."

He didn't miss the deep breath Y/N took as he spoke. She desperately wanted his approval. It was endearing... and other things that it shouldn't be. Harry mentally slapped himself in the face. This was a professional environment, why were his thoughts racing the same way they used to back when he was a teenager? It was pathetic, really.

"Now, when you punch someone, it's important to put your entire body into it. If you punch without moving the rest of your body, it won't have as much of an impact. You have to generate the power from your core and legs. That way, the blow will land way harder." He explained, trying not to smile at Y/N's faint frown as she took in all the he was saying. She was so concentrated, wanting to absorb every piece of information he shared. "Like this."

He showed her what he meant. Y/N nodded and tried to imitate her instructor, but without much luck.

"You don't have to lean forward that much. If you turn with your entire body, it'll do that for you." He said, and had to fight the small grin that threatened to form on his lips when she tried to hold herself back too much this time. She huffed in annoyance.

"How am I ever going to be able to defend myself again if I can't even get a punch right?" She murmured, mainly to herself, as she pinched the bridge between her nose. Harry's ears perked up at what she said.

What did she mean with 'again'? Rage started simmering in his body at the sole implication of someone having done something to this woman that made her have to defend herself. Is that why she was so interested in the class? Why she wanted to learn so bad despite being so shy? Because someone had hurt her, or threatened to, and made her feel unsafe?

"Can I touch you?"

Y/N's gaze shot up to Harry's, keeping them locked for a few seconds before she let out a soft 'yes'. He nodded once, went to stand behind her, and told her to get back into position. As soon as she had, he grabbed her hips. Firm, but light.

"Do it again, slowly."

Y/N did as he said, and let him help her move her body in the right way. Automatically, her foot stayed in the right position, and she wasn't really leaning forward anymore.

"That's it." Harry said proudly. He was kind of caught off guard when Y/N sucked in a breath and turned around, his hands falling off her hips immediately. For a second, he felt bad, not having wanted to make her feel uncomfortable in any way, but when he saw her swallow, biting her lip, he knew that his touch had caused something else.

Fuck. He was definitely better off not knowing.

"I— Can I drink some water?" Y/N asked, almost sounding like she was out of breath. Harry did his best not to let it get to his head too much as he nodded, biting inside of his cheek. She scurried over to her bag, and took out a water bottle, of which she probably gulped half down before she set it down on the bench.

"Okay, c'mon. We have a lot to cover." Harry said when he felt she was lingering by the bench too much. She immediately walked back to him, and there was sense of pride that filled Harry's chest. Such a good listener, she was.

Y/N was exhausted. Her first self defense class was finally over, and it was a lot harder than she thought it'd be. They went over the basics of punching, and Harry had decided that she definitely needed to build some muscle. In the end, they practiced half an hour longer than the original hour Y/N thought the class was going to be. The regular classes were sixty minutes, so she'd just assumed.

It was also unbearable. She couldn't believe how worked up she was getting over the proximity between her and Harry. It was embarrassing, she had to be ovulating or something. Of course, it probably also had something to do with the fact that Harry was singlehandedly the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, but she shouldn't have let that distract her from her goal. She needed these classes, she needed not to be weak anymore.

After the class, Harry told her to be here at the same time next week, and she thanked him before walking out of the gym.

Harry probably didn't expect her to still stand outside ten minutes later when he walked out to lock up, but when he noticed the pouring rain, it looked like he understood.

"Did you walk?" He asked casually, locking the door. Y/N shook her head.

"Bike." She pointed to the soaking wet bicycle a few feet away.

"D'you need a ride?" He questioned, stepping towards her. Again, she shook her head.

"It's fine, I'll just wait until this blows over."

As if the universe and the weather were playing a crude joke on her, loud thunder ripped through the sky just as the sentence left her mouth. Harry tilted his head a bit.

"Yeah, no. I'm dropping you off at home." He said, and before she could protest, Harry began to walk away, right into the rain. He stepped into his car and drove over to Y/N, then got out of the car again. As he approached her, he asked:

"Where are the keys to your bike?"

Too stunned to say anything, she just handed him the keys. She was a little occupied with how hot he looked all soaking wet and— oh Jesus, she needed shock therapy.

She watched as Harry carried the bicycle and out in the trunk of his car. The grey hoodie that he must've thrown on before leaving the gym was a few shades darker now, and strands of his hair clung to his forehead. He made his way to the passenger door, and opened it, a wave of his arm gesturing for her to get in. She ran into the car, the door closing behind her with a harsh thud.

Harry ran around the car and got in himself, closing the door and turning the vehicle on immediately. Y/N's eyes went wide as Harry pulled the hoodie over his head, tugging his t-shirt up a bit along with it. She eyed the tattoos that inked his hip bones. They seemed like... leaves of some kind? She couldn't exactly make it up in such a short time because she shifted her gaze to the car window and strictly kept it there as soon as she'd realized she was staring.

"Where to?" Harry asked, but Y/N only replied with a distracted hum, not daring to take her eyes off the car window. She had never been around someone who'd made her so nervous before. Sure, she'd been awkward a whole bunch in her life, especially around her crushes in high school. But she was 23 now, she shouldn't be behaving like this around men anymore!

"Y/N?" He leaned forward, waving a hand in front of her face. She snapped her head to him.

"Oh, sorry!" She said, her tone revealing how stressed she was.

"It's okay. Just type in your address, and I'll drive you home." Harry answered sweetly. His soft, green eyes made him seem like much less of an intimidating man. That was, until one would look further down his body of course. The man was extremely jacked, and while that was very hot, it could also be quite scary. But she couldn't find any part of herself that was afraid of him.

No, he might've intimidated her, and that might've made her act like an complet fool in front of him, but she wasn't scared of him.

The silence during the car ride was mostly filled up with Harry asking Y/N questions about herself. Where she was from, what she'd studied. She, alike, returned those questions and found out a bit more about Harry's past as well.

The he was a boxer, retired two years ago, and now owned several gyms. Y/N knows she should've been taken aback a bit when she asked Harry's age and he said he was 29, but for some reason it worked the opposite for her.

Was this a topic for therapy?

She hadn't time to think too much of it, as he soon pulled up in front of her apartment complex. They both got out of the car and Harry helped carry her bicycle to a little garage for bikes at the side of the apartment.

They walked back towards the car, both drenched in water by now, and Harry turned around to say goodbye, but Y/N interrupted him.

"What do I owe you?" She asked, not caring that she was standing in the pouring rain and she was shivering from the cold. A sort of didn't want the conversation to end just yet. Harry thought it over for a few seconds, then shrugged.

"Nothing." He said, to which Y/N knitted her brows.

"But I need to pay you for the classes." She stated the obvious, at least she felt like she was.

"It was a try-out class." Harry replied with a smile.

"I already had my try-out class." She reiterated. Harry shook his head.

"That was your group try-out class, this was your private try-out class. Try-outs are always free."

Y/N bit her lip, unsure of what to say to that. Eventually she settled on something in the middle. "Fine. I'll just tip you extra good the upcoming classes."

Harry let out a laugh. "Sure, angel."

She could've sworn that her heart skipped the beat at the sound of that nickname rolling off Harry's tongue. Did he really just call her that? Y/N scanned for answers in Harry's face, and only noticed a slight shock in his eyes, but it was quickly covered up with that casual ease that always seemed to be hanging over him.

"I— I'm gonna get inside. Thank you for the ride, and the class."

Harry just gave her a small nod. "Anytime."

With that, Y/N turned around and hurried to her apartment complex, shivering by the time she got inside her own place. Her mind was racing, everything that had happened tonight kept flashing through her brain and it was like she could feel the burn of his fingers on her hips.

This was so unlike her. Unlike anything she'd ever done. Taking this class was a risk, one she'd thought being worth it, because it would bring her safety and security.

But this... these tingling feelings crashing into her like an avalanche— she hadn't felt like this since college. Hadn't had a crush become so intense in such a short time.

What the hell was she gonna do about this?

All she knew is that she couldn't stop thinking about him. Not as she got in the shower, nor as she got into bed. She kept tossing and turning until she gave into that feeling that had been nagging at her all night, her hand slowly sliding down her belly and to the sensitive ache that had been growing between her legs.

She closed her eyes and didn't even have to try to imagine Harry's hands on her again, the way he'd said those words to her. As if he wanted her to misinterpret them for something dirty.

"Can I touch you?"

"Do it again, slowly."

"That's it."

The sound of his voice ringing through her head had Y/N rubbing her fingers faster over her clit, her legs starting to close from the immense stimulation. Nevertheless, she forced herself to keep them open as she pleasured herself. Small gasps for air began leaving her body as she felt her climax coming closer and closer.

"Sure, angel."

The teasing tone in which he spoke, the playfulness in his eyes and the accent with which he said the nickname, that memory is what made her make a mess all over her fingers. A small moan even left her mouth in the sound of his name, and although no one was there to hear it, Y/N was embarrassed as she went to the bathroom, cleaned herself up, and went back to bed.

She did fall asleep quite quickly after, though. She was exhausted.

The next morning, there was a slight flutter in her stomach and a smile on her face as she opened her eyes. A new reason to get up in the morning had been making its way into her life, and she couldn't feel anything but giddy about it. Having a crush was always fun.

Despite the replaying of yesterday's practice over breakfast, and the heating of her cheeks at the memories of his words in the car on her way to work, Y/N knew that she was playing with fire by letting herself indulge in this crush. She needed to be careful not to let it go too far. A simple crush wasn't a problem, but he was her instructor and if she truly wanted to learn something in those self defense classes, she better separate business and pleasure.

With the loads of work she had to do at work, Y/N managed to drown out most of the thoughts about Harry the rest of the morning. She was finally relaxing after getting some important papers sent over—which was a stressful problem, as they had to be sent yesterday but some incompetent idiot messed up, leaving Y/N to solve it by herself first thing in the morning—when she got an e-mail from Sophie.

You are invited to

SOPHIE'S 30th BIRTHDAY PARTY

SATURDAY 5 OCTOBER

8:00pm (don't be late!)

Theme: Casino Night

Y/N stared at the invitation on her computer screen, a wide smile covering most of her face. She knew she didn't have any plans, but she still checked her agenda to make sure she was available Saturday next week. She felt like a child who'd just gotten her first ever birthday invitation. It sure felt like that.

Y/N hadn't really had such sweet friends before. Getting along with Sophie had been so incredibly easy and although she always felt like it was too good to be true and there must be some sort of trap, there never was. Sophie just enjoyed Y/N's company, and vice versa. It was like having a big sister and a best friend in one.

About five seconds after silently celebrating having received the invitation, Y/N began to stress about what present she should bring her new friend. It had to be something good. Sophie had earned a lot of money, and could basically get herself anything she wanted, so it had to be more of a sentimental gift.

Y/N had her eyes on a present already. She was very enthusiastic about it; it was something Sophie would really like.

All caught up in the excitement, she didn't notice a tall shadow standing over her until he coughed to get her attention. Y/N looked up, dread filling her stomach as she locked eyes with Oscar. She was still trying to remember how to breathe since her body just shut down out of anxiousness at the sight of him, when he started talking.

"Look, I'll keep this short, because I know you don't want to talk to me," He looked to his left and right before grabbing onto the desk and leaning over it. "but I just want to make sure we're on the same page."

Y/N could do nothing but blink at the man in front of her. What was he talking about, 'same page'?

"Things didn't really go how I thought they would that night, and I've accepted that. But I would appreciate if you wouldn't go around telling people."

"Telling people what?" The words left her mouth before she could stop herself. Originally she didn't want to utter a word in front of this man, nor did she believe she was able to, but this demand of his made her stomach twist. The way he said it, the distaste so apparent on his tongue. As if she were an inconvenience to be dealt with. He'd really mastered that heartlessness that only the cruelest of lawyers could conjure.

"You know what..." He said through clenched teeth, giving her a bit of a warning glare. The anger that boiled within her was new. She had never experienced it in such a large quantity before, and it had her acting out of character.

"What? About you assaulting me?"

The sentence had barely escaped her mouth when Oscar leaped forward a bit, frown so deep that it had made the vein in his forehead extremely prominent. She flinched at the sudden movement, tilting back into her chair. She felt the sped up pace of heartbeat as she clenched her fists, the rest of her body frozen in anticipation of what he was going to do.

"I did not assault—" he stopped himself, his crazy eyes calming a bit, as if he realized he was still in the office. "You know what, you can run to whoever you want. This firm trusts me, and they know what kind of man I am, that I would never do such a thing. Either way, it’s most likely not my job you'll be risking by bringing forth such an accusation."

Y/N had no idea what to possibly say to that. Not that Oscar gave her the chance, seeing as he backed away and walked off before she had the chance to come up with something. She began breathing more heavily with every step he took away from her.

Did he just threaten her?

A tingling pain in her hand distracted Y/N from the rabbit hole of thoughts she was just about to fall into, and when her eyes moved to see what it was, she raised her brows at the sight of blood in her hand.

Unconsciously, somewhere in between looking at the invitation and Oscar's impromptu visit, she must've grabbed the pair of scissors that were laying on the desk. She must've balled up her fists so much that she cut her hand.

Staring at the blood, a thousand thoughts running through her head, only one was the loudest.

She needed to get out of here.

Taglist: @meetmeatyourworst @mema10 @seafoamwhispers @namoreno

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nixwriteschaos · 11 months ago

Note

Lets assume overhaul had a son who is the same age as the class with his or a similar quirk. we can assume he wasn't the best father. but picture how awkward Izuku and Mirio might acts around him if he gets thrust in the class. Bonus points if he Izuku says sorry about beating overhaul and his reaction is just ehh I wanted to do it myself.

A Little Too Alike

Izuku Midoriya x Overhaul’s Son Male!Reader [PLATONIC?] Summary: After Overhaul was arrested, his son was taken in by U.A along with Eri. When Mirio and Izuku found out, let’s just say it was very awkward…

★☽A/N: I seriously had no idea what to do with the insert character so I just wrote BNHA… Anyways, I have no idea whether my writing has gotten better or worse! Please tell me… I don’t know at all 😭

Contents: FLUFF - COMEDY?

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

As everyone from the yakuza group was getting taken away, arrested, one of them looked awfully similar to Overhaul. Midoriya, shocked, walked towards him and turned him around, only to see gold colored eyes, similar to of Overhaul’s.

“Woah, Midoriya!” A hero ran up to them, stopping Midoriya from doing anything else. “Who is he? Why does he-” The hero shushed him, trying to get the young hero in training to calm down. “We’ll explain everything once everything settles down.” Midoriya watched as the striking double of Overhaul walked away with the other yakuza members.

After that, the weeks that went by were dreadful. He couldn’t stop crying for days after Sir Nighteye’s death. He tried to smile at his funeral, but he knew he couldn’t keep up a smile like Mirio, just like how the hero wanted. Even though his friends tried to comfort him, he still didn’t feel much the same.

It got worse when someone was introduced to his class.

It was the carbon-copy of Overhaul, the same male he saw last time. His blood boiled at the sight, but remained as calm as he could. As Mr. Aizawa introduced the young male to the class, the students that joined the raid were surprised by the last name.

“Y/N Chisaki.”

He had the same last name as Overhaul, also known as Kai Chisaki. A few of them started to get defensive of him. “He will be joining us from now on.”

“Mr. Aizawa. I mean no offense but why is he joining us? Kero.” Tsuyu asked, a bit curious. “Some of you may know this from the news or actually being there. A villain named Overhaul was arrested and this is his son.” Students who didn’t know were surprised to hear this.

A villain’s child was joining them?

“Are you sure, sir?” Kaminari asked. Mr. Aizawa nodded and told Y/N to sit in the back beside Todoroki. He nodded obediently and walked towards the empty seat, nodding as a sign of acknowledgement towards Todoroki who did the same.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

A few weeks went by and the class had started to trust the young male. Even though students who were on the mission, Kirishima, Uraraka, and Asui felt awkward around him, they managed to trust the male enough to talk to him normally and have a fun time.

When Mirio found out, he was actually cheerful about it. He said, “I think it’s a great opportunity! He could go down a different path from his father! A bright future!” with a smile on his face.

Midoriya sighed at Mirio’s statement. Everyone was moving on from this but Midoriya wasn’t!! He didn’t know why he couldn’t move on, he just couldn;t! Every time he saw Y/N, he felt a sense of rage.

Perhaps he was seeing Overhaul in Y/N. The striking resemblance was uncanny. His brown hair, his gold eyes, everything about him screams Overhaul. But he knew he had to make this right. If he wanted to continue to train to be a hero, he needed to move on from the past.

“Hey… uh… Y/N?” Y/N turned around, gold eyes sending shivers down Midoriya’s spine. He sighed shakingly. He bowed down as he hurriedly said “Uhm… Sorry about beating your dad!!” with a loud voice.

No response.

He lifted his head up, finding a confused face.

“Huh..?” Y/N tilted his head in confusion. “Uhm… it’s okay..” he muttered softly.

Let’s just say… He was embarrassed.. Like- to the point the poor boy was blushing hard in embarrassment.

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

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aerynwrites · 7 months ago

Text

God Forbid

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem!Reader

A/N: had this idea in my head and it wouldn’t leave so here you go lol. Sorry for the later than usual post but hope yall enjoy! Word Count: 2.5k Warnings: attempted SA, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, home invasion, breaking and entering, Simon saves the day as usual lol, gun violence, reader using a gun, soft at the end.

You can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips as you light the candle in front of you, the smell of vanilla and cinnamon hitting your nose once the wick catches and starts to burn. The windows in the living room connected to the kitchen are open, a gentle breeze shifting the gauzy curtains and bringing in the cool autumnal air.

It’s the perfect day.

It’s a Saturday, so you have the day off work. The weather has been wonderful you’ve been listening to your favorite music as you practically glide across the kitchen most of the day baking or moving to tidy up the house. Even now, veggies sit half chopped on the kitchen counter, broth on the stove getting ready to boil and -

Simon’s coming home.

That’s what made it the best day of all.

He had texted you early that morning - long before the sun rose from the horizon. He said he’d be home around dinner time if all went well with flights and such, and you couldn’t help the way your heart fluttered in your chest or the smile that split your lips.

He’s coming home.

He had been away for six months this time - the longest he’s ever been gone. And while you were able to talk to him more often than usual, it just wasn’t the same as him being here. It never was. But you never complained. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Simon - he had even tried to end things with you early on claiming you “deserve better than a ghost…”

But you’d shut him down and after some tears and reassurances on your part…he’d stayed.

But it wasn’t without conditions.

He tried to keep his work life separate from his one with you. He truly did. But being in the military - being part of the task force he was - it made him paranoid. After a year of trying to shield you from his own worries and fears, he couldn’t do it anymore.

You’d been hesitant when he brought up the fact that he wanted you to learn to defend yourself. You didn’t mind taking the self defense classes he’d signed you up for, even going so far as to accept training from Simon himself. But when he brought up the fact that he wanted you to learn your way around a gun…you’d almost said no.

But the flash of fear in his eyes made you relent. Something had scared him, and nothing scares him. So you’d agreed - silently grateful when he mainly insisted on you just knowing the basic like where they safety is, how to hold it and of course how to fire.

“God forbid you ever have to use one,” he said, voice grim. “But at least now you know how.”

All of it was worth it though.

The joy he brings you when he’s here and the joy you bring him vastly outweigh anything else.

You smile to yourself again as you move back to the cutting board.

God…you can’t wait to see him.

The next while passes by slower than you’d like, the giddiness of his arrival making the arms of the clock seem to move at a snails pace. But as you’re moving to dump the vegetables into the stew, you hear the telltale sign of a the front door knob jingling.

Excitement explodes in your chest and you’re heading for the door before you can blink. It still hasn’t opened, and you let out a small chuckle as you reach the door, imagining Simon fumbling with the keys and muttering curses under his breath. You reach for the door, unlocking it and pulling it open with a laugh.

“I didn’t take you for the nervous type, Si-”

Your words cut off abruptly when you come face to face with a stranger on your door step. Three of them, actually. Tall, muscular, intimidating military types that make a pit open up in your belly. Your fingers tighten on the door, closing it every so slightly as to lessen the opening into your home.

“Oh, uh…can I help you?” You ask, fighting off the dread settling in your stomach.

You can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from, but alarm bells go off in your head as the two men in the back glance at one another for just a moment, whispers you’re unable to decipher leaving their lips.

The one in front is the one to respond, words laced with an accent that you immediately identify as Russian.

“You can, actually,” he says casually, one thumb hooked through his belt loops while the other rests casually above the pistol on his hip. “We need to speak to a Simon Riley. Is he here?”

At the mention of Simons name you struggle against the instinct to freeze up. All of Simon’s warnings from the past flooding to the forefront of your mind.

“If someone ever approaches you asking about me, don’t answer them. Ever.” His voice is firm. “They aren’t asking after me in a friendly way, I can promise you that.”

You smile, trying to feign confusion.

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” you lie, palms getting clammy. “Maybe you have the wrong house? You might want to try-”

A heavy palm settling against the door cuts you off, the man in front of you looking down at you with an evil grin.

“Come now, little one. Please don’t lie - it just makes things harder.”

Panic shoots through you in an instant, and before the man can react you slam the door closed as hard as possible, flipping the deadbolt in place as you run back through the kitchen to where you left your phone.

Loud curses come from the other side of the door, and just as you reach your phone you hear wood splintering from behind you as they kick the door in. You see Simon’s name lighting up the screen on your phone and you answer as you grab the kitchen knife from the counter and move to sprint towards the back door.

“Simon!” You cry out, bumping into the couch in the living room as you hear thudding footstep behind you.

“You need to get to a gun,” his voice is steady, unnervingly so. He must have seen the men approach on the cameras he has installed around the house. “I’m almost there, love, please-”

You can hear the roar of the engine in his truck in the background as you approach the back door. It’s so close, just within reach, if you can just-

Your fingers barely brush the knob before a thick arm is around your waist and in half a breath you’re airborne. It isn’t long, but the shock of your feet leaving the floor, your phone falling from your hand as well as the knife, it makes the impact against the coffee table that much worse.

Air is forced from your lungs as you tumble roughly over the wooden surface, the table toppling over as you crash to the ground. The vase that was in the middle shatters as it follows you, and in a strange moment of delirium you can’t stop the wave of disappointment hat washes over you as the daisies that were in it scatter across the floor.

It doesn’t last long though, because soon your lungs burn for air that you can’t seem to inhale, your eyes move to see the man that had thrown you as he stoops down to pick up your phone, clicking a button and allowing Simon’s booming voice to crackle though the speakers.

“I’ll fucking kill you!” He spits, vitriol lacing every word. “If you lay a fucking hand on her, I’ll kill you myself-”

The man above you tuts mockingly as he approaches you, and you manage to find the wherewithal to rise up, hands behind you as you try to scoot away from him. You notice the other men pacing lazily around the room, seemingly unconcerned with the helpless woman on the floor.

“Now, now, Simon,” he jeers, “You mustn’t be so violent. I simply came for a chat, that’s all.”

The man’s hungry gaze never leaves you, but you don’t deviate from your path backwards across the living room carpet. The end table at the end of the couch is your goal - more specifically the 9mm pistol in it’s drawer, loaded and ready to fire whenever necessary.

In a moment of sheer bravery you jump to your feet, lunging for the table and its contents. The metal is somewhat familiar in your palm, and you manage to it raised at the intruder and the safety switched off, but before you can do much else a skilled fist knocks the weapon from your grasp and you don’t see where either goes as you’re tackled to the ground by one of the other men.

He’s heavy on top of you, squeezing what little breath you had from your lungs rough fingers tangle in your hair. You barely have time to react before blinding pain erupts from your head as it connects painfully with the floor beneath you - once, twice, three times until the assault stops.

Unfamiliar warmth trickles down your face, pain blooming from your nose and out in a spiderweb of pain as the tears finally come. You can just barely hear Simon’s enraged curses over the phones speaker, the entire world muffled as fear and panic and pain set in full force.

You’re going to die.

The man on top of you moves just enough to flip you over onto your back beneath him, the world spins around you, not stopping when your body does, and you have to fight the urge to vomit. The main assailant laughs cruley from where he stands above you, letting out a low whistle.

“You’ve got one feisty bitch, Simon. I’ll give you that…” he trails off for a moment, completely ignoring the curses being spit at him from the other end of the line.

He nods at the man trapping you, and without hesitation you feel his hands move down to the waistband of your jeans.

“I was honest,” the leader drones on. “We’re not going to kill her,” he appeases. “But you’re going to wish we did.”

You can’t stop the wail that escapes from your throat as he undoes the button of your jeans, your eyes immediately moving to check your surroundings for something - anything - that will save you. you feel the hope slowly drain out of you as you shove uselessly at the man on top of you, until a soft glint of metal shines at you from beneath the couch.

The gun.

In a moment of pure desperation, pure panic - a moment of life or death - the classes that Simon insisted you take, force their way through your panicked mind. In one quick movement you thrust your hips upwards, managing to just ever so slightly throw the man above you off balance just as you bring the heel of your palm up into his jaw with as much force as you can muster.

The impact startles him, you can physically hear and feel his teeth clack together from the force of the blow as he lets out a shout. You use his surprise to buck him off of you just enough to scramble to the right. The metal is cool against your burning skin and you turn just as you feel his hands on you once more.

The crack is deafening and your ears are ringing once more as dead weight settles in top of you. a chorus of shouts ring out around you but you can’t react, the body on top of you effectively trapping you to the floor your only weapon pinned between your chest and his.

You seem to observe the world through a fish bowl, the sounds far away and vision distorted as your mind tries to make sense of the visceral fear coursing through your veins. You hear more shouting, louder this time, and more gunshots and all you can do is close your eyes and cry as you wait for the inevitable.

But as soon as it started, it’s over.

Silence backfills what the ringing in your ears doesn’t, until you hear a faint call of you name.

It’s just your name over and over until the weight that’s on your chest lifts and your eyes fly open in panic until stormy brown eyes capture your own as calloused yet gentle hands pull you up from the floor.

Simon…

More tears flood your vision at the sight of the man you love in front of you, a strong arm wrapping around your waist. You can see his lips moving though the haze, but you can’t understand what he’s saying the ringing in your ears still blocking everything out, your panicked mind still scrabbling for control.

Simon reaches up, snapping his fingers next to your ears a few times until you start to register the noise, and when you flinch, he stops - letting go of you only long enough to shed his jacket and bring the soft fabric up to your face.

“Simon,” you say, his name coming out on a sob.

He shushes you softly, wiping gently at what you realize now, is the blood trickling down your face.

“I’m here love, you’re alright, you’re safe…”

Finally you get your limbs to cooperate, hands reaching out to clutch desperately at his shoulders, balling the fabric of his shirt between your fingers.

“A-are they…can they-”

Simon shakes his head, eyes filled with regret and sorrow. “They can’t hurt you. Not anymore. Made sure of that.”

At the acknowledgment of their demise, you break down even more, but this time out of utter relief.

“I’m sorry,” you cry, moving to shelter yourself in the familiar warmth of his chest, “I - I tried. They asked abo-about you and I tried to stop them but I-” more tears interrupt your words and Simon just holds you tighter.

“You did good, love” he assure you, his own voice breaking. “Goddammit,” he mutters. “I knew this was a bad idea, I knew it - I told you-”

You just clutch him tighter, shaking your head.

“Please don’t,” you shudder, fear gripping you again. “Please don’t leave me.”

He drops the jacket opting to wrap both arms around you, holding you tightly against him.

“Never,” He promises firmly, lips pressing to your temple.

He continues to hold you, rocking side to side gently until your cries quiet and you’re able to take full breaths once more. Only then does he pull away, examining you quickly.

“I called the team when I found out what was happening,” he says quietly, hand reaching up to cradle your cheek. “They’ll be here any minute to deal with…all this.”

You nod, wincing at the jolt of pain it sends through your head, making a frown tug at his lips.

“Let’s go get you cleaned up, yeah?”

You nod again, gentler this time, and Simon goes to stand. However, you stop him before he can get up, and he looks down as you wrap your arms around him again.

“I still love you,” you tell him softly, able to read his inner insecurities from a mile away.

He freezes at your words, struggling to accept them before letting his shoulder finally fall.

“I love you too.”

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod x reader #cod #call of duty #edit: for formatting

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darnell-la · 4 months ago

Text

𝗗𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗥 ... 𝗙𝗘𝗘𝗧 𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗬

pairing: dark!pervy!professor!logan howlett x student!reader

summary: the job of a mentor shouldn’t be hard, but for Logan Howlett, it was when one of his best students wasn’t so innocent after all. professors are trained to hold themselves, but something within Logan wanted to release all out on that so-called innocent student.

warnings: Logan is a slight perv, nudes, anal, forced anal, rough sex, age gap, overpowering, degrading, jealousy, anger, cnc/SA, etc.

note: many of our supporters are asking for out-of-pocket Logan Howlett, and it’s so hard finding ways to write him in that way. REQUEST!

DO NOT READ IF CNC/SA MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

There has been a situation going on around the school. Some kids have made a hook-up app for mutants around the school. The professor found out after having to confiscate a student's phone for texting during class.

Professor Howlett has been investing, and trying to get several student's names to call the office and shut the app down.

By doing that, he used the student phone he had to take during class. Sadly, that student wasn’t a student people wanted to hook up with, or even go on a date with. Logan had no luck until a few minutes ago when an anonymous student messaged him.

“Hey, I know it’s hard to find people on here, but I was thinking we could maybe hang out?”

Logan couldn't stop laughing to himself, happy that he could put this shenanigan situation to the side until several attachments popped up on the phone.

At first, he didn’t think of anything, but as soon as he tapped on them to reveal what was sent, his jaw dropped.

The student was y/n, and the attachments she sent were something he would’ve never thought of her doing. Half of what was sent were videos while the rest was her masturbating with toys.

A specific one had stood out to him, which made him feel like the biggest creep there could be, but he couldn’t stop watching.

She had laid on her back so when she spread her legs, everything was exposed. She rubbed so much lube onto herself, that he was confused until she pulled a dildo out and pushed it against her back door.

The way she moaned, made him lost in the video. He hadn’t even known the video was five minutes long. He could tell she could barely take it up her ass, but the way she struggled and still tried was amazing. Especially when she finished all over the place.

“I’ve never done anal, so I’m afraid that’s off-limits. Anything else is completely fine though!”

Logan looked at her message, still thinking if that was all real. Was that really y/n? If this was anyone else, he would’ve called a school meeting in seconds, no matter how late it was, but y/n — He didn’t know what took over him.

“Send room number. Be there in 5. Look pretty,”

In y/n’s head, she thought how oddly the student typed. She hadn’t been around the student to know him fully, but she knew no student typed the way he did.

“Could I perhaps have some videos of you?” Y/n asked, making Logan’s heart skip a beat. “No need, Bub. I’m real,” Logan typed, making y/n gasp. Anyone could’ve figured out who the person was behind the phone after using that word. Bub.

“Logan? What the hell are you doing on here??” Y/n asked, only making Logan’s heart drop further. “What?” Logan tried covering himself off, but that only made y/n laugh on her bed.

“It’s fine, Logan. I like older men anyway. Have you done anything like this before?” Y/n asked. Logan wanted to throw the phone and spazz on how he could’ve blown his cover this bad.

“No,” the man replied, not knowing his cock had grown hard at the thought of y/n still wanting to proceed with the conversation. “Just come up to room 411,” Y/n said before going offline.

Logan had thought this would be easy to deal with since y/n never seemed like a student to blackmail people, but something ran through his head as he got up from his office chair.

How many people has she done this with? That thought alone boiled his blood. He had thought y/n was innocent, and one of the good students. She lied to him, telling him a few months ago that all she cared about was her training and education.

Y/n had fallen asleep after the first hour of Logan not showing up. She had thought he had maybe backed out, and she was fine with that.

Little did she know, Logan had been keeping himself back for the past hour. Everyone in this school is still training, even the professors, and though they can usually control themselves, this was a small situation that turned big.

Logan was mentally and physically going insane, wanting to teach a student he had trust in, a lesson for lying and doing this that wouldn’t help her training and education in the future.

He held himself back for as long as he could, but now he was walking through y/n’s bedroom door. Y/n had woken up from her sleep after hearing her bedroom door close and lock.

“Oh, hey! — I wasn’t expecting you. I thought you might’ve changed your mind,” y/n said as Logan basically ripped off his clothes until he was exposed. Y/n’s eyes widened at his huge and throbbing size.

“Where’s the lube?” Logan growled as he stared y/n’s figure down. She had fallen asleep in the little bit of clothing she wanted to surprise him in. “Uh, the desk right here, but, I’m not really into anal,” y/n assured for the second time tonight.

Logan ignored her and went through the desk she had pointed out to him. “On your stomach — Edge of the bed,” Logan said. He had barely given her time to move before he put her into the position himself.

“Sir, just my pussy, okay? I-I didn’t really prepare for anal tonight,” y/n said, hoping her professor would listen. Instead, Logan spread a bunch on her upper hole, and the rest he stroked his cock with.

“Okay, sir?” Y/n asked to know if he heard her. He did, but he didn’t care. Why would she tease him with that one video if she wasn’t thinking about her hole getting used tonight?

“Mr. Howlett, I said the other-“Y/n tried to get up, but Logan pushed her face into the sheets as his cock pushed through her walls, instantly feeling her grip him as tight as she could.

“Oh fuck,” Logan couldn’t believe how amazing she felt within seconds. “Mr. Howlett, please — I-It hurts a little,” y/n whined, shifting under him to feel more comfortable, but that didn’t matter as he pushed further into her until she was filled.

The scream she let out, was enough to make him leak in her already. “Be as loud as you want, Bub. Hank designed these walls for the privacy of the professors and the students — No one’s gonna hear how un-innocent you are,” Logan whispered in the young girl's ear before he leaned back up and began pounding.

The room filled with nasty noises in seconds. Logan couldn’t seem to get enough of what he was doing. It’s like something took him over once he felt the insides of y/n and the noises she could make.

“Logan, please,” y/n cried out, feeling like he would break her any second now. At first, she hated the way he didn’t listen to her, but after the first few pumps, she couldn’t get enough of it herself.

The feeling of her the Wolverine coming in her to have his way with her, degrade her, and even groan at how perfect she was, only send her gushing around his cock in seconds.

“You’re not so innocent, princess, so how about you cum on my cock again, yeah? Because this ain’t gonna be the last time I have you,”

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fernslivers · 2 months ago

Text

MODERN MIZU THOUGHTS

Kicking off my Hyperfixation with some silly little thoughts about modern-day Mizu!

Just a mix of headcanons and imagines, maybe I'll write some of them out into proper imagines if there's any interest! I have some spicier movie imagines already partly written!

Let me know if you like them, I definitely have MANY more thoughts--

This is my first time attempting to post my writings like this, so apologies for any errors.

(TW: canon-typical mention of SA due to Mizu's backstory)

So, of course, in the modern day, she wouldn't be as immediately ostracized the same way, but...

The closest I could think of was that her father was one of four very rich men/CEOs and her mother/baby Mizu were targeted to try to keep the "affair" quiet.

Still believes herself to be the product of SA (I know there's speculation among some fans as to whether this will be true, but since it's what she knows in the show, I'll just say that's true as far as she knows here too)

This still left her with a similar huge complex about her self image, bc she knows she has her dad's eyes, and that he got her mother killed

Went into the system after her mother’s mysterious “death”, got adopted by Eiji after she just wouldn't stop sneaking away from foster care to bother him/stare at his swords

He's still a swordsmith because people DO still do that in modern day. It just would make him even more famous/special.

The whole thing with M*k*o did happen, they divorced, she is aware that that woman is not her biological mother and they are No-Contact

Since she knows that was a maid, she still has the belief that her mother was killed for the reason listed above and still wants revenge.

I debated SO HARD about what she would go to college for. Because her two biggest passions are the sword-making, and revenge, both of which are hard to translate to modern day by themselves, much less in a combination.

(I thought about business, like maybe she wanted to take down a CEO father by taking over his company, or about law enforcement/law school, but they all felt wrong for her character.)

Because let's be honest, those four men in modern days would be involved in organized crime, so Mizu would probably just go straight for that kind of situation as well in order to tail them.

She isn't one to play by the rules of ANY organization

So, she's involved in organized crime on the down-low while going to college.

She doesn't work for anyone in particular, but she does run in shady circles and knows certain names and places. Nobody knows much about her, though.

She's definitely made enemies.

She's only in university at all because Eiji demanded she do something good with her life, and she can't stand to disappoint him so she does try somewhat hard to balance both.

I saw someone else on here say she would pursue Materials Engineering, and I think that’s probably a great option for technical sword smithing. (Sorry, I can't remember who it was, but it was NOT my suggestion.) That or something involving Metalworking in art (my fav cuz it's what I do).

She does sword training privately. She's not in any clubs on campus because, similar to in canon, she prefers a mix of them and actually does use her skills when she's "working", not just for what she considers play-sparring.

She's an older student that went back to school after her divorce.

DON'T ask her about that.

You two meet because you're both looking for a roommate halfway through a semester.

You had a nasty cheating-related breakup that culminated in you kicking your ex AND old RM out, leaving you with an apartment you couldn't pay for alone.

She used to room with Ringo, but just simply could. not. stand. Ringo’s intensely social atmosphere. He's a culinary student who is very respected in classes, and constantly inviting people over for dinner. (Edit: This was also partially someone else's!)

She noticed your ad that specified looking for someone quiet, in an off-campus place that offered a small courtyard for her training.

Perfect.

Your first thought when you meet her is “god damn.”

A tall drink of water with gorgeous eyes and a voice like crushed silk.

Haha I'm in danger

But you keep that under wraps. You tell yourself that you don't need to be rebounding with the person that just moved in.

So much for a roommate that doesn't offer any distractions, though. Her training in the yard pretty much means you get zero work done in that time unless you close the curtains.

…She is very quiet, at least. Even if she keeps odd hours with her strange "job".

However, Ringo is going to be stopping by almost every day to make sure she eats, so expect a lot of humming and a LOT of friendly questions.

Ringo is actually responsible for the two of you getting to know each other initially, because he asks questions of you that Mizu won't ask, and subtly makes sure to do it when Mizu is around to hear the answers.

She pretends to ignore you both, but can't help but tune in a bit.

He also chats a bit about Mizu, as long as it isn't anything she's told him is a secret, and ignores her glaring at him.

She stays stoic about it, but secretly she's rather flustered when you seem interested in a positive way by what Ringo blabs to you about her.

She also appreciates that you don't bug her about it when Ringo isn't around even if she kind of wishes you did

He is Very Excited that Mizu now has TWO friends! :)

Mizu acts annoyed by him, but she is secretly pleased when you seem to like him.

She would not fw you if you didn't. He's like a beloved sibling; she gets to complain about him, but she'll fight anyone else that doesn't like him.

You finally get to ACTUALLY start becoming friends when you both happen to stay on campus over a break.

You aren't on good terms with your family, so you assume you'll have the place to yourself, but...

Walking by Mizu’s room you notice that she's still here.

Her door is open for once because she also assumed you would be gone.

After staring at each other in mutual surprise, you awkwardly ask her if she wanted to maybe hang out over dinner and watch a movie or something.

She would normally have said no, but with nothing else to do over break, she chose to focus on doing homework continually (She is perpetually behind because of those Extracurricular Revenge Activities of hers), and she is just so done with it

So she awkwardly agrees

And you learn the hard way why Mizu is not allowed in the kitchen EVER.

You try, you really do, to keep that first bite in your mouth, but…

She shamefacedly asks if you're alright while you're still coughing over the garbage can, but your coughing turns to giggling.

You joke to her that you're actually glad to know she isn't perfect at everything, and she seems surprised that you admire anything about her to begin with

You're willing to start over ON YOUR OWN, but she insists that would be unfair and orders you both takeout.

Since she bought dinner, you insist that she gets to pick the movie.

She kind of wants to put on that new slasher flick that just came out on streaming, but she isn't sure what you like and you seem like such a sweet little thing.

And after nearly killing you via spices, she didn't want you to think she was a TOTAL psycho.

(She doesn't want to talk about why she even cares what you think.)

So she chose a documentary on modern sword-smithing that she knew Eiji had been interviewed for.

(This surprised you, because you were EXPECTING her to choose a horror. She just seems like the type. And maybe you were hoping for an excuse to snuggle closer…)

But this is actually really interesting, and you find yourself fascinated. You never knew about the details and craftsmanship that went into this!

She tries to sit quietly, as usual, but she just can't resist the urge to point out Eiji when he appears.

She's just too proud of her sword-father. That pride is obvious in her voice and makes her seem almost soft for once.

This makes you feel ever so slightly brave, and leads to you pausing after his section (because you don't want to talk over him), and asking all sorts of questions.

Normally she wouldn't be thrilled about this, but she can't resist questions about Eiji the way she can about herself.

Somehow this leads her to ask some minor question about your major, related to something you told Ringo, and she's startled at the jolt that runs through her when you light up, just beaming at her.

“I didn’t know you listened to any of that!”

You start excitedly explaining, but she's distracted by the strange thrumming in her chest at the way you smiled at her.

(This is not going to be a problem for her. It's NOT. )

#mizu x reader #mizu blue eye samurai #mizu #modern mizu #bes mizu #mizu bes #mizu x you #mizu x y/n #bes #blue eye samurai #mizu brainrot #bes x you #bes x reader #tw: sa

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aspiretechsoft · 5 months ago

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#sas training in pune #sas course in pune #sas certification course in pune #sas training institute in pune #sas classes in pune

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deardaichi · 19 days ago

Text

014. cracks, comfort, and tea — todoroki shoto.

wc: 0.7k cw: gn!reader. todoroki is a good person. hurt/comfort a/n: there was a glitch in posting haha i forgot who requested this </3 but i hope you enjoy

you don’t say anything.

not when class ends, not when the hallway clears, not when the sun dips behind the training wing windows and your friends are already halfway home.

you just sit on the bench outside, elbows on your knees, staring at the cracked tile by your feet. it’s easier to look down than to answer texts. easier to say nothing than to explain the way your chest feels like it’s full of static, too much noise in a too-small space.

your phone buzzes. once, then again.

you don’t move.

you’re fine.

not in a convincing way. in the way that keeps you breathing. the kind of fine that doesn’t invite questions.

then — quiet footsteps.

and a shadow.

he doesn’t say anything either.

just sits beside you.

hands in his lap, posture relaxed. like this was planned. like this isn’t strange at all.

you don’t look at him.

but the silence shifts. it’s no longer empty. just… quiet in a different way.

todoroki doesn’t ask if you’re okay.

he doesn’t fill space with words.

he just stays.

and it’s kind of unbearable, how gentle that feels.

“you always this good at lurking?” you ask eventually, voice flat.

“i wasn’t lurking,” he says. “i was waiting.”

“for me?”

“for you to decide you didn’t want to sit here by yourself.”

your throat does a thing. you pretend it doesn’t.

“what if i did want to be alone?” you mumble.

he shrugs. “then i’d stay quieter.”

you huff. not quite a laugh, but almost.

fifteen minutes pass like water.

then he stands. “come on.”

you blink. “where are we going?”

“somewhere better than a bench.”

“bold of you to assume i can stand.”

“i’ll carry you if i have to.”

you look up at him and realize that he’s not joking.

you groan, but your feet move anyway.

he leads you down side streets you’ve never bothered with, past a bookstore with cracked windows and a bakery that smells like cinnamon even though it’s clearly closed. you don’t ask where you’re going.

you end up at a tiny tea shop tucked between two buildings like it’s hiding on purpose. no sign. no menu in the window.

he opens the door like he’s done it a hundred times.

you follow.

he orders without asking what you want. just says your name to the barista, and the drink they hand you is exactly right.

you raise an eyebrow.

he shrugs.

“rude.”

“accurate.”

you sip. it’s warm. familiar. kind.

you sit by the window. he sits across from you.

outside, the world moves. inside, it feels like time forgot to keep going.

you don’t talk for a while.

he doesn’t mind.

when you finally speak, it’s soft.

“everything’s too loud lately.”

he nods once.

you keep going. “people expect you to be okay once you’ve smiled a few times. like- if you’re not crying in the hallway, you’re fine.”

“you’re not fine,” he says. not a question.

“no,” you whisper. “i’m not.”

he nods again. not in agreement. in understanding.

“you don’t have to be,” he says.

it’s quiet.

then —

“you know you can ask me to stay, right?”

you glance at him.

he’s watching you—not intense, not intrusive. just… steady. like he’s already decided he’s here as long as you need him to be.

you look down at your drink. “i didn’t want to be a burden.”

“you’re not.”

“you’re saying that because you’re nice.”

“i’m saying that because it’s true.”

you laugh a little. small. tired.

“you’re surprisingly good at this.”

“at what?”

“at knowing when someone’s one inconvenience away from a breakdown.”

he tilts his head. “you make a face.”

you blink. “a face?”

“when you’re pretending everything’s okay.”

“…what kind of face?”

“it looks like your soul is buffering.”

you snort into your drink.

he doesn’t smile, but his eyes soften.

he walks you to your dorm, steps slow to match yours.

the air is cooler now. streetlights flicker on. he doesn’t say anything about the way you keep your hands buried in your sleeves.

you reach your room.

you don’t want to say goodbye.

you turn to him. “thanks.”

he tilts his head.

“for not trying to fix it,” you say.

“i wouldn’t know how,” he admits.

you nod. “exactly.”

he hesitates. then, quiet:

“i’ll walk with you again tomorrow, if you want.”

you nod once. “yeah. i’d like that.”

he holds your gaze a second longer. “okay.”

and it is. it really is.

taglist (open. ask to be added <3): @oligbia @kcandyliciouss @tangerinelovr

#deardaichi 𖦹₊⊹#my hero academia ˚｡𖦹 #shoto todoroki #boku no hero academia #todoroki x reader #my hero academia #shoto x reader #mha shoto #shoto torodoki #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x you #shoto todoroki fluff #shouto todoroki #shouto x reader #bnha shouto #mha shouto #todoroki shoto #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shouto

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mockerycrow · 1 year ago

Note

are you good at character analysis? I wanna know what your analysis would be for Gaz, I’m trying to figure out his story since he’s my favorite out of TF 141

KYLE GAZ GARRICK

BASIC OVERVIEW — BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick is a British Black man who enlisted into the British Army around 2008 or 2014 (unfortunately, the developers have inconsistencies). His operator biography states 2008 while the official activision website in a blog post about MW2019 states 2014, however it does make sense for him to enlist in 2008. He would have been at least sixteen years old which is the minimum age requirement to enlist. I would like to quickly throw in that Gaz is indeed older than Soap, as this is a misconception that I surprisingly see a lot! Gaz’s blood type is B- and he currently ranks as sergeant (which according to the official British Army website, it typically takes at least twelve years in the service, however it implies it also depends on the person’s abilities).

Gaz spent four years in the Queen’s Lancashire Regiment. During these four years going through a multitude of tests and challenges before passing selection for Special Air Service (SAS). The activision blog says during MW2019, it’s his sixth year serving as a sergeant. However, as Gaz had been selected for TF141, I believe their ranks have paused in time. Gaz has mostly spent his time in anti-terrorism in his military career. He’s an expert in demolitions, VIP escorting, weapons tactics, covert surveillance, and target elimination. He’s been awarded multiple medals, and earned his Parachute Wings whilst spending time at Camp Lejeune in the U.S. whilst collaborating with Navy SEALs. Kyle is a master of evasion and deception, being the only candidate in his entire class to escape capture from the facility and evade detection during resistance training.

When Gaz first meets Cpt. Price, Gaz is currently assigned to an SAS specific counter-terrorism program in the UK who collaborate with the police, which is another misconception that Gaz was a police sergeant at one point (he was not! I believe some people think this because at E3, Gaz was wearing a police baseball cap).

CHARACTER OVERVIEW

Like true to the original Gaz, he is Price’s protege, being his student. Gaz is overall a serious and hardworking man, loyal and unbreaking. He knows when to joke and he knows when to reload. However, Gaz is not perfect and he does lose his cool (we see subtle development with this later down the road). While being loyal, Gaz does not hesitate to question Price’s choices and actions. We see this multiple times during the series, the most prime example being in MW2019 when Price and Gaz are interrogating The Butcher with Yegor. The Butcher taunts Gaz, causing Gaz to lunge and Price to send him off to fetch.. “The package”. The package being, The Butcher’s family. The reboot games, you have choices, so I’ll give the very basic run down.

You have the option to opt into the interrogation or to opt out of it. If you opt out, Price bursts out of the room with the information (if you go near the door, you hear The Butcher’s family sobbing). If you opt in, you have so many options. At the end of the day, Gaz is mostly silent and follows orders from Price. In the police cruiser scene, Gaz questions Price in the car—he did not expect to be using women and children as bargaining chips and he makes that clear, and this is a big teaching moment between Gaz and Price. We have to remember that Gaz is young and considering everything, inexperienced to an extent. Price makes up for that inexperience, teaching him along the way. During the interrogation scene, Price makes a remark: “We’ve taken the gloves off.” This is because Gaz lashed out. Later in the car, Price says “When you take the gloves off, you get blood on your hands, Kyle. That’s how it works.” after Gaz questions him.

CONCLUSION

Overall, Gaz is a very complex character and I enjoyed watching his development during these games. I’ve seen people claim Gaz is boring or plain, but I genuinely do not believe that to be the case. Gaz, in my opinion, is also the most relatable character. He’s young, ambitious, and determined. He’s charismatic and efficient. I don’t believe a character has to be extremely traumatized, or look very very unique to be a well-crafted character and Gaz is a great example for this.

Gaz is just a man who enlisted; someone who is smart and well-rounded (as much as an SAS member can be), he’s quick on his feet and he molds into group work fantastically. He’s extremely versatile and is a quick learner—and wants to learn. He has his flaws that make him human. Gaz develops great self control, is level-minded and is able to think for himself. A great student questions their mentor in everything and you see this with Gaz.

You see Gaz struggle with morality in the series in a sea of characters who kill and do things without a second thought. We see him question things, we see his emotions and his extreme reluctance. We definitely see some development down the road as Gaz becomes more ruthless, but he never quite forgets his humanity in a way, compared to Price where he can easily disconnect humanity (ex. Calling The Butcher’s wife and son “the package/leverage”).

Along with this, we see him struggle with the rules in place. I also think this is why Gaz and Price’s dynamic is great. There are rules for a reason, and both Price and Gaz know when to break them—but Gaz learns that breaking some rules doesn’t always happen for the most heroic of actions (again, Price’s quote about bloodying your hands after taking the gloves off). Gaz wants to save people and keep the peace, we see this in Piccadilly during the terrorist attacks and the aftermath scene with Price where Gaz lets the Captain know that he and his unit had actionable intel on the terrorist cell who committed the act. Of course, we see later down the road that taking the gloves off removes all limits, not just some of them. We also see a glimpse of Gaz’s conflicting feelings when 141, Farah & Alex, as well as Laswell learn about Hadir and his plans, as well as when Farah’s forces are deemed a terrorist organization.

I think I rambled on a lot about him, hopefully this is understandable!

Sources: price & gaz activision blog intros (2019), inconsistency in enlistment date, cod fandom wiki, gaz scenes mwi & mwii, official british army website.

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redroomreflections · 5 months ago

Text

Paint It Black Chapter 1 - Cracks In The Mirror

Teen Natasha Romanoff x Teen Reader

Masterlist | General Masterlist

Summary: Natasha Romanoff has never known love—or at least, that’s what she tells herself. During her time in the Red Room, she encountered a girl whose memory was forcibly erased from her mind. Now, as an Avenger, she faces a new enemy who turns out to be more than just a threat; they share a tangled history that challenges everything Natasha thought she knew about herself and love.

Chapter Summary, Reader disrupts Natasha’s rigid training routine, introducing her to small acts of rebellion while hinting at the dangers of being Dreykov’s favored.

W/c: 3k

A/N: I have been sitting on this for 2-3 years. Rewrote it plenty of times, but I really want this out in the world (mostly for myself, lol)

Warnings: This is a dark story, so read at your own risk. Mentions/hints of SA, violence, guns, and abuse. We're exploring the red room and Natasha's origins, kind of.

The room was cold, but sweat dripped down Natasha’s spine. She moved in perfect sync with the other girls, her limbs precise, her breathing steady. She didn’t dare falter.

"Front tendu!" Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Tendu side.” Tap. Tap. Tap.

The words were yelled across the training room. A long, thin stick in wrinkled hands, tapping against the hardwood floors in measured beats. Girls stood in rows. All shapes, sizes, and ages. They moved their limbs with precision. There was focus and determination on every single face. A hidden wariness of falling out of line kept them from making the slightest mistake. Their bodies moved and bent to the will of the woman standing before them. The sound of feet sliding to their correct positions could be heard as the tapping of the ruler kept them going. Its tapping served as a reminder. One wrong move could be their hands, legs, or behinds. The soreness would last until the following day, disallowing them to sit or feel anything but the pain of their mistakes.

“Tendu side. Tendu back.” Over and over again. The mirror stretched across the room, reflecting each girl as they stared straight ahead, unblinking. This was routine, ingrained in them after years of practice. Ballet wasn’t just about grace—it was control. Every movement was drilled into them for flexibility, precision, and discipline.

Madam B. walked through the small class with a heated expression. Her face was all hard lines and wrinkles. Her frown seemed to be permanently set. Her hair was pulled impossibly tight into a slick bun, leaving little room for tension and no hair out of place.

Natasha, short, thin, and less reserved than the others, stood proudly as she moved her feet. She was out of practice. Years of being away would do that to her. Her body ached with the use of muscles left untouched. Her knees buckled for a millisecond, but she fixed them. She squared her shoulders and breathed in through her nose and mouth. Her eyes never left the mirror in front of her. She was too focused.

A sharp crack of wood against the skin broke the rhythm. One of the girls flinched, her body folding in on itself for just a moment before she scrambled back into position.

Natasha didn’t flinch. She couldn’t.

From the corner of her eye, she saw you. You stood out of sync, your movements deliberate and slow, almost mocking.

Madam B’s stick struck twice against your thigh, then your shoulder. You didn’t react. Not really. A flicker of pain crossed your face before your lips curved into a slight, defiant smirk.

Natasha’s chest tightened. Trouble. That’s what you were.

"Yobanaya suka (fucking bitch)," you muttered to yourself from behind her. Natasha couldn’t help but wonder where you learned so many colorful words. She’s heard half a dozen since you chose your spot beside her almost an hour ago. She glanced in your direction, finding that you'd stepped out of position.

Madam B. tapped the ruler against the floor twice in a warning. You ignored it and continued stretching. Natasha didn’t miss the smirk that formed on your face.

You knew what you're doing.

She watched Madam B. walk over to you again, her movements quicker this time. She stood before you, her back rigid and her head held high. You looked up at her through fluttering lashes.

Madam B's lips curved into a thin, sharp smile as she stood before you, her voice cutting like a blade. "Dreykov’s prized little doll," she drawled, the mockery laced with venom. "So delicate, yet he lets you pretend you're special."

Your hand twitched at your side, a brief betrayal of the calm exterior you wore. As Madam B did, Natasha noticed, her eyes narrowing with satisfaction.

Her voice sliced through the air, dripping with derision. “Dreykov’s shining star. Always so perfect, aren’t you? Though we both know perfection comes cheap when you’re his favorite.”

You didn’t flinch. Your hand stilled at your side, and your face hardened into something unshakable, unreadable. Without missing a beat, you slid effortlessly into the next movement, your lines precise.

Madam B hovered momentarily, waiting for a crack, a tell. When none came, her sneer deepened. “Impressive,” she muttered, though her tone made it sound like a curse. She turned on her heel, the sharp click of her boots fading as she moved on, leaving you untouched but more closely watched.

Class today was boring for you. It was the same old things and the same old people. The same fifteen girls since you were four years old. Natasha has just been transferred into your age group and is a year or so younger than you. You didn’t know her that well. Only things you’d heard whispered about her from within the halls of the Red Room. Natalia Romanova is a spitfire. She’s quick-witted, fearless, and disciplined. Looking at her, you’re not convinced of any of those things. Though, you’d be a fool to think otherwise. People could be surprising.

You studied Natasha for a while. With each extension, each plié, she navigated the dance floor effortlessly, her every movement purposeful and controlled. There was an air of mystery surrounding her, and you couldn’t help but be intrigued.

But the more you looked, the more you found her boring.

Everything about her screamed perfectionist. She seemed to have it all together and knew what she was doing. You, on the other hand, were bored.

Determined to uncover the enigma that was Natasha, you made it a mission to learn more about her. She was your competition, after all. Dreykov whispered about her when he thought you weren’t listening. He praised her every chance he got. You needed to stay ahead.

*******

The halls were buzzing during the transition, though no one dared raise their voice above a whisper. Natasha had always imagined this was what middle school must’ve felt like—girls moving in packs, their identical uniforms blending into a single, faceless entity. White poplin shirts were pressed to perfection, black skirts were grazing their knees, and knee-high socks were pulled taut. No strand of hair was out of place; every ponytail was slicked back tight enough to ache. No individuality. No room for it.

Natasha lingered near the edge of the group, blending in but feeling distinctly apart. That was when you appeared at her side, your voice low, almost a murmur.

“Come with me,” you said, your hand brushing hers before locking onto her wrist. The touch was light, fleeting, but it made Natasha stiffen.

“What are you doing?” she hissed, pulling back slightly, though you didn’t let go.

“I’ve got a place,” you said, not bothering to explain more. “We can skip the next class.”

Natasha stared at you like you’d grown a second head. “We can’t just—”

“We can.” Your voice was steady, certain. “Unless you’d rather spend another hour listening to Madam B tear into us.” You tugged her gently, your steps deliberate as you weaved through the flow of girls. “Trust me.”

Natasha hesitated, but her curiosity—her reluctance to stand out in the hall—won out. She followed.

You didn’t stop until you reached a side corridor, the girls thinning around you—a clearing. Ahead, a door with the sign “RESTRICTED” leading to a narrow staircase stretched upward. You glanced over your shoulder.

“Keep up,” you said, already slipping through the door. Natasha followed reluctantly, trailing you up the steps, her grip tightening on the railing.

“There are cameras,” Natasha said, her voice low and disbelieving.

“Not for another thirty seconds,” you replied, already moving toward the top of the staircase. You didn’t look back at her. “The cameras will swing back this way soon, so if you’re staying, stay. Otherwise, go back now.”

Natasha froze, indecision rooting her to the spot. She could feel the seconds ticking away, each heavier than the last.

“Your call,” you said over your shoulder, not waiting for her answer.

Natasha exhaled sharply, her feet carrying her forward before she could stop herself. The cool air hit her first, causing a shiver up her spine as she watched you. Maybe this was a trap. Maybe she shouldn’t have trusted you.

"Don't you love being outside?" You twirled effortlessly, the movement precise, like muscle memory. When you stopped, you glanced back, catching Natasha’s wary eyes darting across the rooftop.

"This is a bad idea," she said, her voice flat, her shoulders stiff. She didn’t move from the doorway.

You laughed softly, leaning against the edge of the low wall. The wind caught your hair, tugging at the strands you sliced back. You didn’t care. “Maybe. But it’s better than listening to Madam B drone on about posture, right?”

Natasha didn’t answer, her eyes still scanning, her arms folded tightly.

“You ever do something just because you wanted to?” you asked, tilting your head as you studied her.

She finally looked at you, her brow furrowing slightly. “No,” she said, blunt and quiet. “Widows follow the rules.”

You smiled, a little sharper now, but your voice stayed light. “Rules are boring. You should try breaking one sometime.” You pushed off the wall and took a step closer to her. She didn’t flinch, but you could feel the tension radiating off her. She was too careful, too rigid.

“Aren’t you afraid?” she whispered after a beat, her voice so low you almost missed it.

You grinned, shrugging one shoulder. “Of what? Getting caught? Been there, done that.” You glanced at the rooftop around you, then at the open sky. “Up here, though? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

The wind brushed against your face as you stepped onto the ledge of the rooftop wall, your arms outstretched for balance. You moved effortlessly as if you had done it a hundred times—because you have. “Relax,” you called over your shoulder, the corners of your lips quirking. “I’ve been up here dozens of times. It’s fine.”

Natasha stood frozen by the doorway, her arms crossed tightly. Her eyes tracked every step you took. “You fall, I’ll get in trouble,” she warned, her tone clipped.

You glanced back at her, unbothered, and twirled on your heel like a circus performer. “Nah, I won’t fall. And even if I did, what are they gonna do? Ground me?”

“Maybe not,” Natasha said, her voice dropping, “but you’re Dreykov’s star student.”

That stopped you. Your smile faded, and you hopped down from the wall with practiced ease, landing softly. You crossed your legs on the ground and began picking at the frayed knee of your tights, pretending not to care. “So what?” you muttered, your fingers moving restlessly. “You look like you needed this,” you said, changing the subject.

Natasha didn’t move at first. She watched you, unsure, her arms still crossed as she shivered against the chill. Finally, she took a hesitant step forward, then another, until she was close enough to sit beside you. You felt the warmth of her body as she edged closer, but you didn’t shift away, even though you could feel her gaze studying you.

“I know you,” Natasha said quietly, her voice laced with suspicion. “You’re always with him. He seems to like you a lot.” She glanced at your tights, your pointe shoes, then back up to your face. “Is that where you got the key to get up here?”

“Yes,” you said simply. Then, after a beat, you added, “Not like I had a choice.” Your voice was even, but the weight of your words lingers in the air. You tapped your fingers rhythmically against your legs, your eyes flitting to the open sky.

“Why does he like you so much?” Natasha pressed, her tone more curious than accusing now.

You looked at her, then back down at your knees. “As long as he doesn’t like you, it doesn’t matter,” you snapped, the words sharper than you intended. Natasha flinched, her shoulders shrinking inward. Regret crept in, and you sighed. “Sorry,” you mumbled, your gaze drifting back to the sky.

For a moment, it was quiet. Then you spoke again, your voice softer then. “When Dreykov takes a special interest in someone, it’s not good. You don’t want that. Trust me.” Your fingers kept tugging at the hole in your tights. “But I’ve learned how to use it. It gets me things—keys, a little freedom, a little breathing room. I can mouth off sometimes, and he lets it slide. Usually.”

You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. “He’s got his eye on you, though. You're all he talks about since you came back from Ohio.”

Natasha frowned, confusion flashing across her face. “Why? I’ve barely done anything.”

You shrugged, looking back up at the sky. “Maybe that’s why. Or maybe he sees something in you. Either way, you should be careful. You don’t want to end up like me.”

She didn’t reply, but you caught the flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe. Or doubt."I think it's because you're a good girl. A rule-follower. Someone who knows how to distract others. I'm not. He wants you to be his best soldier."

"He wants to mold us into the perfect killers." Natasha frowned.

"That's why they make us dance," You said, "To teach us the grace and balance we'll need."

"Men like pretty girls who can do damage," You muttered. "You seem like the type."

"Oh," Natasha nodded. She's not sure what any of that means. She looked at your feet and then her own. "How old are you?"

"I think fourteen?" You tried to remember. "I'm not sure. I just had a birthday, so..."

You leaned forward, stretching your limbs until you could touch your toes. You peeked between your fallen curls to look at Natasha. She followed your every move. You sat up again to look at her.

"Do you like it here?" You asked her.

"It's the only home I know," She said, "And it's all I'm good at. Do you?"

"No," You said with a frown, "I despise this place.”

"I think we can be friends, Natalia." You held out your hand for her to take.

“Friends?” She repeated the word as if it was foreign to her. She looked down at your hand. This could only mean bad things. But she shook it anyway.

As you and Natasha released hands, footsteps approached from the shadows beyond the roof door. You barely have time to process the sound before a figure appeared—a tall, older soldier, maybe eighteen at most, with a roughness that spoke of years hardened by the Red Room. He had a scar that ran along his jawline, his gaze sharp and scrutinizing as it landed on the two of you. Instinctively, you straightened, keeping your face blank and ready for whatever he might demand.

“What are you two doing here?” His voice was gravelly, making you wonder what he’s been through to end this way. He crossed his arms, looking between you and Natasha with a disapproval that seemed all too familiar.

“I asked a question,” he repeats in English this time, his eyes narrowing. “This is a restricted area.” He stepped closer, and you felt Natasha’s shoulders tense beside you. You saw her instinctively brace herself, her fists tightening at her sides, but you placed a subtle hand on her arm, urging her to let you handle it.

“Just clearing our heads,” you answered calmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “Training has been… intense.”

He gave a harsh, humorless chuckle, his eyes flicking down to your ballet slippers and then back up. “You think any of us get to clear our heads? Or take little strolls without a consequence?” He sneered. "Dreykov lets you off the leash, and this is what you do with it?”

You could see the threat in his stance, his arms bulging, muscles straining as he clenched his fists. It's the stance of a man who knows how to cause pain.

"I should bring you to him and tell him you've been causing trouble. He'd like that."

"And maybe we should tell him you're a bully," You didn’t back down.

"You think you're immune because he f-"

You spit on his shoe. He didn’t need to finish that sentence.

"Disrespectful little brat," He growled, reaching for you. Natasha moves before you do. However, she paused when you spoke.

"You touch either of us, and Dreykov will have your head," You promised him.

The man paused and glared. "You little-"

"I will give him the honor," You told him, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be taking my leave."

"You have to go back to class anyway." He reminded you.

"Not if I don't want to," You shrugged.

He scoffed. "I'd like to see that,"

"You will," You promised, turning your back on him. You grabbed Natasha's hand and tugged her toward the door. You walked off, and Natasha was the first to speak.

"I don't like him,"

"No one does," You told her.

"Why did he call you...that? Say that Dreykov likes..."

"I'm his favorite," You told her. You didn’t say it smugly or with pride. It’s simply a fact. You couldn’t lie. She already knew. It was a secret, but it was not. Everyone knew.

"That's why they treat you differently." Natasha nodded to herself.

"They treat you differently, too,"

"Yeah, but not like they do to you," Natasha suggested.

"You have no idea," You mumbled. "Anyway, are we cool Natasha?"

"We're cool," She nodded.

"Good, now go get dressed. You can't wear your ballet outfit to the infirmary."

"Right," She nods her head. "The infirmary? Why?

"We’re going to be getting excuses from my favorite nurse,” You grinned.

The last thing she expected when she arrived back at the Red Room was to make a friend. As Natasha headed toward the dorms, she couldn't help but look back at you, her new friend, in this cold, barren place. There’s a flicker of warmth, the briefest feeling of connection she hadn’t known she needed. Even though she’s been trained to rely on no one but herself, knowing someone understands makes the isolation a little more bearable.

---> next part

#natasha romanoff #black reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #black widow x female reader #natasha romanov #natasha x you

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caldella · 2 months ago

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Stella: Pawn, Perpetrator, Perpetuator

Upperclass politics, Stella's abuse dynamics, and the actual depth behind her"flat" character

Back again with more character analysis/fan theories! This IS Stella, so TW: Abuse right off the bat. And TW: SA based on her discussion of her/Stolas' sex life in The Circus.

This post is made after the end of S2 and before any S3. How TF did this get so long? I'm not even a Stella fan!

This is not an 'in defense' post. If you are extremely Pro-Stella or in any way Anti-Stolas, I suggest not engaging with this. Stella IS abusive. While I will discuss potential reasons behind her behavior, I do not excuse it or feel like Stella was justified in them or retconned in S2 to be a villain. Signs were always there. If this take bothers you, this post will likely waste your time.

ALSO: If you read my post on Stolas/Via and prophecies, I mentioned having post drafts inspired by/coincidentally similar to other bloggers'. I've been meaning to make a Stella post for a while, but @cute-little-fly made this excellent post first. It contains several points I planned on making + ones I never would've thought of. Noting how Stella shows training in proper table etiquette and comparing her to the villain in Addams Family were inspired ✨. And Anemicjellyfish's reblog to that same post has a lot of the same backstory theories I have, too (just saw that one as I started to make this). So as usual, credit where credit is due! Let's dive in!

Stella's Base Traits

These might seem pretty obvious, but it's important to lay them out before we get into this. From what we've seen so far, Stella is:

Extraverted/social: She seeks out social settings and loves parties. When not with friends or Andre, she's usually on the phone.

Attention-seeking: Stella likes to have people drawn to her and seeks validation/recognition from others.

Vain/Conceited: She values her appearance, social stability, and the benefits of her upperclass position.

Impulsive/Temperamental: Ruled by her emotions, Stella acts on her feelings without fear of consequence.

Short-Sighted/Selfish: She acts on what would make her happy in the moment without considering long-term implications.

Unintelligent: Related to her short-sightedness, she is not book smart or politically clever and is blind to the complications of her position.

Selfish: She doesn't consider others unless it's in conjunction with what she wants.

Superficially Confident: Stella does not accept being spoken down to or anything she views as being treated poorly.

Probably Actually Insecure: She needs constant validation. She dresses formally and wears her crown even casually around the home (even wears the crown with her robe in Sinsmas!). She follows Andrealphus' opinions when given and falls on him as a backup/threat when vulnerable. She shouts back immediately when as a defense mechanism, even against Andrealphus. She surrounds herself with people who act as an echo chamber for her opinions and can't handle anything that goes against them.

Backstory So Far

She comes from a marquis/marchioness family. While this is a noble title, and marquis are often appointed to important positions by royalty, they are not royalty themselves.

As shown in her child photo in The Circus, Stella has always been prone to aggressive/violent outbursts, yet no one around her has treated this as abnormal. Paimon called her charming.

Based on Viv's hints about Stella's upbringing (coming Season 3), she came from a family with extremely unhealthy/possibly violent or abusive dynamics, and an emphasis on a woman's traditional role in families/high class society. She likely grew up with her position as future wife/mother forced on her. Much like Stolas, she was given a restrictive role and not allowed to deviate.

As cute-little-fly pointed out, she learned etiquette so far as formal dress/public image. She holds teacups and wine glasses etc. mostly correctly. She probably had a focus on 'finishing school' style education to be a 'proper lady.' She was not educated or interested in things like science/math/literature. And if she was taught about polite mannerisms - she didn't absorb those.

She was betrothed to Stolas at a very young age without choice.

Current hints seem to indicate that she never liked Stolas. From the first pic of them with each other (assumed to be their wedding portrait), both of them look miserable, and she's not even looking at him.

She has implicit trust/understanding with Andrealphus. While willing to shout back at him, she never questions his judgement. She divulges her worst schemes to him without fear. It's likely they grew up with a close sibling dynamic.

Stella as a Political Pawn

Perpetrators of abuse are often victims of the systems that created them. All signs point to Stella being little more than a pawn to her family, especially her parents. She was not brought up to be smart. She was betrothed to a stranger in childhood, a prince who would improve her social standing. She also has never shown use of magic powers, leading to fan speculation that she either doesn't have them (and was therefore valued even less) or was neglected to an extent that she never received training. Marrying her off dumped the responsibility of this potentially powerless, not-clever daughter on someone else while also creating a connection to King Paimon.

And to top off all this was Andrealphus, her indulgent and scheming older brother. People complained that his character stole focus from Stella and left her undeveloped, but I disagree. Andrealphus added depth by revealing that Stella has been/is a pawn for her family, even for him.

Andrealphus does look out for his sister and seems to care about her. Their dynamic might have started in childhood, scheming around their home's staff or ducking restrictive or abusive parents. However, there is manipulation happening here. Andrealphus either never tried to better educate/improve Stella or gave up trying a long time ago. Despite them being very close, he doesn't entertain any thoughts of breaking her from the system that screwed her over. He only encourages her to work within it for their mutual benefit.

The palace makeover in Sinsmas showed that he was less interested in giving Stella her own power/autonomy as he was taking Stolas' things for himself. He treats Stella like a spoiled child to indulge and is unable to say anything positive about her beyond her good looks. Her lack of intelligence hampers their plans but also enables him to control her. While Andrealphus looks out for his sister and prevents her from sabotaging herself, he devalues her at the same time.

Lack of Choice/Embracing the System

As stated, Stella was born to be little more than a chess piece for her family to "win" the social game. This role is clearly normalized in their culture. The Goetia see no problems with non-love pairings and associations for personal gain/political sway. Romance and individuality do not serve much purpose.

At some point, Stella had these ideas pushed into her until she embraced them. Her violent/aggressive behavior was also never checked or corrected enough (if at all), and lacking traditional smarts, that became her main tool. Stella wanted attention and to be allowed to get her way, and this was the most convenient way to do it. She absorbed the catty, selfish, domineering lessons taught by their culture and perhaps her parents. Since Andre is a Marquis, she was probably a Marchioness. She was also a Goetia - she was entitled to acting superior. Stella grew up to be beautiful, self-important, and aggressive. Loud, selfish, tempestuous behavior got her the attention she craved. "Lower" beings like poor people/imps only good to throw around or do her bidding. She became a living example of the worst aspects of her upbringing, in order to fit into her position.

A Pairing That Sowed Resentment

I have mentioned this theory before, and I saw Anemicjellyfish mention something along these lines as well: I think the cute kid portrait of Stolas was sent to Stella's family first. I think she found out about the engagement before him, and the raging child Stella portrait sent for Stolas was her immediate reaction. This betrothal induced rage in her before the two of them even met, further sowing the seeds of her future abuse.

Stella probably knew what obligations she had getting into a marriage: be pretty as part of her social status, get a husband whose title would improve her position, and produce an heir. After that, her purpose was essentially served besides continuing to look good, literally and socially. I think she decided to get the 'requirements' of her marriage over with as soon as possible to move onto what she wanted to do: gossip, host parties, absorb the attention her connections gained her. Perhaps she expected her future husband to have the same attitude. It was normal in their society, after all.

Instead, she was matched with a shut-in, eccentric bookworm with niche hobbies. Stolas was a well-meaning but socially unskilled man who avoided conflict. I think their first impressions were probably bad, with Stolas trying to set his "make things comfortable for us" boundaries right away in his attempt to establish clear communication. It would've been a considerate, well-intended thing to do, and something Stella wouldn't appreciate. Stella doesn't appreciate boundaries in general. She was raised to be above them. It turned out Stolas was not a husband who would draw attention to himself or flout his position. He didn't pull himself up by (intentionally) bringing others down. And he was never attracted to Stella no matter how "hot" she was. Stolas was nothing like what a male Goetia was supposed to be, and I think Stella hated it.

She hated him. Hated his personality, his quirkiness, his interests, his unobtrusive nature, even his singing. I can't emphasize this enough: there is no way Stolas could have ever made Stella happy that didn't clash with who he was as a person. This was not a failing on his part but genuine incompatibility. I don't think Stella wanted to communicate better or come to agreements. There was NO WAY for Stolas to 'win' or do things right.

A Broken Step Up the Social Ladder

I couldn't find a great place to put this, so I'm putting it here. One of the criticisms I see against Stella's character is that she's too traditional evil queen/evil stepmother coded, a shallow trope from a children's fairy tale. But these tropes, which we consider cliche now, exist for a reason.

The Goetia/upperclass of Hell seem to follow old European/royal hierarchies. This social structure is strictly upheld: Sins, Kings like Paimon, Princes/Princesses like Stolas and Octavia, middle ground royalty like Dukes, and non-royal nobility like Marquis/Earls/Barons. Stolas is a prince, but one far, far down the royal line, and Stella is a younger sibling from a Marquis family. Titles and inheritance follow children before spouses. Typically it would be oldest male child, though Via seems an exception. This means a few important things:

Stella's marriage bumped her up a couple rungs on the social ladder, but only technically. She is only associated with royalty by marriage and likely would not be considered a "real" princess, maybe a princess consort at best.

Stolas is, himself, so far down the line, and the Goetia so immortal, that he would likely never inherit more than he currently had. His position was stagnant.

As soon as Octavia was born, she became the direct heir. Stella had no stand to inherit anything from her family - that would go to Andrealphus - and now no stand to inherit from Stolas.

Bottom line: Stella is part of nobility but has no independent wealth. She only lives in Stolas' palace, or stays with Andre, because she's permitted to. Otherwise she would have nowhere to go unless her parents would take her back. Goetian culture makes women like her dependent on their relatives/spouses while insisting they uphold all the appearance of wealth and privilege. This dynamic can create two drastic ways to "fit in:" giving in and being submissive or eagerly upholding the system to control it. Take a guess which Stella leaned toward.

Fairy tale evil mothers/stepmothers are often in this position - the wives (usually 2nd or 3rd) of a prince or king who decide that the children threaten their potential security. Stella lacked the intelligence to realize this, though Andre did at the start of Mastermind. But it's important to note that Stella does exist in this form of upperclass limbo.

Perpetuating the System

Stella went from a potentially abusive/neglectful upbringing to living with a stranger in his home. She had been passed like a possession to someone who didn't know/connect with her and didn't share her ideals. Stella was also not raised to have close emotional connections to lean on besides Andrealphus. Stolas was equally a victim, stuck with a stranger in his home/bed and expectations to sleep with her and produce a child. Neither were given a choice. But Stella didn't care about this. Despite fitting into their culture, Stella was suffering from it as well, and chances are that Stolas was the easiest thing to blame.

Rather than forming a 'comfortable' more platonic marriage with Stolas, Stella turned her frustration on him, perpetuating the negative culture that raised her. Stolas tried to keep the peace, but peace was never what Stella was after. Stolas was her personal punching bag, every perceived flaw of his a further scapegoat. They were incompatible, but Stella treated that as his issue and not one brought on by their forced marriage/culture.

Stella used physical, verbal, and emotional abuse. She shamed him to her friends, dragging his reputation into the dirt. In drawing people to herself, she further isolated him, making him even more of a disappointment and an even easier target. She probably also kept her idea of speed-running through her 'requirements' of marriage - to the extent where she pushed sex on Stolas when he was unwilling and dissociated/couldn't look at her as a self-defense. Stolas' depression worsened over time, and he clearly grew numb and conditioned to the abuse, which probably escalated Stella's behavior. Abuse demands attention. If her behavior started to feel normal to Stolas, it was probably time to get worse. This is one of the many ways abuse/behavioral issues can escalate IRL - as the victim becomes accustomed to the abuser's behavior, it worsens in order to get a desired reaction.

And while i don't see it discussed much, I think Andrealphus had a key part in encouraging/aiding Stella's behavior. In Mastermind, he portrayed himself to court as the concerned, caring brother-in-law trying to look after his sister's weak, easily overpowered husband. No one doubted that the prince was easily manipulated and overpowered by an imp, a race they considered the lowest/weakest. I think this was a long game 19 years in the making, as Stella and Andre whittled away the public's opinion of Stolas and stripped away his autonomy together. The worse Stolas looked, the less people paid attention to him. The better Stella and Andrealphus looked in comparison and the more his position became 'theirs.'

And through this all, Stolas tried. In the morning part of The Circus, pre-Not Divorced party, with Octavia not present, he heard Stella mention him and turned around with a friendly face to speak. Only he was gestured by Stella to wait, and he realized he was the topic of derision again, not being spoken to.

Stolas endured childhood neglect and forced marriage/unhealthy cultural norms. He tried to be an accommodating husband and a good father despite this, tried his best to break the cycle at least for Octavia. And he did this even when she wasn't present. It was a genuine attempt. Stella didn't want to break cycles. She became part of the problem instead.

Not a Mother, Not a Family

I'm getting this out of the way - Stella is NOT a "good" mother and is shown since Season One to have never been. Octavia's childhood wall doodles didn't depict her, hinting at her lack of presence. In Loo Loo Land, Stella verbally insulted/threw things at Stolas in front of Octavia and left the room without even addressing that Octavia came in. Potentially projecting my own issues, but I've been in a similar situation to Via here and picked up on this scene on first watch. A responsible parent would not throw things at their spouse in front of their child. A responsible parent would not leave their child alone/unacknowledged to deal with the outcome of a domestic argument. Even if Stella and Stolas HAD been in a loving relationship that he destroyed - which they hadn't - Stella was neglectful to Via since her first non-pilot, in-show appearances and showed no care if her behavior hurt or caused issues. She was willing to abuse Octavia's father, plan to have him murdered and/or banished, and, as the story progressed, manipulate Octavia directly. In Sinsmas, she even made her feel shameful for wanting to speak to Stolas.

Season 2 stepped up the portrayal of abuse and neglect, but it was always there. Octavia was an egg that 'dropped' out of Stella - something that finally rid her of having sex with Stolas but did little else. She was a necessary part of Stella moving past her social obligations and not an important part of their 'family' like Stolas felt. Stella has never called Via her daughter in the show. The first time she addresses that Via exists is to accuse Stolas of "turning her against" Stella in Seeing Stars. I don't think she wanted or understood what a real relationship would be with Via, despite what Stolas tried. A child might be entertaining for outings but couldn't provide the kind of attention Stella sought. Any child Stolas raised wouldn't share Stella's conceited viewpoints, either. While Stella doesn't appear to hate Octavia, I think she's completely neutral, to a dangerous extent. This isn't too far from historic nobility/royalty, either, where marriage and children were ways to secure power and not done out of love. Stella is mostly indifferent to Via. She cares that she can potentially take Via's attention and opinions away from Stolas, but I think she doesn't deeply care about Via the way a parent is meant to.

Family Portraits: Hiding in Plain Sight

I've seen SO MANY people point out the family portraits as signs that Stella wanted to be a loving wife. But I disagree. Sure, Stella put on a smile for them, but she never touched Stolas or Octavia in them. The Loo Loo Land portrait is the only one where she even looks at either of them, and she has her arms crossed to avoid physical contact. In older artwork before her redesign, she IS touching Stolas, but by painfully gripping/pinching his wrist while he subtly winces/scrunches his eyes. This abusive dynamic is not a retcon. It was always planned.

Stella has had no individual portraits so far with Octavia, yet Stolas had them since Episode 2 (right above the doodles on her bedroom wall). And in the only portrait with just Stella and Stolas, Stolas is leaning away looking terrified. The illusion that she was a 'proper' wife/mother was just part of Stella's role and, I'm guessing, something Andre probably also encouraged. Again speaking from personal experience, this isn't uncommon for an abuser. It all helps strengthen the public's opinion that they're right, that their life is ideal and the victim is the one who breaks the family. Privilege can easily hide problems.

The "Not Divorced" Party

Just-a-theory note: I think Stella's short-sightedness caused the biggest fuckup in her/Andre's abuse that finally gave Stolas his break. The party in The Circus was couples only. Andre wouldn't have been able to attend, unable to help or to hover over Stolas if needed to keep him in line. Congrats, Stella. You dug your abusive schemes their own grave.

The Party as Abuse

For all of the "Stella lacks depth" arguments, this party was one hell of a confident power move on Stella's part. It wasn't a "let's celebrate our marriage" but a "let's celebrate me for sticking with this disappointment of a husband." Stolas might've been the prince, and this might've been his palace, but she was showing the upperclass of Hell that he was the lucky one to have her there. Skinny, lanky, boring, bad in bed: Stolas was so pathetic, but they still weren't divorced! This party gave Stella her social outlet while reminding Stolas that he was stuck with her and no one else wanted him.

Why Stolas Couldn't "Refuse" to Go

I don't like the argument that Stolas could just "refuse" to go to this Not Divorced party. That's not how abuse works. An abuse victim is never given a way to 'get out' of consequences, only minimize them. This party was intended to trap him.Stella planned it at their (Stolas') palace, in their ballroom, To the public eye, HE was co-hosting. She didn't tell him about it, leaving him to find out either when attendees showed up or when he read it as an advertisement in the newspaper. By the time Stolas knew this party was happening, he was left with the following options:

Attend the party, where he'd be miserable but present. Stella would get her party, shut up, and move on. As net-neutral a choice as possible.

Cancel the party/throw people out as they arrived, as there wasn't time to cancel it with enough notice. Further degrade his society's opinion of him as he became the prince who advertised parties at his own home only to kick everyone out. Live forever with the violent retaliation for "ruining" Stella's public image and "destroying" her ability to throw her beloved parties because now no one trusts to come.

Not attend the party and spend the night as a metaphorical prisoner in his room or study. Still hear the party down the hall/under his bedroom balcony and have people crawl around his home without keeping track of it. Get further derided as the prince who held an event at his own palace and couldn't be bothered to show up. Live for the next several weeks/months with whatever violent retaliation Stella created for further "embarrassing" her in public for being a no-show.

There was no option that didn't just make him a further target.

Stolas slept with Blitzø during a party dedicated to him being undesirable. He slept with a lowerclass imp in the bed he shared with Stella, who derided poor people and held her lofty position as key to her identity. At a party that made Stella look good for staying with him, he demanded a divorce. Suddenly, Stella's abuse tactics were blowing up in her face. Stolas was acting out of her control, and out of the social norms that she was so deeply entrenched into.

"Justified" Violence & Losing Control

From this point, Stella's verbal and physical violence escalated and become more open and public. From an outside perspective, it looked like a wife rightfully lashing out against an unfaithful husband. In reality, it was an abuser who suddenly had an easy excuse to retaliate against her victim. Not a reason, an excuse. She likely never considered that Stolas might actually act out against her. She'd spent 19 years pushing him into the mud, and Andre possibly spend those years convincing the public that Stolas was too weak and easily coerced to have autonomy. I think the both of them bought their own narrative so heavily that Stolas' attempts at autonomy in the show surprised them. Breaking away from an abuser is the most dangerous time for a victim.

To Stella, standard abuse was no longer enough. Stolas had slept with an imp, made them look like fools, and was continuing to sleep with the same imp. He didn't care how he looked to the other Goetia, and hating him publicly didn't shame him into submission. He stood in the way of the image Stella wanted. He went against the very conventions of their race. Stella didn't think about lines of inheritance, or that him dying would leave her in a more precarious situation. Short-sighted, impulsive, entitled Stella decided that it was time to fully exert her power as a member of the Goetian elite. Stolas had to go. Stella likely saw nothing unusual or extreme about her behavior. While her murderous response here seems extreme, it unfortunately reflects a situation actual victims find themselves in.

Then, while Stella was already plotting his assassination (and failed once), Stolas doubled-down and demanded the divorce. I find his, "I would be sorry if I had hurt you," line about sleeping with Blitzø fascinating, TBH. Because he is technically right. Stella had no emotional connection to Stolas. She is not hurt that he slept with someone else, that he betrayed some sort of trust and love between them. Stolas had no emotional obligations to Stella at this point, and never had as soon as the abuse began. But Stella doesn't value love or considering others: she values her image and position, and in her eyes, Stolas HAD hurt that. Does that mean Stolas was wrong to consider this not-cheating? Nope. Stolas' choices were his own. But the abusive dynamic, the control, the poor communication that led to Stolas' misery and his chaotic, risky way of breaking free: they were all of Stella's creation. If she had actually wanted a healthier situation between them, I'm convinced that nothing would have gone down like it did.

Stolas didn't care what the other Goetia thought of it, and using Andrealphus as a threat didn't work against him. Stolas was determined in a way Stella had clearly never seen before. He was completely out of her grasp. He kicked her out! In being kicked out, Stella no longer had a palace or wealth - she probably ended up moving in with her brother. At this point, she and Andre were both convinced that Stolas' things should be theirs, as they were superior in every way they valued. Stella knew that she wanted him dead, and once the divorce started, she wanted him to suffer, too. He had embarrassed her in public and now removed her from HER home. He deserved all of it.

And an important note: in real-life history, assassinations or executions for slights to a family (or perceived slights) were not uncommon. Stella just handled it in a brash, politically incorrect way, while Andre convinced her to play the longer political system instead. History is littered with royal/noble rivals who've done very similar things.

Stella Going Into Season 3

I do find it interesting how blind she is to her own vulnerabilities. Despite having Stolas out of the palace, she's in much the same position she was when she shared it with him, if not a riskier one. With the divorce, Stella is likely no longer a "princess," if she ever was one. A divorce probably makes her "less desirable" despite her beauty. She has no husband, no individual property, no independent wealth.

Also, Andre controls Stolas' palace while Via is underage, but once she reaches adulthood, everything goes to her. Andre and Stella living there or having any of the power/influence will be completely at her discretion. I see some of this becoming a conflict in S3-S4, and I don't expect Stella to suddenly develop a better conscious or more mothering instincts when it happens... especially if she continues to let Andre take the reins.

I think a lot of the backstory stuff I've guessed at is going to be shown in S3. We're going to see an explanation of how Stella was molded into who she is now, but it's not going to be an excuse. Stella thrives on the crooked system that made her and doesn't want to alter it. If anything, I expect her character arc to continue to make her worse while also showing her as Andre's willing pawn. Stella is a victim of a crooked system who has chosen to be part of it for her own benefit. If she doesn't "develop" in a positive way, I don't think it's because the writers are inadequate or that they skipped her over. It's because Stella is the type of individual who does not want to change or improve. She lets Andre do the heavier scheming work and still gets what she wants. Stella has no interest in breaking the problematic cycles of abuse. She sees them as correct, and she gets what she wants by perpetuating them.

#helluva boss #helluva boss stella #helluva boss characters #character analysis #wtf why is this so long #i don't have a problem #tw: abuse #tw: sa mention #tw: sa

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