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quizzyisdone · 4 months ago

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I am not lying when I say I genuinely think this is one of the best belldler fics I've read!!! I rlly hope this turns into a series!!

canis major

adler x bell!reader

summary: adler doesn’t go back to berlin to forget, but he isn’t so eager to remember, either. after leaving you for dead on that clifftop in the arctic, he knows best to leave the past well alone. too bad that past seems to be alive and walking right in front of him; though where he wants to forget, it seems you’ve already beaten him to the punch. or; bell survives solovetsky and only has a hole in her head and amnesia to show for it. read on ao3

tags/cw: bell!reader, amnesia, light angst, referenced adlerbell, somehow bell survives the ending of cw, adler can't let shit go, adler is not capable of remorse but mayyybe a lil guilt?? dog symbolism always, no pairing yet but hopefully i continue this as a spicy drabble series idk wc: 2.7k

a/n: sooo this is my first fic for the cod fandom and the first fic i've posted online in a long time so hopefully this lil ramble suffices!! i've had adlerbell brainrot and wanted to get at least something out before bo6 ruins all of my headcanons so here's a snippet of something i hopefully find the motivation to continue into a mini series. enjoy :')

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

Stumbling out of the muggy bar into the dank alleyway out the back, Adler fishes out a pack of cigarettes from the front of his jacket; two firm knocks of it against his palm before he plucks one out with his mouth, pockets the box, and flips open his lighter. The clink of the metal echoes into the empty around him, the sudden quiet suffused with the sounds of passing cars on the street, muffled laughter from inside the bar, and the distant barking of dogs. Strays.

The cigarette ignites, glowing a cherry red, and he gasps around the filter greedily. Upon exhale, he sighs.

Adler isn’t a sentimental man by any means. What little he clings to, he does so with a loose grip, less than happy but stolid enough to allow whatever else he deems unnecessary slip through his fingers. Places, people. Things. Memories. Tucks the important things- logic, rationality, work, duty- into orderly compartments at the forefront of his mind, archived and marked off ‘til he needs it, while the rest, the mess, gets done away with, thrown into the great black gorge of oblivion. Anything else that stays- more often than not a thorn in his side, an unbidden, wriggling tumour he can’t find let alone cut out- is sequestered to a dark aperture in the back of his mind, anchored deep where it can’t come back up. Yet somehow, some nights, they always do. The smell of his ex-wife’s hair. The day he got his scar. Vietnam. The lab. Solovetsky—

The next word, the name, forks across his mind like lightning, and he bites his tongue before he can think it. It sits at the back of his mouth, nestled like an aching cavity in his molars. A tremulous breath that he forces down with another drag of his cigarette. Out with the rest. Out with the rest.

The barking doesn’t cease. Dogs, a pair of them, he can hear a couple streets over. He pictures them from the gravelly register of their snarling- maybe German Shepherds, a Bullmastiff or a Rottweiler. Their fight enunciated by the violent rattling of chain-link fences, segregated, the only threshold that keeps teeth from necks.

But no, not a sentimental man. He tells himself that the itch to revisit Berlin every Summer is for superficial reasons, and by no means is renting out a shithole hotel room opposite a sewer-laden river considered a vacation from anything other than the luxuries he gorges himself mindlessly on at home- maybe this is to keep him humble, more than anything. It doesn’t do well to remind himself of old times, not when he’s lived the life he has. Remembering seldom accompanies itself with the bittersweetness of reminiscence, and the taste it leaves in his mouth is always acrid. He doesn’t miss Berlin any more than he misses that dismal safehouse, or that sterile room he wheeled you into, questioned- tortured- no, interrogated- well, he doesn’t care to remind himself of the picture. Or the person he strapped to the gurney. But he catches himself thinking back to the city divided more than he likes to admit, and for whatever ostensible reason it is that drags him back here, he relents to it every time.

He tells himself it’s the weather, the cool rain a nice reprieve from the scorching California heat. Or that the food is better, not so much overprocessed shit and sugars. Can take his coffee as black as he likes without the waitress turning her nose up about it and double-triple-checking if he’s sure. And it’s the people, maybe, who leave him well enough alone. Or the drinks. The views, some places. The- air.

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

The one dog’s snarl rips bloodcurdling through the night, all froth and venom, and as the chain-link fence screeches and judders in its rusted welding the other mutt quiets a moment. Cowers under the meaner dog’s ferocity. Then, like it had been wounded, it lets out a low, anguished howl, beast reduced to a scared little pup. Adler holds the smoke in his chest around a stifled breath anticipating a release. But the first dog just grumbles, the fence clinks, and there isn’t much noise after that.

But the quiet doesn’t last long- just as Adler drops his cigarette and snuffs it with a wrench of his heel, another sound resonates, yowling through the alley.

The grinding of tires upon wet asphalt crunches from just beyond the alleyway entrance. The streetlamp overhanging the entryway glares bright yellow as it bounces off of the garishly coloured taxi cab, pulling up to a groaning halt outside the bar.

He thinks nothing of it, pulling at the collar of his leather jacket. It’s getting cold, and he’s left his drink inside. Wouldn’t want to waste good beer. Adler turns, and makes for the door.

And you step out of the car.

A half-finished cigarette bounces on the sidewalk before you exit, the softened heel of your boot following soon after in a splash upon the flooded curb. Your German is rusty- always has been- but it’s easy enough to utter a quick and easy danke as you pull yourself up out of the cab. The door shuts with a slam, and you tilt your head back to gaze up at the sign above the bar- Der Fluss Lethe glaring in faded lightbox red- and you let out a contented sigh, your breath suspended in the frigid air. Pink, bitten fingers pluck at your gloves, fingerless faded green knit, shovelling them into your jacket pocket.

Adler’s fist is already curled around the handle of the back door as he clocks your presence in his periphery, a stranger like any other- but your image resembles the one that coagulates in the borders of old memory, the dried blood of you he hasn’t been able to wash his hands of since ‘81. Enough that he does a double take, his eyes wide behind tinted glasses, and he stops, his heart following suit.

He’s seen enough bodies in his time to fill the morgue in his mind twice over, and plenty ghosts to wander coldly among the unmarked graves. Vietnam alone is an unwinding cemetery stretching endless, catacombs along the inside of his skull, lined with what his old shrink would call remorse. Guilt. As if the feeling mattered. As if self-reproach could turn self-flagellation into something so incandescent as redemption. As if the bile in the back of his throat could bring back the dead.

And it couldn’t, because it isn’t… that’s not—

Bell.

It’s in the way you stand, your back rigid, that slight slouch to your shoulders, always dragged down upon you like they bore the weight of the whole world (and they did, once, do you remember?). The pelting of rain smacks off of the lapels of your jacket and ricochets like stars, caught in the light of the streetlamp overhead, but for all he knows or cares it could be raining diamond and all he sees is you- the wrinkling of your nose as you accommodate to the cold, how your cheeks flush at the chill (as they had those nights he pulled you into the darkroom, evidence of your apprehension drowned in the red glow of safelights); your hair is longer, unkempt, but still that same colour (clumps he’d find in his clenched fist when you’d argue yourselves into a wrestling match, pinning each other by the throats to dented walls in Die Landebahn); that scar upon your brow; that wavering line of your lip, pursed and hiding behind your reticence as you always did, and your eyes- your eyes—

—you feel someone watching—

—your eyes turn, and fix upon him with the startled softness of a doe, hunter betrayed by the snapping of a branch underfoot. Adler’s heel crunches against broken glass, his hand lingering right in that threadbare threshold upon the doorhandle, and he can’t speak, can’t move, can’t think—

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

—and you stop outside the cab, your breath caught in your throat. You see a shadow in the alley, in the shape of a man.

The darkness of the alley gives enough cover that you don’t see much, but what you do make out of the man prickles at a part of your mind long dormant: the haughtily broad set of the shoulders; the halo of blond tinted red just beneath the flickering exit light above the door where he stands; the shadow of a strong, clenched jaw; and in the brief glinting of passing headlights as cars rush on behind you, you see a face half gorged by a thick, forked scar, a fissure struck down his furrowed expression. A pair of dark aviator glasses hide those eyes that you know are looking at you, reflecting back nothing but your own bewilderment.

There is something you know. Deep inside that half rotted head of yours, where an incomplete recollection of your existence before you awoke bleeding on that clifftop lies, you feel a twinge of recognition. Familiarity. Something. Something stirring deep in your marrow- a fear inherited, a conditioned surrender, a faded polaroid, a kiss? Your migraine, chronic, comes clawing back with a vengeance, as it does most nights, but this time with a savage fervour that wrenches your face into an involuntary grimace. Where the hole in your head had once been all those years ago it tickles and burns, burrowing into your brain and groping greedy fingers along remnants of memory. It claws at you, digging through your amygdala to find something fresh, something old, something palpable, real, something- anything. Searching what little remains visible to you in the thick fog of your own mind to pin a meaning to this feeling, an answer to your question, a name to that face.

You’ve seen him before. You swear. Somewhere. In a dream, reoccurring, behind a red door. You don’t know how, or why you’d think you recognise him- in those dreams, the door never even opens. Your hand ever stuck on the handle, jammed and impenetrable, what sits behind it forbidden to you. Like not even your own mind wants you to know. It confines you to your ignorance, almost blissful.

Adler’s heart kicks violently in his chest. He shot you. He killed you. He’d heard your death rattle on that clifftop in Solovetsky and the sound was almost like singing, your last word, your last breath. A miserere for your short and fractured life. And he’s looking at your ghost, standing there all owl-eyed and as beautiful as the day he found you bleeding out on that airstrip. Before he took you. Before he took you and collared you and made a damned mess of things.

The only thing separating you from the Bell he knows he killed- his Bell- is the star-shaped scar split across your left temple. The only wound he never had to sit and heal as he belligerently patched you up, poking and preening you like his prize dog. Yet in spite of never seeing it before, he recognises the wound all too well. He put it there himself.

And as you stand there for that brief moment- no more than twelve seconds stretched to an eternity- he thinks for a moment that you’ve put it together. You recognise him. You see him. As he is. You’ve figured him out, Bell, as you always do. You’re the only one to have gotten away with it, nearly. Or so he thought. And now he’s watching a corpse having dug itself out of the grave he put it in, standing there, staring at him. Suppose you’ve always been a dead man walking.

You could do it, he thinks. Turn. Fling your heel round and barrel towards him with all the enmity of a cornered animal. He thinks of the strays, barking. Can picture your mouth frothing at the sides as you sink your teeth down into him- gnarled canines, hooked to your chain-link fence- which he probably deserves. Not an unfamiliar feeling by any stretch, but one faraway enough to seem almost sweet now through the hazy lens of nostalgia. If there truly is a sentimental bone in his body after all, then maybe it’s just for that. Still, he holds his breath, awaiting the killing blow he’s surely due. But it never comes.

You release your held breath, finally, tearing your eyes away from the callous faced stranger. It’s a ridiculous notion. Just an uncanny instance of déjà vu. You don’t know that man any more than you know yourself. You settle on a more rational answer- just one of those faces. And with a disgruntled sigh you rub the scar upon your temple to soothe the ache, turn around, and enter the bar alone.

Adler sighs, his heart sinking from up high in his throat back down to his chest. His hand has latched onto the doorhandle for so long it’s gone numb from the cold, bruised knuckles bluer than they were before (bar fights- not here, but another, as there will always be). He wrestles his jaw pensively, knowing he ought to take it off, keep the door closed, turn away, and leave. Slink back, tail between his legs, to that shithole hotel room to drink himself into a stupor. Let you haunt him there, instead. As you always have.

But he doesn’t. He has no idea what idiocy compels him, what soft, dewy-eyed weak link in him snags on that chain, to willingly wander back into the viper den of reminiscence, but he wrenches his fist around the handle, pushes, and lets himself back into the bar, the thick, hot air hitting him like a drug that he breathes in, tart and sour with the cloy of sweat and alcohol but still faintly- just faintly- of you. Like rain carried along the wind.

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

But from across the bar he hides behind his beer glass, watches as you move about, a phantom, weaving through the faceless mass of people celebrating a championship he cares nothing to follow. You take your order at the bar with a smile he’s never seen on you before, boots folded to tip-toes as you lean over the liquor-stickied top, your perfect mouth pink and sweet and laughing and alive. The world seems to move about you in a haze, an indistinct mist of blurred faces and bottled voices and beyond all the light and life and joy that seems to burn bright around you like a halo all he sees is you.

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

But it isn’t lost on him, how your fingers skirt across your hair in an attempt to hide the scar upon your temple. Nor is it lost on him how you wince at the feeling, the stars in your eyes dimmed for just a split second as you shiver, like a touch imperceptible running fingers down your back. Nor even the way you fight the urge to look, to follow the feeling of his eyes fixed upon you, and surely not the way you lose that fight, surrendered to it, your sweet face turning and finding him in an instant. Without so much as trying, like instinct, like something as pathetic and saccharine as fate. Your heart called to it, a lighthouse in the fog. Port in the storm. Ships passing in the night but called crashing to the same shore.

(The pieces of you are scattered everywhere, Bell. He finds you in every split seam inside himself. Splintered shrapnel dug through his temporal lobe, severing synapses ‘til they go dark. Even stars die quicker than that. Quicker than you. Is that what it felt like for you, too? When the lights went out, was it him you last saw- or the sky, waxen, over the Arctic? A waning night, a distant moon. The inconsequence of death- brief celestial ephemera.)

The stranger across the bar looks at you, offering nary a smile, eyes indiscernible behind shadowed sunglasses. And where you ought to find his apparent coldness disconcerting, instead you wring out of your chest with a white-knuckled caress a feeling like… comfort.

Sometimes, Bell, you go back to Berlin. You don’t quite know why.

#this is how i wish i could write #you should be so proud of this!

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quizzyisdone · 4 years ago

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Old Vices (Part II)(18+) | Female Bell! Reader x Russell Adler

A/N: Talk about being long overdue lmao. This took me over a month to write since life became so busy for me. But I said in part one that this would be a mini-series but I changed my mind, I promise this plot leads somewhere. Sorry I'm absolute shit at writing smut. I hope you enjoy it!! (4.5k words)

Warnings: Strong language, comfort smut, unprotected sex

[Part One]

Lover, Be Good To Me

January 8th, 1984

McLean, Virginia

1700

As you reached the foot of the bed, Adler’s hand wandered up further beneath the fabric of your simple t-shirt, delivering soft touches to every nook and cranny, roaming all through your skin before stopping just beneath your breasts. He broke the kiss for a brief moment, staring into your eyes as if asking for permission.

You gave a flustered smile in response and he chuckled lightly as he swiftly removed the fabric from your body. His sizable palms began fondling at the tender flesh, thumb rolling over pert nipples, earning a low moan from you in response.

His gaze lingered on them, the faintest of grins painted Adler’s face accompanied by a light blush on his cheeks.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful.” He smiled sweetly, his reaction to your shirtless form was almost nervous in a way. Adler gently pushed you down towards the bed, his body hovering just barely over your own as he straddled you.

You tugged at his turtleneck from below, pulling it over his head and let out a small gasp as soon as his torso was bared to you.

“Were you expecting washboard abs?” Adler laughed, although a hint of insecurity and nervousness over his body was evident in his tone as your hands roamed his abdomen. “I had those once, back in ‘Nam. Women loved it.” Adler was right -- his body wasn’t ripped, not like what you had envisioned, but it was strong and sturdy in its own right.

“I think this is better.” You said simply. You ran your fingers through the admittedly surprising amount of wiry hair on his chest which trailed down tantalizingly below the waistband of his jeans. You felt the defined muscles tense and loosen with the tide of his breathing. There was no six-pack, there was even a small deposit of fat protruding just below his navel.

However, there could be no denying the sheer unwavering strength of his physical form, how muscular he was, even in the absence of Adler’s aforementioned “washboard abs”.

Mysterious scars that ranged from lacerations to bullet wounds that never healed properly littered the entirety of his chest and stomach. They weren’t unlike the many that could be found all over your figure, both from this life with the CIA and the past with Perseus. Although the ones from the latter and their origin were just as mysterious to you as Adler’s were. You only knew the source of two, the bullet wounds that rested just between the valley of your breasts.

It was then you noticed his thumb tracing over that jagged scar that had formed into one due to their proximity to each other, his brows furrowed whilst doing so. It was just centimeters from your heart, Adler thought.

“Jesus Christ.” He whispered it so lowly, Adler almost had said it to himself.

As if you read his mind, you grabbed his hand that was tracing over the scarred flesh, breaking his concentration and forcing you to look him in the eyes. Your gaze was gentle, and Adler could’ve sworn that it was kind even. You guided his hand to rest on one of your breasts, encouraging him to knead and rub at the flesh while he kept his eyes trained on yours the entire time.

You noted how calloused they were, as if they were physical reminders from a life he’d never tell you about, the skin hardened by the weight of his crimes and the past he carries so heavily.

“You act as if it’s my first time doing it.” Adler chuckled. Funny, he thought. Never in his life had he been so clueless as to where to touch someone so intimately, or allowed someone to wordlessly guide him on what to do. He always took control, he seemed to innately know what was pleasurable to either party.

But you were different, like he said before. Adler was scared that if he touched you in the wrong place, said the wrong thing, everything he had hoped for the two of you would crumble into dust, only leaving both of your hearts broken in its wake.

Besides, everything was to be on your terms. You deserved that much.

“I’m not a porcelain doll, Adler. You’re not going to break me.” Your hand went to cradle his scarred cheek, your thumb absentmindedly tracing over the jagged flesh while he leaned into the touch.

“I know, but still.” He hummed contentedly, his eyes shut, before laughing lightly.

“What?” You asked.

“Has it occurred to you yet that you don’t even remember doing something like this before? Assuming you have done it before.” He raised an eyebrow, his pupils were blown wide with the sweet, gentle kind of lust. “I suppose this would be your ‘first’ time.”

“I suppose it would. What about it?”

“This is all on your terms. You know that right?” You nodded at his question. “I’m not going to hurt you. Or at least try to.”

“That remains to be seen.�� You said solemnly. Despite the fact that you trusted him enough to let him undress you, you were still very well aware of the fact that if you let your guard down too much, he could end up hurting you again.

“Fair enough.” He sighed, but yet, a grin tugged at the corner of his lips. It was a silent affirmation that he truly did understand and wasn’t hurt by the fact that your walls hadn’t completely crumbled yet. Hell, if the roles were reversed and he were in your position, Adler wouldn’t even let you touch him at all, let alone completely bare himself to you.

You were always better when it came to matters of the heart than he was, part of him always admired you for that.

He brought your lips to his once more, kissing you deeply as you were keenly aware of the weight of his body hovering over you and the weight of him causing you to dip further into the mattress, all while his body heat radiated off of him. The absolute euphoria of being wound up in the pleasures of his intoxicating scent, his touch, was something you had craved to be entangled in once more since Solovetsky, despite your rational mind screaming otherwise.

“Bell.” Adler said simply but seriously. “If we start, I don’t think we’ll be able to stop. If you’re not entirely sure…” He sighed, brows furrowed in contemplation. “If you don’t want to go down this road, I get it. I’ll leave and this can stay between us -- I won’t bother you ever again.”

You audibly gulped at the very thought of him leaving and never seeing him again.

“God no. Please don’t leave. Just touch me.” You practically pleaded with him, to which he responded with a deep, wholehearted chuckle.

“Yes ma’am.” He smiled, his kiss moving to place little nips at your neck, evidently looking for that sweet spot that he had come to know that all women had on that part of their body. “Of course.” Adler whispered reverently, one of his hands slowly trailing down your abdomen.

Your breath hitched in your throat when it finally reached the hem of your underwear, slipping beneath the fabric tantalizingly slow. He finally found that sweet spot on your neck as he gave a gentle nip at the flesh, causing you to arch your back and let out a small moan.

One of Adler’s fingers slipped into the folds of your heat, gently giving a few, testing swipes at your clit -- to which you mewled. His assault on your neck stopped and he removed his finger from you, pulling back for a moment to admire you. He tucked a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his mouth slightly agape and his eyes nearly black.

You went to cup his groin and he groaned. From what you could tell, his member was sizable and created a tent through the fabric of his jeans. It looked almost painful, the way it strained against his pants.

“Let me blow you.” You whispered, rubbing tantalizing strokes along his clothed shaft.

“Tempting offer, Bell.” Despite the sentiment, despite how much he melts like putty at the very thought of your lips around his cock, Adler guided your hand away from his cock. “So goddamn tempting. But this isn’t about me.” He placed your hand instead on his heart, where you could feel the erratic beating of it.

His hand cupped over your own while you admired how his palm obscufated yours beneath the largeness of it. Your own heart skipped a beat at the gesture. “This is about you.”

Giving you no time to reply, he swiftly lowered himself to your aching core, kneeling before your legs at the foot of the bed. Adler deftly removed the last of the fabric that separated you from him. He looked up at you one last time before delivering a long swipe up your slit with his tongue.

A bit belatedly, it occurred to you that you hadn’t shaved in months. If you had at least known you might be caught up with him, you might’ve preened yourself a little. It felt stupid, childish even, for you to be embarassed about such a thing when he clearly paid it no mind.

Adler took one of his fingers and brought it to your entrance, inserting it slowly, testing to see your reaction. You arched your back and let out a low moan in a sweet, gentle pleasure as soon as he curled his digit. The size of which was far larger than yours were during those silent nights when you had touched yourself to relieve some of the boiling tension that built from months of forgoing physical intimacy.

He smiled against your folds, wondering how long it had been since you had been with someone else. But the thought of another person being with you like this inwardly disgusted the carnal, possessive side of him. It was selfish, considering the two of you may never again share a time like this, but in the moment Adler could not find himself to care about that possessive part of him he himself somewhat despised.

Spurred by the thought of never again being in between your legs, Adler practically attached his mouth to your clit, alternating between circling his tongue around it and sucking. The stubble from his five o’ clock shadow tickled the skin on your inner thighs as he practically buried his face in your aching core, tongue exploring every nook and cranny.

“Fuck…” You mewled, your voice barely audible. He glanced up at you from between your thighs, admiring how ethereal you looked, how unexpectedly raptured he was at the angelic sight. Your hair was sprawled around your head like a fan, chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. But his favorite was your face that was contorted beautifully in euphoria whilst your hands clasped at the sheets beneath you, writhing from his ministrations.

Adler didn’t ‘make love’ in the way you thought he would. You expected quick and sloppy foreplay, just enough for you to get wet enough so that he could chase after his own pleasure without having to hear your yelps of pain from the intrusion of his appendage.

You had imagined sex for him was supposed to be this rough, insatiable thing, more akin to a transaction than actual affection. Yet it wasn’t ravenous and brutal (although you were sure that he could be if he wanted), that much was obvious as he expertly lapped at your folds with the soft kind of fervor and a small grin.

“That feels so good.” You nearly cried as you entangled your hands through his hair, the normally well-kept tresses going messy as you gripped his locks for dear life.

You felt almost shameful at how much you were enjoying being eaten out by a man who stole your very identity, who tried to kill you just months earlier, but consoled yourself with the fact that this was also the same man who prior Solovetsky held you close during your lowest moments, helped you to breathe again.

There had to be some genuineness in that, right? After all, Adler eventually sought you out once more. He helped you finally breathe after months of suffocation under the weight of the past.

For the first time, you had a glimmer of hope that maybe time did heal all wounds.

Still yet, no matter if it healed, the wound was deep, bound to leave a nasty scar. An unforgettable imprint on your psyche. Not unlike the physical, jagged one etched onto the right side of Adler’s face.

You were distracted from your thoughts as Adler inserted another finger, curling upwards and you let out an almost embarrassing loud moan.

“You were getting quiet there, Bell.” Adler chuckled, the vibration of which sent yet another wave of pleasure to your core. “Got a little worried for a sec.”

“Ha- Just keep going,” You gasped, walls clenching around his digits, whilst he silently mused at your tightness. “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely.” He said huskily, looking up at you with pupils blown wide as he picked up the pace and curled upwards repeatedly, earning satisfactory mewls from you. “Cum for me, baby girl.” It was almost a plea for him to hear your moans and whimpers.

It took only a few more moments of Adler toying with your sensitive clit and angling his fingers to hit that spot with every curl of his fingers to bring you to the brink. His actions became a little harsher but unmistakably sweet as he watched you chase your end from above him.

“Fuck Adler, oh my God.” You whimpered as you fluttered around his fingers, legs shaking slightly as Adler’s free hand held you steady. He continued his ministrations to prolong your orgasm as much as possible while he witnessed you ride out your high through your slightly scrunched face, heavy breaths, and pretty little moans that came out as an incoherent string of curses and his name.

When you finally came down, you let out a soft laugh and a delirious smile, entranced by the post-sex bliss.

“You look so pretty like that.” Adler complimented, removing his fingers and coming up to lie beside you, resting his head on one hand as he traced small patterns around the scars on your abdomen. You blushed in response. “Sound pretty too.” He said, placing a kiss on your temple.

“You better not be done with me.” You smiled, cocking a teasing brow. He raised his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised that you weren’t perfectly content to leave it at just that. Not that Adler would have minded, of course.

“You’re a needy one, huh Bell?” He smirked, standing up rather suddenly and eagerly to expertly remove what remained of his clothes with deft hands, although the boxers were a different story. “That’s okay, I like the needy ones.”

Adler palmed at his aching cock through the fabric of his underclothes, letting out a low groan before awkwardly shimmying out of them. When his cock sprang free, you had to make a deliberate effort to hide your surprise. It was certainly, well, bigger than you were expecting.

It was red, aching and engorged as it leaked appetizingly with his pre-cum.

“It’s not polite to stare, Bell.” Adler quipped, spitting onto his hand and giving it a few pumps as he towered over your body that was still lying on the bed.

“I wasn’t staring.” You shot back.

“Admiring then?” He joked, an uncharacteristic, lop-sided, shit eating grin on his face. You rolled your eyes, lifting yourself up to meet his body. You wrapped your arms lazily around his neck, attaching your mouth to his, poking at his lower lip for entrance, to which he gladly obliged.

You pried his hand away from his cock, replacing it with your own as you lazily stroked up and down against it, earning a deep groan that was muffled from your kiss. Adler gently guided you backwards, back onto the bed, laying you on the bed once more as he straddled you, only breaking the connection as you fell with a soft thump.

“You have no idea what you do to me.” Adler moaned softly, the huskiness from smoking a pack a day for the past twenty years beautifully amplified by the lust that was ever so obvious in his tone. But then Adler broke the kiss, huffing, a little annoyed.

“Fuck. I, uh, just realized.”

“What?” Your brows furrowed, sudden concern washing over you.

“Well, I don’t have any protection on me.” Adler sighed. “And I’m not trying to make you a mother.”

You laughed breathily. “Just pull out, then.”

“You can’t just- Christ, Bell.” He joined in your laughter. “Did you skip sex-ed?”

“Are you really gonna leave me now?” You half-joked trying to keep up appearances of lightheartedness. But in your lust-driven haze and quiet yearning for him, the implication of Adler leaving now of all times struck a chord in you, the very thought churned in your stomach. “You’re gonna leave a girl broke and wanting?”

God no. Don’t leave me again. Not now.

“I wasn’t. Just thought you still might’ve had some reservations.” Adler said as he rubbed the tip of his erection up your glistening slit, revelling in your whimpers when he teased that sensitive nub. He guided his tip to your entrance. “But clearly, I was mistaken.” He glanced back at you one more time before pushing in frustratingly slow, silently musing at how little friction he encountered.

He watched as your face scrunched a little in pain but slightly smiled as you nonetheless persevered through the slight burning sensation. It took everything within him not to snap and just thrust straight into you.

“A-Ah. So fucking tight.” He gritted his teeth and nearly whimpered as he was finally fully sheathed within you. Adler began rocking his hips at a slow, steady pace, barely even pulling out in the process.

“Oh fuck.” You mewled as he angled his hips upwards, hitting that sweet spot at every jolt. He grabbed your chin a bit harshly, forcing you to look in his eyes that were not only kindled with intense arousal and were commandeering in their stare, but they were kind and sweet as well.

He looked as if he was about to say something, but opted for actions over words as Adler lowered his face to meet yours, and pulled you in for a deep kiss. He picked up the pace a bit, groaning into your mouth as you clenched around him. His chest rumbled as he did so, sending shivers up your spine and your heart fluttering at the enthralling sound.

“Jesus Christ, Bell.” Adler chuckled, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “You feel so fucking good, baby girl.” He jolted his hips harshly, perhaps a bit rougher than even he intended, but was pleasantly surprised at the sound the little squeal that it earned from you. “It’s like you were made for this -- taking cock.”

“Oh please, Russell. Harder.” You whimpered, and the very sound of his first name rolling off of your tongue stoked that ever-growing flame inside of him even brighter. You never called him anything beyond ‘Adler’ or ‘asshole’. But when you finally did utter his name, for the first time in what seemed like forever, it sounded so sweet. At least that much was obvious as his thrusts became harsher and harsher.

His breathy, almost pleading moans that were laced with profanities and your name surprised you a bit. You had never imagined Russell Adler to be such a noisy lover, awarding every little action of yours with a hoarse whimper or a breathy moan, but it was a pleasant surprise at that, to know you had the power to make such a composed man melt in such a way.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, forcing him even deeper than before, and he obliged your plea.

“Gah, fuck.” Adler cursed, going to roughly grab and palm at your breasts which were bouncing with every movement of his. He gently plucked at the pert and erect nipples, setting a fast rhythm.

Adler hit your sweet spot every time, every harsh thrust of his lent itself to building that ever growing knot in your core.

“Cum for me again, come on.” Adler huffed, attempting to stave off his own orgasm as he went to languidly swipe at your clit as he continued pounding from above you, one of his arms planted firmly by your head and his movements becoming more and more erratic. “I know you’ve got another one in ya.”

Evidently, he was right as at one particular thrust in combination with him toying with your clit, you met your end again. You fluttered around him, earning several low moans and whimpers from the man above you, and his pounding became more relentless as he chased his own orgasm, satisfied now that his girl had been taken care of.

With a few more pushes, he stilled inside of you, and you could feel him throb as you felt spurts of his own load coat your walls while he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing heavily and still sheathed within you while moaning your the most filthy, profane things you had ever heard from the man's mouth. After a few moments of Adler recovering from his high, he pulled out, silently admiring his spent slowly dripping from your entrance.

It only took a few seconds for the thought to settle in his head of what he had done and the implications of it.

“Fuck.” He cursed, but a lazy grin along with a light blush painted his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to, uh, y’know, inside of you. Shit.” Adler huffed.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” You reassured, your chest still heaving from exertion, and he practically collapsed himself next to you, pulling you to lay on his chest. Adler hummed in acknowledgement, allowing a comfortable silence to descend over the two of you.

He enjoyed a few brief moments of you sweetly thumbing over the scar on his face with one hand, while the other ran through the hair on his chest. You glanced up at him, Adler’s face looking awfully pleased with that little tumble and the strong scent of sweat, cigarettes, and some expensive cologne practically radiated off the man. This was such a sweet moment, he thought to himself, closing his eyes as he mindlessly stroked a lock of your hair.

Of course, all sweet moments had to end, though.

The door opened, and you looked over to find a certain Frank Woods gawking at the scene before him. Finding you and the man who attempted to murder you naked and wrapped in each other’s arms was evidently not on the list of sights Woods expected to see today.

“I-I, uh.” Woods stuttered, his face looking like a kind of embarrassed that was atypical of the man. “You know what? I ain’t even gonna ask why you were just fucking.” He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes from your naked figure. “Just, uh, Hudson wanted to see you, Bell.”

“Not a goddamn word, Woods.” Adler sternly pointed to Woods, using his body to cover up the parts of you that were exposed, just in case Woods decided to sneak a peek. After all, Adler had known him to be an utter horndog who apparently hadn’t had a good lay in months.

“I already told you I wasn’t gonna say anything. Just, would ya put some fucking clothes on, you two? Christ.” He said as he abruptly shut the door harshly, leaving you and Adler alone once more. You were the first to get up, sighing as you searched for your clothes that were hastily discarded on the floor.

As you were putting on the last of your clothes, Adler had apparently noticed your distraught expression on your face.

“What are you looking so sad for, Bell?” He asked. You audibly gulped, looking away from him and onto the floor, as if you were almost ashamed. "The realization and regret isn't supposed to kick in until a few hours after." Adler chuckled.

“I-I, uhm.” You stuttered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ears. “Where does this leave us?”

He thought for a moment.

“I don’t know.” Adler replied, the smile leaving his face and looking a bit puzzled as well. He pulled on the last of his clothing, buckling his belt and donning his signature brown leather jacket again. “Just come here.” You did so, and he pulled you into his arms once more, kissing the crown of your head. “I guess we can see where it takes us or we can call this a one night stand and leave each other alone. I suppose it’s all up to you and what you want.”

The idea that he would leave you alone, after all this, after everything that just happened, it was unsettling. Unbeknownst to you, however, the thought of leaving, despite his own reservations about loving someone again, hurt Adler as much as it hurt you.

“And what do you want?” You murmured into his chest.

“What I want? That’s irrelevant.” There it was, that fucking avoidance that was so infuriatingly typical of him. However, instead of ignoring it, you opted to press him further this time.

“No it’s not.” You backed away, but still held him close as you snaked your arms around his neck. “What do you want?”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope. You should know that by now.”

“That I do.” He sighed, conflict looming in his blue eyes. “I haven’t been with anyone for awhile, not since ‘77. And that was when my ex-wife divorced me.”

He so rarely ever mentioned his past, especially his ex-wife. To be truthful, the very mention of her made you a bit disdainful, even though their time had long since passed, and their time together was before Adler had even met you.

“Did you love her?” You blurted out, curiosity getting the best of you.

“Truthfully, yes. More than I had loved anyone else.” Adler pursed his lips. “Then I learned she was fucking cheating on me since our honeymoon. So, I don’t know how to trust anyone like that anymore.” He spat bitterly.

“Oh.” Was all you could say as you detached yourself from his arms, turning away from him and going to the door, looking utterly dejected. You had assumed that was your answer -- he couldn't trust you and it fucking hurt, you could feel your heart just drop. Maybe none of that really was genuine, or maybe it was but he couldn't be with you in the way you wanted. Either way, it still stung like hell, even if in your rational mind you knew it shouldn't.

But he grabbed your shoulder before you could turn the knob.

“I wasn’t rejecting you.”

#btw this is part of the series that i wanted to make into a dadler saga #sorry this is so fucking late btw #russell adler #russell adler x reader #russell adler x bell #belldler #bocw #black ops cold war #cod #call of duty #quizzy writes

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