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zepskies · 2 months ago

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Lost on You - Part 8

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: Here we go. Diving into Nicaragua, and beyond…

Song Inspo: “Who’s Crying Now” by Journey

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Violence, implied torture, heavy angst (and a twist ending).

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Part 8: For Whom the Bell Tolls

March 1984

When you got into Payback, you didn’t sign up to be part of a war. You knew you weren’t a soldier, and frankly, the rest of you had no business being here either. This was a CIA base, being run by a no-nonsense officer, Grace Mallory. You had no intention of getting in her way.

Nicaragua was hot and surrounded by jungle, not exactly conducive to a leather suit. You kept to the shade by yourself and watched Swatto, Ben, and Gunpowder makes fools of themselves after Grace tore them a new one. You respected anyone who could go toe-to-toe with Ben without even flinching, especially as a non-supe.

Then again, he had poured on his usual “charm.”

“You know, with a figure like yours, you are wasted down here,” he said.

You rolled your eyes. Grace didn't even give him the time of day. Stan chimed in, presumably to explain Vought’s apparent “partnership” with the U.S. military for this mission. Ben walked away from her, barely glancing in your direction along the way.

That suited you just fine. Things had been frosty between you two for the past month, but as long as you stayed out of his way, he didn’t butt into yours.

Days later, you wanted nothing more than to go home. Sleeping in a tent was not your bag, and especially not using the restroom outdoors. Would it be considered desertion if you booked a flight home right now?

You escaped your tent with a huff, swatting mosquitos as you went. You’d tried to take an afternoon nap, but who could sleep in this heat?

“Not exactly a luxury suite, is it?” Black Noir said. You jolted, realizing he was standing just a few feet away without his mask on. It was refreshing to see his face, but you were still a bit sour toward him.

“Oh, you’re talking to me now?�� you said dryly. You began walking toward the mess tent. Noir joined you.

“Well, it looks like you’re done playing your little game,” he said, raising his brows meaningfully at Soldier Boy. He seemed to be trying to chat up Mallory again.

Good fucking luck there, you thought. She already looked bored.

You turned to Noir with a flat look.

“We’re all playing a game, Irving. Just at different levels,” you said. “For example, what were you talking to Stan about?”

You’d seen them a couple of hours ago, hidden behind a fortified stone wall. Noir stopped walking. You were curious enough to follow suit.

“Something that could change everything for all of us,” he said. “You included.”

Your brows knitted together. “What’re you—”

Shots rang out in the clearing. Noir covered you when a grenade blasted the ground just a few feet away from you.

"You okay?" he asked in concern. You nodded shakily. He steadied you with a reassuring hold on your arms.

“Come on!” he said.

“What’s happening?” you exclaimed over the noise. You were terrified, and you definitely weren’t trained for this.

You let Noir lead you through the camp. When men in faded green uniforms came at you with guns, he took most of them out. You managed to duck under a man’s gun and touch his face, compelling him to sleep.

“There you are!” said Countess. She had the TNT Twins and Mindstorm in tow. For once, you were relieved to see them.

Finally you made it into a clearing where Ben was fighting with his shield at the ready. He punched out another enemy soldier who fell to the ground. He turned to see you, and then the others in your team beginning to surround him. You frowned in confusion and looked at Noir.

“What’re you doing?” you asked in worry. He glanced at you, but didn’t answer.

“What the fuck is this?!” Ben said angrily.

“Something we should’ve done a long time ago, you piece of shit,” Noir said, his tone icy and determined.

The TNT Twins attacked first. It managed to knock Ben to the ground. You were frozen in shock when Countess and Mindstorm joined in, along with Noir.

“Stop!” you said, but no one heard you. What the fuck is happening?!

They had Ben going for a minute, as their triple teaming managed to keep him on the ground…just not for long. With a grunt, he shoved them all away with a show of strength.

“Sirena!” Noir finally called to you, his gaze imploring you to help them.

“No, stop!” you shouted back. You couldn’t watch this fight happen again. Because this time, Ben would kill him. He’d kill all of them.

You headed for Ben and Noir, but a gloved hand stopped you. It grabbed your wrist and turned you around, right into Countess’s waiting fist. You cried out and stumbled, but you found purchase on one of the stone walls. Before you could recover, she grabbed your shoulders and kneed you hard in the stomach.

Shit… You tasted blood when you went down, heaving for breath. She packed one hell of a punch in those little gloved fists.

“Been waiting for this, bitch,” she hissed from above you.

The second she got close enough, you grabbed her by her long hair and punched her as hard as you could in that fake-ass nose. Then you kicked out with both feet into her stomach. She doubled over and fell back on her ass.

You managed to roll and stumble onto your feet. You glanced over quick and saw that Ben was beating Noir within an inch of his life.

“Ben!” you shouted, wanting to stop him, but that was when Mindstorm stepped in front of you. His eyes met yours, and it became a battle of wills as he tried to shove you deep into the darkness of your inner world.

You could play mind games too though. You fought his hold, with every scrap of your consciousness, and you even managed to take a few steps forward. If you touched him, it would be over. As a man, he wouldn’t be able to withstand your own powers.

And your plan might’ve worked, if Countess hadn’t walloped you hard from behind.

When you woke, the bare room was bright with florescent lighting and cold beyond belief. You shuddered. You were no longer wearing your supe suit. Instead, you’d been dressed in some kind of gray hospital gown and a pair of woolly socks, stripped of even your boots. At least you still had underwear.

You uncurled yourself from the thin cot you were laying on. The room held little more than a prison cot, a toilet, and a sink. You let out a shaky breath.

Where the hell…

You got up slowly, mindful of your aches and pains throughout your body. The back of your head was throbbing too, courtesy of Countess, you slowly remembered.

That fucking bitch.

There was a door with a small glass windowpane. You tried to twist the handle, but of course it wouldn’t budge. You peered out of the window and saw a long hallway. There was a door just like yours on the opposite side with a small window.

“H-Hey!” you shouted. “Is anyone there? Hello?!”

A moment later, you heard Ben say your name, calling out to you. He sounded angry, but you were close enough to sense his relief at hearing your voice. You were relieved to hear him too, at least.

“Ben!” you said, as tears sparked in your eyes. “Where the hell are we?”

“The Russians got us,” he said, though it was heavily muffled through his door and yours.

Oh shit…

“After those cocksuckers fucking betrayed me!” he shouted. You heard a banging sound, like his fist meeting the wall.

“Did you know?” he asked in anger.

“What?” you said incredulously.

“Did you fucking know what they were planning?”

You were shocked, both at his audacity, and at the way he really thought you could do that to him. To anyone.

“How can you ask me that,” you said tremulously, “when I’m the only one who tried to fucking help you?”

It finally hit you then, where you were and why this was happening. You laughed without humor, wiping manic tears from your cheeks in vain.

“Well, look where that got me,” you said. You shook your head. “God, I wish I’d never met you.”

You almost wished you could see his face. He would probably try to be stoic, but even through the walls, you sensed the discordant impact of your words. It affected him, more than he’d probably ever show.

“You’re saying this is my fucking fault?!” he said sharply.

“Yes! It is your fault. Because you’re too much of a mean, callous, arrogant, entitled, selfish, fucking asshole to see that everybody hates you!” you spat.

That fell heavily between you. You didn’t regret it. It was high time this man knew the truth, about everything.

No more games.

“Oh, really. You included, huh?” Ben said. “I didn’t do shit to you.”

You gaped. “You shoved me to ground! I had bruises for days. Or did you conveniently forget that part?”

“You got in the fucking way!” he retorted. But then, he simmered down slightly. “Besides, you know you weren’t the one I was aiming for.”

And that just reminded you of Black Noir, with no small measure of guilt, and just how badly Ben had beaten him before you two were captured. You didn’t doubt that Ben had killed him.

“But you still did it, and you couldn’t even look me in the eye and apologize, like a man,” you said. “Instead, you fucked a pack of whores.”

You shook your head and tried to calm your breathing. You wiped under your eyes.

“But I guess I did bring it on myself. I knew what you were the second I met you,” you said coldly. “In fact, the only thing I really wanted from you was what you could do for my career.”

That blow landed as well. You felt his shock, deep inside.

“Is that so?” he said, less angry then. More resigned. “It was all an act, huh?”

New tears burned in your eyes. They slid down your cheeks, one by one.

“Yeah, it was,” you said. “I fucking hope I never have to see your face again.”

With a shaky breath, you turned your back to the door and leaned against it. You ignored the painful lance in your heart that threatened to overtake you, along with your panic.

For a while, there was silence. It gave you a reprieve, but it also forced you to be alone with the tumultuous thoughts circling in your head.

Suddenly, the door opened. You backed up all the way to the far wall. In stepped a man in a gray lab coat, as well as two armed guards. One of them was holding a straitjacket.

“Good morning,” said the lab coat. His English was heavily accented. “Welcome to your new home.”

“Who are you?” You tried to sound firm and unshaken, but there was no mistaking your fear as your eyes darted from man to man.

“Eisenstein Sergei. I am a geneticist, by trade,” he said. He gestured at you with a smile that made your skin crawl. “You, beautiful one. You will be part of evolution.”

“Stay the fuck away from me,” you said, even as your voice trembled.

Eisenstein gestured at the guards, who drew near you. The second you opened your mouth to sing, to scramble their minds, one of them produced an extendable stick with an electric prod on the end. He tased you until you passed out onto the floor.

As you soon discovered, Dr. Sergei Eisenstein was fascinated by supes. He wanted to figure out how they ticked, on a molecular level. So he and his team had made a deal with Vought to acquire Soldier Boy for experimentation. You were an added bonus.

For months, the doctor and his team poked and prodded, cut and burned you, testing the limitations of your advanced healing and pushing your body often far beyond its capabilities.

But they were careful. The straitjacket ensured you couldn’t easily compel any man who drew near to work on you. They all wore gloves, so they didn’t touch your skin. In some ways, their wariness was to your benefit. You were always gagged when they worked on you though, so you couldn’t sing. Eisenstein also once threatened to paralyze your vocal cords if you tried. You were too afraid to tempt him.

As rough as you had it, you were sure it was only scratching the surface of what they did to Ben.

The man was stronger, more durable. The doctor had more leeway to play with him, knowing his toy wouldn’t break.

They now kept him on the other end of the compound, since he’d broken through his first containment unit. They had gassed him with something that made him drop like a stone, putting him to sleep. You weren’t sure what was powerful enough to do it, but you didn’t want to find out.

The first time you heard him screaming, it brought tears stinging in your eyes. Your lips had trembled, and you’d rocked yourself in your cot. You couldn’t help him, let alone yourself. You were surprised to realize that you wanted to help him, even after everything he did to you—after everything you’d seen him do.

It slowly made you realize the truth in your own heart; things you hadn’t wanted to take out and examine, like muddy glass after a storm. Now, with the debris washed away, you could see what you had become, and what all your work, your scraping, your lies and manipulations had gotten you.

Nothing.

It also made you realize that you weren’t as good of a liar as you thought you were. At least, not to yourself. Not when you remembered the quiet moments between you and Ben; the times you wordlessly craved each other’s company, and you laid tucked against his side on the couch with a book while he watched a football game. Or late at night, the times when you gave into sharing a bed with him, and he stared up at the ceiling with a blunt in hand, the two of you lying naked and talking about everything and nothing until you feel asleep.

Yes, you remembered blood and violence, callousness and cruelty toward Noir and the rest of the team. You knew that was who Soldier Boy was. That was Ben.

It was just hard to reconcile that monster with the man you’d come to know. The man who actually tried to comfort you, even though you hadn’t wanted to be comforted after that accident with a Crimson Countess fan. The man who saved you after you were beaten by a thug, and nearly worse. The man who could be funny, and charming, with hints of gentleness and affection in between.

You supposed you would never know what part of him was real.

But most of all, you remembered the things you’d said to him. You surprised yourself by feeling pinprick needles of guilt up and down your spine.

“I hope I never have to see your face again.”

You had a feeling that you’d get your wish.

It was six months in before Eisenstein experimented with the first serum. You vomited blood.

It took his team three more years to revise.

You started to hear voices in your head, snippets of thought instead of just sensing energies. You lied to the scientists, keeping the knowledge to yourself. They had no way to know, so why give them more ammunition against you?

The thoughts you heard were always male, whoever was in close proximity. Your powers seemed to translate them into English, but you almost preferred it to be gibberish. Mostly the thoughts were bland, disgusting, or cold and frightening in their scientific detachment, and even their entertainment…mostly when they worked on Ben.

It made you sick. You wished you could reach out to him, if just for someone familiar to talk to. You hadn’t learned how to do that just yet. You didn’t even know if you could. You were still figuring out how to just tune it all out when you were sick of the chatter.

Regardless, they kept him too far away, so you rarely heard his thoughts. When you did, they were mostly angry and murderous. You couldn’t blame him.

Sometimes, just being able to feel his presence, hearing the scraps of his thoughts was enough.

You were left entirely alone with your own.

April 3, 1994

You read the date on the magazine they’d brought for you with bland porridge for breakfast. The publication was in Russian, but you’d begun to pick up on certain words they said, and on the structure of numbers you saw them scribble in their notes.

Ten years. You really couldn’t fathom it. It didn’t feel real…

Well, actually, it did today. You were almost done with the porridge when the doctor and three guards came in, one with your usual straitjacket.

“Finished then?” Eisenstein asked, nodding at your near empty bowl. “Good. Get her up.”

The command was in Russian, but by now you understood it. You still struggled. You always did. It was no use though. Soon they had you fitted in the jacket and a gag tight around your mouth, with just a couple of cattle prod stings to your side.

They dragged you down the hall farther than usual. You were confused when they passed the usual lab they so often took you to. Instead, Eisenstein opened a metal door.

Inside the room was Ben, strapped to a metal slab against the wall. He was bound in every way, and fully naked. He also had a long, unkempt beard, but you’d recognize that face even in your sleep. Your eyes widened when you met his, your breath caught in your throat. His face slackened in surprise as well.

You hadn’t seen him since before the beginning of the nightmare.

He’d barely aged at all.

The spell of it broke when you were slammed down onto a cold, shiny table. It felt hard as titanium, and you cried out at the impact.

You managed to raise your head. “Ben!”

It was muffled through the gag, but you knew he understood you. His brows furrowed. He looked up at Eisenstein in a glare.

“What the fuck is this?”

The doctor held a glass syringe in his gloved hand. He drew closer to you with slow, measured steps.

“You have impenetrable skin, yes? Hard, like a diamond,” he said to Ben. “Even inside your holes, it is…perhaps more sensitive, but still strong enough to stop further experimentation.”

Ben’s lip curled with a sneer.

“But there must be a way to get inside you,” Eisenstein said. He grabbed the back of your neck tightly, making you whimper. He held up the syringe. “Tell me now, or I will give her the serum we had prepared for you. There is good chance it may…let’s say, liquify her insides, but we will have to see. Won’t we?”

He gestured at one of the guards, who tore open the back of your gray gown to expose your back and shoulders. You screamed around the gag and struggled, even with the men holding you down. You fought Eisenstein’s grip to look up at Ben. His jaw was clenched, his eyes hard and angry.

You had tears in your eyes; they already began to slip down your cheeks. You implored him wordlessly. Ben stared back at you through furrowed brows.

Getting nothing but silence, Eisenstein sighed through his nose, and he turned to you with the syringe.

“Hold her steady.”

You struggled and thrashed in vain.

“Wait!” Ben said, through clenched teeth.

Everyone in the room paused.

Ben lifted his gaze from you and directed it at the doctor.

“My eye,” he said lowly. “Inject it in the corner of my eye.”

Eisenstein’s weathered face broke into a smile. “Ah, clever. Thank you, Soldier Boy.”

Then he pressed the needle into your shoulder, emptying its contents into your bloodstream. You uttered a pained sound at the needle going in. Again, you looked up at Ben in panic.

He tensed in an incredulous anger. “What—”

“Do not worry. It’s just a sedative,” Eisenstein shrugged.

Within seconds, you breathed out a whimper as your eyes closed on you. You went limp. The guards peeled you off the table and dragged you out of the room. It left the doctor with his favorite patient.

Ben wanted to rip the man’s arm from his socket and beat him to death with it. And that was just the latest fantasy on how he’d take the good doctor apart.

“What’ve you been doing to her?” Ben asked, in a tone that demanded. It was the first time he had spoken of you, the first time he had the courage to ask the question that so often plagued his mind.

Eisenstein sighed. “She is not as strong or durable as you, but! She has been able to withstand a good many experiments that have borne fruit.”

Ben’s glare darkened. “You’re a sick fucking bastard.”

“I am a visionary,” the doctor countered. “Can you imagine what your mutations could unlock for science? In biomedicine? Her healing abilities, though limited, could provide the cure to any number of diseases and ailments. Your longevity of life could do the same… Or if not, you will make for Russia’s greatest weapon.”

He stepped back and ushered in his assistants. One of them came with the true serum. Its contents had a light red hue. It looked like poison. Ben struggled in his constraints, grunting and resisting the hand that reached for his face.

“If you do not stay still, we will go to her next,” Eisenstein warned.

Ben panted through his nose. His hardened gaze flicked between the doctor, and the needle coming for his eye.

You heard Ben screaming before you could even open your eyes. You felt it in your chest. In your spirit.

He saved me, you realized, as tears once again stung behind your eyelids.

You also tasted cotton in your mouth. You realized it was because they had thrown you face-first onto your cot. You managed to turn your head so you at least could breathe, but you couldn’t move any of your limbs. Your enhanced healing was the only reason why you were even awake.

Ben…

He broke free.

The pain was too much. Adrenaline was surging through him, and he was able to grab one of the assistants and crush his throat. His furious gaze was set on Eisenstein next, but the fucker ducked out of the room quick.

Ben padded forward on slightly unsteady feet, ripping away the rest of his restraints from the cold metal. He stalked toward the door. Before he could reach it, a hissing plume of Novichok gas flooded the entire cell.

His eyes rolled up into his head, and he fell to the ground. All the while, the serum was working inside him, bubbling and brewing red hot in his chest.

You were lying unmoving in your cot when Eisenstein came in to check on you.

“How is the little bird, doing?” he asked in his native tongue.

He ventured over to you carefully. In one of his hands was a cattle prod, just in case.

“They were careless,” he remarked. He set down the cattle prod to grasp your shoulders, and he rearranged you until you were lying on your back. You were still unresponsive, when the doctor knew for a fact that you should be awake by now. He had your reaction times to certain chemicals perfected to the minute.

He frowned and reached out to hold a gloved finger to your neck, measuring your pulse.

That was when you opened your eyes.

You raised up and headbutted him as hard as you could. Eisenstein cried out and fell to the ground. You followed him there and straddled him. Your hands were still bound by the straitjacket, so you had no choice.

You bent down and distracted him with a disdainful kiss to his lips.

When you next open your eyes, they were glowing violet.

You took control of his mind.

AN: 😬😬😬

Also, get ready for a whopper of a chapter in Part 9. (My favorite one of the series!)

Next Time:

Free me, you compelled Eisenstein’s mind.

He obeyed you with a vacant look in his eyes. He unhooked your straitjacket and opened the door. After you grabbed up his cattle prod, you still didn’t release your psychic hold. You ordered him forward, and for the first time you walked freely out of your cell without restraint.

Take me to Soldier Boy.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 9

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saturnville · 4 months ago

Text

…stays in madrid [2/2]

pairing: jude bellingham x black oc (naomi sinclair) summary: what happens in madrid… warnings: small small reference to sex. tags: @emjayewrites @cocobutterqwueen @neeville @neewrites @blueaetherr @vile-harlot + anyone else who likes football fics? let me know if you want to be added! an: love naomi and jude down bad.

fc: renee downer

part one: what happens in madrid

1 year later.

She received an offer. To start a career in a new city—Madrid. To network with the most experienced and knowledgeable fashion. icons, to hone in on her craft of designing, to get one step closer to creating her own brand. She received an offer to be an Associate Director of Development and Design and she took it.

At the first opportunity, she packed her degree, all her belongings, sold her home, and jetted to Madrid on the first available flight. There, she was greeted with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine on her kitchen island in the center of her new condo.

Congratulations, it read. I’m so proud of you and all you’ve done. I hope you enjoy Madrid as your home. Can’t wait to see you. Xx Jude.

Naomi smiled softly. Still as sweet as he was a year ago when he desired her attention. She brought the bouquet to her nose and inhaled softly. The scent of tulips would never get old. She made a mental note to keep flowers in the kitchen as frequently as she could.

Naomi spent the next few hours unpacking and organizing her home. By the time she’d come to a reasonable stopping point, her bedroom and bathroom had been unpacked and organized. Her kitchen and living room required some work, but they would be priority for later.

She huffed and prepared to sit on the edge of the bed but was halted in action by a loud knock on her door. Naomi whined loudly and clenched her teeth. With her feet planted firmly, she rolled her shoulders bag and trudged toward the door. 9:42pm. Who could…?

“Fix your face,” she heard once she opened the door. Her features immediately softened, her shoulders relaxed, and her eyes lit up. On the other side of the door was Jude, leaned up against the doorframe, another bouquet of flowers in one hand while a large backpack occupied the other. “Can’t be that upset to see me, can you?”

Naomi smiled softly and ushered him in. Jude nodded as he glanced around her apartment in approval. Proud was an understatement. She’d done the damn thing and he couldn’t have been happier for her. “Looks good, babe. You need help with anything?” Jude hardly emptied his hands before Naomi’s chest was pressed against his and her lips claimed his. His large hands circled around her waist and snuck downward to caress her bottom. She smiled against his lips. Three months was too long without him, and now, she’d see him almost everyday.

“Not right now,” she said once she pulled away. Her thumb caressed his face in endearment. She wiped away the remnants of her lip gloss and giggled. “Thank you for coming. I wasn’t expecting you until later this week.”

Jude shook his head. “My girl’s in Madrid and you thought I wasn’t coming today?” He blew a raspberry and waved her off. Naomi held her hands up in faux defense, “Alright now, Mr. Bellingham.”

“You eat?” he asked, sauntering to the counter top. Naomi shook her head. He began to dig into the backpack and pulled out containers of food—a variety to choose from. And of course, her favorite wine along with chocolate and packs of popcorn. “Jude…”

He was just so him. So considerate and kind. So generous and lovely. Her eyes began to water. Who would’ve known that the man who approached her a year ago at a dinner would be in her new home wining and dining her. Blessed couldn’t even describe how she felt.

“You’re amazing. Thank you,” Naomi said, wrapping her arms around his waist. Jude pressed his lips against her forehead, his heart fluttering at her touch. “Gonna take a shower. Did you bring clothes?”

Jude nodded, his stomach clenching. “Yeah, why, what’s up?”

Naomi pulled away and raised her eyebrow suggestively. Jude smiled softly and tapped her bottom as he followed her to her bedroom. “Yes ma’am.”

“Right there, baby?” His warm breath tickled her ear and scratched at her insides. Speechless. How had she never known the beauty of making love? It was so rich and warm. Maybe it was because of his gentleness and patience.

The way he caressed her so softly, encouraged her so boldly, and expressed his adoration so freely, had her mind going in circles. How had she gotten so lucky?

Her words were gargled as she tried to make out a simple statement. He found amusement in her struggle. She swallowed thickly. “Yeah, right there…”

Liked by judebellingham, adyajalyn, alexandraaaaa, and 789 others.

naomisinclair from madrid, with love.

View 167 comments.

jobebellingham get a room. jk love u

— naomisinclair love u dork

adyajalyn miss you already

— naomisinclair i miss u more. come visit soon

justineskye so happy for you!

— naomisinclair i’m gagged. thank you!!!

judebellingham i love you

— naomisinclair i love you more

judebellingham liked your comment!

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Jude whispered. “I know you’re not here for me, but you being here means everything to me.”

Naomi smiled. She placed her food on the bedside table and threw her arms over his body. “I’m glad I’m here too. I love you.”

Jude seared his lips against hers. To be close to her was everything. To know her was a privilege. One that he’d never take for granted. Ever. “I love you.”

#saturnville #black!reader #black reader #original writing #original content #jude bellingham fanfic #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham x you #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham x black!reader #jude bellingham x black reader #jude bellingham #jude bellingham x black oc #jude belling x oc #footballer x reader

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buckys-little-belle · 4 months ago

Note

can u do the marauders with a little who has a stuffy and it got ripped? my bunny got ripped a few days ago and im really sad about it!

Broken Bunny

Marauders (Sirius, Remus, James) x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns Used)

Warnings - Talks about an injured stuffed animal, use of needle and thread to sew, use of 'Daddy' 'Papa' and 'Bubby', lots of tears, lots of fluff, the boys being sweet caretakers to both their bunny and their bunny's bunny

Notes - This is short ... No one's surprised lol.

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

. ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ .

"Daddy." Y/n whispered to Sirius, trying to to disrupt Remus and James' study session across the room.

"Yes, Bunny." Sirius smiled, running a hand over Y/n's head, noticing the tears falling down their cheeks. "What's wrong, My love?" He began to look them over for any injuries, though he doubted that was the case as Y/n had been napping for the past hour.

"I woke up an' bunny is ripped." They sobbed quietly. Their back was facing the two other boys, but they noticed the shake of their shoulders and the worried look plastered on Sirius' face. "I don' know what t' do." They pouted, holding their bunny with gentle hands, careful to not touch the loose stitches on it's leg.

"It's a good thing Papa knows how to sew, huh?" Sirius answered, a soft smile sent Y/n's way, hoping it would help calm them down.

Y/n turned to see both Remus and James already clearing the desk, a small sewing kit placed on the table, and a blanket folded in the center. "I din' mean to bother you." Y/n cried harder, watching as the boys got things all set up.

"You didn't bother us, Bunny." James wrapped Y/n up in a hug, his hands rubbing soothing circles on their back. "What are Bubbies for if not emergency Bunny surgery?" He smiled, taking the bunny from Y/n's hand and placing it on the blanket covered table. "I'll be assisting our doctor, Mr Papa today." He said in a silly voice, making Y/n giggle through their tears.

"Please take a seat, Miss Bunny." Remus said, pulling out the desk chair for them.

The surgery was quick and easy, Remus leaned over Y/n as he carefully stitched the leg's seam back together. The cream coloured thread blending in with the Bunny's fur perfectly. With a finishing knot and a kiss to the healed boo boo, Bunny was handed back.

"Thank you Papa." Y/n smiled, tears now dried, a soft smile plastered on their face as they snuggled their stuffed animal.

"Let's remember to finish our manners." Remus said, giving Y/n a soft but firm look.

"Thank you Daddy, and thank you Bubby." They raced to give both boys a big hug, finally settling into Remus' side as he sat on his bed.

"I think it's time for bed, hm?" Sirius smiled, turning off some lights and getting dressed for bed.

"I'm not sleepy." Y/n yawned, the energy they used up worrying over their bunny clearly coming to bite them in the back. "Maybe jus' a little." They smiled, their cheeks heating up in embarrassment.

#buckys little belle #anon #age regression #age regression fic #little!reader #marauders x little!reader #marauders x reader #james potter x little!reader #james x little!reader #james x little reader #sirius x little reader #sirius x little!reader #sirius black x little!reader #remus x little reader #remus lupin x little!reader #remus x little!reader #remus lupin x little reader

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adlers-left-hand-dude · 5 days ago

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I feel like Russell Adler is the kind of guy to listen to music like led Zeppelin and Metallica but also secretly love ABBA

#Russell Adler x reader #Russell Adler #black ops 6 #Russell Adler x bell #Russell Adler x case #Metallica #led Zeppelin #ABBA #bo6 #cod bo6

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djloveyou3000 · 8 days ago

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Honestly I’m shocked that there is no fanfics of Adler and Felix I remember when modern warfare came out the ghost and konig x reader would come out in seconds

#russell adler #call of duty #russell adler x bell #russell adler x reader #felix neumann x reader #felix neumann #black ops 6 #simon riley #konig #konig x reader #simom riley x reader #ghost x reader

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callmelitlesunshine · 28 days ago

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Love for two

Russell Adler x f!Bell

Is a man so devoted to his job capable of love? Can he feel anything if he's as cold as ice all the time?

Hell yeah. And Bell realized that a long time ago. But Adler isn't always ready to show it. Only in moments when none of their mutual colleagues will notice. Besides, romantic relationships between CIA agents can lead to unpleasant consequences. He doesn't want any problems. For everyone else, they're just work partners who happen to work together. Outside the CIA, they're everything to each other. Russ is always serious at work. Sometimes, Bell thinks he's not even capable of sudden tenderness. But these thoughts quickly disappear when she finds another small note with a few words on her desk. "Don't forget to have lunch. - A." He probably slipped it in as he passed by and did it discreetly, as befits a real spy. The inscription is strict, without unnecessary symbols. This is how he shows concern. But Bell doesn’t need more. Sometimes he looks at her from across the office from under his favorite glasses, watching how diligently she writes down information or says something in front of the whole team. At this moment, he regrets that he cannot hug her right now and freeze in this moment. He wants to keep her close as long as possible. When the day comes to an end, they leave the CIA building one after another, carefully so as not to arouse suspicion. As soon as the door of their recently shared home closes, he will do everything he wanted at work, but could not afford. Words and touches. Gentle kisses on the neck, strong hugs. Bell will reciprocate every action, because she was waiting for it just as much as he was. Hell yeah, he can love. And he will share this love only with her.

I couldn't participate in any of the October challenges, but I've been wanting to rewrite this fanfic for a long time! Also i made a new moodboard for Adler x Bell in time after BOCW events 👀

Hope you like it!

Taglist [in/out]: @that1avian @gerdi-mitchell @mutantthedark @adlerdaduck @carlosoliveiraa @adlerboi

@tommyarashikage @alexxmason @hehehuhu490 @violetflavia @courtana

@iamcautiouslyoptimistic @sergeiravenov @pricescigar @ladysouthpaw1213

@drug-overdose @guigz1-coldwar @kings-out-of-pocket-hell @lordskellington003

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dearlydevoured · 9 days ago

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any thoughts or hc’s on adler?? he’s fr taken over my mind

i love adler so much. i liked his character but i wasn’t very attracted to him the first few times i played cold war. he has grown on me, though! — as for thoughts, i have a fixation on adler lighting cigarettes for people. i don’t know when it began or why but i’ve been thinking about it and the scene with woods has fueled it. i didn’t proofread this, fair warning!

for example, bell! reader — i think constantly about how he’d give you a cigarette from his pack, and despite being down to his last two, he’d reluctantly let it go. the way you would put it between your pretty lips, searching for the cheap lighter you bought that had started to go to shit after a few uses. the seconds stretched uncomfortably long, enough to make adler hesitate on putting his own lighter back. you could’ve sworn it was in your pocket, your gloved hands continuing to tap your pockets with the cig barely hanging on your bottom lip. “need a light?” and you’d happily accept without a second thought, leaning over and looking up at him with such a soft, thankful expression. it’s adler, he’s your friend and colleague, right? you would try to think of another time he’d lit a cigarette for you but it felt too foggy, barely remembering a time he even gave you a cigarette. must be all the exhaustion.

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butterfly-stitches · 2 months ago

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AMERICAN DREAMING.

[ Explicit MDNI ]

AO3

Pairings: Russell Adler / Bell, Russell Adler / Reader Russell Adler & Bell, Russell Adler & Reader Ensemble: Russell Adler, Bell (Call of Duty), Female!Bell, Reader

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence ☁️ Major Character Death ☁️ Memory Loss ☁️ False Memories ☁️ Brainwashing ☁️ Past Brainwashing ☁️ Identity Issues ☁️ Loss of Identity ☁️ Depression ☁️ Dissociation ☁️ Psychological Trauma ☁️ Medical Trauma ☁️ Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD ☁️ Flashbacks ☁️ Stockholm Syndrome ☁️ Hurt/Comfort ☁️ Hurt No Comfort ☁️ Sad Ending ☁️ Character Death ☁️ Older Man/Younger Woman ☁️ Parenthood ☁️ Family Dynamics ☁️ Family Bonding ☁️ Made For Each Other ☁️ Oral Sex ☁️ Penis In Vagina Sex ☁️ POV Second Person > Other Additional Tags to Be Added <

Synopsis: Life is but a dream… Fleeting, inconsequential. A stone unburdened by the snowfall of winter and snowmelt of spring. Like a river it flowed, a surging tributary of memory and memoir. Ever going, never ceasing. But to you, life was not fleeting nor inconsequential. Life was not dreamlike. To live, was to suffer. To suffer, was to live.

-----------------------------------

Chapter 1: reality, reverie.

Words: 20,020 Chapters: 1/1 Summary: In which you face reality and reverie …

Something wasn’t right.

Even in the embrace of sleep, just on the verge of consciousness, you could tell. Warm, comfortable. Cozy even, and… safe. That alone made you stir, shifting against the confines of something that held you close. Too close. Restrictive, digging into your skin. Suffocated you. Drowning, you were drowning. No, you were being dragged underneath the water. Again, you stirred. Struggled against the hold. Again and again. But to no end, as you were only being dragged down further into dark waters. Still, you fought against the restraints you couldn’t see. Freeing within yourself a sudden violence armed with teeth and claws. A trapped, aggressive beast awakened after all this time.

You fought. Fought hard, fought strong and desperately. But, it still wasn’t enough to free yourself. Further and further, like deadweight, a stone thrown into a lake, you free fall into the deep, dark depths below. Light above you, fading away in the darkness. Your lungs burned, nostrils flared. Everything in you, ached for oxygen, choking for air. Pressure built into your chest, heavier and heavier, threatening to split your ribcage open. Screams silenced by water, your mouth filling with water. Air bubbles escaped your open maw, your frantic releases of breath leaving an effervesced trail as you sunk. Buried in a watery grave, pressurized and all consuming. Death was slow. Your death was inevitable like grave soil being thrown over your coffin.

Your sight blackened but you thrashed about still, screaming and fighting in the throes of inevitable death. Then you heard it. A symphony of sounds, echoing like a whale song. Cacophonous and jarring as it reverberated in your bones and repeated in your head. An evocative vocalization that you began to understand, to recognize. It called to you, spoke a name. ‘Bell, Bell, Bell’ it said, repeating over and over like a mantra. From a voice that you knew wholeheartedly, deep down in the intertwisted threads of the tapestry of soul and flesh. Something reached for you, strong against your skin. Pulling you up and out of the water. You jolted awake. Bleary-eyed and fearful. Everything around you was but a blur of colors and shapes. A warbling in waterlogged ears, a chorus of inharmonious noise.

Your world was rendered all but a kaleidoscope of sight and sound. A clarity absent to your senses and sensibilities. But touch, though averse and scarce, was not beyond you. It was a deliberate feeling that you focused on, even as your body ached like sunken stones. Something held you down still, something tangled around your body, constricting like a boa. The hold you felt was trapping, capturing. Freedom revoked. It made you start to panic, fighting against its hold again. That viciousness returned like a cornered animal. All tooth and claw. Running on survival, guided by a pure instinctual reaction.

“Bell!”

At that name, at the voice in your ear, you immediately stilled. Chest heaving with your heavy intakes of air. There was something solid behind you, holding you tight against it. A respiring that matched your own until it synced with you. Something that was living, breathing. All blood, bone and skin just like you. A warmth emanated into you, one that you couldn’t help but indulge in. You were shivering, all shaking bones, quivering lips and sheened with cold perspiration. In the lingering feeling of being underwater. Doused in freezing water.

With a stuttering breath, you leaned back into a wide chest, the weight of burly arms around you providing you a heaviness that was more comforting than it was tenacious. Like the singing of a mother after a nightmare. It brought you back down within the gravity of reality, the weight of the world settling onto you. And you felt yourself relax. All fight leaving you as you fell limp against the person holding you. Racing hearts beat into a slow thrum. Skin pressed into skin, your shaking gone. Your sight began to clear, the instinctual takeover of your brain waning away like fog over a harbor with the onset of sunrise. Yet even then… you were still held, embraced. Allowed you the time to adjust, to process your surroundings. To recognize the illusions of dreamscape, the falsehood of truth in the face of actuality.

You were in unfamiliar surroundings. In a bright bedroom, on a bed. Early morning sun peeking through the window curtains behind you, streaked across the white wall in front of you; streams of sunlight washing over the room and onto your body. The sheets beneath you stuck to your clammy skin, your thin nightgown like a second skin. Duvet tossed away, a throw blanket tangled around your legs. The warbling in your ears, nothing but birdsong. That voice in your head, belonged to the body behind you. Who had you in their arms, limbs around your own.

You took a breath, inhaling. Smelt the familiar scent of salted skin and a faint musk. Deep like leather and aftershave. Cedarwood and bergamot; a rich smokiness that filled your lungs. Though comforting, evoking a sudden feeling of safety, such a scent was like smelling salts to your disoriented mind. You were wide awake now, though still uncertain if not confused. A sudden soft yet loud banging on wood, and you instantly recoiled, tensing up with panic. Your eyes darted to the door along the wall you faced. Fight-or-flight response started to take hold again. A firm squeeze of arms around you and you leave the trap of your mind, of your ingrained instincts, even as the banging on the door continued, voices calling on the other side.

“Bell.” The person behind you said, warm breath against your neck. A word that made you attentive, responsive. It was spoken firmly, yet gentle. You focused on the voice, the body pressed against yours. Coming down from your panic attack as you calmed down. Breathing slowed but your body still tensed by the noise, alarmed. Gradually and gingerly, you were released. The body pressed into yours moved away, the warmth at your back disappearing. In the blur of the sun, you watched as the person entered your sight, heading towards the door. A man; tall, wide-shouldered and bare-chested. Disheveled hair shimmered like gold. The expanse of a broad, muscled back tensed as he turned around.

You watched as he opened the door. Slow and careful. Using his body to block the opening from the voices on the other side as if to protect you, hide you away from prying eyes. As if the voices would burst through the door forcefully. It seemed like that rang true, was an expectation, as something did try to dart inside only to be stopped by the man. Whatever it was that wanted in, protested, verbalized their displeasure at him. But the man was adamant with his tone, assertive with his position. Yet just as gentle as his words were with you. Hushed voices, questions answered briefly, low spoken words. Too quiet for you to overhear. Whatever the man had said to them seemed to work as the voices quieted and silhouettes disappeared from the doorway and the pattering of feet sounded down the hall.

Running a hand down his face, the man closed the door, making sure to lock it. He turned, eyes glancing at your rising form before he dipped away into a side room. You heard the rush of water from a sink and less than a minute later, heavy footsteps on the carpet towards your side of the bed. You straightened up as he stood over you, something in his hand and you reacted. Scooted backwards, clawing at the sheets in an attempt to escape. Kicked out your legs as the man reached over, the beginning of a scream forming in your abraded throat.

“You need to calm down.”

But you couldn’t. Violence was all you knew, all you were. A wild animal deep down inside, hidden behind the façade of domestication and domesticity.

“Bell.”

A pet’s name, a moniker he saddled upon you. Straining at the leash to get away, you crawled further to the other side of the bed, on his side of the bed. The warmth from his body still radiating from his spot, seeping into you as your palms tightened around the sheets. He gave you a disapproving look as if you were nothing more than a misbehaving dog — his disobedient pet. One he was determined to bring back to heel. Your eyes were on him as he slowly sat on the edge of the bed, opposite of you, the mattress dipping with his weight. He held a damp towel in his hands, showing it to you. Letting you know what he had was innocuous. But you remained in your far corner, unconvinced.

You studied him from afar, watching every little movement of his. Anything to signal danger and warrant a reaction from you. He was patient nonetheless. But something in you knew that wasn’t typical, accustomed to his persistent, proactive nature. A go-getter who was on the verge of fanatical and obsessional in his pursuits. But the longer you watched him, stared at him. The more you wracked around your brain. The more you became nostalgic. A remembrance tingled in the back of your head. He was no stranger to you. No threat.

He read you easily it seemed. Called out for you again. Bell . Your name on his tongue, a gentleness, a fondness just for you. You only watched as he reached forward to you, for you. You were face-to-face now as he settled next to you. In the sun, in the warm glow of the early morning, you saw him for who he was. Who you remembered. His name was on the tip of your tongue. You searched his face; all scar-faced, square-jawed, stone-faced, and blue-eyed features of him.

“Adler.” You whispered.

He pressed the damp towel to your forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat. The sudden coolness made you flinch. You tried to move from it, but his hand went to your chin. Held it firm, keeping your head still as he tapped it along your brow.

“Adler.” You said again, more to yourself than anything.

He stopped, mouth pressed into a line as sharp eyes flicked down to you. You went slack in his grip, eyes fluttering. You pressed yourself into his body, tucking your head underneath his chin. Though he was surprised by it, Adler didn't protest. He wrapped his arms around you, your face in the crook of his neck. Taking in the smell of him greedily. Adler pulled you down with him, onto the bed. Broken memories played, too quick to grasp, too minimal comprehend but enough to give rise to some sort of response. An ache in your chest, conflicting emotions. But above all else, you clung to the arms around you. The only thing that gave you a sense of solidity, of feeling real. Your name again spoke above you, into your hair, and Adler pulled away slightly, looking down at you as he rose up, pulling you with him. With you still curled into his chest.

“You need to take your medication.”

You only pressed yourself harder into his chest, the speckling of hair there scratched against your cheek with your nuzzling.

“Bell.”

Gently, Adler pried you away. A hand on your shoulder, as he held you inches from himself. Dark blue eyes on your face. Whatever he saw there, whatever expression you showed, made his eyes narrow and his mouth twist.

“Your medication. You need to take it.”

You blinked up at him, processing what he said. From his slow unfurling palm, he revealed a capped syringe. An unknown liquid in its barrel. Your eyes widened, panic coming once again as alarms bells blared in your head. Realizing that he had hidden it underneath the towel, right underneath your nose. Like a dog’s medicine hid within a treat. Betrayal simmered, over the fear. And his face hardened at your realization.

“Focus, Bell. I need you to focus.”

Your eyes flicked to him, then back down to the syringe in his hand. Inattentive, unsure. Your mind fought against itself. Trust and mistrust, a cocktail like oil and water in your mind. His hand gripped your shoulder harder, nails into your skin as you began to pull back. Cowering from the raised hand holding your medication. Memories again, more debilitating than before. They played like a broken cassette tape in your head, experiencing them again as if renewed, reimagined. A touch of death that stained you, a resuscitation that saved you. Blood on your tongue, swollen nose seeping into your mouth — bleeding wounds.

Metal chairs, gurneys. Interrogation rooms, your reflection — bloodied and bruised — stared back at you in the dark glass. Red, white and blue. The national colors of bloodletting, of broken bones, of sorrow sown. Threats and questions. Questions you refused, threats you disregarded. Drowning, you were drowning like before. Dragged forcefully underneath dark waters, swallowing you whole. A drumming noise inside your head, a ringing in your ear. The water didn't drown it out, only amplified the overwhelming din and it only grew louder and louder inside your pounding head.

A sudden sharp pressure in your eye socket and you squirmed against the person that held you down. Your eyelid forced open as it slowly sunk into your cerebral. You grit your teeth, grinding your jaw against your molars. Then you screamed but you were soundless; mouth opened in a voiceless wail. As quickly as it came, the sensation subsided and the needle was carefully pulled from your cornea. The afflicted eye stung from the intravitreal injection. Then, a strange tranquility befell you, reined you in. Stopped your aggression. A calloused hand cupped your face softly, turning your head to the side. A worried look on his face as Adler scrutinized where the needle went into your eye, the needle just missing the blood vessels from all your movement.

His sweaty body was over you, you soon noticed. Panting down on you with uneven breaths. His other hand held your arms across your chest, his legs tangled with yours. Keeping them pinned to stop you from thrashing and kicking out at him. Adler moved away as you came to, giving you space. Letting you rise up on your own. He sat back, moving to the other side of the bed again, watching you intently from the distance he put between you two. You, yourself, took deep breaths, trying to steady your breathing and slow your rising pulse. A heavy silence waned in the bedroom, the mingled heavy breathing of both you and Adler was the only sound in the bed space. The morning sun sat higher in the sky now, shining down harder in the room, and onto you both. Noises outside the bedroom, more voices and a pattering of feet. A restlessness that beckoned you towards it. You turned towards Adler, who met your eyes. His body leaned forward, his hand reached out slow and onto your bare knee. And squeezed it.

“Bell.” Your eyes rose from his hand on your knee, to his face. Focusing on him.

The next words that he spoke, made you falter. A strange conglomerate of distant phonics, of harsh sounding syllables. A Slavic language. One that made your ears perk up, though you struggled to understand what he was saying to you. But it wasn’t foreign to you, you knew it deep down inside. You could feel the rhythm of the language. It thrummed in you, spoke to the blood that rushed into your veins. Russian . You could speak it naturally, fluently. Your mouth opened, lips dry and throat raspy. Tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. Questions existing, but words were lost to you. Adler stood from the bed, walking back into the bathroom. He returned with a disposable paper cup full of water, a couple of pills in his hand.

“Pain relievers.” He explained in Russian, answering the questioning look you gave him.

You took them from him, making a show of swallowing them down as he watched you take mouthfuls of the cool water. When you drank all the water in the cup, he left to fill it up again. And you gulped it all down, your parched mouth and dry throat relieved by the drink. He took the cup from you when you were satisfied, setting it on the nightstand next to him. You both stared silently at each other, things unspoken. What transpired weighed down heavily on the both of you. Your gaze flicked down from his face, to his scarred lips, down to his chest, to his arms. Wholly taking in the sight of him. An awful realization and then sudden shamefulness overcame you as you tore your eyes away, to the hands in your lap. He scooted closer to you and you met his eyes again, admiring the blue of them. But you couldn’t help it when your eyes wandered back to the marks that littered all on his skin. Red welts and scratches, bumps and bruises forming. All by you.

“I’m sorry.” The apology was rough sounding still, Russian wobbly on your tongue.

Adler hummed. Letting your fingers trace along all the marks on his chest, around the dried blood of crescent marks of his arms when your nails had dug into them. All the way to the small bruises and finally to a bite mark on his wrist.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” You told him.

“ I know .” He reassured, his chest rumbling as he let out a soft hum. Your fingers traced back up to his face, lingering over the deep trenches of a lightning strike scar, and stopping to a contusion forming on the underside of his strong jaw. Your fingertips ghosted over it in your studying.

“Haven’t gotten hit like that in a while.”

You knew it was an attempt to lighten the mood, but you couldn’t help but let it wound you. Deflated, you tried to move and pull your hand away from his jaw but his hand was quick to clasp over your own. So easily Adler enveloped it entirely, holding both against his bruising jaw. Yet you still couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Bell.”

Back to English now, as he intertwined your fingers together, moving both your hands from his jaw to his rough lips. Turning them, to kiss the back of your knuckles. But something else caught your scrying eyes, marks on your own skin. All over your arms. Scratches and welts similar to the ones on the man in front of you. All from yourself, all self-afflicted.

Silently, Adler cleaned up your scratches and cuts. You didn’t flinch as he did. Unfazed by the cold sting of the cotton ball across them. Soaked in disinfectant that he pulled from the first aid kit, retrieved from underneath the bathroom sink moments ago. You watched him care for you, inspecting each inch of skin, and tend to your wounds. So attentively, so… lovingly . That realization made something stir within you, in the confines of a twisted soul. Deep seated, deep rooted. Bile rose in your throat. Wrong, this was all wrong. It wasn’t right. Wrongness you felt underneath it all. By the way your skin crawled, the hair on your nape standing on ends, and muscles tensed up. Fight or flight instinct on overdrive.

D̷̡̫̯̪̺͚̬̥̘̭̻͈̼̐͌͒o̷̹̻͚͔͇̠̓͛̉̂͐̿̐̔̒̈́̚͜͠͝͝ ̵̨̱̬̰̰̺̝̠̐̍̀̐͐̉͒̆̾̽͂̽̏n̵̯͐̊̓̊̉͑͛̽͊̅͝ó̴͖̝͍̩͊̏ț̸̢̬̪̙̯͎̝́̃̓̒̈́͋͜͠͝ ̵̢̟͊̐̓̅͋̒͝t̸͚͐̎r̸̢̼͔̜͒̃́̃́͋̐̓̏̒̇̕ȗ̶̬̓̇̇s̶̨͙̘͇͓̗̯̓͊̾̈̂̿̎͛̏̃͛͘͘͜͜͠͝t̴̜͙̗̺̯̘͍͎͓̮̱̤̣̝̔ ̷̨̝͔̻͕͉͔͙̔͆̃̄͛̃̿̃̚̚͝A̶͔̘̟͓͙͊̋͐̆̓̕͠d̵̛̲̲̯̫͇̘̱̿̈́̂͜l̴̯̫̠͚̗̺̞̀̄̈́e̸̢̢̥̩̦͓͕̣͎͍̞̞̦̦̮̗͐̃̏̓̄̈́̚͜r̸̢̲̦̼̗͙͆͛̔̓́̅̈͊̋̕͘͘̚̚͝

Lies. Lies, all of it lies. This wasn’t real. Nothing was. You looked around, saw everything for what it was. Head pounding, memories that weren’t your own stuffed in your head. You were a shell of a woman, a discarded shed of old skin repurposed. Disturbed metamorphosis, an empty chrysalis, from where a butterfly would have emerged, unfurling its wings for flight, only to be picked open like a old wound and swallowed up. Hollowed out until all that kept you together was the name given to you and the person who gave it to you. This wasn’t you, you weren’t this… Bell. And this man in front of you who tended to you so delicately, wasn’t the savior you saw him as. Not a pure and noble heart, but had one as black as night. You didn’t know him, not truly. He was not your safety, not the gravity keeping you on your feet.

You should loathe him, you should fear him. You shouldn’t trust the man in front of you. You knew it all as true.

But love and hate always tasted the same to you.

Hadn’t it?

“Who I am?” You asked as he tended to your throat, where you had clawed and scratched at it in your sleep. Adler stopped and looked at you then. Quiet as the weight of your words settled onto him, while weighing out his own.

“Bell.” Adler soon replied, bringing your intertwined hands to his torso, over the red scratches across the expanse of his chest, right to the center. Where his heart beat against your open palm. “You’re Bell.”

Noisiness from behind the door again, shadows moving underneath the door frame, knocking on the door’s wood more rapidly in succession. More impatient. A harsh sigh left Adler’s scarred lips in response. He stood from the bed, packing away the first aid materials back into the plastic kit box. Tucked it underneath the bed frame.

“You should lay down and rest.” Adler grabbed the duvet from the floor and pulled it over your bare legs. You blinked at the action, at him. His form disappeared into another space in the bedroom then back out. A walk-in closet you realized. Staring at his back as Adler pulled a shirt over his head and headed towards the door.

“I’m dangerous.” You told him in English, Russian was suddenly sour on your tastebuds. “I can’t trust myself. I don’t know who I am.”

“Then trust me.” He said, exhaustion was clear on his careworn face. Bags underneath his eyes. But there was something there, beneath his words. An undercurrent in the baritone of his voice… something akin to defeat in his tone. A vulnerability that you recognized, a weakness mirrored within yourself. Something you both buried away within yourselves. You swallowed then, running your tongue across your teeth. You shouldn’t put your trust in him, or believe his words. Yet… and yet. Without another word, you nodded at him. You believed him.

Adler ran a hand through his hair, brushing it back. In a semblance of tidiness.

“Lay down and rest.” Adler repeated, hand on the doorknob as he gave you a once over. “I’ll wrangle the kids.”

Your head snapped to his face, eyes wide like saucers.

“ Kids ?!” You repeated as if such a word was foreign to you, even spoken in your mother tongue.

Adler gave you a look, lips pressed tight together. Knuckles whitened as his hand flexed around the turned doorknob.

“Yes. I’ll deal with them. Just… please lay down. You need to rest up.”

At your speechlessness, and with a one last longing look, Adler left the bedroom, closing the door behind him. But even as he left, you were still sitting up, staring at the door right where he had stood moments ago. You heard muffled sounds behind the door, far down in the hallway. You blinked, feeling your body start to slacken, your body heeding Adler’s words as you nestled into the covers. Right on his side of the bed. The blankets and pillows still smelt of him. A scent that, like the smoking of a beehive, calmed the thoughts swarming around in your skull. You closed your eyes, relaxing, but it wasn’t enough to slumber. The sensation of sinking, of being dragged down, down, down. Made you afraid to fully commit to sleep once more. Still you laid in bed, underneath the blankets. Basked in his warmth and smell.

But eventually, you grew restless, tossing and turning. Felt his absence deep inside. You threw the covers away from yourself, standing on shaky legs towards the bathroom. Then to the bedroom door, wrapping a silk bathrobe you grabbed on your way out around your nightgown. You stared at the door. The edges of your surroundings started to fade away around you as it stared back at you. The sensation was jarring, like freefalling. A loss of gravity. You had to move away, stepping back until you felt the bed behind you. You sat on it for a moment, letting the motion sickness and the upturning of your stomach peter out.

Facing the door once more, you took a breath and grabbed the doorknob. The door shook, rattling against its hinges from your touch as you tried to pry it open. But to no avail. Trapped, you are trapped. You pressed your hands onto the wood, pushing against it. Beneath your palms, the door creaked and then it cracked. Fissures in the wood grain, splitting open as the layers started to peel like wood shavings. Rot and corrosion bloomed by your hand, by your simple touch. Like stab wounds, from the cracks in the door a deep scarlet poured out. Stained the wood grain darker. The smell of metal in the air. And before you knew it, the wood door was gone, wasted away. But in its wake was another door. A red metal door like the ones leading to an underground bunker. It beckoned you. Whispered to you, called you in an accented voice that sounded far too familiar. A faraway memory. It said your name, your true name. One you had long forgotten. An itch in the recesses of your mind, a jolt down your spinal cord. A hesitancy in your step, in your hand that hovered over the metal door bar. Fascination or recognition, you couldn’t tell what drove you forward. You lifted the bar up with an audible click, pushing against it until it opened.

You went through, blinded by a bright light on the other side. Behind the door, you were met with a long hallway that stretched on and on. Miles upon miles. Faint laughter echoed from the end of it and you walked forward, following the sound. Just when you thought you reached the end of the hallway, it grew longer. The end was more imperceivable than before, indeterminate in its entirety. Seemingly going on and on indefinitely as you stared down the way. But still you continued onwards, voices in the distance. Although it was nothing but a maze of white walls, white tiles, and linoleum flooring.

There were wide windows all along the length of the long hall, a consistent width apart. The windows peeked into lab rooms full of medical equipment, surgical tools, flickering projectors in the ceiling, and T.V.s sat on metallic utility carts; cassette tapes stuck in their players. You stopped at one of the windows, looking inside, curious. You scanned around but like a moth to a flame, an old habit, your eyes instantly trained to the T.V. display, waiting expectantly. The streams of static on the screen flickered. A bell clanged, white noise in your ears. Fixated on the sudden flashing images, the pieces of war footage playing then it stuttered, only to rewind and start again.

A single exhale and blink of dry eyes, and you were suddenly inside the room. Strapped down to an integration chair. You tested the restraints, feeling how they cut into the circulation of your wrists and ankles. Another clamor rang out, and your body sat straight in the seat, expectant and attentive. Pavlovian conditioning — a dog that waited for their kibble. The display screen flicked on in front of you. Like staring into an endless void, on a blackhole’s event horizon, your surroundings melted away and your body jerked forward. Pulled into a fierce orbit, lunged headfirst through the playing T.V. screen. Warped into some sort of dark backroom.

Two projectors, right beside each other, both sat on small wooden tables on either side of where you stood. Their lights converged, shone nothing onto a single projector screen in front of you. There were a few show slides slotted into both of their compartments, in random order, in different spacings. All you needed to do was change the slides and the projectors would display them on the screen. You changed the slides on the projector to your left, it clicked a couple times as you rotate by the empty slots to the first inputted slide. The left slide showcased a split image, the other half missing like a photo torn into two pieces. It was hard for you to make out the image, to grasp what it showcased. You stared at it for a beat, before moving to the projector to your right. Flicked through its rotation, the first slide of it closer in slot than the left one.

Then the display was completed, the other half of the image found. Whatever it showed, whatever it was, grew clearer the longer you stared at it. Red, you saw red. Another red bunker door. You stepped forward towards the projector screen, confused just as you were intrigued. In front of it now, your body in front of the projector lights doesn’t cast a shadow onto the image or screen. As if you were non-corporeal, a ghost lost in limbo. But unlike you, the display image of the red bunker door wasn’t intangible. You reached forward and pulled the handle bar up. And it opened and you walked through it.

A sequence of fading whispers, a little girl’s giggle, while you looked around your new surroundings. Dark, damp, and dank. A cavern, like a hollowed out chest missing its heart. Stalagmites and stalactites jutted out like jagged teeth, water dripping from the ceiling above, trickling down and pooled in the eroded stone. You heard something moving in the cave, somewhere in the dark, slow and steady, like the dragging of chains across the floor. More childlike giggling from afar, and the noises got louder, more disturbing. Inhuman and innumerable. Feet shuffling onwards, a thousand marching on. Dripping liquid onto the cave floor, louder than the cave condensation. Of a removed heart, still bleeding and beating outside the body. You gathered yourself, looking around in the dark. Tried to pinpoint the sound’s source in the dark, squinting but you couldn’t even see even an inch in front of your face.

You backed away, until your foot caught something on the floor. You reached down for it, patting around the rock empty-handed until your fingers brush against something cold. It is heavy in your hands, but the feel is familiar. A pistol and an extra mag, loaded already but with the safety lock in place. You held it, old training coming back to you like clockwork. A flashlight attachment on your pistol flicked on wasn’t enough to penetrate the dark. From the shadows, eyes glowed like they do on trail cams. Predators on the hunt. You shined your flashlight to them, only to see rotten bodies. Flesh falling off the bone, gray skin – stringy and gamey. Walking dead. Rumbling roars and screams from ripped open throats. The rapid resonate of dragging limbs, peeling flesh, congealed blood splattered in globs.

They all lunged forward on decaying legs, too quick to be natural. You dropped a few of them with shots to the head and torso, they dropped like sandbags only to be trampled over by the others, their positions replaced. But they only kept coming and coming, and your pistol soon clicked, the chamber empty. You run, legs shaky on the uneven rocky surface. Deeper and deeper into the cave you went, kiting them through. Glowing eyes right behind you. You reloaded your last mag, shooting the ones leading the pack then running forward to gain distance. You went until your lungs burned, your legs aching. Until your pistol was empty, the flashlight attachment dimming out. But ahead, in the dark, a blaring light. An escape route. A bunker door, the light at the end of the tunnel.

You were sprinting to it, the once wide cave seeming to get smaller. Gradually, the surrounding cave walls narrowed around you. You had to slow, to squeeze through the gaps and holes, the sight of the bunker door in the distance are only glimpses now behind the small openings. A crowd of dead right on your trail, a misstep, a moment of being too slow, and they would catch you. You were hyperventilating now, your skin abraded and cut from squeezing yourself through the narrow gapes and crevices. But the light was closer, the bunker door just out of reach ahead of you. Your body against a stone wall, pressing against the solid form. One with no opening.

Animalistic roars echoed against the rock and stone catching up to you. Dimming light of the flashlight scanned around the wall, anything that dictated a path forward as you desperately searched around. Shining on a pile of loose stone at your feet. You wasted no time, no effort. Dropping the empty gun, low light shining to the dark behind you. You clawed on the rock formation, pushing and rolling away heavy stones. Uncaring as your fingernails were chipped and torn from the nail roots. Leaving bloody handprints behind onto the discarded stone surfaces.

Underneath the rubble, was a crawl space uncovered in the stone wall. Cramped and claustrophobic but without nowhere else to go, the undead behind you as encouragement, and you went on your belly. Squeezing yourself into the passageway. You crawled on, forcing yourself through even when the space grew smaller around you, compressing down onto your body. It became harder to breathe in such a tight space. You were panicking, breathing uneven. The crawl space constricted, like a fist around your throat. Something reached in behind you, arms extended to grab for you. A mass of rotting hands outstretched, bodies colliding as they tried to enter the small spacing all at once. They clawed and crawled, teeth gnashing against their loosening jowls behind you; fingers grasping out for you. A bear trap around your foot as multiple hands curled around one of your legs. Hauled you back, your skin scraping against the stone. You kicked out at them, fingers digging into rock for purchase. Sharp pointed stones, loosened by your movement, cut into your body as you were dragged back.

But you saw it ahead of you. A distant light, a red door – opened. And you saw him. Adler on the other side of the door. Standing, staring. Waiting for you. You called out to him, but to no avail. You were voiceless and he remained there in the doorway. The tear of fabric being ripped, cracked teeth sunk into flesh. The burst of skin breaking. Pain in your leg, shooting up your spinal cord. One of them had your leg in what remained of their mouth, as others clawed at your bare calf. You were being eaten alive, torn apart, dragged back. You fought against them still, kicking and shaking your captured leg as much as you could in the small space. You were tired, bleeding out. Still you pulled yourself through the crawlspace, eyes frontward. Towards Adler who awaited you. A final push, a final effort and you were on the other side. Your extraction within reach.

You grabbed a rock, between both hands, and down onto the undead hanging off your leg like a tick. You brought the stone down and the head caved it, split open like overripe fruit. But even then, it didn’t let you go. You brought the stone down again and again, until the head was nothing but a splatter of brains and shattered skull pieces on the stone. The hands around your leg were next, as you slammed the stone onto the rotting arms until they snapped at the elbow joint. Limbs loosened on you, as they fell to the side, lifeless. Freeing you. You crawled backwards. Yellow glowing eyes deep in the crawlspace, bodies conjoined and mutilated, forced into a single space. More arms outstretched from the other side, growls and screams in your ears.

You pushed yourself onto your feet, limping. Hobbled forward as fast as you could, adrenaline numbing the pain. You called Adler’s name, relieved, exhausted. You get closer and closer, your blood swirling into the ankle deep pool you push yourself through. On the threshold now, and the image of Adler grew fuzzy. Red, red, red. He was a maroon figure, his face was blurred. Like a glitch, a horizontal blear twisting his identity. The door slammed shut, metal mechanisms inside shifting and grinding as it locked in place. You called out to him, pounding your bloody fists against the metal. The metal handle bar unmoving as you pushed it. Rumbling roars and screams, bodies yanked themselves out from the crawlspace. Inflamed eyes in the dark. You pushed and pulled, banging on the door. Blood prints on the metal, a darker red smeared all over. Screaming, wailing. Adler, Adler, Adler . But he was never there to save you. Only to drag you down, down, down. Deeper in hell and to keep you there. Laughter, laughter all around you. The undead were laughing at you, cackling like hyenas in the deep of night.

You pushed the bar up once more, desperate and frantic. Underneath your fingers, the door starts rusting, metal oxidizing. Painting peeled away. Door handle rusted in place. Still you pushed, all your might, all your effort. Flakes of verdigris crumbled, falling like ash on your skin. The handle squealed, corroded metal grinding against each other, as the mechanisms are forced to move. The metal handle snapped in your hand, but the door creaked open; Not fully but with a sliver of opening. The bash of your shoulder against the bunker door and it moved gradually, hanging off of its hinges, the bottom of the door scraping against the doorstop. The dead scrambled to you, limbs missing, slower than before.

But you made enough of an opening to squeeze yourself through it and you push yourself through. Falling onto your hands and knees onto the other side. You looked up to see a stipple ceiling. Sun on your face, plush carpet against your palms. No pain in your leg, no scrapes on your body. Elbows and knees unscathed. Shoulder not dislocated from your battering against metal. You looked behind you only to see a wooden door ajar and a bedroom behind you. A girl’s laugh in the distance filled your ears.

But it felt real. All of it felt real. Too real, to be nothing but night horrors.

“Mommy?”

A small voice down the hall and you snapped your head to it. A small child at the end of the hallway stared at you. Face dipped in shadow, features obscured. You were frozen, still on your knees. Head pounding, confused. But something inside you tugged at the title. A mother’s love, a mother’s embrace. A mother’s sacrifice. The child scurried down the hallway towards you and you recoiled. A phantom pain in your leg and you reached down for a weapon at your side that wasn’t there. The child jumped to a stop, looking down at you with big, blue eyes as you tensed up.

“Mommy, why are you on the floor?”

Silent and still, you were emotionless, motionless. An uneasiness that made your body stiffen. Your mouth opened but you couldn’t speak. The child watched you curiously, attention waning as they balanced on the balls of their feet. Soon the child joined you, kneeling down. From the way they smiled, the child thought it was a game.

“You can’t be on the floor, silly.” The child chastised and you only stared at them. Grubby hands outstretched.

You expected them to claw you, to rip open your skin. But they only grabbed your wrist. With all their strength, they tug on your hand, trying to help you up. It took you a moment to process it as anything but a threat to you. Gradually, you stood up as the child helped. Who thought it was because of them that you were able to get up. You didn't pull your hand away, even as the child intertwined their own. You let them lead you down the hall, the smell of food wafting ahead of you both. The child took you into the living room. You recognized the blonde man in the kitchen next to the living area. Who stirred something on the stovetop, whatever it was that he was cooking, smelt delicious despite your nausea.

“I found her!”

The child announced, letting your hand go and bouncing like a bunny to Adler. The child tugged at his shirt, pointing to you with a toothy grin. Adler’s head snapped towards you hovering in the threshold of the hall. A pointed look aimed straight at you, sharp eyes narrowed, and mouth pressed tight. Another face appeared, bounding from the living room. Another child. Taller, older than the first. They smiled at you, shyer. But went to you nonetheless, hugging your waist. Eyelashes framed over blue eyes, staring up at you.

“Now we can go have a picnic!” The youngest exclaimed, beaming up at the man in the kitchen. Obviously too excited to be contained as they hopped up and down. Using the countertops for stability.

Adler patted the child’s head, stopping his jumping up and down with a firm hand. Eyes still on you. “Not today. Your mother’s sick, she needs to rest.”

There was a command there. A jab at you that made your skin prickle.

“But you promised.” The child whined on. The oldest around your waist made a disappointed sound too. “You said we can go.”

“I know I did. But not today, kiddo. We can go next time.”

Both children sulked, huffing and awing at Adler. But Adler didn’t relent, absolute with his decision. He walked forward, his shoulders tensed. A few steps and he was stood in front of you. His attention went to the oldest at your hip.

“Come on.” He jutted his chin to the side, a gesture for them to move away. “Let your mom go. She needs to go back to bed.”

You didn’t know what overcame you as your arm wrapped around the child’s body, protectively. Keeping them in place, close to you as you took a step forward. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Adler. He stared at you, eyes flitting down to your hand clutching to the child’s pajama shirt. You had trouble reading what he was feeling, what he was thinking. Yet Adler had always been like that, you thought. Difficult to read, to predict and to understand. Like you.

“We should go.” You finally said, your voice shaky and raspy. A clearing of your throat and you steeled your spine. “Let’s go have a picnic, Adler.”

The children audibly agreed. You released the oldest that clung to you as they moved and joined the youngest at Adler’s side, who was tugging on his shirt, begging and pleading. He was displeased, you could tell. But you challenged him nonetheless, eyes meeting his own. A chorus of: ‘Please, dad!’, ‘Can we go!’, ‘Mom says we can.’ ‘You promised we could go.’ chanted out in the tension between you both. And eventually Adler let out a deep sigh, shoulders heaving as he did.

“Alright.” He agreed. That defeated tone returned but it was quickly gone as the children cheered happily, clinging onto him now.

You watched them, a sudden emotion fluttering your heart at the sight. Of Adler’s small smile, though strained, it was genuine. Of the children… your children. Their happiness you felt as your own. The early morning forgotten, the wounds, the memories, the hallucinations, the night terrors. The ringing inside your own head. Your suffering, your pain, your detachment from the world.

It was all worth it for this.

You were pulled from your thoughts as the oldest grabbed your hand again. Clasping the smaller hand back, you walked to Adler whose attention went back to you. He let out a huff, an annoyed sound. But he leaned down, pressing a small kiss to your forehead. A sudden softness on his hardened features. The smell of something burning, rising smoke in the kitchen made Adler quickly duck to the stovetop towards the simmering pan. You were led by your hand again to the dining room, that was connected right to the kitchen. You sat down, watching the child run off to the living room to join the youngest sitting on the sofa. Your gaze shifted. To the television. A sudden feeling as you focused on the screen. White noise, your sight wavering.

Something clunked down next to your arm and you blinked up at Adler leaning against the tabletop. A fresh cup of tea next to you, a coffee of his own in his hand — a dark bitter brew. No sugar, no cream.

You smiled your thanks, eyes back to the children. But Adler’s eyes were on you.

“Saturday cartoons.” Your head turned to him right as he took a sip from his steaming mug. “They wanted to watch them. I can turn it off and cover the T.V. if it’s bothering you again.”

Your eyes fluttered at that, giving a quick look back to the living room then back to him. “No, it’s ok. Let them enjoy it. I'll live.”

But he was unconvinced. Lines on his face, more prominent. Those ending words of yours made his frown deepened.

“I’m fine.”

But you didn’t know if you were trying to reassure him or yourself.

He shook his head at you. “No, you aren’t, Bell. You’re not fine.”

Something inside ached. For him, for you.

But before more could be said, Adler left into the kitchen. His back to you. Alone now, you sat there wordlessly. Taking slow sips of your tea. It helped you think. Its warmth spread throughout your body, reinvigorating you with a comforting feeling. Your wary eyes looked around as you finished the rest of your tea. Training was still an instinct as you took mental notes of the windows and doors, places to hide, places to bunker down, ways to escape, choke points and objects to use as defense. You wondered if Adler did the same.

But you were not alone for long, not lost in your own head. Soon Adler served breakfast, a simple meal of eggs, bacon and toast. He seated the children, though they protested. Wanting to eat in the living room so they could watch their cartoons. Only to be upset when Adler shook his head no. He served you a plate, your eggs made the way you liked; an additional bowl of sliced fruit on the side. Along with a cup of warmed bone broth in case you couldn’t stomach the solid food. The kids were quiet as they ate, heads turned to the television across the way. Like them, you and Adler ate quietly as well. Both lost in your own thoughts.

You ate as much as you could handle, taking a few bites here and there of your food. But mostly you nibbled on your toast. It helped your nausea, abating the queasiness you felt. When the children were done eating, they gathered their dishes, rushing to put them in the kitchen sink. Before racing into the living room and onto the sofa just as a new cartoon show began. You pushed your plate away towards Adler. He grimaced at it, at the food you barely touched. Yet wordlessly took your plate, adding your breakfast to his own to finish. You sat there quietly, forcing yourself to drink the broth. It was enough of an effort to ease Adler’s disgruntlement.

But mostly, your attention was to the children. Your children; yours and Adler’s. Who had eyes just like the man sat next to you, reading a newspaper. A deep dark blue. Their faces, a blur in your withered memories. Their names you didn’t remember. But that pull, that motherly instinct in the back of your head was all that you needed to know. There was a time you think, some time ago where such a life. Such a domestic thing was not meant for you. Surrounded by death and secrecy, a pact of self-sacrifice. Of yourself and others. By your own hand, the world’s strings pulled taunt like nooses. Such a life was never for you. But you wondered if you had wanted such a life. Had you yearned for it still? Or did you accept it, for a cause. Or had you never wanted it in the first place? A family. You tried to recall but no answer came to you. As Adler grabbed both of your dishes, taking them to the kitchen to start cleaning up. You walked to the living room. Hiding in the shadow of the archway as you watched your children. The oldest sat on the sofa while the youngest was on the rug in front of the television. Playing with a toy as they watched, the same one as one of the characters of the show.

You avoided looking too long at the screen, an old habit you’re struggling to fight off especially now. Whispering bells in your head again, tolling in a soft breeze. You found yourself moving on your own accord. Walking into the living room, taking a seat on the sofa. You were at the far end of it, tucked away in the corner. Distance put between your oldest and yourself. Observing closer, wanting to be closer despite yourself. But still cautious. Your vicinity wasn’t as ignored as you hoped, as your oldest moved closer to you. And your youngest began to show you their toys, the ones from the cartoon they’re watching. Your youngest chatted on, giving you all the details of the show and the characters. Pointing them out on the screen. Your oldest at your side, listening along, and adding more details. And you listened intently, engaged, intrigued. Your heart ached.

A feeling at the back of your neck and goosebumps rise on your arms. You grew stiff, turning around to catch Adler watching you from afar, leaning in the archway. Closely. Too closely. As if you were dangerous, a muzzled mutt. But you were, weren’t you? So volatile, so impulsive. Even you couldn’t control yourself. It was only a matter of time before you lashed out again. A commercial break that caught your attention as your oldest wanted you to look at a toy product – some sort of puzzle cube with multicolored squares on each side. But when you turned back to the archway, Adler was gone. You tried not to be on edge, that wrong feeling returning once more.

Something was draped over you, something soft in your lap. A throw blanket. You run your fingers through the soft wool as Adler interjected himself between you and your oldest. Forced apart from your side, they expressed their complaint, but eventually acquiesced as he made room for them to lay against him. The other arm was thrown around you, pulling you close to his side. You inhaled his scent, conflicting feelings subsided and you went lax against him. The rest of the morning was spent like this, all of you in the living room. Your face pressed into his shoulder when looking at the television grew too much for you to bear. Focusing instead on the sounds of his breathing, of the smell of him. All of him against you. Until it was just you and him in the living room.

Eventually, the kids had run off somewhere when Adler changed the channel and flicked on the news. But soon they grew impatient as the afternoon came. Asking when you all were leaving for a picnic. Adler brushed them off, using your dozing off as an excuse to delay and obfuscate. But when you stirred, looking up at him from his chest. You gave Adler a pointed look of your own. It was enough to get him on his feet, knees audibly creaking. And you followed suit. The kids rushed to their rooms, getting dressed to go. You went to get ready too, into something casual and light. A sundress you decided on, your favorite one you think. A pretty long cotton. Didn’t Adler get this for you? You pulled it over your body, smoothing the wrinkles out in the fabric, and stood in front of the bathroom mirror. A stranger stared back at you. Sickly looking. Hollow-eyed with a haunted look, hair frizzy and brittle. Life drained from your face; wan and ghastly.

Shell-shocked.

Feelings of repugnance. Of sadness and of disbelief.

Was that truly who you were? That person who was staring straight back at you, was you?

Warmth at your back as a body stood behind you, into your back. Fingers went to your shoulder, brushing against your collarbone and pulled a loose strap of your dress up. Your eyes lifted upward to meet Adler’s in the mirror. Watched him bend down, mouth going to your neck. You bared it out to him, instinctively turning your head to the side. Marred lips traced up along your jugular vein — slowly and steadily. Sharp blue eyes kept your gaze in the reflection as he did. A small act, yet you were already worked up. Breathing hard, heart beating in your chest. A death grip on either side of the porcelain sink. Adler stopped behind your jaw, right on the thrumming pulse there.

“Ready?” He asked, voice husky. Lips still on your neck.

You nodded, breathless and speechless. He took a step back from you, giving you a nod. Your eyes were still on his in the mirror.

“C’mon.”

You ran your tongue across your lips deliberately as Adler watched. Turned fully around to face him. Taking in the sight of the man in front of you. Light sandy brown hair brushed down and groomed to the side. Always stylish, always well-coordinated. Even in leisure clothing. You followed him out of the bedroom. A cardigan sweater in your arms. The kids were waiting by the front door. Your oldest was holding folded quilts and a straw picnic basket, and the youngest was with an armful of toys. You tried to help carry supplies, plastic wrapped food, drinks, anything you all needed. But Adler was quick to stop you. You both agreed to let you at least hold the picnic basket. While your oldest helped Adler with packing the cooler.

You shielded your eyes from the sun outside, a burst of white light that blinded you as you stepped out of the house. The day was warm and mellow with a cool breeze like a soft sigh. It made your sundress flutter, a relief against your heated skin. You stared out at a suburban neighborhood full of large family homes, green lawns, and white picket fences – the all American Dream. It was almost nauseous, the manufactured appearance. People were out and about: walking dogs, mowing their lawns, sitting on their porches talking to each other as their kids played outside. You kept your eyes downcast, not wanting to garner any attention or be greeted by overly friendly neighbors. But you could feel their unsubtle eyes on you.

In the driveway sat a vintage muscle car. Adler’s most prized possession, besides yourself. You headed to the sedan parked further down the driveway where your youngest child waited next to it, talking to a neighborhood kid riding their bike. Boasted about the picnic you were going to have. It wasn't long until your oldest appeared then Adler afterwards. A cooler in one hand, car keys and his iconic shades in the other; a portable radio tucked underneath one of his arms. It seemed Adler had the same idea as you, kept his gaze away and not making any eye contact with the neighbors.

You sat in the passenger seat while the kids and him packed some stuff in the trunk. So quickly that it wasn’t surprising that an efficient man like Adler would teach your children to be as well. Before long, you were all on the road. Assured beforehand that the drive wasn’t too long. You stared out the window to the blurring shapes of the surroundings passing by. Music in your ear, filled the silence inside the car. A song that Adler particularly liked started and he turned the volume dial up. Gary Wright’s “Really Wanna Know You” played louder from the car speaker. He rested a hand on your knee, rubbing it soothingly. The other wrapped around the steering wheel. You took a peek at him from the passenger seat. The interior of the car reflected on his sunglasses. Noticed him mouthing the lyrics.

Adler pulled the car into a municipal park. Surprisingly vast and full of greenery — trees, shrubs, fields of long grass and plants. Picnic tables underneath the shades of towering pines and oaks. Benches were set along the sidewalks. Hiking trails that lead further in the park grounds. A playground was at the forefront of it, surrounded by a pit of play sand. Your children were restive, overly excited just by the sight of it. But were made to stay and help unload the car before they could go run off and play. With a nod from Adler, like missiles, they beelined straight to the playground. Adler carried the cooler, radio, and disposable dishes. You, on the other hand, had just the picnic basket in the crook of your elbow and the quilts. You followed Adler towards a picnic table across the way, in the shade of an overarching American basswood – a lush crown of heart-shaped leaves swayed with the subtle breeze. It was more private, situated just on the edge of the treeline yet it was still near eyesight of the playground.

But you and your family weren’t the only ones there enjoying the nice weekend. People were there walking the trails. Other parents sat on the benches near the playground, other families on other benches. Kids in Various age ranges were also on the playground; running and tumbling in the grass. And your children made friends instantly. You kept a watchful eye on them, on others in your peripheral. Aware of the strangers, of any possible threat or hazard. All while Adler fiddled with his radio – pitches of high and low frequency static emitting with his tinkering. Until he grew annoyed, slamming a fist on top of it until it juddered with music. You scoffed at him, eyes still focused on your children on the playground, playing tag with other kids.

“Ok?” Adler settled down next to you with a long, weary sigh.

You nodded at him, pulling your cardigan sweater over yourself and leaned closer. Knees touching, his body heat transferring into you. The radio was a nice thrum in the background as you enjoyed the sight and smell of the surrounding nature. It was a salve to your broken mind, a tortured heart. You both stared straight ahead towards the playground.

“Are you mad?”

Your question was softened, spoken as you exhaled an uneven breath.

He was quiet for a moment.

“No.” Adler rubbed the underside of his jaw where the bruise blossomed. “I’m not mad, Bell.”

You felt him relax next to you, shoulders dropping as he leaned his weight into you. There was nothing more to say. Nothing more for him or you to add. With that, a silence befell between you both, in each other’s company. Guilt and shame came and went, soon replaced by a stifling numbness. You focused externally instead. Adler next you, the soft breeze against your face. The tumbling of the canopy above you. Another one of Adler’s favorites playing from the crackly radio on the picnic table. The laughter of children in the park; yours amongst them. All of it; the pace of the world around you.

But such tranquility was only temporary as your children ran towards the picnic table. Out of breath and sweating, gulping down cold bottles of cola from the cooler. Before running off again like energetic puppies. It was a pattern. Going to play then coming back to get refreshments before returning to the playground again. By the third time, you expected them to be too tired to play anymore. But you underestimated their energy. The youngest tugged at your arm while the oldest did the same to Adler, wanting both of you to get up and join them. Adler was the first to give in, luckily for you. Letting the kids drag him up and away from the picnic table; his sunglasses handed to you for safekeeping. Though by the look Adler gave you as he was taken away, it was deliberate. Letting you have the time to rest and relax, saving you from their clutches. Although your kids definitely tried.

So you sat back and resumed your relaxation. Watched Adler play with the children, chasing them around as they screamed and laughed. A warm feeling spread throughout your body, a feeling you didn’t want to think too much about. One that was too bittersweet for you. Then a strange thought, a bewildering realization as you started to ponder more on it. Of your childhood. One that you didn’t remember, couldn’t remember. Even if you tried. It was a time lost to you. A blank space in the gray matter of your brain. To remember was to stare in murky water. At a muddled reflection. You wondered if you were the same as a young girl. A wild child without a care in the world. That drove your parents crazy. Or if you were a quiet child. Shy and sweet – your parent’s pride and joy.

Did you have siblings? Cousins and grandparents? Were they alive? Dead or excommunicated? Were you excommunicated? Did you even have a family?

That query made you queasy, made you startled.

What did you remember?

Not very much. Always forgetful, always unstable. Always lost in your own head. Gathering the pieces of your shattered mind until your fingers bled. Putting them together to make a mosaic. A tattered paper collage that made a semblance of a begotten past. All you really knew was the here and now. All you knew was Adler and the bits and pieces of your long history together. Camaraderie, kinship; Enduring war together. Bled together. Fought together. Together , always together. Then a relationship beyond warfare. Beyond bloodshed and despair. A soul, once long lost and far forgotten. He was your world, your everything. The reason you were here breathing still. Still living, and still a part of a world that was so cruel and unforgiving. Despite all your reservations.

Did Adler feel the same towards you? Were you his purpose now? His everything? Like he was to you? Did both of your children occupy the same space in his heart as you think it did yours?

A man like him was not easily readable; reticent as he was. But his actions spoke volumes. From the picnic table underneath the span of the basswood, where you watched your family, there you felt it. An understanding between the uncertainty of past and the certainty of the present. Memories like sand between your fingers. No matter your identity crisis, memory issues or brain trauma, Adler was there. Now and always. Like he had been throughout your deployment together, during your clandestine operations. You were his shadow. His protégé. Two sides of the same coin. Eyes that always found each other in a battlefield. Always accounted for each other afterwards. Shared rations, shared canteens. The stench of cigarettes as you smoked side-by-side. A mutual respect. A symbiotic bond.

It was always ever you two — Bell and Adler. Adler and Bell.

Always had been.

Even now as he and your children walked back to the picnic table as the afternoon sun came and went; giving way to the early hours of the evening. As the sky exploded in watercolors of yellow, orange and pink. You stood up, smiling. It was a small upturn of your mouth. A strange, unpracticed facial motion. But with such a sight as the man you held dear and both of your beautiful children together, you couldn’t help but want to smile. And snap out of your torment and conflicts. Even if it was only temporary, just for now. You approached Adler, the children at either side of you both. Hair out of place. His dark polo was drenched at the collar and underarms, khaki jeans stained from wet grass. And you couldn’t help the fleeting feeling of wanting to taste the salt of his skin. You shared a look with him, unspoken communication between you both. A wordless exchange just like on a battlefield.

You ushered all three of them to the picnic table. All exhausted, breathless, and sweaty. And unsurprisingly starving. You pulled all the plastic wrapped food from the cooler and the bags on the table. Setting up the family picnic, a simple one. But one nonetheless. Everyone was practically salivating as they watched you set it up. A platter of sandwiches, chips, potato salad, pasta salad, sliced seasonal fruit, deviled eggs, and lemonade. Cola and water in the cooler. And with your go ahead, all three immediately dug in; your children had to be corrected more than once from their table manners. Even you served yourself a plate of food. In the corner of your eye, the hint of a smile on Adler’s marred lips. Sparse for him just as it was for you. By the time you finished eating, so had everyone else. Even the peach cobbler, Adler’s favorite, remained untouched. A treat for later you imagined.

Reinvigorated and re-energized by their meal, you and Adler watched in surprise as your children went to go play again. Most of the families there had left beforehand, but there were a few still there; the remaining children on the playground too.

Adler let out a sigh next to you, arms across his wide chest. “I’m getting too old for this.”

You leaned towards him, staring up from where you lay against his shoulder, and laughed. In the setting sun, he was a god to you. Hardened face dipped in half-shadow. The searing hue of the sunset highlighted the other side; scars, skin, and all. Made his eyes that much brighter, his hair like aureate silk. But at this angle, you also could see the years on him. Of his time on the field that whittled him down: a battle-hardened veteran, a calculated agent. A red-blooded American patriot through and through. Wrinkles and lines on the planes of his face, crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes. A slight grizzling in his golden mane as you brushed your fingers through it.

Still good looking as ever, still in shape.

Aged like a fine wine.

“You’re practically dust, old man.”

A hearty chuckle rumbled through you, deep from within Adler’s chest.

“Don’t get me started on you, kid .”

An old nickname that made you stare up at him and playfully glare at the side of his face. Your nose crinkled and face grimaced before huffing and nestled back against him.

As the sun started to disappear in the horizon, in the shadow of dusk, you and Adler began to pack everything away and clean up. You called for your children, rounded them up while Adler put things in the car. Not even a few feet down the road, and the youngest and oldest were already asleep in the backseat. The ride home was pleasant, a companionable silence between you both, listening to the lowered radio. Cruising to the blues. Sunglasses perched on Adler’s face despite the dark. You found yourself starting to doze off, your head leaned against your arm on the car door. Until a hand on your shoulder shook you. You jumped a bit, blinked rapidly at the blurry face in front of you.

“Bell, c’mon.”

Rubbing at your eyes, you stretched a bit before getting out of the passenger seat. The youngest, still asleep, was slung over Adler’s shoulder while the oldest groggily slid out of the backseat. Tasked with putting away the food and drinks while Adler put your kids to bed, you grabbed the rest of the food and the cooler, leaving the rest of the stuff in the car to be put away tomorrow. The day had come and gone. Faster than you anticipated. The entirety of it weighed down on you. The strain of it held in your shoulders, in your neck. You opted to take a much needed shower. Hot water pelted against your body, washing yourself of the stress and weariness and down into the drain.

The duration of your shower was longer than you thought. Making even Adler worried as he knocked on the bathroom door to make sure you were still breathing. By the time you got out, the entire bathroom was filled with steam. The humidity made you lightheaded. You expected Adler to already be in bed but you were surprised to find your bedroom empty and the bed untouched. You padded across the carpet, towel wrapped around your body towards your dresser. The curtains blew open with a sudden breeze, making you shiver. The balcony door was slightly ajar. Let in the night air inside and the smell of pungent smoke. You dressed yourself swiftly into just another nightgown and walked towards the balcony. There, leaning against the wood guardrail, was an outline of a tall, imposing figure. The flicker of a small ember where a lit cigarette rested between thick fingers.

“Thought you wanted to quit?”

You joined the shadow on the balcony. Arms around yourself as you looked up at a dark night, the moon eclipsed by passing clouds. The flickering light of the cigarette reflected in his sepia lenses.

“Hm… I said that?”

You rubbed at your bare arms as a cold wind blew against your skin. Hair still damp, your nightgown was helpless against the chill. And you moved closer, seeking his body heat. “Something of the sort.”

Adler inhaled, the cigarette burning brighter with his deep intake. Then exhaled.

“Can’t shake off old habits.”

You hummed at him, plucking the cigarette from his fingers just before he could take another hit of it. Adler turned to you, curious and interested. Watched you take a long drag. Saw your own reflection in his sunglass lens from the bedroom light behind you. Instantly, the addictive taste of nicotine filled your mouth, a rush of dopamine straight to the brain. You let out a soft sigh, smoke curling out of your lips. As you savored the taste of it on your tongue.

With an effortless motion, Adler retrieved the cigarette that was taken from him. And puffed at the end of it. “Thought I weaned you off of cigarettes.”

“You did. Doesn’t mean the cravings ever stop.”

He passed you the cigarette again. “Hm, guess so.”

You both stayed like that. The comfortable silence of the night. Smoking in each other’s company. Reminded you of the times in Vietnam after a long, hard day. Adler let you finish the rest of the cigarette, disappearing into the bedroom, wanting to take a shower to wash the day off too. Adler didn’t leave you much, having smoked most of the cigarette. But you weren’t picky, grateful for his scraps like a starved dog. When it was finished, you snubbed the rest of it against the railing. Uncaring for the stain of soot and ash on the white paint. Then discarded it in an ashtray on a coastal glass side table in the far corner. Where your potted plant sat on top next to it. Leaves yellowed and withering, but saved. But not by your nurturing care that was for certain. You realized that your revitalized plant had just been watered, by Adler no doubt. You went inside, locking the balcony door and nestled yourself into the bed covers. But you couldn’t fall asleep. Something in your chest prevented you, like the beat of your heart was too much for you to bear. Your mind was disquiet, running rampant. The older man was the centerfold of it all.

Adler didn’t take as long of a shower as you had. He walked out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist. Hair darkened from his shower and brushed back. His upper body was on full display in the glow of the table lamp, stray water droplets rolling down the expanse of his chest, down to his abdomen. Adler disappeared into the walk-in closet. Coming out a minute later, dressed in loose fitting pajama pants and a plain T-shirt.

He flicked the lamp off, plunging the bedroom into sudden darkness. You felt the mattress dip as he got under the duvet and settled on his side of the bed.

Adler wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. You burrowed your face into his chest. Head tucked underneath his chin. The smell of his body wash and the fresh scent of detergent from his shirt filled your nose. Your body relaxed against him. Feeling him do the same against you. Your lips pressed to his cheek, a goodnight kiss he thought. Until your lips strayed to the bruise on his jaw then dipped down to his neck. Where you found his pulse, running your tongue against it slowly. Feeling it began to quicken underneath. His body tensed against yours. Arms tightened around you, fingers digging into your waist.

“Go to sleep, Bell.”

A low, sleep-ridden voice said above you. It was a warning. A chastisement. A command he expected you to follow. But you were in no mood to listen, let alone close your eyes and go to sleep. You swallowed, moving away from Adler’s neck. Then back up to his face and ghosted your lips over Adler’s. He stirred, body still tensed, but laid unmoving.

“ Bell .”

Another warning. Spoken like a growl right before the bite. But you were determined, undeterred.

Your hand went to his face, thumbing softly at his scars. “Adler.”

He leaned into your touch. Stubbled and scarred cheek against the plush of your hand.

“ Please .”

You didn’t need to ask twice.

He was hesitant at first, worried. Fingers pressed into your skin, keeping a gap between you two. Warm breath fanned against your face. But you guided his head down to yours, brushing your lips together with his. It was a chaste kiss. Lips against each other for a fleeting moment before separating again. Where tongues just barely brushed, barely stroked into each other's mouth. Before you both braved another then another. Until such restraint was forgotten in light of unbridled passion. A crash of mouths, a hungriness between you both. Blood rushed throughout your bodies. Hearts racing, heat rising. The hint of smoke on his tongue.

Just as quickly, you both pulled away from each other. Panting, out of breath. Lips swollen. And all you and Adler could do was stare at each other. Wide-eyed and mouths agape. But the standstill didn’t last long. Adler was the first to close the gap again. Arms around your waist pulled you flush against him, your fingers in his hair. Lips locked to yours in a searing kiss. Siphoning the air from your lungs. You gasped for breath as Adler angled his head, pulling you into a deeper kiss. All tongue and teeth. His desperation matching your own.

You moved forward, Adler chasing after your lips when you pulled away. And quickly straddled him. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you still. Dilated eyes met dilated eyes as you stared down at the older man from above. He was a mess underneath you already: hair disheveled, skin flushed, the rapid rise and fall of his chest under your palms. Marred lips bruised from the aggressiveness of you both. You couldn’t help but admire the beautiful sight below you. To have such a man like Adler at your mercy. Looking up at you so eagerly. So hungry for more.

But in your admiration you let your guard down. And Adler had full intention to take advantage of that. He shifted, quicker than you anticipated, and before you knew it you were on your back. Him over you, caging you against the mattress with his frame. A slight upturn of his lips at your surprised gasp before you were swallowed into another kiss – softer and slower this time. But just as devouring. You squirmed against his hold. Felt him shift again, a knee hooking underneath your leg and pushing it aside as he leaned forward, body pressed down onto you.

Adler left your mouth, lips across your jaw before dipping down. Lips to the pulse underneath your jaw like you had done to him. His teeth tracing it as it throbbed against his tongue before he bit down – leaving the indentation of teeth in his wake. The morning came back to you, standing in front of the mirror. Watching Adler against your throat. You wished you could see him now like you did then, as he kissed down the column of your neck, tongue trailing all along your jugular. Nipping at your collarbone towards your chest. Nipples poking through the material of your nightgown.

Hands at your hips that held you still hiked your nightgown up, bunching it at your abdomen before it is pulled over your head and tossed on the floor. Bared to him now. He admired you for a long moment, piercing gaze taking your nakedness in, all along your goosebumped skin. He pulled his shirt over his head. Then Adler pressed his lips between your breasts, ever slow and ever steady. Ignoring your whimpers, your impatience. Heeded his own need to savor you. To evince your worth. His mouth left a scorching path down your abdomen. All across the scars and marks that littered your body, new and old. To the recent bruises, scratches and cuts. On the florets of old gunshot wounds on your torso and midriff that still felt freshly healed and much too tender against Adler’s scarred lips and light stubble.

His head descended down, down, down . Your fingers threaded through his mane of hair, feeling his warm breath above your hips. Calloused hands against your thighs, the one he hooked with his leg was thrown over his shoulder. His body settled between your legs. Already so wet. His mouth kissed up the one over his shoulder. From your thigh all the way up to your ankle. Then back down in a trail of wet kisses. You watched, heavy-lidded, your eyes meeting Adler’s. As he buried his face between your spread legs. You choked a gasp, tugging at his hair. Your thighs wrapped around his head, hips automatically bucked against his face. As Adler eased you open with his tongue slowly. Kissing, sucking, licking, lapping. Your hips lifted up from the bed, legs taunt, but he held you down. Using his arms wrapped around your waist to stop your squirming and the width of shoulders to pry your legs open even wider.

Adler was merciless with his tongue. Swirling around the most sensitive part of you. Sending jolts of electricity shooting up your spine, right up to your foggy brain. Added onto the heated pressure that was building in your core. You were already making a mess, dripping down your thighs onto the sheets. Your breathing only grew more uneven, more quicker. Chokes and moans fell from your lips, encouraging the man between your legs. Adler leaned on his side, moving an arm from underneath your waist only to go back and resume to his assail on you. He pressed a thick digit into you slowly, between the lapping of his tongue. Until he was up to the knuckle. Though you moaned at the feeling, you wished he filled you with something else. Adler pumped the finger into you, curling it against your tight, slick walls. Then, after a few moments, added a second. His fingers were calloused but clever. It didn’t take long before you were keening off the bed. Mouth agape, hands clenched around the sheets, hearing the sounds Adler was making between your legs. You were already close, right at the summit. But it wasn’t surprising, adroit and ambidextrous as he was.

Your fingers shot to his hair again, pulling as the pressure in your core grew more and more. Your thighs squeezed against his head, legs shaking, hips rolling against the movements of his tongue and pumping of his fingers into you. But Adler didn’t relent. He was never a man who could. You were close. So, so, so close. Right on the edge, fire coaxed underneath your skin. Heart bursting, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. Focused solely on the pleasure Adler was giving you. You begged and pleaded, sighed his name in broken breaths. Russell, Russell, Russell. Until your breathing stuttered, breathless as you began to quiver. Like the snap of string, the unspooling of thread, your orgasm crashed over you. Hard and unexpected. Pulled you down underneath the depths, slamming you against the ocean floor.

Mouth opened in a silent cry, body rose, hips rolling, fluttering around Adler’s fingers, tears rolling down your cheeks as Adler talked you through it. All the emotions, all your pain and suffering, all your fears and insensibility surged forward. A hurricane of mixed, conflicted feelings. Then all at once, it was gone. And you felt… you felt. You didn’t feel much of anything. You didn’t know what to feel. At peace? Unburdened? In limbo? It wasn’t numbness or detachment. But something you couldn’t quite name nor explain. In its wake, as you came down from your orgasm, all you could do was stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. Tears were still falling from your eyes from an unknown cause. Hands intertwined with yours, grounded you as you laid there motionless.

Carefully, Adler moved away from between your legs, kissing lazily against your salty skin. Up to your collarbone and neck, then a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. He laid beside you, not holding you, but there just so you could feel the tangibility of him. Of the warmth of him next to you. Skin against skin, heart beating in the ribcage next to yours.

“Bell.”

Your name was whispered in the crook of your neck. Your hands intertwined with his once more. You blinked, shaking through the fog in your mind. Turned your head, eyes meeting Adler’s as he stared at you worriedly. His eyes still dilated, his face drenched with your wet slick. Watched him as he licked his lips. You leaned forward, kissing Adler again. Tasting yourself on his lips. His hand cupped your jaw, deepening the kiss. He pulled away from you, kissing away the tear streaks on your face. Your arms wrapped around his neck, tugging him closer until he hovered over you. Adler was tense again, searching your face.

But you wasted no time, fingers following along his happy trail, tugging at the waistline of his pajama pants. Adler was quick to get the message. Still hesitated, still worried that it was too much for you. Convinced only by your gentle kiss and your pleading eyes. He helped you tug away his clothing, relieving the tightness there. He was rock hard; heavy, ruddy, and curved. You couldn’t help but ogle, licking your lips. Wanted to run your tongue on the underside of it, along a thick vein. Reciprocating, giving him the same pleasure he gave you. But you were both too eager. Your arms were still thrown over his neck, keeping him still as Adler settled between your legs again. Wished he would hurry up already. But the man had other plans. Osculated along the inside of your thigh again, all the way up to your ankle like before.

“Adler.” Your voice was hoarse, growing frustrated at his delay.

He ignored you however, still taking his sweet time. Sucking on the skin until he left welts and marks all over. Then did the same to your other thigh. Only stopped when he was satisfied. You pulled him closer, feeling him finally prod against you. Adler hissed low and you winced as he entered you. Still oversensitive, still overwhelmed. Still unused to the size of him. He pressed himself into you leisurely — inch by inch. Much too tight to take him in all at once, but you took as much of him as you could.

Adler stopped, feeling you squeeze around him in a vice grip.

“Bell.” He hissed through his teeth, “I need you to relax for me.”

You heard the strain in his velvet voice, felt the tensity of him above you. You took a slow breath, trying to get your body to relax. It worked somewhat, Adler eased up. But you could feel him throb inside you. Surprised by his restraint. He searched your face. Pulled out of you carefully, then drew his muscular thighs closer for leverage and sunk his fists into the mattress on either side of your head. Your hands on his shoulders gripped tight as Adler enfolded over you. A measured thrust and you both threw your heads back. He rocked his hips slowly, grunting as you clung to him. Legs wrapped around his hips, whimpering and keening. His face in the crook of your neck. Teeth on the underside of your jaw. His pacing was relentless, persistent. Not too slow, not too fast, but steady. Unwavering, as he fucked you into the mattress. But you wanted more. You wanted his brutality, that calculated violence. The agony and misery. You wanted him to ruin you.

He already had.

You were in a muddled state already. Cried out his name as Adler sunk deeper into you. Having been fucked wider to take all of him now. A hum of approval low in Adler’s throat, pleased by how well you took him. Like you were made for him. And only for him. Falling on his forearms, his body pressed on top of you. Flattened by his weight, caged by him. Large, calloused hand over your mouth, to muffle the noises you made; cries, whines and moans. His other ventured down, between your legs, where you were both connected. Felt him cup you, deft fingers rubbed against you. You tugged at his hair, sweat sheening on you both. Adler growled in your ear as you constricted around him again, writhing underneath him. Overstimulated. Your eyes closed shut. It was too much, it was all too much.

Adler panted above you, jaw clenched. Your name spat through clenched teeth. But you were too lost in the feeling of him pistoning in and out of you, your toes curling, breathing unstable. Bed frame wobbling under you both. Adler removed the hand from your mouth, shot out to the headboard. His other hand left from between your legs, grabbing your jaw. Pulled it forward to face him, forcing you to open your eyes and meet his own. Your mouth opened wide, wanting to cry out. But Adler shoved his fingers into your mouth. Fingers glistened from your sticky slick, curling inside your cheek. Making you taste yourself again. You wrapped your lips around his fingers, sucking them clean. The only sounds you could make now was incoherent babbling. As Russian filth was whispered in your ear.

Close. You were both so close.

Together, always together.

Adler pulled his fingers from your mouth, throwing your legs over his wide shoulders. Placed his hands on your hips in a bruising grip; knew it would leave prints afterwards. He was even deeper now that you thought possible. Still kept that steady pace of his. You pulled him into a messy kiss; all tongue and swollen lips. As the foundation of your orgasm grew stronger and more powerful. You broke the kiss as you felt it building higher and higher. Ready to all come crashing down. Adler could feel it too by the way

you tightened around him. It only encouraged him. His pace grew faster, enough to make you arch up from the bed. Your nails clawed at his back. Mouth agape in a silent scream. Then it crashed over you. Harder than your first. More violent and intense. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You fluttered around Adler, gushing over both your thighs. And it wasn’t long before he followed suit. A guttural groan deep from within his chest and a hard thrust into you. Then another and another, rocking your body forward, making the headboard slam the plaster. As he spilled himself inside you. Groaning and growling, his head thrown back. Exposing the column of his throat and the bites you left there.

“Fuck. FUCK.”

Then a few final thrusts and he collapsed on top of you. Panting, kissing along your neck. As you both came back down like falling feathers. You both laid there like that, in each other’s arms. Trying to catch your breath. Eventually, Adler rolled off of you, pulling himself out as you winced. You could feel him start to spill out of you already, mixing with your slick on your thighs. You had the mind to take your fingers and push it back inside you where it belonged, and by the way Adler watched in deep thought, he shared the same idea. But instead, the older man grabbed his discarded shirt from the floor and cleaned you up. Tossing it away when he was done. Adler pulled you close, your head to his sweaty chest as you let out a drawled out sigh. Ear to his rapid heartbeat, cheek nuzzling against his coiled chest hair. His arms wrapped around you, his legs intertwined with yours. Skin against skin, souls bared to each other.

“Sleep, Bell.”

His hands rubbed at your back softly. As he kissed your forehead and let out a deep sigh. Already falling asleep. Your eyes felt heavy. You were exhausted and satisfied. You were starting to ache everywhere; knew that you would feel it all in the morning. Adler fell asleep before you, soft snoring into your hair. His deep breathing lulled you. And for once, sleep came to you easily…

And yet…

Yet…

Something wasn’t right.

Even in the embrace of sleep, just on the verge of consciousness, you could tell. Cold, uncomfortable. Unbearable even, and… unsafe. It made you stir, shifting against the confines of something that held you close. Too close. Restrictive, digging deep into your skin. Suffocated you. Drowning, you were drowning again. Being dragged down underneath dark torrents. But there was no sudden violence to save you, no inner animalistic urge to weaponize. You were pacified, a limp body lost in the depths. A corpse sinking to the endless bottom.

You couldn’t fight. Couldn’t fight hard, couldn’t fight strong or desperately. Nothing was enough to free yourself, nothing would ever be. You were a deadweight, a stone thrown into a lake. Free falling into the deep, dark depths below. Light above you, fading away from you. Everything in you, ached for oxygen. Your lungs burned, nostrils flared – choking for air. Pressure built into your chest like wet concrete. You opened your mouth to scream, but your cries were silenced by the water, your mouth filling with it. Frantic releases of breath left an effervesced trail as you sunk. Down, down. Further and further. Buried in a watery grave, pressurized and all consuming. Death was slow. Your death was inevitable like grave soil being thrown over your coffin. There was no more fighting the throes of inevitable death. No screaming and no mercy.

Your sight blackened until all you saw was red. Red, red, red . The color of wounds, the color of bloodsport. The color of hellfire. Then you heard it. A symphony of sounds, an echo like a whale song. Cacophonous and jarring. It reverberated in your bones and repeated in your head. An evocation that you began to understand, to recognize. It called to you, spoke a name. ‘Bell, Bell, Bell’ it said, repeating over and over like a mantra. From a voice that you knew wholeheartedly, deep down in the intertwisted threads of the tapestry of soul, bones and flesh. An echo, a whisper in the nothingness.

“Bell, we've got a job to do.”

We’ve got a job to do.

W̸̡̾e̸̙̽’̷̮̅v̷͎͝ë̶̥́ ̸̳̈́g̸̓ͅō̸͎t̶͎͆ ̷͚͘a̵͍̔ ̴̘̈j̵̦̈́o̴̮̊b̵̥́ ̸̖́t̶̢̓o̵͔͌ ̴̢̀d̵̻̕o̵̲̎.̸̞͝

A trip down memory lane. A series of memories: the smell of napalm and gunpowder. Sweat stinging the eyes, the taste of blood and mud in the mouth. Mazes of wire and explosives. Booby traps, land mines. VC rats scurrying in escape tunnels. The flash of the muzzles. The clink of bloodstained dog tags as they were yanked off of dead soldiers. Shadows between the trees; VietCong hiding in plain sight. Gunfire, a helicopter crash. Burning remnants of it stuck in a canopy. Thrown in a firefight in a paddy field. A voice, a narrator to the palimpsest of your own narrative. A tour guide through your own head; the devil on your shoulder. Old ruins, a fork in the road. Across a river, a rope bridge. A tunnel. A burning village. Then a red door. Always one at the end. You cannot escape it.

You walked through the door. A bright light blinded your sight. The sounds of a tropical jungle, palm leaves and elephant grass brushed against your skin. An oppressing heat. A long, white hallway that stretched on and on. Miles upon miles upon miles. Imperceivable, indeterminate. An endless iteration, a feedback loop. White walls and one way windows. Lab rooms full of medical equipment, surgical tools, projectors, and flickering television screens.

Purgatory .

White noise in your ears. In the distance, a bell swings. But there’s no ring.

Your surroundings started to crumble, decaying right in front of you. The walls cracked, the foundation split. The windows shattered. Falling, it was all collapsing in, from the ceiling to the floor. And all onto you. You sprinted through, running down the deteriorating hallway endlessly. A voice in your head again; another red door in front of your face. Through it again as always. And there in the middle of endless darkness was a long metal table. You knew what to do even with a broken mind; took a seat at the head of the table. Right where you knew you belonged. Faces, faces all around. Other people in the room, sitting around the table too. And a towering man with silver, slicked back hair and a thick mustache. He looked at you, talked to you in an accented voice that sounded far too familiar. Too familial . He said a name, your true name; Your real name. One you had long forgotten. You blinked at him as the man spoke, words like a distant echo. It reverberated in your head. Resurfaced memories. Of a plan. One you helped contrive.

‘Nukes. Europe. Detonation. Safety of Solovetsky.’

Solovetsky .

From the safety of Solovetsky.

Something reached for you, someone. You started to wake. Your body ached all over. Your left eye throbbed. Your sight burned – white, white. Too bright. Bright lights above you. Bleary-eyed; eyes seeing and unseeing, like a camera lens trying to find focus. Your surroundings were nothing but a blur. A warbling in waterlogged ears, a chorus of inharmonious noise.

Sepia shades in the dark, a looming figure crept out from the shadows.

“Bell, no more fucking around.”

You tried to sit up. But you’re restrained to a metal gurney. Forced to lay down on your back. There was relief there, seeing Adler. Affection and admiration, relief. Underneath all your confusion, all your dubiety. The fogginess in your head, the conflicting emotions that bubbled in the cauldron of your sensibility. He wasn’t alone in the dark room. But your eyes always looked to him. Only him. Pinpointed him wherever and whenever. Adler grabbed you roughly, a hard grip on a tactile vest you were wearing. Forced your upper body up from the gurney, the thick strap around your chest that held you down, cut into your ribs and stomach.

“What did Perseus say? Where is he?”

You stared at Adler. It was all you could do. Alarm sirens in your head at the way he looked down at you, acted towards you. Like you were nothing to him. There was no subtle softness on the rough features of his face. No crinkling of his crow’s feet in the corner of his eyes as he looked down at you. You weren’t in the bedroom like you expected, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Wrapped in his embrace, your children sleeping in.

Children.

Where are your children at?

Your gaze darted around, eyes bulging with a sudden panic. But all you saw was Adler. Your tongue was like lead, heavy and stuck to the roof of your mouth. Your jaw ached like you’ve been grinding your molars together. Despite it, you tried to speak. Throat dry and scratchy.

Where are your children? Are they safe? Where are you?

Who are you, really?

Disoriented, Adler assured you. You were just disorientated. Help is what you needed. But it wasn’t just your own, Adler needed it as well. An exchange, you both needed to help each other.

Bullshit. It was all bullshit.

Adler wasn’t pleased with you.

“‘Bullshit’ is what your whole life will amount to if you don’t come clean. Tell us where Perseus is!”

Adler was unrecognizable in that moment, not the man you remembered. One you held dear to your heart. This wasn’t him, was it? This wasn’t the Adler you knew and cherished. He wouldn't subject you to this. Adler would never do this. Wouldn’t he? This man wore his face, spoke his words. But he wasn’t Adler. You blinked up at him, this wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. You tested the restraints, feeling how they cut into the circulation of your wrists and ankles. And his grip on you only tightened, fist flexed around the rough textile of your tactile vest. Your head throbbed. You felt your chest tighten with the constricting compression of pain. Emotional turmoil churned inside you. This fake Adler, this impersonator was the cause of your pain, of your suffering. The puppeteer behind the scenes. A conjuring of your worst fears.

What did this man do to you?

“We gave you a second chance when you were shit out of luck. Now we just want some assistance in return.”

He dropped you with a harsh push, and you fell back onto the gurney. A second chance. Tit for tat; quid pro quo. Someone held up a blue folder; a dossier soiled with a dried bloody handprint.

Then you remembered. Remembered it all.

A quick succession of memory; Betrayed. Bleeding out in the back of your hummer on an airfield. Blood stained dossier in your lap. Melting metal and burning rubber – a gas leak. The wreckage of a plane on fire in the far distance. Dying, you were dying. Left for dead. But these people, this man with the face of Adler. They’re perfidious. Manipulating you, you were nothing but entertainment to them. Like picking a scab and watching it bleed over and over again.

Lying. He’s lying. He put all that shit in your head.

“The CIA reinvented you, Bell.”

Reinvented you; built you back up. Fragments of your consciousness, stained-glass windows. Shards of you too sharp to fully put back together. You were just a golden joinery of flesh and bone. Nothing but haphazardly put-together. A shell of a person. A conflict of your own self. Memories that weren’t your own stuffed in your damaged brain. Menticide, MK-Ultra. A fabrication, a falsification. Of identity, of background, of bonds. They used you and your expertise. Used you for their own bidding. Adler used you, pretended your ties together.

But this was all a trick. It was all in your head, a torment specified for you. Your children were real, they were safe back home. And this man, he wasn’t truly Adler; Adler would never do such a thing to you. You've been through so much together, done so much together.

Together, always together.

It was a macabre joke, all a sadistic game. They were toying with you.

These people were sick. Sick in the head, more than you.

“Are your hands clean, Bell?”

Were they clean? Cleansed of wrongdoings like Adler said? Weren’t you a sinner, just like them?

Purgatory.

This was purgatory. Consequences, punishment. What you deserved for sins that stained your soul. For a past, a personhood you cannot remember. A false identity given and granted by them, for you. A trick, a false reassurance. Integration, interrogation. Interrogated? You were interrogated? No, it was a confessional. An admission. One you fought, one you refused. You weren’t a sinner like them. Like they claimed you were. Purgatory.

This purgatory was all in your head. A delusion.

Fuck this. Fuck them.

“I don’t think so. You’re still holding back on us, and we are going it out of you.”

Again, ‘Adler’ seized hold of you. Hand curled into a fist around your tactical vest. With the other the older man grabbed your jaw, rough fingers digging into your skin. He forced your head to the side. Face-to-face with him now.

He leaned down closer.

“We have a job to do.”

Your brain went blank, something within you triggered. Like a switch. Enchanted, hypnotized, mesmerized. Stuck in a trance. You instantly relaxed. Eyes to those behind his shades. Waited for his direction, for his command. A dog at his heel.

He released you slowly, stepping back from you.

“The trigger phrase kept you in line but it didn’t give us everything we needed. Your innermost secrets were always locked behind a door.”

The red door. Always an obstacle in your way. A gateway through the labyrinthine corridors of a shattered psyche, the ruins of broken mind. For which all paths converged and led back to him. Back to Adler. Like a northern star; a flame in the dark. He was always the one to reel you in, to ground you. A planet caught in his gravity. But this trick, this manipulation tactic was not untrue. This brutal man that stood over you was not a figment of your imagination, no matter how much you blinked. Nor was he a trickster or an impersonator. This man was Adler. And what you both had… your complicated and complex relationship. It was never real. None of it was. Your past together, even your future together. Your children… none of it was real. Pain deep in your chest, coiling around your heart like thorn vines. The mother inside wailed and sobbed, grieving for what you never had in the first place.

You watched him as he talked on. Words he was saying to you, seeped into your head. You probably hate them right now, he said. Hate, you should hate. It was the only understanding you needed; nothing of the stakes, of a threat of nuclear fallout, of the death of millions off the face of the earth. A realization. One that you couldn’t fully heal from. A pain that broke your rhythm. A flow of agonizing hurt washed over you, a remembrance of a ghostly past and a once tangible future. This was purgatory. Not one manifested by your woes and fears, or created by your own head or designed for you. It was a byproduct, a fact of life. To live, was to suffer. To suffer, was to live.

It had all been a dream, a fantasy. Hopeful wishing in light of your suffering. The only source of strength and hope you could cling onto. You shared no life with him. No allegiance, or connection. You didn’t know him, not truly. He was not your safety, not the gravity keeping you on your feet. Your world crumbled, unfurling at the seams. Between the subtle shading and the absence of light laid the nuance of illusion. Of the lie fed to you, of the life spun for you, of the personhood falsified unto you. You should loathe him, you should fear him. You shouldn’t trust the man in front of you. You knew it all as true.

“This is your chance to define who you really are, Bell.”

But love and hate had always tasted the same to you.

Remember?

“Where is Perseus?” Adler asked you, expectantly.

The voice of that tall silver-haired man in that dark room, in your ear once more. Whisperings in your head. Truth on the tip of your tongue.

From the safety of Solovetsky.

….Solovetsky.

“Solovetsky. It’s the Solovetsky Monastery.” You told him.

Adler repeated the word. “Solovetsky.”

He sent whoever was there out of the room, appointed tasks in preparation for what’s to come. You watched as he untied your restraints around your wrists and legs. Undid the one around your chest. Without hesitation.

“You made the right choice, Bell.”

Truly? Had you truly chosen correctly?

Adler clasped your hand, helped you up from the gurney. The heat of his palm seeping through your fingerless gloves. The hand on your shoulder, steadied you as you stood on wobbly legs.

“You’re still one of us.”

One of us.

It was bittersweet beneath it all.

All the conflicting emotions, the pain and fear, the grieving for a life you never shared together. The memories that weren’t yours, but Adler’s. In that, you at least shared. But despite it all. You did what you always had done. Even now. You put your trust in him. Followed him dutifully. Heeded his words. It was all you knew. All you knew how to do. Whether it was implanted into you or learned over time. His ambition, his will; your purpose. A fatal flaw. Following him to the ends of the world, to hell on earth by his side. As the cards of fate were shuffled and played.

Even now after the all-out assault on Solovetsky, the foiling of Perseus' plan. You were found and rescued from underneath all the debris: rubble, concrete and metal sheets. Rebars stuck out of the remnants of the monastery like broken bones. Voices on the other side. A figure between the dust and smoke, fires burning around you. Adler appeared in front of you, and you couldn’t help the sigh of relief at the sight of him. He extended an arm out to you there on the ground.

“Take my hand, Bell.” He said.

And you did.

Reached out for him. Let him pull you back on your feet as you steadied yourself. Listened to his triumphant speech afterwards. Of the evil you helped stop. Without your knowledge at first, then with it afterwards.

“This is how wars are won, Bell.”

You couldn’t help the chill that ran down your spinal cord as he spoke directly to you. Goosebumps rose. Felt like ants marching one by one, up and down your skin. It was a declaration of devotion. Not to you, never to you. But to his country. For the safekeeping and welfare of the Western world and its idealisms. You were nothing but a means to an end. A stepping stone in the cobble path. Just another pawn on the chess board sacrificed for the checkmate. The early morning broke through the clouds of smoke. The fires still burned bright against the waning dusk, even throughout the incoming dawn. Soon the leeching light of the fires was but a memory. Fleeced clouds roamed through the pastorals of a calm sky, subsiding away, and freeing the sun from its subjugation. The sun rose, blooming against an azure sky, unfurling its golden tendrils, to bare its fierce face once again. Apprehension prickled along the back of your neck, the hairs there stood at end. You couldn’t shake off the feeling and that fight or flight instinct was becoming very hard to ignore.

Yet, you still followed right behind Adler as he led you up a hill. Towards a cliff that overlooked the Arctic sea. He was a few paces ahead but still looked back towards you to make sure you were still following. As if you would bolt in a split second when he turned his back and wasn’t looking. The smell of brine became stronger as you reached the top of the cliff. Carried on the cold winds, the exhale of wintry dread. Of death’s call. The taste of salt was a sharp bitterness on your tongue, making your mouth prune and your thirst more fierce. You watched him take a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the cool scent of the sea. Adler leaned a leg on top of a rock and peered over the edge. He lit up a cigarette, taking a drag of it, and stared out to the sea.

You stood only a couple feet away, just observing him. Wallowed in uncertainty, in the unknown. In the aftermath of the truth revealed. The dealer’s hand had already been dealt, but you didn’t know what it read. What it entailed when it came to you. The roar of crashing waves battered against the jagged rock of the cliffside in your ears. Filled the silence between you both. But it wasn’t enough to drown the endless stream of thoughts in your headspace.

Adler turned towards you. Cool and impassive. Wholly inscrutable to you.

“Arctic air. Clears the head, doesn’t it.”

An ice breaker, something to cut through the tension between you both. Then came his praise, and something inside fawned at his words. A simple acknowledgement that was everything to you.

“I just want you to know that this little thing that’s happened with you and me. It was always for the greater good.”

Adler flicked his cigarette away. Your eyes watched him waste it, as it fell down into the sea. More praise from him. You were a hero, he told you. That dreaded nickname tumbling from his lips again. Kid . More talk about being a hero. Heroism, sacrifice. Sacrifice of the self, of others. Sacrifice. You were the sacrificial lamb, another pawn on the chess board sacrificed for the checkmate. For the greater good. Why would it turn out any different? You served your purpose. You were no longer useful.

It would always end this way, with your death at the very culmination. You were just another loose end that needed to be dealt with.

“... it was never personal.”

You habitually wobbled on the precipice of life and death. Between luck of the draw and the short end of the stick. Firm-footed at its edge at the very last second. Death had been elusive to you once. A mercy neither given nor received. But now, you saw the margins of error permitted in between. You barely felt the bullet as it struck through your chest. Scarlet bloomed beneath your fingertips, stained your skin like overripe raspberries. Shedding liquid dripped onto the ground in splatters. A contrast of color that was vibrant against the mellow pigmentation. There it burgeoned under the sun, roses and scarlet sage. Sarcodes and carnations. Bouquets and garlands, a gathering of plucked lifeblood. Your knees buckled as your body went slack and you collapsed to the ground. Clutching at your lower chest, you grimaced at the excruciating pain of a deep-seeded wound. The bitter taste of a sob was on your tongue. But you swallowed it down, let it simmer out as the coppery taste overpowered both the bitterness and the saltiness in your mouth.

You could only lie there on the dirt, bleeding and exhausted. Supine in your own pool of blood, your eyes to the sky. Watched the seagulls glide in and out of your vision carried by the oceanic winds and the clouds floating above you. Blood swarmed in your mouth. Your respiration stuttered, uneven and wheezing with every breath rattling your ribcage. Dirt and gravel shifted as heavy footsteps approached you, stopping inches away from where you lay. You turned your head, letting it loll to the side. Wanting to look out to the horizon in the distance. The boots in front of your face moved. Feet planted next to your head instead, giving you a clear view of the sight over the cliffside. He was quiet as he stood next to you, looking out the horizon like you were. But you felt his eyes glance down at you every so often. Waiting for your last breath.

There was a strange comfort there with him by your side. As a bedside presence, as company as death creeped in. Nobody wanted to die all alone. And at least a man such as Adler had the decency to stay. But underneath the solace, there was a hard truth. The realization that he only wanted to make sure that you died. That all loose ends were gone.

You knew as well as he did that death would eventually come. He had aimed for a quick kill, a merciless end to not prolong your suffering. But your fast draw of your pistol from your side as you mirrored his action. Moved just slightly with your unholster as you stared down each other’s gun barrels. But it was enough for him to miss his mark. Only for the shot to hit your chest instead of your head where Adler initially aimed. Now you would suffer, your own doing you supposed. Self-afflicted in a last ditch effort to live. Or rather take him down with you. Together, to the depths of hell. Tit for tat; quid pro quo.

The sound of metal clicking above you of an adjustment of a pistol. You took as much of a stable breath as you could, expecting another gunshot to come. To quicken your death, take you out of your misery like putting down a dog. All to finish what was already started. But no shot rang out, instead the pistol was holstered to his side and buckled around his thigh. You were not worth the waste of another bullet it seemed. You felt his eyes stray from the horizon, down to you. You heard him let out a deep, weary sigh. After your bloodied coughs sent blood droplets onto the ground next to his boots. Your chest heaved and you gasped out aloud for air, like you were being submerged. Head pushed underneath the frothy surface. Drowning in your own blood. Your body had accepted death, but your soul refused to rest; psychosomatic prodromes. A restlessness that couldn’t be overcome.

Fighting still, even in your death throes.

“Sleep, Bell.”

A whisper on the wind, a ghostly graze along your cheek of a feigned loving touch. One last command, one last instruction.

Whether you knew it or not, unconsciously or consciously, you heeded those words. Your eyes fluttered close like butterfly wings as you started to go limp, letting go of it all. The horizon began to fade in your blurring sight. And soon after, you lost all feeling. The cold winds against your skin, the sounds of lapping waves and the taste of brine and blood — they were nothing to you now. Clutched in the cold grip of death. Where a frostbite numbness overcame you like you were plunged in a tub of ice. Doused in freezing water. Senseless and insensible. Capitulated. Your life was beyond you now. Below, where the cliffside stretched down towards the sea. To the ebb and flow of turbulent waters.

Blue. Dark blue.

The color of Adler’s eyes. One of his favorite genres that played on the radio. The complexion of a corpse. The quadrangle that held fifty stars on the national flag. The color of solitude so cold. The expanse of water as it swallowed you whole. Body tossed over the edge, lost to the sea. Paths intertwined now to be untangled for good.

Here, on this heroic day, you dreamed a dream.

In your brain’s oscillations of replayed memories, a last recall of life events just before death.Of a life not merited. Of a life lost to you. One that was never yours to take. You lived a false life in a world that was falser still. Enraptured by the being of your damaged brain. Deluded, deceived. How it comforted you with vivid illusions of the intangible of your own life in the haziness of hoary dreamscapes. Influenced by your capture, shaped by the man you should loathe. But instead who you found comfort in. You only made it easier for them to erase you, for him to manipulate you. The beginning and the end; the end to your beginning.

The ‘what-ifs’ and ‘should-haves’ all but questions gone unanswered. A mirage in a desert, right before reality set in when you looked too close, got too close. The sounds of your children laughing, their arms around your waist. Clinging, attached to the hip. Their cries to you when they had nightmares. And your consolation afterwards. Adler in the doorway. Watching, always watching you. Sharp eyes that found yours. In the gap of the evidence board when you were out of line of sight. He kept you close. Right under his thumb. The feel of Adler next to you, on you, inside you. Flesh to flesh, skin on skin. Lips to yours. Scars shown, souls bared. Fates so intertwined, so interlaced with each other, that neither of you knew where you ended and he began. But such deep ties needed to be severed. For his own good more than yours.

And here, on such a heroic day, the complexity of the mind was incomparable to the simplicity of the heart.

Beloathed, behated, betrayed, yet still beloved; dearly in life as in death. Heartbroken, heartsick. Disheartened. A heart that beat against contused ribs. Flames of love buried beneath ash and cinder which laid still your tender heart. But there were no asphodel fields to bury you. No tombs to house your remains. You had no headstone, no eulogy, no mourners to mourn you. No church bells in the distance. Only you, to mourn and grieve for what you never had. You would be the unspoken, the redaction. Another lost and forgotten file in the archives. No one would ever know. You would never be known or remembered. Removed from all historical accounts. Blacked out, scratched out of the records.

To Adler, you were a temporary asset. To Perseus, you were a traitorous rat. And to you? Who were you in the eyes of yourself? You thought you knew once. Even when your memories were but sand grains in the cusp of your palms. Although you felt more ghost than human, watching as the world went on without you. You were nothing but an echo of a heartbeat from a long dead heart. Where life was not for you. Never was for you. Such life was beyond you now. Where the planes of reality and dreams had collided. You were never anything more than what you needed to be. What you needed yourself to believe yourself to be. For such a life, for a family. For Adler by your side, was only conjured by a midst of madness. A madness you had thought another found beautiful. But it only made you a liability. Your brain trauma, your memory loss, your identity crisis; it was the only guarantees you knew about yourself. A byproduct of a supposed life of soldiering and espionage. Self-sacrifice. The same thing that Adler drilled into your head. It had always been for the greater good. He prepared you for this. For your eventual end. So here, it was reaped and sowed.

Here, on this heroic day, there remained only a revered silence.

For a dead dreamer and a sullied dream.

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A/N:

Critique welcomed and encouraged as long as it is constructive and polite (don't be rude/mean pretty please ◡̈ ).

#call of duty #cod fanfic #cod bocw #cod cold war #bell cod #cod bell #cod x reader #russell adler #black ops cold war #adler x bell #russell adler x reader #russell adler x oc #cod smut #call of duty black ops cold war #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #ao3 link #completed #oneshot

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prettybabybaby · 10 days ago

Note

regulus who trains innocent stepsister!reader to tell him anytime she’s horny so he can eat her out to “cure her” because “she shouldn’t be feeling that way angel, it’s shameful, but no one needs to know, i’ll just help you out”

rating: 18+. mdni.

content: stepcest, oral (f)

“always so sick, sweet thing,” regulus murmurs along the skin of your thigh, his lips grazing the flesh. “what’s going on with you, hm?” he nibbles softly at the plush skin, running his tongue over the area.

you let out a stuttered exhale, looking down at the messy head of curls between your parted legs, his dark eyes shining. regulus’s dress shirt remains unperturbed, not a wrinkle in sight despite being buried between your legs since he’s gotten home. “I don’t know…”

“you don’t know?” regulus’s eyes disappear beneath your skirt, his pink tongue flicking your swollen, sensitive nub. you shudder, thighs flexing as you resist the urge to squirm, having been reprimanded time and time again. “don’t tell me you’ve been having those thoughts again…”

your cheeks begin to burn, feeling grateful for the fabric of your skirt obscuring his view of you. “I haven’t…”

“good,” regulus lays a wet kiss along your clit. “it’s not okay to have thoughts like that about your brother…” his tongue dips down, drawing more slick from your clenching hole, “I’m doing this to help you, not to have you thinking disgusting thoughts about me, you sick little angel.”

you bite your lip, “I don’t. it just hurts… always hurts…” regulus hums, the vibration making you whine softly. you can’t help the small jerk of your hip, aching to pull him closer.

“I can see that, angel,” he murmurs, slick sounds coming from beneath your flared skirt. “it’s so messy down here… drooling all over my tongue…”

your back arches slightly, his tongue flicking and licking against you deliciously. “but don’t worry,” he purrs, “you always come to me, okay?”

#tw stepcest #regulus (belle’s version)#stepbrother!regulus #dark!regulus #regulus black x reader #regulus black smut #regulus x reader #regulus smut #marauders regulus #marauders era smut #marauders smut #hp marauders #marauders #regulus #regulus black

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eloisyw8 · 8 months ago

Note

Hey adler! *suprises him with a Malayan tiger cub* happy late valentine's day!

I know it's not valentine anymore but i think it's kinda cute, adler is probably rethinking on how a small cub like this can eventually scar his face like that. atleast that's what bell thought

#call of duty #call of duty black ops #cod black ops cold war #black ops cold war #russell adler #cod bell #cod adler #cod mw2 #cod cold war #bocw #cod bocw #cod cw #russell adler x reader #cod x reader #my art

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animefreak1145 · 14 days ago

Text

Church Bells(Adler x Bell!Reader x Woods)

Previous Intel

Eighth Intel | Before

Description:

The world ended for Bell after Cuba.

The whole world followed soon after.

Zombies AU | Drabble Format

Warnings/Tags: Mature Rating, Graphic Violence, Dark Themes, Trauma, Body Horror, Gore, Major Character Death, Brainwashing, Post!Cuba, Pre!Solovetsky, No Solovetsky, Female Bell, Older Man/Younger Woman, Toxic Relationship, Obsession, Menticide

Words: 4k (What's a drabble again?)

▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▛ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚ ▟ ▞ ▚ ▞ ▚

■ ▞ ■ ▚ ■ “Bell” ■ ▞ ■ ▚ ■

Day After Ukraine Mission

16:07 | February 28th, 1981

CIA SAFEHOUSE E9, “DIE LANDEBAHN”

“You do that a lot.”

You start from what you were staring at, the codes that are so tricky and you feel so close. The intel from what you have in your hands adding a piece to the puzzle that you’re enamored with—the complexities satisfying a carnal part of you that you can’t name. Your head turns to find Lazar’s curious yet amused smile, close to the television they used sometimes for the news not at your usual spot at the too small desk with the too large computer; at the center table instead is where you chose to haunt.

“What?” you reply dumbly, too out of your element to say a more snarky reply. The transition from focused on the task to this interruption from the man that is more of an Eema than an Abba due to how hearty he looks and feels and making sure everyone felt the same by also stuffing their face.

“That.” You were met with Lazar’s finger in your face. You resisted the urge to stare cross eyed and instead gave him a more inquisitive look, eyes searching. Which only humored him more, releasing a chuckle. “You have quite an intimidating stare.”

You push the hand away, scoffing,

“What? At my work? Isn’t that like everyone else?”

Lazar hummed, his eyes glittering at a joke you can’t understand.

“No. You have that type of stare that will freeze lesser men. Or get slapped by someone who thinks you’re looking for a fight. Or get you put into an asylum. Only, when you decode, you have an insane smile on your face. It’d be creepy if we didn’t know you.”

“Uh huh.” You dismissed, eyes glancing at the medical office. “You should work better on your compliments if you want Park to have a drink with you.”

If Park wasn’t in the medical office room along with Adler, you’re sure Lazar would throw his old cup noodle at you. Alas, he only gave you a dry “Ha. Ha.” with a neutral expression but still didn’t leave. He wants an answer.

You turn to him fully, elbows leaning back against the desk, petulant.

“I doubt I smile like how you describe…” Lazar snorted while you frowned at him, before shifting your gaze back to your papers. “I don’t know. I just…love puzzles. They’re fun to solve.”

“Is that what makes you stare so intently?” Lazar leaned against the television, the stand slightly creaking at the movement, his intrigue seeming sincere. Another question hidden, two subjects being asked for one answer. A wall. “The thrill?”

Is that what love is to you?

You tapped at the papers, biting your lip in thought.

“Maybe a part…I just have this need to figure things out. To open it up—to find the numbers, the letters, the riddles. In an order that is random but it’s not. It’s just a trick. A shadow on the wall. A reason for each piece. Each hint. Every piece of the puzzle has its purpose. It’s reason for being.” You didn’t notice when you started smiling, the topic consuming you like books and pictures do. But you just kept going as you grabbed your pen and fiddled with it, miming writing numbers or letters. “Like Sims with mechanics, I think. Or you with bomb wiring. You find the hardy wires or broken pieces—and I untangle it all. I even love how difficult it could be if I find a cipher intellectual. It’s fun.”

“Sounds maddening,” Lazar replied simply, brow raising. “And painful. Maybe even obsessive.”

You shrug, staring deeply at your own pen, tone far away. As if you were speaking about another topic than this. Something other. Like a secret.

“That’s love, isn’t it? Pain and obsession?”

“Your books tell you that? Or you come to that conclusion yourself?” You pressed your lips, silent. Only glancing at Lazar(are you easy to read?) who only smiled gently before switching gears and letting out a booming laugh. “With that description of love—you very much implied Adler is in love with our friendly neighborhood Perseus.”

Your jaw dropped, a gasp being released as you sat up rigid in your chair. A defense for Adler and a denial ready only for a startling guffaw to join in.

“What the shit are you talking about, Lazar?” Woods comes from his previous spot practicing with the boxing bag, Mason side by side with his own amused gaze as they come close to the center table. Woods snorted as he leaned back against the table near you instead of taking a proper seat. “Can you imagine our own Robert Redford switching spit with a commie? Ha!”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Mason quips to his friend with a nudge while Woods expression quickly changed to offended with no heat as he pushes Mason back with a disbelieving snort. “What? Sorry I’m airing out your fantasies.”

It was strange watching them. The easy back and forth quips and teases. Lazar felt like a warm hearth and home cooked meals compared to Mason’s steady kindness of a worn animal despite its past and Woods…

You briefly think of the night prior, how charged he felt out in the field. Not eager for it yet…willing to take everything and anything out his way. But his friendly taunts and words to you too. The arcade. The room where you got the intel and the knowledge he had of you, knowing you would’ve loved to play around more with the tech and computers there if the both of you had time and not world ending doom.

You weren’t impressed by his skills. Skills are to be expected in this line of work. People can call you cocky all they want.

But how personable he is? That was different.

It was unexpected.

(Why did it feel like he’s more close to you than Sims right now? Why has everyone been so disconnected from you? Even—blue fire for eyes hidden by the shaded wall, wheat dancing in the wind, artful cracks across a canvas—)

A hand waved in front of your face, your eyes broken from its lost look as you blinked back to the present.

“Hello? Earth to Bell?” Woods was still next to you and you couldn’t help but notice that Mason moved away with Lazar to where Lazar’s station is. Still talking with friendly smiles and easy atmosphere. You blinked again before turning towards Woods, who looked at you with a mix of amusement and concern. “What happened there? Did you even listen to a word I said?”

You didn’t. You’ve been doing this a lot. Getting lost in your head. Your brain foggy and mind distant. Not as quick as you usually are. You thankfully haven’t had this happen in the field. You hope it stays that way.

Instead of giving a straight answer, your lips only rose in a dry smile.

“Sorry, was thinking just how you got the guts to punch Hudson of all people.”

Woods huffed, crossing his arms and leaning back, brushing your shoulders as he did.

“Doesn’t take guts to punch a prick.”

“No,” your smile turns up a tad, more mischief. “Takes some balls instead. Can’t have balls without a prick nearby or there’ll be trouble.”

Woods made a choked sound, as he stared at you dumbly before slapping the table and releasing a loud boom of a laugh. You wonder how he does that. So loud. So free.

“You got more spunk than I thought, Bell. Guess you need it to even get the idea to escape in a Ruskie tank.”

You huff out your nose, but your chest still lightened at the praise. Your smile coming easy now and tension completely fallen away. You hid it though as you turned back to your work, picking up a stray picture of the Ukraine base you took.

“Did it for you. I figured you would want to run some commie’s over.”

“Oh, I’ve dreamed of it. I would say top five of my favorite wet dreams.”

You couldn’t help it. You snorted, it bursted through your chest and it didn’t stop, only turned to a laugh. You put a hand over your mouth to try to contain it but Woods satisfied expression only made you laugh more.

“Why—why did you say that?!” You try to collect yourself but you couldn’t. Not when Woods waggled his brows as if in answer. “Pfft—should I even ask what’s top one?”

Woods shrugged.

“No can do. Gotta protect your innocence somewhere. My mind is a crazy place. Don’t wanna scare you off.” You snort again, shaking your head at him and tried to get back to work. Woods didn’t move as you stared around at the different pictures you took with Intel. “Say, where’s the random pics you took of me?”

“Don’t worry, Woods. I didn’t take out a camera with you over the mannequin—“ You stopped when he shook your shoulder, a warning gaze that only made you bite back another smile and only glare at him with no heat as you pushed his hand off. “Calm down,” you say quietly. “I haven’t said anything. Scout’s Honor.” You raise a hand as if to show.

Woods rose a brow dubiously.

“Were you even a Girl Scout?”

“Doubtful. Looks like you just gotta hope I don’t open my mouth about it.”

Woods grunted. Yet still didn’t leave.

“Do you normally take pics of everything and everyone? Even on missions like that?”

“I like it. I like taking pictures. Did I make you uncomfortable?” You did take a few of him before you took a picture of the base. It was nice lightning and he looked good. “I can give you the pictures I took to you, if you want. They were good shots.”

“I suppose I can add it to my scrapbook.” Woods joked before shaking his head, his eyes turning more curious as the conversation went on. Gaze more assessing as he stared down at you. “Nah, it’s fine. Don’t mind you keeping them. After I take a look of course. I guess I’m just asking…what’s the obsession with the camera? Film is precious right?” At your shoulder tensing, you starting to get defensive, he quickly changed tactics as he rose a hand in calming manner. “I ain’t judging. Just curious. Couldn’t help but overhear Park talk to you that Adler doesn’t like wasting resources. Or some shit like that. I don’t get the big deal. But it must be if you keep doing it despite them having a stick up their asses about some film of all things.”

Your brows pinched together, gazing intently at Woods eyes. You don’t see a reprimand. Or exasperation. Or even amused exasperation, like you were just being cute while doing something disobedient—like a pet jumping at their owners even as they tell them no with an amused smile. (“Always the one who never listens. Huh, Bell? Didn’t I tell you before about the pictures?”) He’s being sincere in his interest. It was his expression that did it.

You looked away, eyes taking in the safehouse around them.

“Ever feel like a ghost in your own body?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Woods answered roughly. You nodded next to you, him taking that as permission that he can finally properly sit next to you. You didn’t mind thighs or shoulders brushing. Comrades now. Both of you throwing your lives on the line. Getting shot by a common enemy brings people together no other way can.

“Well, the coma did a number on me. I don’t remember much. I can’t put a story to scars on my body. My life, my memories—it’s only Vietnam.”

“Fucked up thing to remember. That whole war was a shit show,” Woods provided. “You must’ve been young.”

You only hummed, distant. Eyes straying in the direction of the red room. Your skin prickled in goosebumps, ears falsely hearing shots and napalm strikes. You shuddered but hid it by clenching your fists on the table, eyes on your jumbled words of your work.

“Yeah…Hue City was just the start of everything going downhill…But I guess my point is…” You don’t know how to properly say it, you can’t find the English word for this. Esurient for memories erased. The feeling of not quite fitting in everyone’s circle, even with Sims. Monachopsis. (Are you even here at all? It’s like they stare past you.) “Life is memories. I don’t have any. What’s a person if not memories? So…I don’t feel…like it. A person.” You shrug casually, mutely. Hand wandering to a picture, thumbing it. “Ghosts don’t seem to remember stuff besides a deep motive. That’s what others believe. But…with pictures…pictures are for memories. If I take pictures, I’m actually taking memories. And if take enough memories…” You struggled once more how to explain but Woods was sharp despite his looks.

“You’ll be a person again.” Your eyes darted towards him, giving him a minute nod as he seemed to consider your words with a tilt of his head. The silence between the two of you wasn’t stifling, just…there.

You felt like something was released from you.

Unlocked.

The key was just for someone to ask.

“Hey, listen—“ you turned at the soft touch to your shoulder, and you noticed Woods looked uncomfortable about the atmosphere you created. Not used to sharing open emotions like this no doubt but still had what appeared like care in his eyes. “You should really talk to Mason, he—“

Your ears honed in on the medical office opening, your eyes quick to follow as your head swiveled. Everything turned silent as your eyes settled upon the body you can recognize even in the thickest of jungles or deepest of wet rice paddies. And as your eyes settled, your thoughts of ruminating toska and the sense of lacuna dissipated.

You were so busy trying to catch what Adler was saying to Park beside him, you temporarily forgotten Woods next to you. You could hear him talking. Some form of advise.

You turned back to your work and absently nodded with a quick smile to match at him. Your lips moved to say thanks. You think you did.

You didn’t see Woods throw another look of concern towards you, of suspicion. Turning something over his head.

You forced your ears to stretch, as if with force you can have super hearing. With brute force you can have the arcane man with valleys upon his visage, with liquid nectar that bounces with voluminous silk, voice of gravel that leads to the path of victory and makes your mind hazy.

You still had a pen in your hand, tight as you looked down with a frown at the papers. Your leg beginning to bounce under the table. Impatient. Restless. Athirst.

“I’m going out for a smoke,” Adler called out(Beckoned, Signaled, Enticed—trinket waved like a treat. Your nepenthe.) clearly, more loudly than how he was talking to Park. You didn’t turn your head as he walked out the door near the garage door, too obvious. But you did sneak a look when he exited, stealing gaze right when you saw his back before the door closed.

Except it didn’t. A small rock held it ajar.

A secret.

“What the hell?” Woods was bewildered, staring after Adler while you tried to hide the fact. Waiting a beat. Or two. Your leg bounced under the table, growing more insistent. “Doesn’t he get his fix in here anyways?”

You heard Lazar answer for Woods, something about Adler needing a change of scenery sometimes. You can see in your peripheral his glance. You ignored it as you stood up to head back to your computer desk.

“I’m taking a break too,” you say, quickly picking a book from your pile in the corner after a brief deliberation.

“Uh…” Woods face would’ve made you laugh from how scrunched up it was as he stared as you quickly fixed your work papers back in the center table, book under your arm. “Isn’t that what you were doing? Like fuckin’ a second ago?”

“No,” you answer, organizing the pictures and quickly scanning them before you do so. “Lazar interrupted me from my work. And then you did. It was an interruption. Not a break.”

“You sure turned prickly,” Woods said in answer.

You pause, seeing Woods was somehow offended. He just doesn’t get it.

“Says the cactus,” you quip with a quick smile, twitching up more at Woods huff out his nose. “I…like taking my break the same time as Adler,” You decide to answer the question in his eyes. He did listen. “It’s what we’ve always done. I read. He smokes. And right back to work we go. It works better this way.”

You didn’t wait for his reply.

You didn’t even bother to see if he was about to.

You have the book in your hand, and you have your tether(Your eyes looks for the sun tanned gold even though it should blind you, but you never cared for your wellbeing. Protect the quiet monster like a demon enraged. Demon for monster. Monster for demon. The coin. You keep it in your pocket, whelve it—the whispered confession—the gravity of your ustulation and agastopia can burn through your pockets and skin all it wish. You keep it in. Like the pain killers Adler gave you earlier for your migraine after their meeting with Hudson about Ukraine.) outside.

You open the door and without looking, you went to the left side of the door that’s by some unused pallets. Sitting on them and opening your book to your last point, as if you were ignoring him. (How could you?) He was smoking as he leaned against the wall beside the door. You always left of it, him always right. (▞ He’s always right. ▞ He ▙ never ▞ lies. Not to ▖ ▞ ▗ you.)

It was silent. Only the turning of your pages as you focused on reading, and the occasional exhale you hear now and then if you strain your ears. A puff of grey smoke above the two as your audience.

You don’t mind the quiet moments. You take what you can get. The two of you have too long a history for you to be uncomfortable at silence. Or needing something more.

You don’t.

(The secret coin in your pocket burns, and you try not to flinch nor whine. You must stay sated, ▚ демон ▚ ▛ ▖ ▖.)

A shot went through the front of your skull, your hand darting up as it seemed to go to the back of your head, a hiss to your lips. You almost dropping the book with your other hand.

“Another migraine?” He was close. You opened your eyes you didn’t realize were closed as you were hunched over your knees, spotting his shoes.

You only offered a small nod before closing your eyes again, jaw tight.

“I don’t…” you stop, speaking more quietly to help with the pounding. The sunlight was too much already, you don’t want to add your own voice to your own misery. “Dont know why it’s getting worse. Is this…normal?”

“It can be.” He replied simply, to the point. “Here. Take this.”

You blinked your eyes open and lifted your head to spot he took out some more medicine from his leather jacket, holding it out to the pills in the palm of his hand. At the sight, your stomach curdled.

You felt yourself pale and you don’t know why.

Adler must’ve noticed your hesitation. Tilting his head and lips twitching to a frown around his cigarette. He lifted a hand, taking one deep inhale, embers subtly lighting his face before he threw it off. He exhaled out his nose, smoke flowing smoothly.

Your throat tightened as you stared. But not in want. It felt more heavy. More heady. Your mouth open more in a wince than for anything else.

“You know this will help. We gotta make sure you’re in shape for this, Bell.” You bowed your head in shame, book now beside you on the pallet as you clenched your hands on your knees. You heard him sigh. And now you see him, closer—he’s kneeling in front of you. One knee down, the other having his elbow leaning against it. “I don’t have to explain to you the stakes currently. You know how serious this is since you and Woods found out Hudson’s dirty little secret about Perseus and the nuke he has. You know it. We can’t fuck around anymore.”

You hunched your shoulders, as if that can hide you from your guilt. Because you spotted his glance towards your book. You can guess what else he’s hinting.

Stay a ghost or try to be a person? A part of your mind asked. You tried to not let your heart crack of no more pictures.

“I know…” you say, eyes down and to the side. Yet… “It’s just…it wasn’t that long ago you gave me them…I don’t—I mean—“ Your tongue is tied again. Like always near him. You didn’t mean to sound accusing or hinting. Adler is trained for medical issues on the field. You tried to take a breath. “I just don’t want to be a burden with all this. Slow you guys down. I don’t want to disappoint you.” You did a tight squeeze of your knees, practically white knuckled grip, a mix of uncaring at your honesty and hating yourself for it.

You felt your chin be lifted up, Adler’s forefinger doing so you can be face to face. He assessed you seriously.

“You won’t, kid.” He’s so close. Breath to your face. So calm too. Your anchor. He believes in you. If you or him leaned just an inch or two forward—he took his hand away from your face before bringing his palm with the medicine again. “Taking these will help. I’ll watch over you. Just like the good ‘ol days.” He tilted his head, a quirk of the mouth up. And you think he couldn’t be more charming.

You ignored your past nerves, quickly taking the medicine in a dry swallow, gloved hands brushing his bare ones(Damn it all.).

He nodded at you, the barest thing of it before he stood up. Glancing at your book again with pressed lips before facing you once more with a raised brow.

“Oscar Wilde? Here I thought you only read Dostoevsky and Nietzsche.”

“It’s a collection of some of his poem’s. And a break from existentialism and nihilism is good for the mind. But you’ve always been more of a stoic,” you shoot him a teasing look, an attempt to get your bravado back. “Our very own Prince Andrei Bolkonsky.”

Adler did a small huff out his nose.

“Just don’t start bowing.” Adler did a quick motion of his to the door. “Come on. Back to work, Tolstoy.”

You nod, marking where you were in the book before following Adler back in, your hold on the book tight. Who knows when you’ll get to read again.

Stay a ghost or try to be a person?

(It doesn’t matter. Adler made the choice for you.)

You tell yourself it’s fine. You instead let yourself be a book for Adler—willing to be read. You imagine how he would do it, a book of you in his hands. Read through your pages, open up your spine and let his fingers run through your creases—how easily can he finish you? How many times could he, until you’re worn and wrinkled from use? Will his touch trace the abuse of a loved book?

The place where he put his finger on your chin burns.

…

The page you marked on the page reads: “Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight, For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light."

▞ ▚

▛

▞ ▚

A/N: Bell is a SIMP. Poor girl. The best way to tell if Bell is in love, is if she suddenly starts thinking in poetry. Bell stares intensely you say? Bell loves intensely too.

I’m also confusing myself with Dark!Adler and Soft!Adler. But again he’s both so 🤷‍♀️ Man so toxic and a red flag, he’s even confusing the author.

Also, I’m planning to write really quickly to finish up For Whom the Bell Tolls. Didn’t want to but I really want to go ahead and write for BO6. Then again, that fic was NEVER supposed to be that long or longer. Sorry if I speed through some stuff, I just want to finish it and move on then torture you all further.

Tag List: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zachfoxx121 @pyxis-stellae @makeyourpeacenow @obsessedgremlin

You have to tell me if you want me to tag you for each update or else I won't know. Or if you wish to be removed.

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altcvnningham · 6 days ago

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i’d also like to say for anyone wanting short little drabbles or any writing requests related to cod (cod bo6/cw or adlerbell in particular rn) that my ask box is open and i’d be happy to give some a try!! i’ve never done requests before so they likely will be short and sweet but no less full of love.

i am also working on adler stuff here n there (mostly adlerbell/reader!bell) but adhd beating my ass and i’m struggling to finish the 5 wips i have going on all at once :’) but rest assured i will post something at some point skshjsjsj

i’d be happy to accept any asks/requests for:

russell adler / adlerbell

frank woods

troy marshall

sevati dumas

felix neumann

william ‘case’ calderon

jane harrow

helen park

and mostly anyone else from bo6/cw and i’m happy to try any cod mw too!! (my knight!gaz wip is kicking and screaming rn)

reminder please also support your fellow cod black ops fic writers on tumblr and on ao3 bc they are all fantastic and deserve the love!!

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calif0rnia-lovers · 4 months ago

Text

every road ends.

pairing: jude bellingham x fem!oc "kaira bennett" | fc: justine skye

request: Jude Bellingham and his girlfriend start to grow apart, but he’s convinced she’s his soulmate.

author's note: this started as a reader one shot and morphed into something else. my brain mapped out a four part story, if y'all are down for the ride??? based on four tracks from maeta's ep "when I hear your name."

sum: when jude signed to real madrid, he knew it would come with immense pressure. as he struggles to balance his new club, fast rise to fame, and expectations, he finds Kai slipping away.

warnings: angst--first heartbreak. | words: 5.9k

part i: denial

Kaira sat at the elegantly set dinner table, her eyes scanning the faces of her colleagues and boss as they engaged in animated conversation. The warm glow of the candles and soft laughter filled the room, creating an atmosphere of celebration and camaraderie. Yet, despite the festive surroundings, her mind was elsewhere.

She had been waiting for Jude all evening. His absence had been a nagging concern, and as the dinner progressed, her anticipation turned into a gnawing worry. He was supposed to be here, celebrating with her, but as the minutes ticked by, there was still no sign of him.

She discreetly glanced at her phone, half-expecting to see a text from him saying "I’m here" or something reassuring. Instead, she found an empty screen, the only message being the reminder of time slipping away.

The dinner continued around her, the conversation flowing effortlessly between the guests, but Kaira's attention was fragmented. Her attempts to focus on the lively discussion felt hollow, her mind preoccupied with thoughts of Jude and the reason for his delay.

Memories of past evenings with Jude flickered through her mind—the times he had been there to share in the laughter, to offer a comforting presence during stressful moments. Now, the absence of his familiar warmth felt like a stark contrast against the backdrop of celebration.

Her fingers drummed nervously on the edge of the table, a subtle sign of her growing unease. She checked her phone again, her hope dwindling with each passing moment. The text she had hoped for never arrived, and the empty screen only deepened her sense of disappointment.

As the evening wore on, Kaira tried to shake off the feeling of being incomplete. She forced a smile and participated in the conversation, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Jude. Each time she looked around the room, she found herself scanning the doorway, wishing to see him walk in with that familiar, reassuring smile.

Her boss raised a toast, and everyone cheered, lifting their glasses in celebration. Kaira managed to join in, her smile bright but her eyes betraying a hint of sadness. She couldn’t help but feel the weight of Jude's absence, which seemed to overshadow the joy of the evening.

The night continued, but the echo of Jude's missing presence lingered, casting a shadow over what was meant to be a joyful and memorable occasion.

Jude stumbled through the door, the weight of the evening's events pressing heavily on his shoulders. He had been attending a sponsor event for work, his mind preoccupied with business and the social obligations that came with it. His tie was loosened, and his jacket hung over his arm as he made his way to the bedroom.

He found Kaira lying in bed, her back turned to him. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. Jude started to undress, the fabric of his formal attire feeling heavy and oppressive after the long day. His removed his phone from his pocket, and he pulled it out, noticing the single text sent from her.

Seriously?

As he began to remove his dress shirt, his eyes fell on the discarded dress draped over a nearby chair. It was Kaira’s emerald evening dress, the one he'd helped pick out a few weeks ago, and seeing it now, the realization hit him like a ton of bricks. His heart sank as he understood the significance of the evening that he had completely overlooked.

The dinner—Kaira’s dinner. The one where she was supposed to be surrounded by colleagues and friends, celebrating her new role in the company. He had completely missed it.

A wave of guilt washed over him as he approached the bed, his voice tinged with guilt. “Kaira, I’m so sorry. I thought it was next Thursday. I know how important tonight was for you. I should have been there.”

Kaira remained silent, her body tense and unmoving. The silence stretched between them, a heavy blanket that seemed to press down on both of them. Jude’s apology hung in the air.

After a long pause, Kaira finally spoke, her voice soft but firm. “It’s fine,” she said quietly, reaching over to turn off the lamp. The room was instantly shrouded in darkness, the only sound the soft rustle of the sheets as she settled into her side of the bed.

Jude stood in the dimness, the reality of his mistake sinking in. He felt the sting of her silent treatment, a painful reminder of the evening he had missed.

Kaira sat at her desk, the soft hum of the office filling the air around her. She sipped her coffee, the warmth and familiarity of the oat milk blend a small comfort amidst the chaos of her day. Her gaze fell on the bouquet of lilies on her desk—her favorite flowers. Delivered an hour prior, they filled her room with a comforting scent. She gently took out the card nestled among the blooms and flipped it open

Jude's familiar script was pressed into the cardstock. He'd ordered the flowers the moment she'd left for work. Three days passed and she hadn't said anything about him missing dinner. When Jude tried to apologize, she smiled and provided the same response, "it's fine." He wished she'd be angry, yell at him. Let out her frustration but she didn't. She never has.

Kai,

Sorry I missed dinner. Can we call a truce? I’m really missing fighting for my side of the bed—turns out it's the key to a good night's sleep.

—J

The moment was interrupted by the sound of a knock on her door. Kaira looked up to see Mr. Thompson, her boss, standing there with a warm, inviting smile. He was an older man, his graying hair and gentle eyes radiating a kindness that always put her at ease.

"Morning, Kaira," he greeted, stepping into her office. "How’s everything going?"

"Morning, Mr. Thompson. Everything’s good, just reading over the brief for the latest project," she replied, quickly storing the card in her nearby planner.

Mr. Thompson’s gaze drifted to the bouquet of lilies on her desk. "Those are beautiful lilies you’ve got there. They look like they were picked with care. A nice touch from Jude, I’m sure?"

Kaira nodded, a smile finding her lips. "Yes, they’re my favorite."

"Well, it’s clear he knows how to make the other ladies of the office jealous," Mr. Thompson said with a chuckle. "We were hoping he’d join us for dinner, but I understand how things can get busy."

"Now, I wanted to discuss the brief. We’ve got a potential set of clients in Washington, D.C. They’re a major firm looking to overhaul their marketing strategy, and they were genuinely impressed with our previous work."

Kaira’s eyes widened, her pulse quickening with anticipation. "Really? That sounds incredible."

"It is," Mr. Thompson agreed, his eyes twinkling with enthusiasm. "And I’ve been giving a lot of thought to who would be the best fit to lead this presentation. Your work has been nothing short of exceptional, Kaira. I’d like you to consider taking this on."

Kaira blinked in surprise, her heart skipping a beat. "Me?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Are you sure?"

Mr. Thompson’s face broke into a warm, reassuring smile as he chuckled softly. "Absolutely. You have an extraordinary knack for understanding client needs and delivering results that exceed expectations. Here’s how it works: You’ll need to create a detailed presentation to share with the team. We’ll review it and then hold a vote to select the lead for this project."

Kaira’s eyes widened. "And if I’m selected?"

"If you’re chosen," Mr. Thompson continued, "you’ll be traveling to Washington, D.C., to oversee the project. It’s a significant role, and it will involve a five-month commitment there"

Kaira hesitated, her face reflecting her uncertainty. "But five months away from home… that’s a long time. What if it’s not the right move?"

Mr. Thompson nodded thoughtfully, his expression empathetic. "I get it, Kaira. Relocating for an extended period isn’t ideal for everyone. It can be challenging to be away from loved ones. However, this project offers a unique opportunity for growth. Leading a major project in D.C. will not only enhance your skills but also elevate your career to new heights. It’s a chance to make a significant impact and open doors for future opportunities."

Kaira’s shoulders relaxed slightly as she considered his words. "Thank you, Mr. Thompson, for considering me."

"Of course," he said warmly. "Just remember, if you decide to take this on, you’ll have our full support. Now, go ahead and start working on that presentation. I’m confident the clients will be impressed with what you bring to the table."

As Mr. Thompson left her office, Kaira sank back into her chair, the enormity of the opportunity slowly settling in. She had the chance to lead a major project in Washington, D.C., a city brimming with opportunities and fresh challenges. The thought was both exhilarating and intimidating. She knew she needed to share the news with Jude, but with his current stress and their growing distance, she wasn’t sure how he would react.

For now, she pushed those worries aside and focused on the task at hand. Opening her laptop, she began to brainstorm ideas for the presentation, determined to prove to herself and her boss that she was ready for this next pivotal step in her career.

Jude sat at the kitchen table, his coffee growing cold beside him. He reached for his phone, hoping for a distraction in the form of the latest sports headlines, but instead, his heart sank.

A notification from a popular sports and celebrity gossip site caught his eye. The headline blared: “Trouble in Paradise? Jude Bellingham’s Girlfriend Spotted with Mystery Man.” His stomach churned as he clicked on the article, dreading what he might find.

The page loaded with perfectly timed and zoomed-in photos of Kaira at a café, having lunch with a man Jude didn’t recognize. The images captured them greeting each other with a hug, their faces lit up with smiles, and their conversation full of animated laughter. The media had twisted their innocent lunch into a scandalous story of potential infidelity.

As he absorbed the images, his phone buzzed again. This time, it was a message from Jobe, accompanied by a link to the same article. “You seen this, mate?” the text read. Jude’s jaw clenched in frustration as he stared at the screen.

Despite his better judgment, Jude read the article. The blurb detailed their interaction: "Kaira Bennett, Jude Bellingham’s girlfriend of nearly three years, was spotted enjoying a cozy lunch with a mystery man at a charming outdoor café. The two were seen greeting each other with a warm hug, and their animated conversation was punctuated with smiles and laughter. Is there trouble in paradise for the young football star and his American love?”

The article speculated about their relationship being on the rocks, noting that Jude hadn’t shared any recent pictures of Kaira on his social media, and her lack of appearance at his most recent sponsor event. “Sources close to the couple suggest that their relationship is strained due to Jude’s demanding schedule and the pressures of playing for Real Madrid. Little is known about Kaira Bennett, who works in marketing, but she had uprooted her life to be with Jude, first moving to England and then following him to Spain. A decision she might now regret, being as the Real Madrid star is spending more time with his new teammates. Could this be the end for the seemingly perfect pair?”

Jude’s blood boiled as he read the baseless speculation. He knew the man in the photos was a friend of Kaira's, yet the media had distorted their innocent lunch into something scandalous. The sight of Kaira’s genuine, radiant smile in the photos made him pause. What if there was a grain of truth to the article? Was there a strain in their relationship he hadn’t acknowledged? He thought about his busy schedule, the constant demands of the club, and how little time they had spent together lately. Doubt mixed with his anger and frustration.

Just then, Kaira rounded the corner. She looked flustered, dressed for work in a fitted blouse and pencil skirt that accentuated her figure. Her natural hair was styled in a sleek bun, and she was adjusting her earrings—an anniversary gift from Jude—as she entered. Running through the day's agenda in her head, she grabbed a bottle of orange juice from the fridge.

It wasn’t until she started to pour her glass that she noticed the tension in the room. Her smile faded as she set the glass down and looked at him with concern.

“Everything okay with the team?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.

He held up his phone, the article glaring from the screen. “Have you seen this?” he asked, his voice tight with irritation.

Kaira’s eyes widened as she took the phone and read the headline. Her brow furrowed the further she skimmed the article. “Why are you reading this?” she muttered, scrolling through the photos.

“Half the team’s sent it to me,” Jude said, struggling to keep his emotions in check. “They’re trying to make it look like you’re cheating on me with that guy. Who is he, anyway?”

Kaira’s eyes flashed with a mix of anger and frustration. “This is ridiculous.”

Jude sighed, rubbing his temples. “So, me not wanting the world to see some guy getting chummy with my girlfriend is ridiculous?”

“No, Jude,” Kaira shot back, her frustration boiling over. “Giving this tabloid trash any thought is ridiculous. That’s Mark, my coworker. You would have met him if you hadn’t skipped out on the company dinner.”

“I didn’t skip it." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Judge sighed. Looping back around to this topic was the fuel to the flame. "I had to attend that event. You know how important my commitments are.”

"Trust me, I'm reminded every day that they're clearly more important than spending time with me,” she retorted, her voice rising. “It feels like you’re always tied up with something. I’ve been supporting you from the shadows, never asking for anything in return. But the one time I needed you to show up for me, you couldn’t even remember.”

Jude’s expression softened, a mix of regret and confusion crossing his face. Nearly two weeks had passed from that night. “Kaira, you said it was fine. If I'd known you'd still be pissed I would've gone—”

"You're supposed to know that it was not fine, Jude." She snapped. The tone of her voice one he'd never been on the receiving end of. "I never had to beg you to pay attention to me before."

"So, you go and get it from him?"

Jude knew the words would sting, yet he let them out anyway.

"Mark was helping me with a proposal for work. He was there with me and Alix. Something that stupid article didn't mention. We were just discussing the details over lunch. It’s my first big assignment, and I need his help.”

Jude’s eyes widened as he racked his brain, trying to recall if she’d mentioned this before. “What proposal?”

“Mr. Thompson offered me this project--".

Kaira's phone buzzed on the kitchen counter, and she glanced at the screen. Mark was calling. Jude’s jaw clenched as he noticed it.

Kaira took a deep breath, eyes closing as she listened to the ringtone. It was not until the ringing stopped that she spoke. Her voice came out soft and slow. “I have a meeting and can’t afford to be late. I need to go.”

Kaira gathered her things, lingering long enough to allow Jude the opportunity to stand. To give her a kiss goodbye, but he never did. As she headed for the door, she glanced back once, but Jude’s eyes were already back on his phone, lost in his thoughts.

As the weeks passed, the once vibrant and loving dynamic between Kaira and Jude began to shift subtly. What had been a seamless connection started to fray at the edges, giving way to an undercurrent of tension and miscommunication.

It began with the small things. The tender gestures they once shared, like the way Jude would ignore his morning alarm to steal a few extra minutes with her or the way she would rest her head on his lap as she worked on her laptop, began to wane. Their time together became marked by tense silences and strained smiles. Dinner conversations, once filled with plans and dreams, now centered around logistics and conflicting schedules. The warmth that had once defined their evenings was replaced by a cold formality, as if they were merely coexisting rather than truly living together.

Jude’s demanding training sessions and media obligations began to dominate his time. Since his high-profile signing with Real Madrid, the media had been abuzz with speculation and anticipation. Headlines screamed about the immense pressure he was under to live up to the expectations that came with joining one of the most prestigious clubs in the world. To navigate this new chapter, Jude spent his evenings getting to know his new teammates, attending team dinners, and engaging in social events. What had been occasional late nights turned into a regular part of his schedule, and his absence from their shared moments became more frequent. When he was home, he seemed distant, his mind preoccupied with the relentless scrutiny and the weight of living up to the lofty expectations set by fans and the media alike.

Kaira, too, was grappling with her own challenges. The looming pressure to build an impressive proposal for the D.C. clients cast a long shadow over their interactions. What had once been an exciting opportunity now felt tinged with anxiety as she worried about its impact on their relationship, making it impossible to find the right time to tell Jude. She was deeply immersed in crafting her proposal for the project, pouring countless hours into perfecting every detail. The pressure to deliver an impressive presentation weighed heavily on her, and she threw herself into her work in an attempt to stave off the growing distance between them.

When they did spend time together, their interactions often ended in arguments or misunderstandings, often caused by stress and exhaustion.

The presentation came and went. Kaira had been steeling herself all week to have the conversation she knew was inevitable. The thought of telling Jude about her potential move to D.C. had been a constant in her mind, a weight she could barely shake off. She had received the email from Thomas two days ago, offering the lead.

Kaira and Jude were nestled at a charming outdoor café, the city square alive with the gentle hum of evening activity. They were savoring their ice cream, a much-needed treat after their hectic schedules.

Jude watched Kaira with a fond smile as she took a spoonful of his ice cream, her eyes lighting up with mischief as he moved the cup out of reach.

As she ate, Jude’s gaze lingered on her. His fingers absently traced gentle circles on her knee under the table, a gesture that was both comforting and foreign. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d had a date. Kaira felt his gaze, passing over her shoulders, her neck, her cheek, her lips. Her fingers fidgeted with her earring—a nervous habit she had whenever she sensed his intense focus on her. Jude smiled at the action. Grateful he could still make it happen.

She met his eyes and tilted her head slightly, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “What?” she asked, her voice light and teasing. “Not in the mood for ice cream?”

Jude’s eyes twinkled mischievously. His touch drifting up her thigh, the shift in her posture encouraging him to continue. “Not in the slightest.”

Kaira laughed softly, as his touch retraced their path leaving a heat that spread from her head to her toes.

The smile on Jude’s face is enough to distract Kaira from the approaching familiar face.

“Hey, Jude! Kaira!” Mark greeted, his tone cheerful. “I didn’t expect to run into you guys here.”

Jude’s smile faltered, watching as Kaira stood to give Mark a brief hug. “Hey, Mark. Fancy seeing you here.”

Mark extended his hand to Jude, and they shook hands. “Nice to finally meet you properly. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Likewise,” Jude replied, his smile not reaching his eyes.

Mark’s attention shifted to Kaira, his expression warm. “I see you’re already celebrating. Everyone’s been talking about you being offered that DC gig. Congratulations!”

Jude glanced down at Kaira, watching the way her grin spread across her face. “Thank you! It’s been a lot of work, I’m just glad it’s over. But, I couldn’t have even gotten the offer without your help.”

Mark waved off the compliment, “We’ll miss you around the office, but we’re already planning a big welcome-home party for when you return.”

Jude zoned out. His brain does not seem to move past the words “offer” and D.C.” It’s not until Mark is gone, Kaira settling back in her seat that he blinked.

Jude broke the silence, his voice soft but edged with hurt. “Kaira, why didn’t you tell me about the offer?"

"I didn't get the official offer until a few days ago."

"This is tied to the proposal he was helping you with? That was weeks ago--" Jude's brow furrowed, eyes passing over her face. Her gaze unable to lift to his. "We’re supposed to talk about everything, right? Why didn’t you trust me with that?”

Kaira paused, her spoon hovering over her melting ice cream as she looked up at him. Her voice came out small. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you. It’s just that you’ve been so busy lately. I didn’t want to add to your stress.”

“You’re placing this on me?” Jude scoffed in disbelief.

“No,” Kaira sighed, her fingers tracing the rim of her cup.

"Good. I tell you about everything, Kai. Every business deal, sponsorship, training date, match. Every single detail about my job. Since when do you hide shit from me about yours?"

She got the words out as quickly as she could. There was no point in lying, Jude could figure it out. "I was afraid that if I told you, you’d ask me not to take the job." She winced at her own admission. The silence from Jude tightening her throat. "Jude, I've moved more than once to be with you, no hesitation. I really like this company, and they're giving me an amazing opportunity.”

Jude’s eyes widened. “Are you saying that you thought I would hold you back? That I wouldn’t want you to go for something that’s important to you?”

Kaira’s voice softened. “I didn’t want to put you in that position. I didn’t want to say anything until it was a done deal.”

Jude’s shoulders slumped slightly, the weight of her accusations settling heavily on him. “Clearly, It is a done deal, Kai.”

“What do you mean?”

“Take the job,” Jude said. Standing, he gathered his untouched ice cream. “You’ve already decided.”

"I did not--"

"You did, Kai. That's why you didn't tell me the moment you found out." Jude paused, the level of calm in his voice causing Kaira's stomach to churn. "You want the job. Take it."

His words lingered long after his departure. Hanging over the two of them in future days. They barely breached the conversation. An unspoken wave of "space" creeping in their movements. Falling into a pattern of spending less and less time together. A week was all Kaira was granted. A week to pack. A week to find an apartment for her stay. A week to crush the fear that constantly churned in her stomach. The fear of living in a city without Jude.

Kaira's going away party was held in a stunning Spanish venue, where tradition met elegance. The grand hall inside was adorned with crystal chandeliers, ornate tapestries, and tables draped in rich fabrics. Soft, ambient lighting cast a warm glow over the room, highlighting the joyous faces of their friends and co-workers who had come to celebrate her next chapter. The laughter and chatter mingled with the soft strains of classical music played by a live quartet. Jude had planned every aspect, surprising her.

Outside, the venue opened up to a lush garden, a hidden oasis bathed in moonlight. The garden was a paradise of fragrant blooms, with roses, jasmine, and lavender. Fairy lights were strung delicately through the trees and along the shrubs, casting a magical glow. At the heart of the garden was a beautiful stone fountain, its gentle cascade of water adding a soothing soundtrack to the night.

Jude had stepped out to the garden to get some fresh air. It was hard for him to be inside, watching Kaira smile and laugh, knowing she was leaving in the morning. He finished his drink—a glass of dark whiskey, the warmth of which did little to soothe the emotions within him.

Kaira eventually noticed his absence and went to find him. She wandered through the garden, her eyes reflecting the soft glow of the fairy lights. The scene was almost dreamlike, the perfect setting for a night meant to be remembered. She found Jude sitting by the fountain, staring into the rippling water, the glass of whiskey resting on the stone beside him.

She approached him quietly and sat down next to him, the stone cool against her skin. With a sigh of relief, she slipped off her heels and wiggled her toes. She looked up at the night sky, the stars twinkling like diamonds against the velvet backdrop, before turning her gaze back to the enchanting garden.

"It's beautiful," she said softly, gently massaging her sore foot. "Thank you for the party. You didn't have to do all this."

Jude's touch found her ankle, and she shifted slightly on the fountain to face him. He began to gently massage her foot, his hands warm and soothing against her skin. "I'd do anything for you, Kaira. Anything to make you happy."

She closed her eyes, allowing the sensation to wash over her, listening to the distant music from the party and the rhythmic sound of the running fountain. "I know you would," she replied, her voice filled with warmth and gratitude. "I am happy, Jude. I really am."

"I'll miss this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jude’s brow arched, the corner of his lips turning up slightly. "My foot massages? I knew I had a hidden talent."

Kaira chuckled softly, opening her eyes to look at him. "True, but I meant these peaceful moments with you."

"This night is almost perfect," she said, shifting closer. Her lips brushed against his. "The only thing that would make it truly perfect is if you were inside, enjoying the party with me."

She reached out to cup Jude's cheek, her touch warm and gentle. The warmth of her hand was meant to soothe, but it seemed to highlight the sadness in his eyes. "You've been quiet all night," she said softly. "What's wrong?"

Jude’s hands trembled as he reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a small blue box. "I need to give you this before you leave," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "It’s a promise… a promise that I’ll always love you, no matter where you go or what you do."

Kaira’s eyes widened at the sight of the box, her breath catching in her throat. With trembling hands, she took it, the irregular pounding of her heart quickening with anxiety. She slowly untied the ribbon.

Kaira looked down at the dainty silver necklace, her eyes softening as she took in its beauty. The small, intricate heart pendant, adorned with delicate diamonds, sparkled gently in the moonlight. Her breath caught in her throat, touched by the thoughtfulness behind the gift.

"It's beautiful," she said softly, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. She pulled back slightly, her eyes meeting his. "Will you put it on me?"

Jude nodded, his hands trembling as he took the necklace from her. Turning, Kaira gathered her hair and lifted it away from her neck, exposing the delicate curve of her shoulders.

As Jude's fingers worked with the clasp, his touch was tender and careful. He moved slowly, his fingers brushing against her bare skin with a warmth that sent shivers down her spine. The flutter of her heart the same from the first moment their eyes had met across the crowded arena years ago.

When he had finished fastening the clasp, he pressed a soft kiss to the skin just below it, moving to the curve of her shoulder. Traveling, his lips brushed against her pulse, a tender gesture that felt like he was trying to commit the beat of her heart to memory.

He rested his face against her neck for a moment, savoring the closeness and the comfort of her presence.

Slowly, she turned back to face him.

“Jude… why does this feel more like a parting gift than a congratulations?” Kaira asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Jude’s gaze met hers. His voice was heavy, cracking under the weight of his decision "Because, Kaira, I think we’ve reached a point where… where it’s become clear that we’re heading in different directions.”

"Different directions?" She echoed, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Where is this coming from?”

"I love you," Jude lifted her hand, pressing a tender kiss to her fingers. "Asking you to split your focus between me and your job is something I can't do. It’s not fair to ask you to while you’re starting a new chapter. We should break up...so you can go to D.C., no strings attached."

Her breath hitched, and Kaira shook her head slightly. "You're not a string, Jude," she replied, her voice trembling.

She couldn’t let him reduce himself to that. Strings could be easily torn, snapped with a single pull. But Jude wasn’t something that could be ripped from her life without a second thought. He was something much deeper, embedded within her very core. He was woven into the fabric of her existence, his presence a constant pulse within her soul.

She placed her hand over his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heartbeat. It thumped against her palm, strong and unwavering, a tangible reminder of the life and love they shared. "You’re...everything," she said softly.

He swallowed hard.

"This--breaking up? It's not part of the plan. Our plan--we have a plan," she reminded him. "You and me. We are supposed to be together, we're supposed to--"

Jude knew the plan. Three years of giggles, whispered desires, dreams that seemed insane, yet somehow attainable with each other. Plans that involved a wedding, kids. He'd known from the moment they'd met, he'd never find a woman as captivating as Kaira. He'd dated others before her, but they couldn't compare.

"Plans change."

"You're saying you don't want me in your future?" The confusion in her voice dropped Jude's gaze.

Jude wanted to tell her that he couldn't imagine a future without her. He'd tried the moment he learned of the offer--and each day after. But, when you've spent three years imagining a future with someone it's hard to blink it away in an instance. He wanted to confess he couldn't imagine a future where he wasn't in love with her.

"I can’t stand in the way of you and what's the best decision for your future," he chose to say instead. "If I do, then I’m not the person you believe me to be."

"You don't just make decisions about us without asking me," she began, her shifting world turning her words into a rushed and panicked response. "Long-distance relationships can work. Your parents made it work. They managed to stay strong and support each other even when they were miles apart."

He gently removed her hand from his chest. "If we stay together now and go long-distance, our choices might end up being influenced more by our relationship than by what’s truly best for each of us. Our careers, our futures—they could all be affected by this."

Her eyes welled up as she bit her lip to keep from crying. She thought about what might happen if the summer position turned into something more permanent. Deep down, she knew he was right. She had hesitated about the taking the opportunity, aware that she would turn down an extension without a second thought if it meant coming back to him sooner.

"But what if this isn’t the right choice? What if we..." Her voice came out barely above a whisper, tapering off as her eyes lifted to meet his. Jude's fell to his own shaking hands.

What if we never come back to each other?

As Jude struggled to find the right words, his fingers found their way to Kaira's knee, his touch gentle but firm. Kaira looked at him, and in that moment, she recognized the expression on his face—the same one he wore whenever he was resolute, determined to face a challenge head-on. It was a look of unwavering conviction, the kind he displayed when he had set his mind on a course of action, no matter how difficult or painful.

"If I ask you to stay, part of me knows you’ll resent me for it later."

Her mouth opened in protest. She should deny it. Tell him that she could never resent him, of all people, but nothing came out. She couldn't lie to him—not even a harmless fib. It was never in her nature. It also didn't help that Jude had been able to read her from the moment he laid eyes on her. According to him, she had a tell. Kaira had yet to figure out what it was. Which is why she chose not to respond. Or, it could be the lump rising, tightening her throat.

Kaira’s eyes filled with tears, face dropping into her hands, the sight of her crying hitting Jude in the chest. He had seen her cry on numerous occasions—when she was overwhelmed with stress, when she was moved by something deeply sentimental, and even in moments of shared joy. But tonight was different. This was the first time he had seen her cry because of his own actions, and it felt like a jagged knife twisting in his heart.

He fought to keep his own tears at bay, but the sound of her crying, the quiet, painful sobs, was almost unbearable. His touch instinctively reached for her, his fingers brushing against her cheek. Jude wanted to say something that might make this easier, but the words stuck in his throat.

Kaira's eyes avoided his as she stood up. She wiped at her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. "I need to get back to the party," she said softly.

His eyes followed her, and he struggled to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. He wanted to call out, to pull her back, but he knew he’d take back every word if he did.

Jude was on autopilot. The familiar streets blurred past him as he drove, his mind numb. His home came into view, a place filled with memories of simpler, happier times. He parked the car and trudged up the path, the night air cool against his tear-stricken face.

Inside, the house was quiet, the soft ticking of a clock the only sound. Jude closed the door behind him. His legs felt weak, barely able to support his weight. Jude sank onto the base of the stairs, his hands trembling as they moved to cover his face. The burning in his eyes intensified as tears welled up and spilled over, streaming down his cheeks uncontrollably. He let out a shuddering breath, the sound almost a sob, as he buried his face deeper into his hands.

The image of Kaira’s face swam before his closed eyes—the confusion, the way her eyes had filled with tears when he spoke the words that would change their futures forever. He could still hear her voice, trembling and filled with pain, echoing in his mind. Each tear felt like a searing brand, a physical manifestation of the heartbreak that was tearing through him.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, his heart throbbing with a relentless, sharp pain. It was a strange, foreign feeling. One that gripped his eyes shut. It felt as though his heart was slowly tearing, each beat more excruciating than the last.

Jude didn't notice the sound of approaching footsteps until a gentle hand touched his shoulder. He looked up, his vision blurred with tears, to see his mother standing there in her pajamas, concern etched across her face. She looked past Jude, her eyes scanning the entryway, expecting to see Kaira standing there. But realization set in as she looked back at her eldest son, struggling to loosen the tie around his neck--in hopes it'd make it easier to funnel the air through his tightened lungs.

"Jude?" she spoke softly, her voice filled with worry. "What’s wrong, sweetheart?"

Jude opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. His chest ached unbearably, a sharp, relentless pain. He rubbed at it, trying to ease the strain, but it wouldn’t subside. His mom sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around him in a comforting embrace.

Jude managed to get out a choked, “Kaira,” before resting his head against his mom’s shoulder.

“Kaira was the first girl you ever truly loved, baby." She gently kissed his forehead and whispered. "And that pain you’re feeling in your chest—that’s your first heartbreak.”

if you'd like to be removed, or added, to future stories let me know.

tagging those who liked my jude taglist announcement post.

bellingham tags: @stephiii29 @inlikea-coolway @kindofaintrovert @your-tiny-love @avatarwifey @naya29 @uhmhahawhat @kjw678392 @blubsberries @barcafan2003 @everleigh76 @crnamaccaa @topslizzy @lewisroscoelove @smokey1404 @shewhoshantbenamedd @by7a @iuoiyr @tomhollandwhore @gl0ssgirl @dontworryboutit007 @simply-the-best23 @inlikea-coolway @Kmajuraaz @ninaxgavi @xxxstormyninixxx @stephiii29 @xenayi @viiadaa @jiminsbestiee

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#let me know what you think?#the last part had me in feels #jude bellingham x oc #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham x black reader #black fic writer #bells #Spotify

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