#black belle x reader

[prettybabybaby]

rating: 18+. mdni.

pairing: dark!regulus x innocent!reader

content: noncon

your hand feels good around regulus’ leaking cock despite the fact that his own hand lays atop it, guiding it. your eyebrows are furrowed in distress above your pink eyes and you’re sniffling uncontrollably, your lips swollen from your teeth and slick with your spit. regulus thinks you’re being a little dramatic.

you’re not looking at him, vision instead directed at his stiff cock in your hands. you appear dazed and a little confused, scared, almost. regulus doesn’t think you’ve ever had a cock so close to you before and that thought makes him pulse. he follows your gaze and watches his hand move yours between his thighs. he watches your fingers glide over protruding veins, glisten with his glossy and sticky precum. regulus tightens the pressure against your hands, instantly feeling the squeeze around himself.

you glance up at him, puffy pout trembling, cheeks stained with drying streaks of tears. regulus’ hips jerk into your hand, his mouth parting and releasing a shaky breath that blows against your face. you look surprised, quickly blinking twice in reaction to the suddenly sharp movement.

you look down again as regulus lets himself rut upwards, observing the way your face contorts and your eyes flash. you try to pull your hand away, something you had stopped attempting the first time a threat blew past his lips. you knew very well that regulus’ threats were never empty.

a stray tear trickles down your face as your resistance dies down again as soon as his breath fans your ear. you choose to turn your head, focusing on the gravel beneath your feet.

[zepskies]

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).

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

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

Join Patreon 🌟 || Series Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Soldier Boy Tag List:

If you would like to follow along as I post each chapter, please follow my side blog @zepskieswrites with notifications on so you don’t miss out. 💚

@spnwoman @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @adoringanakin @rizlowwritessortof @chernayawidow

@midnightmadwoman @deans-spinster-witch @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78

@deansbbyx @sarahgracej @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @iamsapphine @roseblue373 @lacilou @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@waynes-multiverse @my-stories-vault @syrma-sensei @alwaystiredandconfused @globetrotter28

@mrsjenniferwinchester @charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @k-slla @deanbrainrotwritings

@jackles010378 @deans-daydream @deanwinchestersgirl87 @rachiem4-blog @just-levyy

@leigh70 @kmc1989 @ghostslillady @siampie @jessjad

@beautyvaliant @mimaria420 @kaleldobrev @pieandmonsters @twinkleinadiamondsky

@stoneyggirl2 @sl33pylilbunny @spnfamily-j2 @mostlymarvelgirl @artemys-ackles

[saturnville]

…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.”

[eloisyw8]

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

[calif0rnia-lovers]

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

all stories: @darqchilddaydreamz @teardropzih @girlnred @wabi-sabi1090 @jad3djay @crowngold @cant-decide-at-this-moment @wiccanmetallicrose @themarkblues @gemini0410 @binooo98 @the-jer-bear @abbiesthings @trhett21 @trulysuccubus @leahnicole1219 @starrynite7114 @queenbeered @cocotheclown @oscars-wifeyyy @jennisdirtyimagines @ughdontbeboring @myakai13 @linziland13 @sadeyesgf @brattyfics @pearlkitten33 @tian-monique @megapeacelovemusic-blog @rosieposie0624 @appropriate-writers-name @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @beiroviski @chaneajoyyy @seize-the-droid @cutiebubbleboo @siempremamita @awkwardtayler @relaxing-najee @tomhardydallasstarsgirl @toni9 @cynderbelle @peoniarose @sincerelykas @making-starsdance

[buckys-little-belle]

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.

[mockerycrow]

Hii here's my request if you'd like to write it; Adler x femreader w/ "I had a nightmare...can I stay with you tonight?" Thankss <3

DREAM OR REALITY? (Adler x Fem!Bell!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

authors note: i couldn’t resist.

[WARNINGS: Black Ops Cold War Spoilers, very slight Mentions of Torture, nightmares, minor paranoia, toxic little hurt/comfort.]

YOU WAKE UP in a cold sweat, your heart pounding against your rib cage and with a voice in the back of your mind. You’re trembling as you can’t make any sense of what the voice is saying, and soon the sound of your blood rushing in your ears overtakes the incoherent voice.

You rub your eyes to ground yourself before you glance around, noting you’re still in the warehouse. You look at your watch, groaning quietly as you realize it’s quite early in the morning. Your chest feels quite heavy, and you have an odd craving for a cigarette when you don’t remember ever picking the habit up.

It’s one of those nights; you can tell you aren’t going to be able to go back to sleep anytime soon. Adler and the others wanted you to stay in the warehouse just in case you were able to decrypt any more information; you had no problem with that, as mostly everyone else also slept in the warehouse, although in different areas. Unfortunately though, your makeshift sleeping cot is not too comfortable, so you have an ache in your neck along with stirring anxiety from your nightmare. 

You push the cheap blanket off of yourself and you adjust your sleeves before swinging your legs over the side of the cot. You slip your boots on and lace them up, letting out a heavy sigh as you do so. A nervous energy remains under your skin, like you’re being watched. You know you aren’t—or do you?— but you shudder nonetheless. You grab your leather jacket, sliding it on before you exit the room you’ve been sleeping in for the past couple of days. The common area is clear except for Helen by the radios with her headphones, trying to make out Russian messages.

You rub your sternum before exiting the warehouse right in front of the garage door, the cool nighttime air filling your lungs. Goosebumps rise underneath your jacket for a moment from the fresh sensation, and you’re so caught up in your own mind you don’t even notice the man standing a few feet away. “What’re you doin’ up?” You jolt at the sound of someone’s voice and you look over, locking eyes with Adler. Lacking his usual sunglasses, his eyebrows are more visible and furrowed. A half smoked cigarette is between his fingers like usual, and he takes a drag from it.

You let out a breath and you shrug, stuffing your hands into the back pockets of your jeans, shifting your weight as you glance away. “Couldn’t sleep.” You utter. You technically aren’t lying, though you didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep. Adler doesn’t respond as he tucks a hand under his other arm as he takes another drag off of his cigarette, shifting slightly closer to you. Your eyes train on some bugs flying around under the big light overhead for a moment, the silence being filled with crickets. 

“Couldn’t sleep, huh?” Adler hums, his eyes never leaving your form. He notes the way you’re reluctant to share anything, your conflicted and far away gaze; he’s already thinking you’ve had a nightmare. “What was it about?”

Your gaze moves from the bugs to him—his stare feels like he sees all of you, your bare soul; your skin and bones and every sin you’ve ever committed. Adler’s gaze has always felt like that and you’ve never known what to make of it. He’s so.. vague yet so on the dot every time he talks to you, so friendly yet so cruel. You aren’t sure if you should say anything. “Bell.” You feel a nudge against your arm and you blink for a moment before looking back at Adler, your hearing returning—you aren’t sure when it left.

“I just.. I had a nightmare.” You admit with a weak laugh, looking away nervously as your hands fidget in the back pockets of your jeans. Your weight shifts as silence fills the air between you two and you kind of want to reach over to strangle him a bit—you know he’s waiting for you to elaborate. “I couldn’t make any sense of it, honestly. It was a weird horrid mixture of Vietnam and.. this room. Televisions.. hm. I don’t know.” You mumble, trailing off before you look back at him. “Can I stay with you tonight?”

There’s an unreadable look in Adler’s eyes as he drops his cigarette, stepping on it and squashing it to put it out. It takes him a moment before he nods. “Sure, Bell. You can stay with me. We can go over some files, yeah? Take your mind off of it, since we have a job to do.”

A weird sense of calm washes over you from his words and you nod, letting out a relieved breath. “Yeah, we can do that.”

[animefreak1145]

Church Bells(Adler x Bell!Reader xWoods)

Previous Intel | Next Intel

Sixth Intel | Watch

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

Words: 1.6k

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

You were observing for days.

Picking apart the papers, the plans, the tools they have at their disposal with Sims. Hawkish tired baggy eyes, always seeming to stray at the itch of your skin that is getting irritated from your nails than anything else. No other outside source. (Nightmare.) 

It was hard for the others to cajole you out the cage you built around you, the storage room with the arcade game you used to play with but now is stock still. 

Dead. A waste of energy. 

(Why are you here again? Ah. Solovetsky. Always about going to Solovetsky. That’s all they need of you. They aren’t your friends. He’s not your friend.)

You even locked yourself in. To keep them out. To keep you in. Concentration. Watching. Planning. Eying. 

You had a fire to your ass and this time it wasn’t Adler that caused it, (his hands around your jaw or your throat, squeezing your cheeks together unforgivingly or pressing down warningly to your carotid and air supply, Bell, open the door. He said good work. ) but instead it was your head, your thoughts, the feeling of blood pumping to your ears and grim determination clenching your jaw and hands around the pens and pencils and office supplies you have hoarded in this cage you made yourself.

You ignored how Woods cursed at you and your behavior, but your eyes couldn’t help but study his deep blue. The ocean normally with its high tides to make up for the hurricane of a man, only for it to be swimming in concern and worry on what is causing this frantic episode of yours. 

The tornado of a man cursed at you with no intent, looking haggard with tired shoulders as if he was there in the cage with you. Only for them to tense when Adler, who is ice and cool and hard to read and what is that look in his eyes when he stares past your cage and into your face, tells Woods to leave you be, to let you plan the finishing touches needed for the cell tower and you will come out when you decide to. 

“Stop babying her.”

“Wha—you conniving fucker,” the hurricane spat at the arctic breeze, dangerous and unbelieving wild grin upon his face. “You ordered her to do this. You think I’m going to let you dig around your dirty shitty claws around her brain again? You used the trigger phrase, didn’t you? Didn’t you?!”

(You talked to Woods once, that the trigger would still probably work. The lot of you have no time to deprogram a terrorist. You were concerned, worrying your lip and how easy it would be to become a mindless puppet again. Frank, all grim faced, only tugged you to him with your eyes widening as you met the gear covered chest. Safe . Secure . The immovable mountain and the chaotic hurricane turned firm like a rooted tree that shall never bend. Can you make a home here in these roots? Is he letting you? And a rumble to your ear “You don’t have to worry your pretty little head about that. No one will say that sentence again. Until we get you back to Washington and we’ll fix you up, you’ll be able to say the words yourself as easy as you can decode.”)

Face to face.

The storm and ice. 

And, despite you wanting to see Frank punch the ever living lights out of Adler again, you stepped out the cage and intervened with a gentle yet firm hand to Woods shoulder before Mason or Sims could, back to Adler who you can feel his eyes on you.

When he glanced down in bewilderment, he met your grateful little smile playing on your lips and a shake of your head.

“It’s okay. He didn’t do any of that. I wanted to.” Woods didn’t seem to believe you, and your hand wandered from his shoulder to his wrist to do a squeeze of his hand. Woods blinked, eyes on the hold before meeting your somber ones. “We need this plan. Adler is right on the importance of this. We need that cell tower.  Him and I gotta do this right with all of you. To plan with all of you. ”

Woods face began to sour right when you mentioned Adler. Glancing up to where Adler was only to sour more. 

He tugged his hand away and turned his  back on you. You tried to not let it affect you. (He always touches you and accepts yours like you accept his. He’s not distant.) 

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. Just don’t…” his tone lost his gumption when he turned his face back towards you. You can spot his swallow before he waved a hand flippantly, (not the hand you touched. The hand you touched is tucked in his jacket pocket. Like a secret.) before he made a dramatic puff of air out his mouth. “Just don’t fall over dead or electrocute your brain over there.”

The joke fell flat, your brows pinched in concern and your back still itched with eyes on you.

You turned, almost missing the smug smirk Adler had around his cigarette but not missing his upturned brow when he looked at you. 

He dipped his head in a semblance of a nod, nicotine smoke around them both as he breathed, “Don’t let him keep treating you like glass. You’re not made of it.” 

And off he went, whisking away to his corner of the safehouse. 

Your jaw clenched when his scent and presence left you, irritation building at the pretense(How would he know how you wanted to be treated? He doesn’t know you. You used to lick up those small nods as if they were ambrosia, his pride towards you like nectar. He broke you. He can’t tell you what to do.) before you went back to your cage. 

Later, after your three day planning confinement, with you and Park atop a nearby building of the cell tower to study the zombie horde and the strange crystals that keep appearing like never ending amethysts, you were questioned by the MI6 agent.

Or what may be left of the MI6.

“Is Woods a wise choice, Bell?”

The question came from left field(Woods taught you that saying) and it made you take off your binoculars, your face twisted into deep befuddlement.

“What?”

Park’s face didn’t change, it was the expression where she expected no nonsense. Her attention on you and not the sniper rifle who has an impressive scope and what she should be using to watch. 

“Don’t play the oblivious card, Bell. It doesn’t suit you.”

You were starting to get annoyed at the non answers. (You hate non answers. Hums that don’t mean anything or everything. You’re sick of it.)

“What are you talking about?”

Park huffed.

“This dance you’re doing with Woods. Is it genuine? Or are you trying to get back at Adler?”

Your eyes flashed, your grip on your binoculars tightening.

That’s all it goes back to. Your genuineness. 

(Stop lying, Bell. Start again and tell me how you met Perseus.)

“Frank and I are genuinely friends. Just like me and Mason are.” Park’s brows pinched together and you really want to shout at her but you stick with a hissed “What?” instead.

“You’re getting that look in your eyes when you look at Woods. And don’t think we can’t all see how touchy you two are with each other. Especially with what happened earlier.” (You touched Woods hand, yours were gloved. But you still felt it. How warm he can be. The curious inquisitive side of you wanted to know what would happen if your hand was bare, what would the valley of his knuckles feel like? Would it match the mountain of a man?) “Woods is…” Park cleared her throat. “Woods is showing deep care for you. But the last thing we need is something to split the team apart. So. Is it genuine?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, looking through the binoculars again to dismiss her.

“Didn’t you say to give a certain man a wide berth?” 

“And I’m glad for you for it. But Bell,” a hand moved stops yours, shifting the binoculars down and you were met with concerned gray eyes, a soft voice. “. . .Adler is the type of man who has a hard time giving over control. Can you honestly say you won’t fall upon his hands again if he asked?”

“Adler,” you spat, fury and rage and vindictive and hot on your chest. It made Park’s eyes widen, which made you blink and deflate and appear like the kicked bunny that you are instead of what you were before. “. . . I know what kind of man Adler is. But. . . Woods is. . . Frank is. . . ” You clenched your teeth, bowed your head. “I. . . don’t want to hurt him. . . He’s been. He’s been kind to me. He makes me laugh.”

Park’s eyes gave you a once over, assessing and scrutinizing before you felt a hand atop your shoulder. A gentle squeeze. You looked up and spotted gentle eyes to match before she focused back on her sniper and looking through it.

“It seems we may have similar taste in men, Bell.”

You glanced at her in pity. 

Lazar always found a way to make her laugh.

If they achieve this, create the line again for Washington—to Weaver—than perhaps Park can find someone again. 

You and Adler’s plan can’t fail.

(Adler’s protege will make a way.)

▞ ▚

▛

▞ ▚

…hahahahahaha… hi?

I’m back in the writing pit of this universe! Thank you to @makeyourpeacenow and @junkyardhound with their wondrous works in AO3 I recently discovered thanks to me trying to scour for Adler x Bell fics again. And that inspired me. And for the BO6 trailer. Where I’m back to wanting the Officially Wanted Man Russell Adler.

May this fire not die until this fic is at least completed. And than maybe I can hop back into my other Adler x Bell fic.

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

Are any of you guys still here? I sure hope so. I miss you guys.

[prettybabybaby]

¡ 18+ only ! ¡ minors do not interact !

content: stepcest (use of "brother" and "sister"), stepbrother!regulus, stepbrother!sirius, fem!reader, unprotected sex, breeding

a/n: found this in my drafts.... dk why i didn't post it

¡ marauders masterlist !

Regulus persists, rutting into you with desperation, cock starved of attention and stimulation. He has an iron grip on your hips, holding you in place when you try to thrash out of his grip at the sight of Sirius. His eyes are almost blank, darkened with lust, pupils blown almost comically as he chases his high, using your body to do so.

Sirius stares on, breathing in the scent of sex that fills your frilly bedroom. He crosses his arms, watching Regulus with an amused smirk. His eyes fall on you covering your face with embarrassment but your pathetic squeaks and moans continue, shamelessly loud and almost pornographic. Your cheeks burn red like Regulus’, blush high and painting the canvases of your pretty faces. 

Your parents hadn’t been out of the house in far too long. Regulus had begun to lose patience, but he had to hold off on playing with his sweet sister to avoid suspicion of his sinful urges he couldn’t help but act upon. And you let him so easily. Despite your protests and weak fighting, you melted into him, obeying his every command to spread your legs wide or open your mouth, flip onto your back, and prep your little holes for his cock to nestle itself into, abusing you until he was satisfied – or you were interrupted. 

This time, though, there was no stopping his eager humping into your fluttering pussy. Not even the presence of your brother standing by the door, entering with confident steps. He swung the door closed behind him as he approached the creaking bed, eyes raking your sweating bodies. Regulus adjusted his hold, pinning you to the bed even more painfully. You whined, trying to cover your body from the preying gazes of your brothers. 

“Couldn’t resist, Reggie?” Sirius spoke. “Y’playing with our sweet sister all alone?” Sirius’ ringed fingers danced across your exposed chest, meanly twisting a nipple before he pried your hands from your face. “Don’t play shy, slut. You’re letting your brother fuck you silly and you think you can be shy?” he tsks.

Regulus grunts as the dams of your eyes break, sending a river of tears down your rouge cheeks. He tries to thrust even harder, push himself even deeper into you, moving your hips up and down to meet his stuttering hips in his attempt to do so. You slide up and down the pillow where your head rests, hair tangling and back sliding against the soft bed sheets. 

Sirius’ fingers glide downwards, gathering a pinch of regulus’ curly pubic hair and pulling meanly. Regulus makes a sound at the pleasurable pain, digging his nails onto your hips before pinning you down, slamming into you, almost like he was trying to mold you and the soaked sheets into one. 

“Move,” Sirius says, “I wanna play, too.”

Regulus slows but doesn’t pull out, giving his brother a displeased look. Sirius looks back, raising a perfectly shaped brow as he touches up Regulus’ sweaty chest, circling his hardened pink nipples. Regulus’ hips stutter but he pulls out, mourning your warmth instantly. His cock is fully erect, angry, and red, wet with slick and come. He moves aside, grazing your wet thighs as he parts. 

Sirius takes his place, laughing meanly as he gathers the juices on his fingers. Your pussy’s throbbing, clit engorged and jumping in excitement. Pearly spunk drips in thick beads and you crave to push it back in, push your brother deep into your womb. “Look at you two,” Sirius laughs. “Fucking each other like virgins. Desperate dogs.” You and Regulus burn brighter in humiliation, a bubblegum pink covering every inch of skin on your face.

You can see the slight grinding of Regulus’ hips against the blankets holding up his cock. You almost whine in jealousy of the inanimate object. Your attention was brought back to Sirius when he slipped a come-coated finger into your sensitive little hole, swirling and curling it as he spoke. 

“You really let him come inside you?” Sirius chided, “that’s filthy. Are the poor puppies so desperate they fuck their own siblings?”

You sob and Regulus begins to thrust into the blanket. You reach for him, shaking your head pathetically, begging him not fuck anything but you. 

“You want his disgusting cum so badly?” Sirius laughs again, “you want him to fill you with his babies, huh?”

You close your eyes as you nod, “please, please.” you feel so empty, cold from the lack of your brother's hard ruts and warm spent painting your insides.

“You’ve had enough of Reggie, don’t you think?” Sirius begins to pull down the waistband of his pajamas, letting his own aching prick spring free. You stare at it, looking from the leaking head of Sirius’ cock to Regulus’. “Do you want my babies, too?”

[rikakamado]

You always make makarov and his wife WHAT ABOUT, adler and his wife?

I mean... Why the fuck not?

[quizzyisdone]

The Colour Red (Pt. II) | Jason Hudson x Fem! Bell x Russell Adler

Chapter Title: Bad Moon Risin' Word Count: 3.7k Pairing: Jason Hudson x Fem! Bell x Russell Adler Masterlist Synopsis: Bell and Adler arrive at the safehouse in West Germany, where she meets the rest of her team, save Alex Mason and Frank Woods. The team gets down to business -- they've all gathered to take down the elusive Perseus, the infamous soviet agent whom they know next to nothing about, save for that he's planning something big. That much, Adler is sure of. To figure out their next move, Adler and Park use a memory recollection technique to help Bell recall Operation: Fracture Jaw, yet another memory Bell had lost due to her head injury two months prior. A/N: Hey! I'm back, totally not inspired by the new Black Ops VI trailer at all. Like, at all. Anyways, here is the next installment of my personal favorite series, The Colour Red. Keep in mind this is a slowburn fic, and sorry about the lack of Hudson in this chapter. I hope you enjoy! Warnings: Strong language, mentions of weapons, canon-typical violence.

**Title inspired by "Bad Moon Risin'" by Credence Clearwater Revival

[Part One] [Part Two]

You don't need to read part one to understand this chapter, btw

The car halted to a full stop as Bell fluttered open her eyes, Adler lightly shook her shoulder, stirring her even further awake. 

“Bell. Welcome to West Berlin” He gave a half-hearted smile, a cigarette between his teeth. Bell groggily roused herself from the passenger seat, watching Adler closely as he held the lighter close to his face, letting a puff of smoke blow back in the wind behind him.

The light from the flame illuminated the scarred half of his face, and she could see that where he had shaven was uneven and choppy, a stark contrast to the close shave on the “normal” side of his face. Still rather handsome, barring his scars. He had a classically attractive, well structured face, resembling that of movie stars such as Robert Redford. Blonde hair, blue eyes and very charismatic. He must have many women wrapped around his finger back in the states, Bell presumed.

Adler took one last glance at her, then began to approach a woman that was leaning against an old, worn garage door. Bell took in her features as well. 

She had an uncanny familiarity about her. She had silky, jet black hair cut and styled into a practical bob, unusually tall but athletically built, and she sported pragmatic yet stylish clothing. She had delicate, feminine features but still yet appeared to be able to keep up with the likes of a black ops legend such as Adler -- a strange dichotomy between graceful and deadly. 

Adler had told Bell that she was a legend in her own rite at MI6, that’s why he had requested her for the op. Apparently, it was true that while she was known for her lethality and pretty appearance, it was her brain, not the obvious honey trap she is, that he was interested in. Adler had joked several times that she was a walking cliche, a classic femme fatale type.  

The more Bell seemed to take in her appearance, her shattered memory would begin to piece itself together again. Her face. A red door. A jungle. Sterile white lights. Televisions. War footage. Then nothing. Whenever she was on the precipice of piecing her memory back together, it seemed it would shatter again.

Adler glanced back. “You comin’?” He said with a slight frown. Sheepishly, Bell nodded, not having realized she spent too much time what would appear to the others as staring into space for no apparent reason. 

Bell hurried to catch up with him, trailing behind Adler closely even as the oddly familiar, yet bitter scent of tobacco filled her nose. That closeness, she wondered, it may be obvious to Adler, which she could live with, but would it escape the notice of the others? She hated that, her clinginess to him, but it made some sense (at least that is how Bell would justify it) -- Adler was the only kind face she could remember after her fall. 

Although she didn’t want to admit it, she preferred to be close to him at all times. His presence was comforting, the anxiety she felt would fade away in an instant -- she could almost forget that she couldn’t remember. One might mistake the connection for romantic, as Hudson, their handler had pointed out rather astutely (and irritably) before they departed from Langley today.

 Bell couldn't help but notice the parallels either, he very much played the part of her knight in shining armor, saving her from sure death, never having left her side while she healed, gently guiding her as she navigated regaining her lost memory. Although she must admit she has lingered on such an idea, Bell recognized Adler very likely felt no such way towards her.

She knew his feelings towards her. They had been through hell and back together, saved each other's ass, and understood each other like no one else. Bell knew where she stood, something more than a friend but less than a lover. It was a strange, blurry purgatory between platonic affection and passionate love.  

He had helped her remember the basics. With his guidance, she now knew that her name was Anabelle Meyers, hence the name “Bell”. She was a cryptographer and a linguist working for MI6, she had spent the better part of a year in Vietnam with Adler when she began working a joint operation with MACV-SOG and MI6 and they’ve been friends for 13 years. Two months ago, on a solo operation, she had taken a long, hard fall, hitting her head. Bell would've died if Adler hadn't been there by random chance. Bell could recall that in perfect detail now, although it was fuzzy just a week ago. 

“Park.” He acknowledged and nodded towards her. He glanced back, noticing how Bell followed so closely behind him and smiled to himself. It gave him some kind of pride that she leaned on him as a protector of sorts. 

“She looks familiar.” Bell whispered as soon as they were out of earshot of Park. 

Adler stopped in his tracks for naught but a second, “Maybe you saw her at the Century House in London back in the day.” She knew that it wasn’t likely they had never been acquainted, nor ever having even met each other, but Bell let the conversation go -- chalking it up as some kind of weird deja vu nonsense. 

When the door opened it revealed a large warehouse-like room with a table set in the middle, a bulletin board with the face of man that was supposedly Perseus and a giant red circle around it (Bell quickly noticed how the picture gave her an uneasy pit in her stomach and her head would begin to hurt), an array of weapons upon a wall guarded by chain link fence with a lock, and all the other stereotypical features befitting a CIA safehouse. 

“We’ll talk later, okay?” Adler whispered to Bell as he approached the gathering of folks around the table set in the middle. “Bell, this is Helen Park, Lawrence Sims who you’ve already met, and Eleazar Azoulay. We just call him Lazar, though.” He introduced her to them.

Lazar gave her a friendly but quiet hello, Park nodded, and Sims simply stared daggers at her before turning his gaze back to Adler. “Mason and Woods are finishing some business in Kiev, but you’ll meet them later.”

“Do I know them?” Bell asked meekly and Park cocked an eyebrow, smirking to herself as she glanced at Adler, silently beckoning him to answer the question. 

“Ah,” Adler chuckled lightly. “No, you know them by reputation, but not, ah, personally.” Bell nodded in response before letting him continue. He turned back to the rest of the group, while Bell stood snug behind Adler. “There’s been a surge in Russian chatter for the past 48 hours. The CIA and DoD are tapping their inside sources for anything substantial, but no leads of Perseus so far.”

“MI6 has come up empty handed as well.” Park added.

“We’ll have to start somewhere, so we’re going back to 1968, Vietnam.” He strode towards to the bulletin board, pointing at a polaroid picture of Sims and Adler sitting side by side, labeled Operation Fracture Jaw. “One our closest encounters with Perseus. Bell, you don’t remember this, of course, but you were there.”

“Fracture Jaw, what a steaming pile of shit that one was.” Sims grumbled.

“Also the first time where Perseus pinged our radar. While you were on the ground, you dug up some intel on him.” Adler continued, he held a folder with a dried, bloody handprint and Cyrillic printed on the front. “We’re gonna help jog your memory so you can crack this. At the time, the CIA’s best analysts couldn’t decode that thing, but we’re gonna have you take a shot.” Adler placed his hand on Bell’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. 

“Yeah.” Sims scoffed. “If even Weaver couldn’t crack it, what makes you think she can?” He had said it with such venom, such doubt that it made Bell wonder what had happened between them. She made a mental note to ask Adler about it later, but for the moment, she hardened her gaze, attempting to make herself seem less vulnerable than she truly felt.

“It can’t hurt, Sims. She’s always been one of the best, you know that.” Adler said pointedly. “Anyways, we’re gonna use a hypnosis technique. While our little Bell will be in a hypnotic state, I will be reading the operation report, retelling every detail of what happened when she and you were boots on ground. Theoretically, she should remember it all and be able to decode it.”

Sims shrugged, Park and Lazar nodded in affirmation. The group disbanded wordlessly, Park headed over to the computer by the gun rack with Lazar trailing behind and Sims went over the gate that locked the chain link fence. That had left her and Adler, as he lit another cigarette (his fourth in the last couple of hours, Bell noted) and sat at a chair in front of the evidence board. 

He stared quietly at it, his mouth was set in a frown but his sunglasses had made it impossible to even begin to guess what the man was thinking. 

“Adler,” Bell spoke quietly, tapping his shoulder. Adler smiled ever so slightly, the small gesture was a welcome change from Sims’ behavior just a moment ago. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything, kid.” He said coolly, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“That memory exercise we’re doing, we can use it to recover some of my memories?” A glint of hope appeared in her chestnut eyes.

He chuckled, low and husky. “Ain’t that exactly what we’re doing, Bell?” She rolled her eyes but gave a small laugh in return.

“You know what I mean. Like, the memories that aren’t from war or anything like that. Something a bit happier.”

Adler grimaced then sighed, ashing his cigarette and sitting up straighter, and the small smile that appeared on Bell’s face vanished, like she knew he was about to tell her some unfortunate news. The pair sat in an awkward silence as Adler thought about how to break it to her.

“We can’t really.” He reached for her hand, giving it a light squeeze before pulling away. “The memory exercise only works when you have either one or two things; a written documentation of a memory that we can actually get our hands on or someone who was also there that can recall the memory and tell it to ya.”

“Oh.”

“When we found you, you didn’t have a journal or anything on you. Not even dog tags. No one would have been able to identify you if I wasn’t there.” He pursed his lips, offering a small apologetic smile. “Sorry, Bell.”

“Well I mean, we’ve been friends for a while. What do you know about me? Anything about my family?” The hopefulness had returned to Bell’s eyes, and Adler could feel a lump forming in his throat as he thought deeply. 

“Uh, well,” He cleared his throat. “You never spoke anything of them really, it seemed a sore spot for ya so none of us ever really pried.” She glanced down, looking utterly defeated as she sniffled. Adler tried to lighten the conversation at least a little. This wasn’t the place nor the time. “I know that you used to have a nicotine addiction worse than me.”

Bell chuckled. “I still crave them all the time.”

Adler chuckled, clapping her shoulder. “Tell you what,” He said, reaching into his pocket to grab his cigarettes. He handed one to her and she placed it between her teeth, giggling a little as he lit it for her. “I think you deserve at least one. Old habits die hard.” She took a drag, blowing a playful ‘O’ into his face. “Atta girl. I’ll get you a pack tomorrow.”

“I knew I liked you for some reason.” She smiled, the first genuine smile Adler had ever seen out of the woman.

“I’ve always been an enabler of your bad habits.” 

__

January 26th, 1968

Camp Haskins, South Vietnam

0700

“Bell, time to wake up” A raspy voice had startled her awake, the boot of the offender shaking the fold up chair she had practically passed out in. She groggily opened her eyes to find her new teammate with a shit-eating grin on his face. “It’s crank time.” 

“I’m up” She grumbled, rubbing her eyes. He swiped the chair back to the ground where Bell had been leaning, causing the legs to harshly meet the floor and she nearly fell forward. The man chuckled lightly.

“C’mon sleeping beauty, you knew we were doing this.”

“Yeah, I know.” The exhaustion was still evident in her voice as she rose from the chair, grabbing the M16 she had left leaning against the wall. She followed behind him, taking in the scene around her as she left the tent, the morning sun already beating against her skin.

It hadn’t been her first choice, being assigned as an agent working boots on ground with MACV-SOG, and it certainly wasn’t her first choice to be placed in the middle of buttfuck nowhere Vietnam. Her work was typically confined to that of a desk in an office, in the comfort of air conditioning and without the threat of an enemy attack at a moment’s notice. However, given her limited but notable military work, her handler thought she would be wasted back home in the comfort of an office in London. 

Her handler was of course right, but she wished he wasn’t as the stench of gunsmoke, gasoline, and body odor filled her nose. She watched about a dozen shirtless, grimy men going about their business. Most had simply ignored her, but a few had leered at her as she passed by, perhaps bedazzled by the first clean and somewhat attractive thing they had probably seen with their own eyes in months, Bell cockily mused to herself. 

“Camp Haskins, what a sausage fest.” Bell said quietly, chuckling.

“I heard that.” Adler yelled back good naturedly, and Bell half walked, half jogged to catch up with him. “You should be thankful, this place is a fuckin’ oasis compared to the shitstorm out there. Those boys keep it that way.”

“Yeah, yeah ‘God bless our troops’ and all that shit they keep telling us.” She jabbed Adler’s arm and he laughed softly. 

“I know it’s not what you’re used to, but your handler could’ve done worse for you.” They approached the landing zone, her other new teammate, and Adler’s best friend, she had determined based on their interactions, sat on the ledge of a helicopter ready and waiting for them. 

“Finally found Bell?” He hollered out over the sound of the whirling blades of the craft, without looking up from the magazine he was reading. Lawrence Sims was his name, he had dark skin with large, almost doe-like black eyes to match. He wasn’t a looker, but he had a friendly, jovial feel about him. Adler approached him, snatched the magazine from his hand to take a lingering glance at the lewd picture within. 

“That shit’s gonna make you go blind, Sims.”  He threw the magazine back at Sims as Bell loaded herself in. 

“That’s why I want it all right up here.” He replied jokingly, pointing his finger to his temple and shooting a playful, friendly wink at Bell.

“You’re not helping Bell’s accusation that this place is a sausage fest.”

“I’d say she’s made an astute observation, then.” Sims clapped his hand on her shoulder. She returned their grin. However, as the pilots began to load in, the mood shifted dramatically with it, like someone had sucked all the humor out of the situation and brought them back to the real world. Adler took this as his cue. 

“We got a new assignment. FOB 4 Ripcord is holding a vital asset that Charlie wants real bad.” He shouted over the deafening sound. 

“What kinda asset we talking about?” Sims asked. 

“The kind you don't ask about. Ripcord has been taking a hell of a beating, so it's our job to secure the asset and get the fuck out.” Bell began to stiffen and her palms began to sweat inexplicably, which Adler seemed to take notice of. “Relax. We got fast fliers providing combat air support for this mission. It'll be a walk in the park.”

“I’m holding you to that.” She said, putting on her headset as Adler took his leave. He climbed in the helicopter just opposite of them, and with that, about half the armada began to lift off. The chatter rang loud through the headset.

“Badger-niner-one good to go.”

“Badger-niner-two clear to go.”

“Badger-niner-three rotors up.”

Sims shuffled a bit, pulling a cassette tape from his pocket. “You like music?” He asked. Bell nodded, a lump beginning to form in her throat. “Good because I was gonna play it anyways.” He inserted the tape into the helicopter’s radio. He bobbed his head to the beat, singing to himself. His voice sounded muffled, the chatter over the radio began to sound more distant and then eventually, nonexistent. The only sound she could truly make out was the lyrics to the song Sims had played.

I see the bad moon a-risin' I see trouble on the way I see earthquakes and lightnin' I see bad times today

She felt sick, nauseous, the sound of the music only worsening the deep pit that began to build in her stomach, she began to sweat, hyperventilate, her vision became blurry, all the colors merging with the blinding light of the rising sun until-

__

Present Day

“Shit.” An indiscernible voice cursed, and with that, she felt a sharp jab on some unidentifiable place on her body and all faded into darkness again.

__

January 12th, 1968

“You all sitting comfortably?” Adler’s voice quirked up over the radio.

“Why do I feel like you’re about to tell us some bad news?” Bell quipped, noting how her palms were no longer sweaty the way they were just a second ago, calm had overcome her senses once more as she glanced around her. No one seemed to notice her little episode. Good.

“Because you’re a smart girl, Bell. But the news isn't bad. In fact it could be very, very good. The asset at Ripcord is gonna have to wait a little while. We're breaking off from the armada. Taking a detour.” 

Sims raised his eyebrows at this new development. “And... that's good because?”

“A source tipped us off that there may be a heavy hitter from town, a Soviet operative known as Perseus.” 

Bell’s head began to hurt again, the pain teetering on intolerable but she attempted to ignore it for the moment. However, the pain seemed to get worse and worse the more she tried not to think about it, and once again, her vision became blurry and all colors became one again.

“First time Perseus pinged our radar…”

__

Present Day

Bell found herself back in bed, the overhead light shining directly into her eyes again with a pounding headache to boot. She tentatively lifted her head and rolled onto her side, confused as to how she even ended up here. One moment, she was smoking with Adler and the next she was here. 

“Oh God…” She groaned painfully, grabbing the water bottle that had been left on the table adjacent to her bed, gulping down nearly half the bottle in one go. 

After she had come to, she began to hear the muffled voices from outside the door, although most of what they were saying was unintelligible, she managed to make out some words and phrases.

“...too much…”

“...resistance…try again soon” 

“...need something to…won’t be happy…” 

Bell couldn’t make out anymore, and the pounding in her skull overpowered her curiosity and she laid back down. She closed her eyes, yearning to let sleep take over her body once more when the door opened, Park and Adler walked in, both staring at her.

Adler’s eyes were of course, unreadable through his signature sunglasses but his expression was set into that of frustration, while Park’s seemed more confused than anything, her brow furrowed as if she was working out some complicated problem in her head.

“How are you feeling, Bell?” Park asked clinically. 

“Like I got hit by a bus.” She whined, Park nodded in assent as she scribbled something in a notebook.

“That’s to be expected.” Park replied, not looking up from what she was writing. Adler cleared his throat as he sat at the foot of the bed, beckoning Park to put the pen down. “Forgive me, I’ve just been documenting the recovery of your memories.” She smiled. “I have a vested interest in your case, seeing as the methods we are using to help you remember are relatively new and-”

“Cut to the chase, Park.” Adler interrupted, and Park sighed in frustration at his impatience. 

“The exercise we attempted tonight wasn’t as successful as we had hoped.” Park explained, reaching into her pocket to hand Bell two blue-colored pills. “For your head, love. You had some kind of reaction at the mention of Perseus during recollection that disrupted the hypnotic state. Pitiful thing, really. Your subconscious must have fairly negative feelings regarding your time spent with Adler in Vietnam.”

“That makes two of us, Bell.” Adler commented, the distaste evident in his tone as he stared off. “Not my favorite time to remember either.”

“Well, I do believe recollection can still be therapeutic for Bell and is essential to the task at hand. Get some sleep Bell, we’ll pick up where we left off in the morning,”  Park gave a courteous smile and left the small, sorry excuse for a room, closing the door behind her. Silence hung in the air for a moment as Bell and Adler were left alone.

“I’m counting on you, Bell. Get some good sleep, need ya sharp for this.” Adler broke the silence, standing from where he sat and heading for the door as well. As he turned the handle, he looked back towards Bell. “Remember, we’ve got a job to do.”

As she fell back asleep, the lyrics for the rest of that song tauntingly played again and again in her head. 

Hope you got your things together Hope you are quite prepared to die Looks like we're in for nasty weather One eye is taken for an eye

Tags: @mayasnowforest @kult6 -- I know you guys asked to be tagged like two years ago, but here y'all are <3

[butterfly-stitches]

BLUE MONDAYS.

[ Mature ]

AO3

Masterlist

Pairings: Russell Adler / Bell, Russell Adler / Reader Russell Adler & Bell, Russell Adler & Lawrence Sims, Bell & Lawrence Sims, Russell Adler & Helen A. Park Ensemble: Russell Adler, Bell (Call of Duty), Lawrence Sims, Helen A. Park, Original Male Character(s)

Warnings: Brainwashing 🧠 Psychological Torture 🧠 Torture 🧠 Mind Manipulation 🧠 Medical Experimentation 🧠 False Memories 🧠 Flashbacks 🧠 Loss of Identity 🧠 Prisoner of War 🧠 Medical Torture 🧠 Medical Inaccuracies 🧠 Military Inaccuracies 🧠 Vietnam War 🧠 Propaganda 🧠 Pining 🧠 Crush at First Sight 🧠 Unresolved Romantic Tension 🧠 Unresolved Sexual Tension 🧠 Older Man/Younger Woman 🧠 Developing Friendships 🧠 Possibly Unrequited Love 🧠 Stockholm Syndrome 🧠 Denial of Feelings 🧠 Pre-Canon 🧠 POV Second Person > Other Additional Tags to Be Added <

Synopsis: Betrayed by your own, you lied bleeding in the back of your hummer. The fiery remnants of a derailed plane laid out in the airfield before you; your organization's smuggled weaponry all up in flame. Dying, you were eventually found and captured by Capitalist loyalists who treated your wounds. Now in enemy hands, you were tortured and interrogated. But you gave them nothing. Desperate, they turned their efforts towards MKUltra; mental manipulation, erasure of the self. You are fed false memories, given a false identity. Spun a false comradery with a scar-faced, shade-wearing man who had a hand in your torment. But he wasn’t your enemy, don’t you remember? Through thick and thin, you were always by his side. Fighting Vietcong in Vietnam, trekking through jungle and paddy fields. Hiding behind sandbags, bunkering down when napalm rained down onto the battlefield. Remember? You were always by his side. You endured it all together. Shared joy and shared suffering. {Takes place in flashbacks to time in Vietnam (albeit fabricated by Adler) and some Pre-Canon instances; but mostly Vietnam war flashbacks.}

| | | Next →

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

Chapter 1: stop the clock.

Words: 4,020 Summary: In which you are tested …

You wouldn’t break. 

No matter how hard they beat you, how deep they pressed dull blades into your skin, or how much they deprived you of sleep – you didn’t budge. Resilient to any traditional methods in their arsenal. Stayed silent throughout the long hours of interrogation; stayed still in the face of aggressive questioning. you didn’t even blink at their threats,  or didn’t falter at their dealings and their promises. Mistrustful, staunch, and unwavering; unbroken. you gave them nothing. All in the name of one organization, for one man. Perseus – who you would willingly die for and whose secrets you would take to the grave. 

There was no denial that your loyalty was admirable and your sturdiness impressive even for a person betrayed by your own. Not just for a Russki loyalist so high on the totem pole but as a detainee. But to say that it wasn’t aggravating would be an understatement. You were the key to everything yet refused to open any doors for them. Time was running out … and they were getting desperate. A sort of desperation that didn’t go unnoticed by you. The tell-tale sign of perceived weakness, a droplet of blood on snow. Honed in on it like a patient predator, unassuming and forbearing. Who bided their time for the slightest misstep, a hint of an opportunity. 

(They needed you – alive. Half-dead more like. But such noteworthiness wasn’t lost on you.)

And for the first time since your capture, the tables have turned ever in your favor.

Or so you thought.

◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼

You were being watched. 

From the hallway, behind a tinted, one-way windowed wall that divided the white room. Even now as you slept, slumped forward in the metal chair you were strapped to – overtired from being forced to stay awake for days. 

(But there was never really a time where you weren't constantly under surveillance. Was there?)

Like an apparition on the other side of a mirror, a figure stood patiently behind the window as he monitored you. A cup of old coffee in hand, aviators hung on the collar of his wool sweater vest. Listening intently to the timer on his wristwatch that ticked away – a countdown that was almost near completion. Time was going and going without a hitch or a hurdle. And who was he to ask it to change its nature; Deadlines were right on the horizon and progress had to be made. No matter the means. Morals and ethics were off the table now more than ever.

The figure rubbed at his temples as he heaved out a deep sigh. Eyes painfully dry as he squeezed them shut. Stress and fatigue had slowly eaten away at him over the past few weeks. But it wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to. Sleep deprivation was an expectation, just part of the job. Perseverance, an unrelenting stubbornness and heaps of bottomless cups of caffeine were a hell of a combo to combat it, let alone to function with; unhealthy but effective. The after effects, however, were not as ideal. And being underneath the bright fluorescent lighting only made it all that much worse. It made his head throb, his teeth ache. His shoulders fell as he let out a soft sigh. 

He ran a hand down his face, past the bridge of his nose, then lingered over a scarred cheek. Calloused fingers ghosted over the plunging grooves of the lichtenberg-like scar. Jagged and complex. Starting from his chin, the rough terrain of his scars branched through his lips and across the buccal plane. A reminder carved deep into the skin. 

A failure that he would not repeat twice.

His eyes shot up as you suddenly twitched. Shuffling in the metal chair in the throes of your troubled sleep, moving as much as you could from your restraints. Your head eventually lolled against your shoulder, using the junction there to rest your cheek on, nestling yourself more into one side of the chair. Sharp eyes narrowed, you were getting too comfortable for his liking. He checked his watch again. Six more minutes were still left on the timer. And he grimaced, lips pressed tightly together. 

Clicking footsteps echoed across the cold linoleum of the long hallway. But he didn’t turn toward the sound even as they slowly got closer. Only stood up straighter, more composed. And continued to watch over you for any other of your sudden movements. The smell of freshly brewed coffee hit his nose before anything else as the person settled next to him. Wordlessly, another mug was offered out to him, white porcelain in the edge of his vision. He lifted his own mug up to show he still hadn’t finished the one he had. But the woman next to him only took it from his hand, replacing it with the one she brought. He didn’t protest however, the warmth of the mug in hand was calming as was the waft of the fresh dark roast. He lifted the new mug and took a careful sip. The bitter taste permeated on his tongue. 

“Can’t believe you wanted to finish that, Adler.” The British woman, Agent Park, said in undisguised disgust. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the way she held the mug away from her as if it was disease-ridden. “Two day old coffee, and in a mug you haven't washed since. How very uncouth of you.”

He heard Park place it somewhere next to her. But Adler didn’t reply right away and took another sip of his coffee. “It’s my favorite mug.” 

“You could’ve rinsed it out at least.” Park countered, an arm thrown around her abdomen, the other holding up her cup of tea as she settled next to Adler. Blowing on the surface of her drink to cool it. “Anything new?”

“No. Some movement while sleeping, that’s about it. Nothing worth noting down.”

Park nodded, drinking her tea idly. They grew silent then, both staring into the room for any little movement, any little sign. Something interesting to be jotted down in your prisoner records. It reminded Adler of the zoo somewhat. Standing behind the glass of an animal enclosure, lingering around and waiting for the animal to do something, anything worthwhile. And there you slept and slept, way too peacefully than he liked, than you deserved.

Park peeked at her watch. Seemingly under the same mindset as she hummed. 

“We’re being too gracious, don’t you think?” He said. “Twenty minutes is overdoing it in my books. I should go and get started.”

Park titled her arm, letting Adler see the timer on its face. Numbers in bold font still ticking away, right on the end of hitting zero. Just like his watch was displaying. 

“It makes waking up far more terrible.” Park let her arm fall to her side. “Pluck someone right before hitting REM then they’re worse for wear and far more malleable. It’ll make all that effort of resting all for nothing. Lack of proper sleep and you’re bound to make mistakes.”

Adler didn’t say much more, nursing his coffee as the concentrated dose of caffeine coursed through his body. It gave Adler the energy he would need in a few minutes.

“Almost three weeks of nothing, Park. Not sure this angle is worth it, might be a waste of time that we don’t have.”

Park clicked her tongue at him in that sort of smugness akin to thinking you’re smarter than someone. That you know better than them. Another person might’ve been offended, slighted by Park. But Adler has worked with the MI6 agent long enough to look past it. He looked at her just as she turned to him with pursed lips.

“I think it's an angle we haven’t truly utilized. Like you said before, normal forms of interrogation aren't working. It's a good sort of tension to continue whittling down the subject with. It paves the perfect path for the second phase as well.”

Adler’s eyebrows knitted together. “Second phase?”

“Yes. The gloves are officially off.” 

“They always have been, Park.” He reminded her. 

“We got the greenlight, Adler.”

Adler’s eyebrows shot up, turning his head to face her now. “Hudson approved it?”

Park nodded. “Quite eagerly I might add.”

“He knows what’s at stake.”

“We all do.” Park sighed softly. “Well, I suppose it's a good thing we aren’t bound by the Hippocratic Oath.”

“Sometimes morals and ethics are not in our line of work.”

“Quite so.”

But before more can be discussed between them, a shrill cry from both of their analog watches. Indicating that their stopwatches had ended. That time was up. Both agents shared a look. 

“Do your worst.” Park said over the brim of her tea mug.

Adler gave her a nod, handing her his coffee mug, and turned the corner, to the side door there. The turn of the knob and the squeak of the door opening didn’t wake you however, not that Adler was being quiet about it. Still you slept, too tired to process anything in your surroundings or the threat right in your vicinity. The room was cold when he had entered, even a bit cold for someone like Adler. Another little touch to make sure you were never truly comfortable here in your confinement. He supposed you were used to the cold given that you’re a Soviet associate and all. Yet the way you were shivering in your sleep spoke otherwise.

It was gratifying for him to see it, your physical discomfort. It was ironic that a spy who came in from the cold wasn't as cold-resistant as implied. That notion made Adler pull his leather jacket closer around himself and sat down on the chair opposite of you. Far more supportive than the one you were tied down to. He rested his elbows on the metal table, untucking the manila folder from underneath his left arm and set it on the tabletop. Adjacent to a paper cup from the water dispenser he also brought with him.

Adler flicked his shades open, settling them on his face where they rightfully belonged. As if on cue, the lighting inside the room grew brighter. A sudden surge of brilliance that made you fidget. You crushed your eyelids together, squinting hard. Arms flexed underneath your restraints, wanting to shield your eyes from the bright lights. Your head lolled about until it fell forward, hanging down, chin meeting your chest. Your face is shrouded in the shadow you created, away from the brightness.

With a curl of his mouth, Adler kicked the leg of your chair, scooting it back an inch. The sudden force of it made you bolt awake. Your slouching instantly corrected into an upright position. But you cringed instantly at the lighting above you, turning your chin to the side and away, blinking rapidly to adjust your eyes. Noticeably drowsy still as you groaned and shifted up. But as the sight of Adler in front of you grew clearer, you visibly started to tense up. Greeted him with a pointed glare and a twisted grimace.

“Morning.” Adler said so casually that it made your glare sharpen at him in response. 

Your eyes never left his shaded face even as he began to take out papers from the manila folder on the table in front of him. And shuffled them into a neat pile on top of it, right beside his forearm. You were having trouble though, keeping your eyes on him. Too tired to keep your impassive composure, your neutral face. Your posture staggered as you were trying not to nod off again. Adler intertwined his hands on the tabletop as he leaned forward. The warmth of his hands being sapped away by the cool surface.

He couldn't help but take in the mess that was you. Grubby and unshowered, hair greasy and stuck to your scalp. The only reason you didn’t start to stink rancid was the occasional bucket splashes of water to rinse you off, wake you up or waterboard you. Soiled clothes, stained in dry blood, spit and vomit, hung a bit looser on you now. Muscles withered away from your sedentary confinement. It wasn’t surprising given your circumstance; being deliberately underfed and the first week of detainment – after your surprisingly fast recovery – where you refused to eat or drink. Your sorry state was nothing more than a means to an end. A necessity.

But those eyes. Those damned eyes of yours. Incandescent and intense. Striking against the newly hollow look of your cheeks and the wanness of your skin. The fire in your eyes hasn't been snuffed out just yet, even now as they stared right through his aviators and into his own. 

“Where’s Perseus?”

He took a sip of water from his small paper cup. Noticing how your eyes flitted intently to the motion, mouth dry as you licked your cracked lips. You sat there, not answering. But your silence wasn’t surprising. He expected it. Adler made a show of himself pulling something from his pocket, making sure you saw the shine of the familiar lamented label. A cigarette carton, your cigarette carton. Stained dark with a bloodstain, cardboard creased and partially crushed.

You watched as he plucked a cigarette from inside, one that wasn’t ruined by blood spatter. He thumbed his lighter, puffing as the cigarette caught the flame. He inhaled deeply, before blowing it straight towards you. Your nostrils flared as you took in the smell of it. Nicotine withdrawal flaring up as your jaw grinded against your molars. Adler looked the carton over in interest as he took another drag, reading over the Cyrillic letters that were somewhat legible. With an exhale of smoke, he tossed it on your side of the table, right in front of you, just out of reach. 

“You know the drill. Tell me what I want to know or thing’s will escalate.” Behind the aviators, his eyes flicked down to your hands where your fingernails were starting to grow back. You flexed them into tight fists.

Yet still, you were quiet, unfazed. Staring straight into his reflective aviators to his eyes. Adler stood up and you shifted upright, tracking the man as he slowly rounded the table, cigarette in hand. But your eyes couldn't follow as he walked behind you. Out of your line of sight, at your flank. You went rigid, the pungent smell of cigarette smoke filling your senses. 

“You’re a true-blue patriot. Well, true-red . We're not so different when it comes to what we'll do for our country. How far we’ll go to keep it safe. I know you understand why you’re here. You have information we want. So, I’ll ask again: Where. Is. Perseus?” 

You sat still, unwavering. Mouth closed shut in the telltale sign that you weren’t going to speak. Before you knew it, you were falling, eyes tilted towards the ceiling as Adler yanked your chair back and let it fall. Your arms strained against the straps, automatically wanting to catch yourself but to no avail. And your chair met the hard ground with a gasp and a loud crash. A shadow enfolded over you, and you looked up, head ringing, mouth filling with blood from a bitten tongue.

Then you were suffocating. A boot pressed down into your exposed neck. Blood spluttered out from your choking gasps for breath. Spat it across the floor and onto Adler’s Cuban heeled boot. Your vision went blurry, black dots filled your sight, eclipsing the bright white room. Until all you saw was the scarred face of your tormentor above you. A face carved in the confines of your memory. Lungs burning, blood rushed to your head, pressure crushing down harder on your esophagus. On the cusp of losing consciousness, and the boot moved from your throat. You gasped, going into a fit of bloodied coughs as you gulped down air. 

Adler stood over you, letting loose ash from the cigarette fall like snowflakes onto your face. Mixing with the blood that poured out from your mouth. The only taste of a cigarette you’re given. You’re breathing hard and harsh, a burning print of a boot blossomed on the bare column of your throat. Still you met his gaze, the defiance burning within your irises reflected in his lens. Unyielding. Unbreakable. Unshaken by what’s to come next.

Adler dropped the cigarette next to your head. And held your gaze as he crushed it with the twisting of his heel. 

◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼

“You want me to tell them about my time in Vietnam?”

He lifted his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled.

“To establish a connection with the subject, yes.” Park took a puff from her own cigarette. She eyed Adler, sensing a shift in his demeanor albeit minuscule. Without an untrained eye, it would be inconspicuous. “Is that an issue?”

“I’m not soft like Sims. It won’t be an issue.”

Park smiled like a viper. All teeth and curled maroon lips. “Good. You have the debrief and our course of action as well as the scripts. All we need is your narration.”

Adler stood still and silent, smoking casually beside her. But he ultimately nodded.

“The CIA’s mind control program has had a great deal of success with implanted memories.” She continued, tapping her forefinger on her cigarette to flick the ash away. “In due time, we’ll have what we need from the subject.” 

Park turned to leave but stopped herself, turning on her heel as she looked at the man quietly smoking. “Happy Birthday by the way, Adler.”

And with that, she turned and walked away. 

◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼◼

You were screaming. 

Fighting against the restraints of the gurney you were strapped down to. Teeth gnashing, grown back nails digging into the flesh of your own palms until they bled. Tried desperately to escape from the laboratorical personnel surrounding you. In surgical attire, faces covered with surgical masks, features blurred by the flare of the surgical lights above you. They were preparing you. For what you didn’t understand.

(But you knew, deep down. A sacrificial lamb, you were, getting ready  for the slaughter. For the company of wolves.)

You were being watched. 

From the hallway, behind a tinted, one-way windowed wall. Looking into the surgical room you were in. All white walls and white tiled flooring. Even now as you screamed. Connected to IV fluid drips; barbiturates in one arm and an amphetamine into the other. Other intravenous fluids were being pumped into you simultaneously. You wanted to rip them out of you. Needles above your head, glinting like knives. You rattled the gurney as you struggled in place. Needles were pressed into your arms. 

And still you wouldn’t abate. But the high doses of psychoactive drugs would kick in soon enough. He remembered when he found you bleeding out in the back of the hummer on that airfield in Turkey. Even then you had it, that violence underneath your skin. You fought against him then too, refusing to let him stop your bleeding. His hands pressed to your gunshots wounds and you clawed at his arms, trying to die on your own terms before you eventually passed out from blood loss. That same violence that made you rip out your stitches when they patched you up. But your violence didn’t last long then and it didn’t last long now as you stopped fighting, the drugs pacifying you. 

The personnel adjusted your gurney, putting it in an upright position to let you sit up. And the lighting was lowered until the room grew dim. They moved aside, making way for the figures behind the glass as they walked in the lab room. Familiar faces in your unsteady sight. You blinked groggily at them, trying to keep your head up. They stared down at you, the woman was closer to your bedside than the scarred man. Here, at this angle, you could make out the shape of the man’s eyes behind the sepia shades. 

“Breaking a subject’s will and erasing their mind is a difficult and painful process.” The woman told the man next to her. He looked at her then he turned to you.

“That’s a small price to pay.” He said.

In your drugged state, you were eventually moved from the surgical room and into a long, cold, white tiled hallway. You caught glimpses of it as you were wheeled down it. Many rooms with one-way windows like yours lined the walls evenly; too many to count and grasp in your stuporous state. Before you knew it you were in another white tiled room, in another interrogation chair. Your legs and arms tied down to it. Hooked up to an ECG machine and a polygraph. As you came to, there right in front of your face was a television on a metal utility cart. It was turned on, the bright screen only showing static. A contrast to your dark surroundings. But there wasn’t just this one, there were multiple lined up in front of you. All of them were on and showing the same static channel. You tried to move your throbbing head, but found your head strapped back to the chair’s headrest. And then you saw him, at the right edge of your vision. A scarred man with shades underneath a lone lamp, sitting behind a desk in an observation room beside you. Watching and waiting. You squirmed, well as much as you could from how tightly you were strapped down to your chair. 

The sound of a tolling bell pealed throughout the room from a source you cannot discern. Colored lights flash before you in a hypnotizing array, like a moth, you are attentive. All the television screens flickered before you, flashing a fuzzy snapshot of a group of soldiers hopping off a landed helicopter. Before a low baritone voice, his low baritone voice filtered through speakers all around the room. Resounded in your ears, echoing in your head. Burrowed deep into your scrambled, befuddled brain.

“We’ve known each other for years. Fought together, bled together. Been through the hell of Vietnam together.”

The screens flickered again, films playing of soldiers saluting their superior. Of recruits training in a mud pit, crawling under barbed wire and jumping over makeshift obstacles. Another screen glitch and you saw an exterior gun range where they practice shooting under the watch of the quartermasters and instructors. Then battlefields, gunfights in the jungles of Vietnam. But you resist. You never knew this man and never will. The voice doesn’t relent, it repeats and repeats.

“We’ve known each other for years. Fought together, bled together. Been through the hell of Vietnam together.”

The narrative it described looped over and over until you heard it in your head. But you never fought in that war. Never stepped foot in Vietnam. It all repeated again. Telling you that you were assigned to his MACV-SOG team sometime in ’67. Fighting VC soldiers, enduring the hellscape of war alongside him. 

“We’ve known each other for years. Fought together, bled together. Been through the hell of Vietnam together.”

Together? Together.

The television screens flashed to a grainy video of some encampment somewhere on an excavated and flattened hilltop. A lake below, jungle in the distance. Then to a picture of a man with sandy brown hair with shades on, surrounded by a group of soldiers. And you remembered. Remembered it all. You were there, too. Made your way through a sea of elephant grasses, thorn bushes, and bamboo forests with them, with him. Waded through rice fields and wetlands - black leeches hiding in the dirty, stagnant pools. Shadows darted between the trees and foliage, enemies hiding in plain sight. M16 rifles jammed in gunfights, mud in your mouth. Sweat stung in your eyes, suffocated by the humidity of the jungle. The smell of napalm burning in the back of your throat. Gunsmoke in your lungs, dead bodies rotting in the underbrush. The taste of C-rats and its sweet treats, the only thing you looked forward to each day.

You were always by his side. You endured it all together. 

Shared joy and shared suffering. 

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

A/N: Excited for BO6 → Play Cold War Campaign → Instantly fall in love with Adler → Finish Campaign → Obsessed; mind consumed by Adler 24/7 → Write Self-Indulgent Fic → Rinse and Repeat.

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

[monotoneclown]

I wanted to try to paint with acrylics for the first time and decided to draw Adler. He was very fun to draw, might try to draw him again in the future.

COD Black Ops Cold War’s storyline still has me effected. I would have liked to talk more about this but I’m kind of sleepy and have a stomach ache today so I doubt that I would make sense even if I tried.

There’s also a drawing of a goat, because why not, I like them.

Anyways, just know that I’ll draw him again.

Kisses to you all.

[queenofallimagines]

Meet cute~

Isagi x fem Reader

A/N: Morning to all the baddies✌🏿Nothing gets you in the mood to write than starting something brand new and not working on WIPs😘 based off a rly cute TikTok I saw I think isagi would be one of the ones to meet his S/O in a super cute way

CW: black reader but not rly focused on, bad grammar it’s like 4:45 am sorry,foreigner reader, was gunna sneak in like artist reader or something but the way it’s so ambiguous is cute, Bachira the pot stirrer, he also knows Spanish a little,U-20 captain isagi?? polyglot reader, She’s afro latino, Isagi falling in love at first sight. Let me know if I missed anything!

TAGLIST: @priv-rose

"Did you see the way shidou kicked rin?” Bachira could barely breathe as memories of today’s practice filled his mind— he looked over at isagi, who was shaking his head in faux disappointment, trying to hide a smile.

“Course i did, poor rin.” Isagi chuckled, running a hand through his hair. the striker was about to add onto his sentence but the feeling of someone bumping into him distracted him. he peered over his shoulder, a small smile on his face when he saw who it was. “mm… you good?”

Looking up at him with apologetic eyes she anxiously rushes out her words.

“Ah, im Sorry!”

“It's fine, it was an accident, it happens." Isagi smiled softly, and that smile would remain on his face even as he noticed her hair. his eyes lingered on it for a moment too long, taking in the way it was pushed out of her face, the colour of it.

“Nice hair."

“Huh?” He watches as she brings a hand up to her hair reflexively fidgeting with it. “oh uh thanks. I like yours too….”

“You do? thank you, it's nothing special." He smiled still staring down at her hair. he realized he was staring and cleared his throat. After a brief moment, he spoke. Trying to clear the awkwardness.

“Hey, just out of curiosity, where are you from?" He fumbles out awkwardly internally wincing at how nervous he sounded. But he was curious as to the way she spoke. her accent sounded familiar to him, almost foreign.

“I guess but it really suits you! Shapes your face really well. And, I mean… if you’re asking where I was before Japan I’m from America.”

“Oh you think so?" Isagi's cheeks had begun to turn red, he could feel the blood rushing to his face as he smiled sheepishly Rubbing the back of his neck.

‘America? He was right, he thought. She spoke differently.’

“Ahh, you're an American, yeah? Is that why you speak funny?" He teased playfully, smiling down at her. Watching her wince a little at his words and he immediately felt embarrassment wash over him. Saying she talked weird wasn’t really polite was it? He watches as she chuckles nervously at him.

“ah, kinda? America has a lot of different accents depending on region so I’m not sure which one takes precedence when I speak Japanese. Nodding his head in relief she didn't deny it, so isagi decided to continue with his questioning.

“Okay, but what region are you from? Are you from the South?" Tilting his head slightly, his eyebrow cocked, curiousity sparking in his eyes.He tries to hide his smile as he watches her face morph into shock. Her eyes were really pretty from where he was standing…

“That easy to tell huh?”

“Yeah." Isagi snickers, he continued. "The way you speak….it's different— a lot more laidback, but not like the Tokyo-y, or Osaka accents. The American accent isn't quite heavy, but not super light either. There's no way it’s something like Texas, Florida, or California, but I'd guess somewhere in the South, closer to the South-east. Am I right?" Looking at her expectantly he can’t help but get lost in her eyes.

“….. Spot on again. I moved from Texas but I was born and raised in the east coast so sometimes I’m New York sometimes I sound more like Houston or New Orleans. Depends on the words I’m saying and how fast I’m talking.” He was actually surprised that he'd managed to guess correctly not one, but twice! With the way the corners of his lips crept upwards, he didn't realize how much he liked talking to her. As the conversation continued, he found himself smiling.

“Wow, so you're just all over the place huh, like a rainbow?" His heart fluttered hearing her giggle reach his ears. It sounded so melodious.

“yep!” Humming in thought he shoots her a smirk. “It'd be interesting to hear how you speak, like if you were super angry or something." The black haired boy teased, not realizing the flirtatious implication it could have.

“I’ve been told I talk faster and with more force so probably New York. And then I speak Spanish too so definitely that.” At the mention of her being able to speak a third language, Isagi's eyes widened. He leaned closer his curiosity growing.

“You can speak Spanish?"

“Mhm. My family is Latin American so Spanish fluency runs through my family.”

Isagi's eyes twinkled with an undeniable sparkle of curiosity. he was definitely intrigued. He’s only heard some of the players on opposing teams he’d play curse at him in Spanish but never actual full on sentences. his lips curved upwards slightly. "Can you speak it right now? If you don't mind." He watches as her eyes far around for a second before letting his again. He felt a little bad for putting her on the spot like that but not bad enough to take it back.

“Oh uh sure. Uhh” She hums for a second before clearing her throat.

“Hola, isagi y bachira. Encantado de conoceros. Los dos sois muy guapos.”

(Hi, isagi and bachira. Nice to meet you both. You are both very handsome)

Isagi's eyes widened with amazement, a look of pure joy on his face. he clapped his hands together. “That's amazing! You speak it so well!" His face flushed at the compliment.

“You know what, I have a question for you." His grin grew into a bigger, brighter smile. Her way of speaking had a certain musical quality to it. He watched her closely all the while, his eyes taking her in, and listening to the way she spoke. She'd said something about them being handsome he thinks? He looked at Bachira who'd been witnessing the conversation the entire while, he noticed his friend's eyebrows raise slightly, and a small smile come onto his lips.

‘Did she just call us handsome?’ Bachira mouthed to him. He knows Bachira definitely isn’t fluent playing in Spain and spending time around Lavinho he must’ve picked up on some. He understands it better than he does English anyway. Feeling his heart racing he looks at her without missing a beat.

"Can I try something?" His gaze didn't waver from the way her lips curved at the sides, her smile being a mere testament of her good features.Quirking an eyebrow at him she looks at him confused for a second before cautiously replying.

“Okay?”

“Say my name." Isagi said, his words laced with a soft breath. Taking half a step closer he watched her lips closely, taking in how each syllable looked as it left her lips. He heard her breath hitch as those beautiful eyes widen looking up at him.

“Yo- I mean Isagi Yoichi.”

He couldn’t help but smirk at the way she said his name. he'd told her to do so, he'd expected it, but the way she'd said his name had his heart beating out of his chest..

"Say Bachira." She chuckles smiling at him confused but obliging him anyway.

“Bachira.” Isagi's gaze remained fixated as he watched her lips form each syllable. He was enjoying this and his brain hadn't quite caught up with the fact that he was enjoying this.

“Say your own name." She smiles at him before speaking her own name. He can’t help the shiver that runs up his spine. The way the words flowed out of her mouth like honey, her tongue curling around every vowel. He would do anything to hear her talk forever if he could. The way her accent was almost hypnotic to his ears. It seemed even her name had no special effect on him.

“I have to tell you, your accent is so cute." He tilted his head slightly as he continued.

"One more thing." The stunned look on her face had him biting back a smile. That deer in headlights look was absolutely precious. It wasn’t until then did he notice the difference between them. The way she looked up at him made something inside him go absolutely wild.

“Oh. Uh thanks.”

“How about you say... isagi yoichi is an absolute cutie?" He teased playfully. He knew when saw her flustered face he had to tease her just a bit more. Like if he’s gunna try and shoot his shot he’s going to put himself at an advantage. Grinning, he was having so much fun, he forgot Bachira was watching the two of them carefully now. His eyes darting back and fourth between the two.

“Yoichi Isagi es precioso.”

The athlete felt his heart stop. He wasn't actually expecting her to do it! And so quickly without any hesitation. He was stunned into silence. His jaw had dropped and his cheeks were blazing bright. Bachira hadn't missed or misread what had just happened. He laughed quietly, a smile tugging at his lips.

‘Damn.. Did that really just happen? Talk about matching energy.’

She laughing seeing his flushed face. He looked like he was trying to find words but forgot how to speak at all.

“Uh,you ok?” Isagi who was was still blushing, lifted the corners of his mouth tilted upwards in embarrassment and joy. Bachira was just barely holding back a laugh. When he found his voice he finally managed to speak after a moment.

“Y-yes. I'm very okay." Isagi's voice was still laced with embarrassment, but he continued anyway. “Can I ask you something though?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have a boyfriend?" His voice still laced with embarrassment, but there was genuine curiosity behind it now. He tries to steady his heart as he looks at her expectantly. He watches as she looks at him surprised stuttering out her words.

“W- I- no?? Like I don’t. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Isagi nodded, his mind reeling. This day was wild already, she was flirting with him, he was flirting with her– it was really something else. He couldn't deny that the idea of her not being taken was something that gave him the confidence to continue.

"You don't?" He asked again, this time a little slower just to hear her say it. His eyebrows rose, his cheeks were hot with embarrassment, his mind began to race. Deep blue eyes remained on her, he couldn't help staring. He didn't need any other confirmation other than this. he smiled softly, trying to hide just how happy her answer made him.

“Oh, So that means there's no one who'd come and beat me up if I asked you out?" He asked her jokingly, but his voice still remained soft.

“o-oh uh no that wouldn’t happen….” Smiling wider as he caught onto the fact that she'd blushed. She was too adorable, the way her eyes were looking at everything but him. Her hands nervously pulling at her shirt. That, and her soft, smooth voice was sending him into a state of bliss.. And he was starting to get carried away. His grin grew.

“Wellll... Can I ask you something then?"

“Y-yeah?” Shyly looking up at him he noticed the tips of her ears looking red.

“Would you like to go out with me?" He had put all his cards out on the table now and was waiting in anticipation as he asked her. He could hardly believe that he'd gotten to the point of asking her this. His heart was beating out of his chest and there was something happening in his stomach. It wasn't pleasant... The nerves were eating away at him.

“Mhm….i would.” Isagi felt his breath catch in his throat as she agreed. His cheeks were heated, his palms were sweaty, his fingers were trembling. He couldn't breathe. Everything about this felt surreal, there had to be a catch. But, no. It was really happening, he really just asked her out on a date and she agreed.

“Really?" He watches intently as she rocks on the heels of her feet looking away from him. “Mhm.”

His heart was still beating out of his chest. His whole body felt tingly as his cheeks grew hotter. Her answer had taken him by surprise, it'd been a lot easier than he thought it'd be to ask her. His eyes were drawn towards her lips, they were so cute and looked so soft…

Just before he could say anything though, Bachira coughed.

"Isagi?"

Jolting she glances over at him flushing in embarrassment forgetting he was there. She’d completely put all her focus on the boy flirting with her. Bachira looked more like an amused observer, his lips curled up into a small smile. Isagi was flustered to have been caught staring, he snapped out of his thoughts to glance over at him. He felt his face grow even more hot.

“W-what?"

He felt a wave of embarrassment slack him in the face as his friend’s laughter rang out. he'd been enjoying watching what was going on behind the scenes. Bachira's teasing was usually directed towards Isagi, who was easy to tease. So, seeing him be the one getting teased for once and being affected this much by was entertaining.

"You're all red, man.." Bachira teased, the corners of his lips remained curled upwards.He whips his head around to hear the girl snickering at him, hand over her mouth.

“Shut up." Isagi tried his best to sound annoyed, but his voice came out sounding flustered. He was very flustered, he was still red like a tomato. His mind couldn't seem to come up with anything else.. The only thing his body was focused on was her. Her pretty face, her soft voice, her sweet smile, her laugh…. Flinching he felt her grab his hand and he froze.

“Here.”

His heart skipped a beat as she grabbed his hand and held it firmly. He couldn't help, his eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. Was she really holding his hand? Her touch was so soft... her grip was gentle, yet firm.. He found himself trying not to close his eyes in that brief moment. She steps closer to him turning to hold her hand in front of him. He was hoping she couldn’t feel his heart beating out of his chest as her back pressed up against his chest. He feels frozen where he stands as she writes her name and number across his wrist.

“How about you can decide after you win your next game yeah? I’ll be watching so don’t disappoint me.”

His eyes remained on her as she wrote her number down on his wrist, their thumbs grazing together and sliding together for a brief moment. The feel of her grip on his wrist had Isagi's body tingling and his mind racing. He was taken aback by her gesture, but his mind was only focused on one thing right now. She wanted to watch him? She'd be there... watching him? Isagi couldn't help, he grinned, his pulse was rising. Once she finished she moved away from him letting his wrist fall. Capping the pen she held she tapped the end on his nose smiling at him.

“Don’t disappoint me now pretty.” Isagi was startled by her words. For the first time in his life, he was called pretty. His cheeks went red and that one word alone caused his entire world to stop moving around him, he felt so warm.

“I don't plan on it. You'll see, I'll be impressive." He said, his tone was much more confident than he'd meant to sound. She rolled her eyes at him letting a huff leave her lips.

“I’ll definitely hold you to that Mr egoist.”

“Oh?" Smirking he was aware that she was teasing him.He chuckled as it was his turn. “You have no idea..I'm gonna do my damn best to go all out in the game and win." He was already confident. His ego was growing, but he didn't mind that. He had every right to be confident with the skills that he had. His cocky smile remained on his lips.

“I expect to see you there?" He watches as she swallows hard looking up at him. She felt her face heat up at the look of determination in his eyes.

“y-yeah definitely. I’ll keep my eyes on you the whole time….”

Now isagi could feel the adrenaline running through veins. This was all so new to him, the way she was acting so flirty, the way her eyes were on him and her cheeks were flushed just by his look.. The way she was talking right now was making his whole world spin again. Smiling he was enjoying the feel of all those butterflies. He let go of her hand finally and he looked away for a second.

“Okay, then. I guess I'll see you there." He finally said as he turned to leave. Clutching his jacket in hopes to stop his heard from beating so loudly in his ears. He was on cloud 9 and he couldn’t even process this moment being real.

“Yeah… bye yoichi. See you there.” Isagi waved at her, turning to exit. He felt her eyes still lingering on him as he went. His mind was filled with so many thoughts right now. He couldn't believe that he'd done that, he couldn't believe that it had happened... But, it did happen. He had got a date. He had a date with the prettiest girl he'd ever met. That didn't seem real, and he couldn't be happier about it. As he left the gym, Bachira was waiting for him with a smug look on his face.

“You got a date?" Bachira asked, watching him as he approached. Isagi's cheeks were glowing bright red, his grin was infectious. "Shut-up." Isagi snapped back, clearly feeling flustered still. His hands were trembling ever so slightly and he was aware that it was all over his facial expressiosn. He attempted to hide his emotions but to no avail, he was just too excited for his own good.

“Awwwww Come on, you can't lie! I can see it all over you, your face is bright red and your lips got this dumb grin on em. You're down bad when you're flustered, and the way she was looking at you? Yeah, you got a date." Bachira said excitedly as he watched his friend trying his best to hide his emotions.

“Shut. up." He said, a hint of frustration in his voice. Isagi didn't want to acknowledge that his friend was right, but he had a point. He was right. Isagi could still feel her hand on his wrist. He felt like he could still feel her breath on his skin. His cheeks were red, his hands were shaking. All because this damn date.

[unreliablesnake]

Can we talk about the moment when Adler just casually throws a bad guy off the roof to make a point?

Yeah, I might write some Adler stuff once I'm ready to write fanfics again.

[jqmalikhsgib]

wedding bells

“…i don’t wanna love if it’s not you…”

that’s all he could hear. wedding bells as he falls asleep. he had lost the one woman he knew he should be spending the rest of his with. the only woman for him.

he hasn’t had a good nights rest since you’ve told him the news. since you’ve told him that he was losing you forever.

he had turned his phone off. he didn’t wanna talk to anyone. he didn’t wanna see anyone. all harry wanted to do was drown himself. god, he wished he could go back in time and kick the shit outta himself.

he had tried to write his pain down. but the only thing that came out was shit. he had broke you and now you had broke him.

unbeknownst to him his mother and sister were so worried they flew all the way to see him. they needed to make sure he was okay. they heard the news about your wedding. gemma and anne knew this would set him back again.

so hearing the knock on his front door he groaned. he just hoped that whoever it was would just go away.

“oh, baby brother.”

harry turns and sees his mom and sister. he couldn’t hold it in anymore. he cried loudly. anne walks over to his son and hold him tightly. harry holds his mom as he cried into her shoulders.

“she’s getting married in june mama. the month of our anniversary. she’s—fuck! i lost her forever.”

anne hold her son as he tears up. she felt for her son. you were the first woman harry’s truly fell in love with. one who loved him for who he was and not for his fame. when you lose your first true love it’s always heartbreaking. but you were his one and only. the girl he let get away because of his ego.

anne didn’t like the way he treated you. she understood why you left. but she still felt for her son over the years. all those sad ass songs he’s wrote. she listened and knew. she knew her son was broken and the only way to pick up those pieces would be you.

it’s one of the reasons why she told you to listen to his music. she pushed you into listening to harry’s albums over the years. only hoping that you’d see his truth. showing you how unhappy he was. she knew it was selfish on her part. but she also loved you as a daughter. you made her baby boy the happiest he’s been since being in that band. she hadn’t seen him smile that big in a long time. and she knew you were hurting as well.

she thought maybe this would push you together again. but when she heard you confirmed you were engaged to your current boyfriend she knew this would only set her baby boy back.

when she tried calling him and his phone went straight to voicemail she had to go see her son.

“i know it hurts baby. but hopefully this will be your closure. maybe this is what you needed to truly move on.”

“can’t mama. i love her. i love her more than anything. i can’t see her get married. i can’t see her marry someone else. i—it hurts.”

gemma watches her brother so broken. she knew he hasn’t eaten, bathed, or move much. her heart broke for her brother. she just knew she had to do something. she had to get her brother back.

so for the next two days she cleaned the house, got her brother out of bad, got him to eat and shower. she knew what she would do next would make or break him. but she had to. she had to do this for him. and hopefully it wouldn’t break him.

the day of the wedding gemma and anne got him to go outside. it was a struggle but they did what they had to do. harry had no idea where they were taking him but he knew he had to move on.

he had to let you be happy. even if that meant without him. when they finally got to their destination harry looked at the church. he looked at his mom and sister and shook his head.

“go get her baby brother.”

idk wtf this was but i just want to finish this story…😬🤷🏽‍♀️