#bo6 x reader

[dearlydevoured]

minors do not interact, please! — oh, a troubled adler left to stare at the ceiling after having sex with bell.

they are so trusting of him, an unknowing sacrificial lamb who sees adler as the soft glow of trust and love despite it all, head on his chest as they are fast asleep and unaware. it’s all fabricated, woven by his thick fingers stained with the stench of nicotine and a permanent need to scratch an open wound. bell is the enemy, so what is he doing here? he’d think about how maybe things could’ve been different, but it didn’t matter anymore; the past has merged and shifted, placing you both in the same bed.

[simp-ly-writes]

Professionals

─────── · · A Black Ops 6 FanFic

Pairing: Russell Adler x Fem!Spy!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You are a MI6 spy with a secret mission different to what the CIA has requested you for; using your information gathering expertise, you pose as Russell Adlers wife as the both of you go undercover abroad, the catch? MI6 wants to know everything about your "husband" just as much as you do.

─ · · TAGS: no use of (y/n), non-canon compliant, flirting, use of pet names, teasing, fluff.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 1,607

─ · · A/N: I always wanted to try and make one of those series that stems off into prompts and scenarios so use this chapter as the basis! 😊 (I hope this somewhat makes sense lol).

─────── · ·

Monday Night | MI6 Agency, London

It was one of the few nice nights of the year yet here you were sat inside your Directors office. A couple dozen high ranking officers swarming around you, the room tense in wait as the leather of your seat groaned as you took a seat.

One thing happened after another, a team was preparing your looks, another briefing you on culture, customs and speech. You had worked for the secret intelligence service for over two and a half decades, starting right out of university yet had never experienced something quite like this in all your history. All you could do is nod along.

"He'll be sat there waiting when you arrive. He is CIA, Clandestine special officer. A full report will be sent to your room when you arrive, deployment immediately. You are dismissed, officer," was all you gathered from your Director before you were being followed out into a car, your belongings already packed for you, ring box sitting heavy between your hands in your lap. You couldn't find it in you to open it.

"You ready, (last/name)?" one of your fellow operators, Bill asked you, driving the car another office sat shotgun, so much security... you think to yourself, worried for what the hell kind of a mission they were sending you on and with who of all people?

"What am I not ready for?" you ask back, faking confidence yet feeling frustrated by the lack of information you were receiving before going overseas and acting as a double-agent.

"Well, from knowing you, marriage," he chuckles, fixing the rear-view mirror as you shuffle around in the backseat. It was obviously meant to be a joke to cheer you up yet the word marriage rung through your head, echoing on repeat.

"Well it's not like I'm actually gonna get married, Bill. Just got to look all pretty, get the information, and get the hell out. The ring is just another thing of the disguise at the end of the day," you reply with nonchalance before opening the ring box- immediately regretting so as you stare at the most gorgeous ring you could ever dream of.

What the fuck, is all you can mutter underneath you breath before Bill is pulling into a parking sport at the airport. The other officer already running around back to the truck, unloading your gear. Bill lets out a long low whistle after seeing the ring.

"Well, everyone's going to know your a taken woman with that rock on your finger." You flip Bill the finger, placing the ring onto your left hand before throwing the box into your handbag and stepping out of the car. A plane waits for you on the tarmac, engines already roaring and with one wave back to the boys, you are off up in the air on on your way to America.

─────── · ·

Tuesday Morning | Hotel, Washington, D.C.

When arriving to the "Land of Freedom," you quickly hailed a cab to your to-be-shared hotel room for the next few days. Your boss mentioned it as a speed, "get-to-know one another" meeting but in your eyes it would be the opportunity to get the upper hand on information.

Your mission was simple, do the missions the CIA wanted you in, provide them with the information they wanted all the while taking what your agency wanted- who exactly is Russell Adlers and what the hell they were doing with brainwashing.

You were surprised to see how many lanes of traffic there were on your want to the hotel room and once arriving to the five-star hotel, staff members were there awaiting your arrival, "Mrs. Adler, please allow me to hold your belongings and bring them up to your room for you. An assortment of breakfast has been prepared at your husbands request and will arrive in 30 minutes."

White gloves swiftly took your baggage from out of the trunk another holding the door open for you both before leading you up to your room. Deep stained hardwood made your heels click against its surface in tune with the live performance piano. You took in the dazzling crystal chandeliers of the lobby with its panelled walls and luscious plants. The elevator was glass with a gold banister that you leaned upon, examining every exist and staff member positioned for the "just-in-case" that came with the job.

With a ding, you were up to the ninth floor and lead down a cosy lit hallway before being presented with your keycard. A white glove motioned to the scanner before holding the door open for you to enter first.

The room was moody and romantic just as the lobby was fit with golden accents, walls in that signature wood paneling, and floor finished in a plush cream carpet. A kitchenette, small living space and bed set with fresh white sheets and a few too many pillows off to another room set within the suite. You were impressed to say the least once hearing the last of your luggage be placed within the room.

"Is there anything else we could assist you with Mrs. Adler?" the staff member asks, eyes hanging onto your every word- eager to help. You smiled at the young man before shaking your head with a smile. A strand of your hair falling out of place in doing so. "No, I am quite alright. Thank you for your work, I'll be sure to make my husband reward your service this morning." And with that, the door closed behind you as you took in the silence of the space before going digging.

Grabbing your gloves from your purse on the counter you opened every drawer and cranny, looking underneath every piece of furniture in the main room before heading towards the bedroom. The singular bed mocked you as the white sheets glistened through the sunlight peaking through the sheer curtains.

A singular small suitcase sat on an armchair that faced the bed. Delicately zipping it open you took apart its components yet finding nothing out of the ordinary, not a sloppy worker, you praised your "husband" before placing a small tracker into one of the open seams.

Standing back up and looking outside the reflection of another body behind you had you freezing in the moment. A tall man stood behind you by the outline of his broad shoulders, your eyes flickered between the two of you in the reflection. His voice casting goosebumps across your skin before you were reining yourself in, remember who you are, remember what the job is, remember-

"Hello, Sweetheart. Anything your looking for in particular?"

Shit. You turned around, casting a quick signature smile before slowly taking off your gloves and walking over to the side table. You felt his stare watching as you moved around the room as you took a seat on the corner of the bed.

"Just making sure that my husband was leaving me with no surprises after all you do know how much your wife hates them so," you retort now taking your time to stare. You took in the loafers he wore, freshly polished and leather matching the belt looping through pressed dress pants with the collared shirt he wore, a pair of aviators hanging from the unbuttoned part of his shirt.

His muscles bulged from the sleeves, veins casting up from his fingertips and up to his neck, beard freshly shaven and fitting the classy affluent couple look you both were assigned. Your eyes stopped at his face, watching as his head tilted in a silent demand for you to dare ask about the scar running up from his cheek to his nose.

"Already getting protective of me?" Adler teases catching your ring finger twitch at the name with a smirk.

You didn't appreciate him already trying to be above you, "the papers never said my husband would be handsome. How could they leave such an important part out?" you smile, your words genuine but the way in which you cross your legs after saying it as your husband raising a brow before rolling his eyes.

"I'm not the one you're trying to charm over. Save it for when we get overseas, I'm sure they'll enjoy it more-"

"And you didn't enjoy me calling you handsome?" you press forwards watching Adler roll his shoulders before scoffing. "I know I am, didn't need you to say it."

You gasp playfully, standing to tease more of his personality out of him but before you can reach Adler has your wrist in a firm yet gentle grip, cautious of his own strength. "I'm not going to break if you hold me so gently, Mr. Adler."

"Well, Mrs. Adler. If you think I'm going to get handsy you're wrong. Take the bed tonight, I'll settle on the couch."

Breakfast arrived shortly after your teasing match and while eating you appreciated that Adler did in fact hold table manners. Always making sure your coffee and water was filled yet apparently it was a step too far in asking for a bite off his plate as he waved you off.

It was the first day of a mission that you did not know when it would end but as you laid there in the cold sheets listening to Adler hum along to something on the radio before taking a drag from his cigarette. There was the smallest part of you hopeful that he would not hate you after all of this that became overshadowed by the job and everything you had at stake. There was no question but being the utmost professional.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: what did you think?? 👀 I've got some ideas of Adler finding out you have a side mission, introducing you to members of the team, missions gone wrong-AH! So many ideas, let me know if any of these stand out! 😄💕

[yanderestarangel]

𝗔𝗗𝗟𝗘𝗥 𝗥𝗨𝗦𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗟 – 𝗕𝗢6

𝗕𝗢𝗡𝗨𝗦: THIS LINE...

I need this tired, traumatized old man's cock down my throat.

[altcvnningham]

canis major

adler x bell!reader

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

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

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

Sometimes, he goes back to Berlin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not like Arctic air. Not like—

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

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

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

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

And you step out of the car.

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

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

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

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

Bell.

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

—you feel someone watching—

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

Open the door, Bell, open the door—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Russell Adler is not a sentimental man.

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

Maybe, then, he’s a fool.

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

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

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

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

[woods-and-adlers-left-hand-dude]

Russell talking about how he was robbed

Case (me) acting all innocent

Woods coming to my defence

[ineylesian]

SEPARATION ANXIETY

— RUSSELL ADLER X FEM! READER SERIES

SYNOPSIS — Adler believed he had left you behind in the Cold War. Unbeknownst to him, you were festering in the very shadow of terror he was chasing.

GENERAL WARNINGS — fem! anatomy reader, smut (undetermined if explicit or mentioned), mentions of mind control (MK Ultra, Cradle), spoilers for BOCW and BO6, weapon violence, depictions of insanity, hallucinations.

GENERAL NOTE — this series is in the works and plans are still in development. any ideas or comments are welcome!

Amidst the faded movement of Harrow’s face, the camera pans, catching the glint of metal and a static laden voice that sends chills down his spine.

“Cut the feeds, we’re being watched.”

Adler never believed he’d see you again. He had watched you fall to your death in the jungles of Vietnam 20 years ago. Yet, here you are, casting a glare that seems to pierce through the screen before the footage dies.

He’s unaware of the clamming of his hands and paling of his face until all eyes are suddenly on him.

“…shit.”

PART ONE | DEAD IN WINTER HARBOR

He thought this was a figment of his imagination. Sleepless nights riddled with guilt and regret, staring at him like he was a speck of dust in the air. Yet, it was real, you were real, real as the cold press of the barrel on his head.

This was madness.

PART TWO | NO WIND OF BLAME

If you cannot recover, you can no longer live. It’s time to wake up.

PART THREE/ EPILOGUE (TBD)

[septic-salad]

HAPPY TRANS AWARENESS WEEK!!!!

[girlfcker]

if you see me getting manipulated and brainwashed by russell adler, i am begging you to mind your fucking business because i am exactly where i’ve always wanted to be

[havikshoochiemama]

YOU GUYS DONT UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I NEED THIS MAN !!!!! begging on my hands and knees fanfic writers 🧎‍♀️‍➡️🕯️

[lorvdz]

I KNOW THIS ISNT DONE BUT ITS TOO GOOD NOT TO POST IT ON HERE!!! :3

[thepeculiarauthor]

"CIA this" and "CIA that." Shut up, Case is listening to the Barbie theme song while he drives. 💅🏻

[dearlydevoured]

felix neumann . . .

who is so guilt-ridden after the high rollers mission. he’ll come to you after everyone had fallen asleep for the night and you’ll sit up, watching him get on his knees at the side of your bed and press his forehead on your knee. he’ll beg for forgiveness after the day’s events. do you see him any differently after this mission? do you hate him? are you disgusted with how he lost it on that man? he’ll ask a thousand questions and give a million apologies.

run your hand through his hair and he’ll melt under your touch, gentle as usual. “you did nothing wrong,” you’d remind him, even if he saw it differently. “i still love you all the same, felix.” he would look up at you like your judgment is what determines where he’ll go after death and you’ll slink your hand around to his cheek in response, rubbing it with your thumb slowly. back and forth, back and forth.

felix would kiss your knee and run the trail up your thigh, crawling into the bed. it’s cramped and far too small for the two of you but you’ll make the space work, watching as he eventually laid his head in your lap and squeeze the thin fabric of your shirt.

[simp-ly-writes]

"Always, Sweetheart."

─────── · · A Black Ops 6 FanFic

Pairing: Russell Adler x Fem!Handler!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You were a handler of operators out in the field and Russell Adlers was your best and yet the biggest pain in your side with his constant flirting and desire to get under your skin. Yet as soon as someone else tries to annoy you or heaven forbid- flirt with you, it gets shutdown right away.

─ · · TAGS: men being dicks, female pronouns, no use of (y/n), protective!Russell, jealous!Russell, mutual pining, enemies (strong annoyance) to lovers, confessions, pet names, suggestive themes, hurt/comfort.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,477

─ · · A/N: I was going crazy looking at all the fan art. Don't think I will be coming fully back to COD like I was before, but I had to write something for this character. Hope you all enjoy!

─────── · ·

"Officer Adler!" you yell, bursting through the heavy oak doors and into the office space. Fellow agents, officers, and handlers all look towards you and then back at Adler frozen in time and space.

Adler takes a drag of his cigarette before waving his hand in a silent command for everyone to leave you both. Hands quickly pick up their belongings and feet scatter out before the doors enclose you both.

The man in question makes no further movement simply leaning against the corner of a desk, a smirk setting upon his features as his glasses slip down his face to watch as you near, hands gripping a manila folder.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he says in an even tone, observing the curves of your face that have fallen into a serious frown. "We have already gone over this before, agent. You cannot call me such, such-"

"Such what, honey?" He teases further, cigarette sitting between his lips as he leans closer and into your space. You take a half step back, pinching your brows together before letting out a breath. "The pet names, Adler. They have to stop, we are both professionals."

Adler hums out in contemplation, taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out in the nearest ashtray. He nods his head in direction to the folder in your hand. "No. Before this," you wave the folder around to further prove your point, "we are sorting this thing out. I need to hear you say you won't do it any longer. It causes way to many issues."

"Issues about what? If someone is bothering you, you'll let me know right?" Adlers face drops, hands forming into fists, his stare already demanding names.

"Yes of course! But it makes me appear less assertive in my role, Adler. I have other operators I have to account for since you left and I can't have the newer ones thinking they can disrespect me in any way!" you try and explain, a hand gripping your hair as you stress.

Adler stands, gently taking your elbow before his fingers trail up your arm and towards your hand and head where he eases your grip from your roots. Before he can go to fix your hair you shake his touch off with a huff. "This is what I mean, officer," you say, throwing the document on the now bare desk.

"Well then maybe you should drop your other agents, (last/name)," Russell counters, arms now crossed against his wide chest. A few buttons to his navy shirt undone as you do you best to not look at the skin showing underneath.

"See you would have been my only operator as you have demanded in the past but as soon as you left, you failed to see that I still need to put food on the table so what little choice did I have but to be given new recruits?" you retort, falling into the nearby swivel chair as you stare at the door.

Adler crouches down, blocking your view. His hand twitching to pick up your chin to see your eyes once more. "Hey, look sweeth-(last/name). I can't apologize for my reasons for leaving but I will apologize for leaving you with no other options."

You nod your head before meeting his eyes once more, "So no more petnames?"

"No promises," is all Adler can say before leaning over you to reach for the documents you threw earlier. You lean back into your chair, hands gripping the arms, "You know you could have just asked me to get those for you?"

"Yeah but I got them anyways." You roll your eyes, "Hey- none of that now," Adler shushes you before looking back down at the files. You watch as his large hands grip the corners of the page, careful not to bend them before flipping it to the other side, a series of photos close to falling out as he tips the folder towards you to stop them. "I'm not a child in need of reprimanding, save that for the field workers."

"Never said you were but seeing you leaning back in that chair while doing that plants some images in a man's head," Adler's familiar smirk haunts you once again in the daylight. "Fucking hell," you swear underneath your breath.

"So, why am I being shown these? I already completed this objective..." Adler closes the folder, placing it gently back on the desk.

"Yeah, thats the issue. You see, Adler, we needed more information on those guys. Not for you to shoot them and the information with them!" you yell, swearing that your voice rippled the coffee in a nearby cold cup.

"Well, I'm going to let you in on a little secret off the books."

"And what secret would that be out of your many?" You lean forwards, playing with a ring on your finger. Adler stares at the movement before turning his back to you.

"I already knew all that information years ago, just had to make sure nobody else got to it."

─────── · ·

You thought that after that whole fiasco with your officer Adler, thing would have cleared up since then but it seemed that life had thought differently.

You were in a board meeting with your fellow operators, their handlers, and council members. One of your officers, Roger was sitting beside you, a notebook shared between the two of you as you both passed notes back and forth on the meeting that was dragging on into your lunch break.

"Well if they are planning biological warfare we have to meet metal with metal! If we are acting as moderates or even submissive what the hell room does that leave the enemy to operate in! They need to be neutralized long before those chemicals get out of the port, fuck the rest of them!" A board member yells from the top of the table as you lean back gaining a headache from it all.

Roger places a hand on your shoulder, his head tilting down to your ear, "You holding up alright?" he asks politely, turning his head for you to whisper your answer. "Yeah, just need this meeting to be over or at least to be paused. We are getting nowhere with all this shouting and violence."

The officer nods to your answer. "Yes, we have been circling over the same-"

"Oi! Do you to have something to share? Or are you both gonna keep whispering sweet little nothing into each others ears? Should I tell Adlers' that your cheatin' on em'?" Another handler chimes in, sending a toothy-white smile in your direction.

The other men around the table laugh as you lean on the table, threatening to stand. Roger makes no sudden movement in his chair, face set in a glare directed to the senior member at the unprofessional comment. Sighing you pick up your notes and crack your neck before reading your own radiant smile, eyes holding daggers picturing to stab through his eye-sockets.

"That will not be necessary, Paul," you spit out his name, "Nor is any of this discussion. We have all made no process since eleven! If we display strength with the military we risk our agents already operating within the operation and civilians. If we sit back and let it happen, we also risk a potential nuclear war. Our best option, which none of you men have brought forward and is embarrassing for our field is that we don't ship ourselves alongside the weapon, that way we can determine who has it, where it is meant to go, and where we want it to go."

You are nearly out of breath by the end of your speech as you stand and begin to walk towards the doors, Roger's hot on your tail as nods his head before all the members on behalf of you both, leaving the room in silence.

As soon as the door closes behind you both, you lean against it. "At times, I wish I had a dick like the rest of them but then I remember it's what makes them this way," you explain before picking yourself back up and continuing down the hall.

Rogers laughs, his eyes crinkling as he bumps your shoulder. You look up, casting him a smile as well. "You have a way of saying things, sweetheart. Would leave to see more of that mouth outside of work," Rogers says causing you to stand still in the hall as people walk around you both.

Turning to face your agent, your smile has turned into a glare once more. "Get back to work, Rogers. I expect a full report from last week still that I have yet to receive. Your co-worker has already sent theirs in with misinformation, I hope to not see the same things on yours. And please remember this, I. am. not. your sweetheart."

Turning back on your heels you continue further down the hall, Rogers left with your words before a whistle has you nearly breaking a heel by how much you want to throw it in his face. Russell. fucking. Adler. Standing there with that smirk yet again as he leans up against the break rooms entrance.

He holds out a hand, shaking it in a silent ask to carry your belongings. You shove them into his hand while using your other to press against his chest and to move him out of your way.

He does not budge, simply looking down at your lingering touch with a softening smile. "I am not in the mood, Adler. Please let me through," you use an overly sweet tone, you can feel him tense from underneath you.

"Hey, though I do love that tone when seeing you in a good mood. I do love viewing your rage. Lay it on, whats on your mind?" Adler asks, hand now resting atop your own.

"Move first and we'll sit and talk," you counter to his nod. Adler drops your touch, arm moving to welcome you into the empty space as everyone had already cleared back for work.

Coffee in hand, sandwich in the other, you took to your seat. "I'm so sick of men constantly stepping all over me when I worked just as hard- no. Fucking harder for this position and I still get treated like a little girl in their fathers suit and it does not help when after three hours of men shoving their dicks on the table a younger one then gets the audacity to be asking to see my mouth while calling me Sweetheart," you complain, downing the rest of your coffee before slamming the cup against the saucer.

Adler appears even more tense then you, his hands grips into fists allowing the veins across his forearms to appear most prominent. "Give me a name."

"Pardon?" you ask, embarrassed that you had became so easily distracted.

"Give. me. a. name, please," Alder asks once more, his eye staring deeply into your own. "Hey, whats wrong, sharing is a mutual affair," you reach across the table to grasp one of his hands, surprised when he pulls away. He's never done that before...

"Nobody gets to say that shit to you, not when I'm here. I'm sorry that you had to hear that, sweetheart." And for some reason you don't feel disgust except an overwhelming feeling of comfort as the word dances through your ears. You try and fake annoyance but Adler only takes that as further fuel against whatever man had wronged you so.

"Theres no need to apologize, Adler. I already told Rogers off-" you should not have said that, already regretting your words and Adlers chair screeches against the tiled floors, the door being slammed behind him as he storms off to find Rogers.

─────── · ·

The next time you are working with Rogers, he does not even look at you unless you command him to. He does well to hide his face to the best of his ability but it is hard not to notice the black eye or scarring underneath his chin. Tisking to yourself, you tell the agent his next meeting point in the south Mediterranean sea before setting off on your next mission, to find Adler.

It did not take long as he was already waiting in your office. First aid it open and displayed across the documents on your desk. He did not hiss or move as he poured the anti-bacterial fluid over his wounds, his teeth gripping a bandage in wait as he had yet to acknowledge your presence.

"Alder," you scolded like a tired mother before taking the wraps from his teeth and standing between his legs, gently wrapping his hand before pressing a kiss to your work that had both of you chuckling.

"You didn't have to do that, you know. Could have gotten you suspended-"

"You really think they would suspend me, honey?" you blush, shaking your head and taking a step away yet Adler catches your elbow, standing, chests touching as he leans down to get a better look of your face.

"All I'm saying is that you have to take better care of yourself, officer," you retort, eyes quickly casting to his lips before holding his gaze.

Alder smiles, hand now cupping your cheek as you allow yourself to lean into his touch. "Are you sayin' you care about me, (last/name)?" he teases, eyes already knowing the answer by the way in which they crinkle, mirroring your own.

"I care for all of my operatives, Russell Adler."

"But am I really just an operator to you, sweetheart?" his words now nearly a whisper upon your lips that part in wait.

"Well there's only one way to find out-" and his lips were on yours. His hand now holding the back of your head, nudging it upwards as you curved into his touch, hands gripping his shirt and around to his waist. Russell's other hand moved to grip your waist, thumb rubbing circles into your side as you felt his smile upon your lips.

Pulling away, lips puffy and eyes starry as you panted for air, Adler barely gave you anytime to breathe before he was kissing you again. Any papers on your desk were thrown to the floor before Russell was picking you up by the back of your thighs and placing you on the desk, legs spreading to keep you both close.

Standing back to full height, Adler looked at you sprawled out before him, hands morning their way up from the ankles that kept him locked into to place, up to your calves and towards your thighs and lower torso. Your breath gasped as his hands teased at the skin between your waist and shirt, skin tingling, his touch lingering with shared desire.

"Kiss me again," you pleaded.

"Always, Sweetheart."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: If this is recieved well may make another one... 🤷

[yanderestarangel]

౨ৎ ADLER RUSSELL X MALE READER || "RETURN"

♡ ┆TW : few spoilers, v!sex, ftm reader, fingering, overstimulation, orgasm denial, angst, make-up sex.

♡⁠┊It had been so long since you last heard of Adler that you thought the man had been a figment of your imagination, and that every touch, kiss, hug, and intimate moment had been a dream too good to be true—you were just a deluded man. But the ring on your finger, shining like a star, said otherwise.

♡⁠┊Since the mission with Bell and Adler's unhealthy obsession with finding Perseus, your husband had left you alone, with only a missing person’s report hanging over you. You tried to live your life normally, even though your mind and heart were trapped in an empty space of loneliness and isolation—after all, he hadn’t been declared dead, just missing. Everything only got worse when they unexpectedly declared your companion an enemy of the state and put a bounty on his whereabouts.

♡⁠┊The CIA looked for you, and as always, you didn’t know where Russell was... Even though you were his husband, he had simply disappeared like tears in the rain—if the former agent was alive, he was well-hidden from everyone and everything, even from you. Your hopes had dwindled, and you were already giving up on the possibility of him seeking you out again—until that night.

♡⁠┊The knocks on the window startled you from your restful state��the sound of the rain had drowned out any previous noise. You cleared your field of vision and saw the unmistakable shadow of Adler standing outside, a practically invisible smile on his lips and scarred face. He was still just as you remembered. A mixture of frustration, joy, anger, and everything else filled your chest as you immediately ran to open the door for him.

♡⁠┊Adler walked in silently, his heavy boots making noise on the floor as he dried the drops of water still clinging to his clothes—he still smelled like cigarettes, gunpowder, and strong, citrusy masculine cologne; it seemed like he had stopped in time.

♡⁠┊"I can explain everything..." Adler began with a soft sigh. But you didn’t let him finish; you pulled him into a kiss, filled with hunger and pain. As much as you were overwhelmed with mixed emotions, you had missed your husband's touch. You needed to feel Russell as much as possible and be sure that he wasn’t just an illusion in your mind.

♡⁠┊The kiss was messy with moans from both of you and desperate touches from both of you to feel each other again - his tongue danced with yours slowly while his agile fingers went against your clothes and took them off without any ceremony - leaving you naked for his gaze.

♡⁠┊You felt that old feeling of desire again when you knew that behind the visor of his glasses, his blue eyes burned with lust when he saw you surrendered to him again. With a firm hand, he grabbed your neck as he always did, his thick fingers digging into your skin while his free hand found its way to your pussy - playing with the moisture that was already accumulating there. "Holy shit-... Do you still want me so much? Did you miss your old husband here, my lad?" He moaned with a slight saccharism in his voice as he stuck two fingers inside your cunt, making you moan and feel him curl his digits inside you – obviously he still remembered how to satisfy you and wanted to put it all into practice again.

♡┊The taller blond saw you a mess with tears of joy, anger and pleasure – he felt guilty for simply leaving, but it was a decision made to protect you only. The two of you kissed as if the world of both of you depended on it. Your fingers touched every part of his still covered body, feeling every muscle and soft part of his flesh. He whispered sweet nothings on your lips again like he used to do before – each word accompanied by faster fingers in your wet hole, dirtying his fingers and his forearm.

♡┊It didn't take long for you to be wet enough to ride his cock again like you always did. You didn't need to talk to understand how much you needed this, you needed each other. Adler pulled his pants down to his knees and his thick, veiny shaft throbbed from its confinement. His large hands rested on the soft flesh of your waist as you lowered yourself unceremoniously onto his throbbing member – it was vulgar, raw and full of need, his eyes widened enough for you to see them shining behind his glasses as he watched your body bounce on his groin as if it was the only thing you knew.

♡┊His scarred lips found their way to your neck and a few hickeys were left there – at the same time you flexed your hips and thighs on the older man and felt every inch of your husband filling you to the point of having a bulge in your belly. You decided to speed up your movements and heard the older man moan hoarsely as he watched your pussy swallow him without complaint, you still fit perfectly into him, as it always did. "Fuck, pretty boy... You're going to kill me like this, holy shit." Adler let out a loud groan as you sat down on his cock harder, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to focus on not cumming, the feeling of your pussy enveloping his cock was heavenly, the way you moved on top of him, the way you were always so wet for him, the way you looked when you were riding him, it was all too much for him to handle.

♡⁠┊"Fuck... You're so tight... So wet..." He panted, his hands gripping your hips tighter and pulling you down onto his cock with more force, his hips bucking up to meet your downward thrusts – he knew you weren't going to let him cum now, and he was happy to obey, after all he knew it was the lightest punishment he would receive after being away from you for so long.

♡⁠┊When he told you he was going to cum, you quickly pulled his cock out of your wetness, making him groan in frustration and curl his toes inside his boots, his eyes widening in surprise, his body tensing up in anticipation of his release only to have it snatched away from him. He could feel his cock throbbing, aching for release, but he held on, you were in control at that moment.

♡⁠┊He could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, the blood rushing through his veins. And it all only got worse when you made him fuck you in every corner of the house in different positions – and every time he was going to cum, you made him hold on tighter and tighter, in that situation it was like he was your personal dildo and he felt even harder at the prospect of just making you cum. He had become a slave to your desires, and he would do anything to make you happy, even if it meant breaking the rules, even if it meant breaking himself.

♡⁠┊Adler really wanted to last longer but he couldn't, the way your pussy was wetting his cock and balls, the way you were grinding against his groin, the way your ass moved with each thrust. He couldn't obey your command and filled your womb with his hot cum. As you and he recovered, his hands found your face and kissed you on the forehead. "Let's talk now, okay? I really have a lot to talk about." Russell spoke softly, knowing you would like to know what happened... and he had a lot to say.

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 ©𝒚𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 2024. 𝒅𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆

[altcvnningham]

pinprick {request}

adler x bell!reader x felix

request: for @reirats70, who asked for adler x bell!reader x felix !!

tags: nsfw mention, mdni, bell!reader, gn!reader (but the word 'pretty' is used to describe them), established adlerbell, mk ultra/separation mention, kissing, oral, author has never written felix before and is super nervous, adler is a little too happy for a man who should be in jail wc: 1.5k

a/n: slowly working through requests but this one was too exciting to pass up!! still a little hesitant to post full blown nsfw (when it isn't exclusively adlerbell at least) so i hope the lil spice included is okay :) this is my first time writing felix as well and i hope it satisfies!! thank you for the request <3

“It is quite interesting,” Felix muses to himself, almost as though you weren’t even there, held tight in his grasp and flitting restlessly like a moth in a mason jar. The latex-gloved hand that holds your face turns you back to face the light, where his eyes pierce yours again. “The way it seems to have left a scar in the iris. Pinprick. Almost imperceptible.”

Off to the side where even your periphery can’t quite catch, Adler sucks on a cigarette, leaning back against the cart table sat in the centre of the ops room; his presence lingers inauspiciously, as unavoidable as the smoke that billows in the air, huffed out in a plume of laughter from his unsmiling mouth.

“Yeah, well, with pretty eyes like Bell’s, you notice.”

The comment shouldn’t make your heart stir or your stomach flutter as pathetically as it does, but much like it always has, your body responds to Adler’s words in a way your mind detests to admit; he’s never been one for the most direct compliments, but the fact that this one isn’t even said to you somehow makes it all the more rousing to hear- like a dirty secret caught round an open doorway. As you attempt to turn your head to try and look at him, Felix interjects, a squeeze tighter around your flushed face.

“Very pretty. So, it was necessary to inject the compound straight into the eye?”

Suddenly the topic of conversation comes back into focus, the very reason for you being in your rather compromised position. With Harrow sequestered off in the other wing of the Rook bound to a chair, Adler had suggested to Marshall the use of Separation to help ease the process- or complicate it, you’d mumbled curtly- and had begun all misty-eyed to wax poetic about the night he’d used it on you, strapped to that gurney after Cuba. It’s a sickening topic to be caught in the middle of, left all the more a bitter taste in your mouth since Adler had made an unspoken vow never to bring up MK Ultra again. But in Felix’s piqued curiosity of the compound- be it vanity or a genuine willingness to pass knowledge along, Adler had offered to teach him how to make it, use it, how it worked. You want to scoff at him, as though he knew anything about the technical intricacies of the drug- though it isn’t as if he was about to drag Park back out of the desert just to give a more comprehensive lecture.

And for some reason, here you were, not quite the lab rat you were a decade ago but feeling painstakingly close to it, gaping up at Felix as his gaze runs you over like a man starved. Of what, you can’t possibly imagine. Hasn’t he had his fill of you enough these past weeks? Haven’t they both?

Adler’s voice pulls you back to the present, bookended by the faint chiming in the back of your mind. Ding.

“To get the desired results, yes,” Adler explains, barely regarding you with anything more than impartiality as he steps over next to Felix, studying you with similarly clinical indifference. “But I think this time just a shot to the neck should be enough. Harrow’s tough, but only ‘cause I taught her how to be. Trust me, the Achilles heel is there, she’ll crack easy.”

“Oh? And Bell was…?”

Adler smirks, and when he dips his head to peer at you over his aviators he actually looks at you, regarding you, not like the poked and prodded subject you’ve been for the last ten minutes, seemingly made of glass with the way their focus seemed to land through you entirely. A soft laugh leaves him- a rarity you cherish since he’s softened in his age- and he pinches your cheek, right above where Felix’s thumb secures a firm grip.

“Oh, Bell was a real tough nut to crack. We were there for hours. Stubborn thing, aren’t you?”

All you can really do is stare- you can barely open your mouth to talk, Felix’s hand squashing your face like a doll’s- but you suppose the question is a rhetorical one anyway, leaving Adler to bask in his smug superiority.

Felix chuckles, though his eyes don’t quite meet yours yet the way Adler’s does, instead now roving your face, the features made pink and prickled warm by the overwhelming attention from both men.

It’s a strange thing- you aren’t typically so flustered, certainly not around Adler, used to his bizarre attempts at affection, but Felix in particular had a way of making you feel special in the oddest ways. He’s direct, and that in contrast to Adler’s myriad riddles of non-answers and emotions shadowed over by impenetrable aviators made for… an interesting combination. Adler hadn’t changed much over the decade- a little softer around the edges, both in looks and temperament, but the sharp and jagged corners of your relationship still remains even with the mutable tenderness of passing time, not quite healing wounds so much as smacking a band-aid over the hole he’d nearly put in your head. That being said, you still ran circles around each other the same way you did back in Berlin, ever caught in the endless cat-and-mouse. Still fighting, still kissing, still not quite making up, then doing it all over again.

But Felix was to the point. There was rarely any guessing as to how he felt in your presence. Terse when impatient, rigid when agitated, but sweet and heartfelt, with a certain compassion that surprised you. His affection came easy, unbidden- a little shy at times, but he wore his heart on his sleeve, and admiration on his face clearly enough that Adler had eventually caught on. And where you’d feared that Adler would only increase his vigilance, tighten his grip on your leash, and usher his bird back into their gilded cage, rather, he was unexpectedly content to let Felix indulge his affections for you, to the point that now you felt… shared, almost.

An odd thing indeed.

If you could recall how it started, it was subtle and slow, very nearly unnoticeable. A graze of the knuckles here, a helping hand staying just a moment too long there. Adler sending you on fetch quests for the ex-Stasi, then turning to abscond with him in another room and vanish. Inklings of hushed conversations shared between them across the room, their eyes pointed to you with wry, bitten smiles. It was like having a pretty secret dangled right in front of your nose, but just so very barely out of reach that it was nigh insufferable.

Maddening, until those subtle scrapes turned to shared touches, Adler showing you off like a prize pony to Felix who’d all but watch in awe. You’d always been something akin to Adler’s reluctant pet, even back in the old days. You could never imagine how quickly you’d reassume the role, even after the years had whittled the effectiveness of your trigger phrase to nothing but empty words he’d occasionally use to mock you. As if you’d need it to do as he pleases. As if you’d need an incentive at all when the starry glint in Felix’s eyes is reward enough.

And it’s always been hard to keep up with Adler; with them both, it takes herculean effort to so much as keep your head straight. It’s one thing to have them dote attention upon you as they do now, and another thing entirely to find yourself one night in the kitchen as the whole house slept, held with your back to Adler’s chest in a vice grip, his tongue in your mouth, while Felix’s worked in near reverent devotion between your legs like a man starved. Your whimpers silenced only by the way they’d swap to take turns quicker than you could let go of the breath you’d been holding, keening over and relinquishing your hands to slide into blond tresses once more. With blind pleasure hewing your focus to a pinprick, it’d get harder to distinguish who was who, only able to discern the distinct pinching of latex gloves into the plush of your ass, or the scrape of pitted sandpaper scars along the inside of your thigh. A crazed thing, did it not excite you so much.

You blink back to the present moment when you feel the light, patronising smack of Felix’s hand against your cheek, pale blue latex nipping soft skin. He’s smiling, eyes bright with amusement, and in your daze you must have missed something, because you catch Adler’s smirk off to the side, remnants of a laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Felix muses.

“Enough chatter. Let’s see what we can do to help Adler with this Separation, hm?”

And before you can so much as attempt to blurt a response he squeezes your face again, puckering your mouth, and plants a chaste- if not teasing- kiss upon your lips.

[woods-and-adlers-left-hand-dude]

I thought Adler didn't have his glasses at all in this mission then I looked closer

He's got his glasses and cigarettes tucked in his bullet proof vest