#jason hudson x reader

[bruhhhh-huhhhhh]

yooo is there any chance I can request parent headcanons for the safehouse crew (cod: bocw)??? been replaying the bo2 campaign and the Adler is Graves' father theory has a grip on me esp recently now that that mf is coming back

I imagine that Adler is a pretty distant parent, what with work in the CIA taking up most of his time and probably isn't able to see his kid much to begin with after the divorce, no doubt his ex wife has full custody of any of the children they had during that marriage. he's the kind of dad to buy his teenage kid expensive gifts to make up for the times he couldn't be there, usually related to something they were mildly interested in when they were like 7. And that thing is probably one of the only things he knows about them because they ranted about it to him when they were really young and naive. Russ is not as good as vocalizing his affection, but he's observant, and would zero in on any information and likes that his kid has when they express it... It's just that the usually don't with the distance between them. I think he does genuinely care about his child and still wants to show that they appreciate them, but just doesn't know how to properly connect with them on an emotional level, and usually doesn't even have the time. I don't think he'd treat his kid much differently based on their gender, he's still an emotionally-supressed mostly absentee father that his child would kind of just grow to resent as they get older. Adler is the 'he tried' dad. (I hc that Graves his kid is also the most likely to have a wild rebellious teens phase, and he'd kind of just let it happen so long as they aren't getting into any legal trouble because at that point their relationship would be so strained and he's just kinda apathetic about it. I think he's the type that would come home late to catch his kid smoking, and the only thing he'd do is ask why they started and if they know the consequences of it, then promptly asks for one and never brings it up again.)

Hudson, on the contrary, would be the perfect dad. Girl dad 100%, this man has a wife and two daughters (I think, might need to double check this one, but point still stands because I think he'd be good with girls). This man deserves a bo burnham 1985 edit. I think that he's really the type of guy who tries to squeeze in as much quality time with his family even with his work, and is the type to frequently show affection and pride for his children. Jason is completely soft for his wife and children, in contrast to how much of a no-nonsense hardass he is on the job. I am utterly convinced that this is the man who would always play along with his daughter's tea parties when he has tine and would never miss any of his son's games (he'd ask Jenny to record it for him if he's knows he's gonna be on a mission for a long time). I imagine that he really goes the extra mile to be the best role model for his kids, being both responsible and loving even with the limited presence he has because of his job. Hudson is the father figure some us needed in life ngl.

I don't think Mason would be an abusive dad contrary to what most people would take away from the one interaction we see with him and a very young David. I definitely think he'd have some major anger issues though, no doubt that trauma from The Numbers™️ and all the shit he's gone through as soldier and later CIA op would have an impact on him. He would never lay a hand on his own kid, but he's definitely shouted at them pretty frequently and has likely broken objects around them when he's angry. Much more so after his wife's death and being left as a single dad who barely has any idea what he's doing, and the only other person who can rein him in from it is Frank. I think he's more affectionate and less emotionally distant than Adler, but still just not as close as he should be to his child. He'd apologize for his outbursts and all but, being raised with traditional values from the 30s-40s, he isn't really the type to have those heartfelt talks about feelings because men are supposed to be strong and being emotional makes you weak and all that crap. Would be tougher with a son, and stricter with a daughter. Alex would become a lot more understanding and open over time when his kid grows older, and mellow out as an old man and just be proud of how they turned out despite how he was. The anger issues never really dissipates, but he learns to control it and be better for his kid for the remainder of his life. Mason is the dad you'd resent and have so much anxiety over in your teens and twenties but eventually make up with and get closure by your late thirties or so.

Woods would definitely be more of a fun uncle than a dad. More of the tough love type, but will always remind his kid that they're appreciated at the end of the day. But I also imagine he's a lot more reckless snd clumsy, specially as a first-time father. May not be perfect, has his own shortcomings in a lot of places, but he's really trying his best. I imagine that he probably tiptoed a lot when it came to raising David, trying not to yell at him too much and tried to be his anchor as much as he can after he was tricked into killing Alex (and then promptly going off on him when he shows face again after thirty years). Frank would be considerate and very vocal about his appreciation for his kid despite . Woods is the lovable old man that you'd have a lot of funny memories to look back on, and cussing you out is just his own way of saying he loves you.

I don't have as much thoughts on them but I think Park would be very overprotective, especially if she had a daughter. Would shelter her child and be very strict with them, making sure she knows how and where her kid is all the time, who her kid is with, and how safe they are. Would make her child wear a tracker watch and tell her all and any people they meet or see. Madam Shell's betrayal and her brother's death have definitely left a mark on her, and she would excessively worry about them at all times, to the point of it being suffocating and very invasive Lazar is the balance to this, more lenient and lets his kid have a right to privacy and freedom. Sure, he still worries a lot, but he has enough faith in his child to let then go off on their own when they're at an appropriate age. I also imagine that he gives the best best hugs. Sims would be somewhere in between, albeit more leaning on the stricter side.

AHHHH THIS TOOK ME SO LONG TO ANSWER I'M SORRY

bUuuuT

i love this idea so I'm gonna do silly little headcannons for it

How the Safehouse Crew treat their kid

Russell Adler

He's absolutely an absent dad

It's not that he does it on purpose, it's just what happens with his job

Russell tries so hard. So hard to be there, but a lot of the time he just can't because of work

If his kid does any sports, you can bet your ass that he's gonna be at any games he can

Now, that's not a lot, but still

Adler absolutely cheers the loudest anytime that his kid does anything

He'll also argue with the refs or umpires about dumb calls

Has been kicked out multiple times

Russell also buys his kid anything that they want

Christmas with him is like out of a damn movie

Presents are practically stacked to the roof and each one is more extravagant than the last

Is definitely the type of parent to dump a bunch of money on his kid for whatever they want

It's his way of making up for barely being around

Has missed his visitation days a lot

Every time he does, Adler sends money and presents as an apology

One time, his kid was staying over at his house because they got into an argument with their mom

He came home late and was met with the sight of his only child smoking cigarettes in the living room

"You know what those do to your lungs?"

The kid just stared for a second before nodding in shock

"Good. Don't be surprised when you get lung cancer. Lord knows I'm already getting close to that. Give me one."

The kid hands over the whole pack, and Adler takes one, lights it, and hands it back. "Don't tell your mother."

On the times that he actually has off and has the kid, he tries to make a whole day out of spending time together

Adler takes them to an amusement park or something, and its just plain awkward the whole time

But, by the end of the day, they're just a little closer

Mainly because they had a heart to heart on the car ride home

They even hugged!

Yay!

And then nothing changed

Boo >:(

Jason Hudson

Girl dad 100%

He's the dad that everyone needs

So supportive, no matter what

Jason does, in fact, have two girls. And, if I remember right, he loves them more than anything

This man absolutely has been caught playing princesses and knights with his daughters by his wife

His favorite thing is to sit at the tiny tables and have a tea party

Loves his kids so much

If he had a son, Hudson would teach him how to throw a football

Definitely would push him to join a sport

If he does, Hudson goes to every game

Just like Adler, he cheers the loudest

If his girls get boyfriends, you can bet your ass that he's going to let them know that he has multiple guns and absolutely knows how to use it

#WillThreatenToKillThem

Jason has to be told by his wife to leave them alone

He only does because he loves his wife so so much and he'd kill for her

Lots of physical affection

Hugs and all that good stuff

His kids definitely won't be touch starved

Is absolutely who they go to first whenever something happens and they need help/support

If he ever catches his kid doing something that they shouldn't, like smoking, he has to try really hard not to yell at them. He pretty much has to walk away to cool off before he can approach the conversation in a way that he wants to

Hudson and his kid are going to have a long talk that ends in a hug and a promise not to do it again

Overall his kids are well behaved and he's a good dad

Alex Mason

My poor boy

I love him so much, anger issues and all

Any time that he screams and breaks things in front of his kid, he calls Woods to come and pick them up so he can take care of things

He always feels horrible after he yells. Alex never wanted to hurt anyone. Quite the opposite, actually. He just doesn't know how to control his anger

Throughout the kids developmental years, he tries his best not to yell or get angry, but a lot of the time he can't stop himself in time

In comes one Frank Woods, who ends up coming over and taking the kid out for ice cream or to the park or just for a drive

He ends up being that cool uncle that the kid goes to when something happens

When he gets discharged (Honorably) from the military, Mason ends up going to therapy

And anger management classes

Only reason he does is because his kid ends up yelling back when he gets angry

And he realizes that he fucked up :(

So that helps him mellow out for his kids later years

Definitely apologizes to his kid for how they were raised

Alex won't over explain or get all mushy, but it'll come up as a simple "I'm sorry for how you were raised," and leave it at that

Will express his feelings through gifts or spending quality time with his kid

If he gets grandkids, Alex will take that as the time to make up for his kids shitty childhood

Best granddad for real

When he's older, he won't mind as much when it comes to telling his kid that he's proud of them

Lots of praise

Frank Woods

HE'S SO BABY GIRL I CAN'T

LOOK AT THIS GIF

Anyway

Definitely the type of dad to pretend that his kid is in trouble and then it turns out to be a prank

He would absolutely do it just like he did in the scene of the gif

Frank wouldn't yell at his kid, more just yell in general

He'll scream over football games, tv shows, dropping something, anything

He does not care

His kid would be used to loud noises by double digits

Woods would absolutely not know that his kid was sneaking out until Alex caught them

He doesn't particularly care, but he's a little disappointed that they didn't ask him if they could go

Instead of yelling, he would sit them down and have a serious discussion

Lots of "You could have just asked," and, "How many times have you done it?"

Basically he'd get his kid to quit because he knows it's a bad habit

I can't remember if he's a smoker or not, but if he is he would go through the process of quitting with said kid

Helen Park

She's kind of a shitty mom, ngl

Park can be good at it when she wants to, but she's got her own shit that he's going through

She can't handle a kid

In the early years, she's a little neglectful and absent

Then she does a full 180 and goes full over-protective mom mode

Trackers, constant phone calls, reassuring messages

The whole nine yards

She'll try her best to stop if her kid says something, but her anxiety is way too high to stop fully

Definitely the kind of mom to apologize through gifts

One fond memory that her kid would have of their younger years is her sneaking into their room and climbing into bed with them

She just sat there and held them, silently telling them how much she loved them

Helen thought their kid was asleep, not awake and hearing everything she was saying

Park definitely let her kid sneak into her bed when they had nightmares or got sick

She secretly loves it and is sad when they stop doing it

Okay that's all I got-

I didn't mean for this to take so long to make

[maymaylyn]

Calling Hudson daddy calling Hudson daddy calling Hudsondaddy

[makeila04]

Black Ops Boys and how I realistically have a relationship with:

Ok, ok, I saw this idea from @quizzyisdone and @softcallofdutyimagines, so, even though no one asked me, I also want to do my version of Black Ops Boys and how I realistically have a relationship with them.

Alex Mason: Well, honestly, I don’t think I could be his girlfriend or anything. Sorry, I’d be scared. I’ve been with people with mental health issues before, and I have a strong limit and fear around that. I completely understand it wasn’t his fault, but I’m sorry. HOWEVER, I could definitely be his friend. I love helping, and he strikes me as one of the kindest and gentlest of the group. He’s already a father, but that doesn’t bother me. I couldn’t be David’s stepmom, but I could be like the cool aunt. I love him; the Masons give me such warm feelings.

4/10 (Couldn’t have a relationship, but we’d have a nice friendship.)

Frank Woods: Honestly, he wouldn’t be my first choice, but I wouldn’t rule out falling for him. Maybe at first, we’d clash a lot, but with some common ground, we could gradually connect. I’m not a fan of burgers, but I’d definitely go out to eat with him or have burgers sitting on the car in some deserted spot at night. If he likes cleaning guns or something, I’d help him, ask questions, and if he lets me, I’d even assist. I love how direct and honest he is because I’m the same way. The good thing is that I could trust him from minute one because of this. I love his rugged style, so despite initial differences, we could definitely click. He probably smells like strong deodorant, strong cologne, or maybe even sweat sometimes—love that. You’d probably find him lifting weights or something, but I could sit nearby while he works out or does anything. A recurring plan would definitely be going to a bar at night, which I love, by the way. Sometimes I feel like he’s too rude or childish, but I think I have enough tolerance for that. Also, your sex life with him would be super active, but maybe exhausting—maybe too rough or passionate, but he knows what he’s doing. He’d treat you well for sure, a god in bed, though maybe rough or very much his own way. I’d love to hug him and cuddle with him anywhere. I love his beard, by the way, and his humor.

8.5/10 (I don’t have many complaints, but I feel like the beginning might be tough.)

Russell Adler: On the contrary, maybe unlike many, I feel like he’s the one I’d get along with best. Maybe because he and my dad are both ENTJs… and seriously, I played BO6 often predicting his dialogue or actions just because it’s the same thing my dad would do. I feel like I could handle him well and without issues. I’m quite introverted, and the fact that he’s extroverted makes me fall for him even more. I understand that he probably isn’t 100% the same guy we see in the games (since we see him working and in high-risk situations), but he’d probably be calmer in real life. I do think he’d be a VERY possessive boyfriend, but honestly, I wouldn’t have a problem with that. Mind you, I don’t think he’d get jealous because you have friends—Adler is too self-assured at 54 to worry about that. But he’d definitely be VERY protective, maybe because of you, maybe because of his work and everything he’s been through. Again, I don’t have a problem with that. I don’t think it would be an easy relationship, precisely because of everything he’s been through (divorce, MK-Ultra, betrayal multiple times, etc.), but I’ve got my own baggage too, so I’d try to remind him that we’re a team and support each other. I also think that, at least because of my age, the relationship would be more like a sugar daddy situation. If you see something you like, you get it—no doubt. He’d also give you gifts for any reason or just because something reminded him of you. Also, like with Woods, I feel like the sex life would be super active, especially because I’m young (and inexperienced). I feel like if I told him that, it would only make him more possessive and maybe even more into me because of the age difference. A god in bed, no doubt. Seriously, I feel like if you win this man over, he’d find the age difference more attractive than anyone else.

10/10 (Honestly, I love him. And me being an INTJ, ENTJs are my weakness.)

Jason Hudson: Honestly, I think he’s a know-it-all, which generally isn’t my type… but I’m very curious, so even though I feel like he’s calmer than ALL the others, that also has its own charm for me, in his own way. I imagine if I were his girlfriend, I’d be sitting on his lap while he’s in his home office or something, hugging him. I don’t think he’d be the most passionate; I feel like he’s more focused on his work. But like with Adler, I prefer that and men who are focused on their work, as long as they don’t smother me. So for Adler and Hudson, that’s a plus for me. I don’t think he’d be the most passionate, but he definitely wouldn’t say no some nights… if he doesn’t overwork himself. I also think he tries to take care of his sleep. He’d probably treat you super well, and he’s definitely a walking encyclopedia who knows practically everything and has an answer for everything. I don’t think he’d lose his cool over any problem you have—he’s used to MUCH more stressful things. I do think he has a lot of patience, but he’s way too serious.

7/10 (If you like more serious men and dating someone who’s probably the boss both at work and at home, then he’s great. But maybe he’s too serious for me. I’d give him extra points if we were friends, but as a boyfriend, I think it’d be more complicated sometimes.)

Grigori Weaver: Honestly, I love him. I share a lot of traumas and fears with Weaver (I don’t want to go too deep into personal stuff, but let’s say I relate way too much). I think if he fell in love with me and stopped being a womanizer, it’d be the best. The issue is that at first, it’d be hard for me to trust him in a relationship because, well, he’s a womanizer. Keep in mind I also don’t have much experience. My fear would be being just another name on his list, but honestly, Weaver hasn’t been a womanizer by choice. In his case, I think even if he wanted a stable relationship, his life just didn’t allow it.

Still, if I were his girlfriend, I’d probably spend all day sitting on his lap while he works or does something. I heard he’s a good mechanic, so I’d be by his side if he’s fixing a car or something, asking him what he’s doing and how it works. I’d love to hug him all day, whether in bed, on the couch, in a chair—whatever. I don’t care; I love hugs, and I know Weaver loves them too, even if he’d never ask for one. I’m very much into physical touch, and I love his beard (I’m obsessed with Weaver in Black Ops 6, what can I say?), so I’d spend all day touching it—his beard, his hair, everything about him. I love cooking, and I’d love to cook some traditional Soviet dish for him.

It’d be a challenge, but I’d do it, though it’d be better if I had direct help—I’d make him help me, haha. I notice Weaver has a lot of trauma, and sometimes it’s hard for him to express it, especially if no one listens. But as someone who’s had the same issue for years, I’d try to help him and encourage him to move forward, even though losses hurt and we can’t make the pain go away, we can make it bearable together. Seriously, this guy is extremely loyal and kind—he even set Woods up on a date. Do you think this guy wouldn’t do anything for me if I were his girlfriend? He’s desperate for a genuine, real human connection. Imagine how he’d be if he got it.

He’s been saving Maxis since 1979 until 1991—this guy is loyal and perseverant. I also think because of all this, he’s very protective, and you already know I love that.I don’t think he’d be as intense sexually in terms of frequency, maybe compared to Adler or Woods, but this guy definitely has a master’s degree in sex. He’d do anything to me; the question would be whether I could handle it or not, and honestly, I’m scared to answer that myself. If you enjoy sex with him, that’s for sure, but I don’t think he’d brag about it. I also don’t think the age difference would bother him—in fact, I don’t think he’d even think about it. He wouldn’t care

10/10 (I feel like we’d fit really well and be super sweet together.) (Hopefully, we’d work through our traumas together.)

Lazar: Seeing how he treated Park in Cold War, I feel like he’d overwhelm me a lot at first. It’d be hard for me to fall for him quickly, no matter how charming he is. Yes, I like him; yes, I’m physically attracted to him; yes, I love that because of his size, he’s a GIANT BEAR FULL OF HAIR; and yes, I like his personality. It’s just that being so intense is a downside for someone like me. Maybe he’s just not my type, and that’s it. Also, way too extroverted for my taste—I have limits, sorry.

If I saw him in person, I’d first get lost in his eyes, then become aware of how small I am next to him, and while that would excite me, it’d also intimidate me, haha. Even though I don’t think he’s as much of a womanizer as Weaver, I do feel like he wouldn’t be too committed unless he wanted to be. Nope, you can’t change him. So maybe if you want something more casual and without commitment, you’d like him more. Again, he’s not my type for a formal relationship. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t enjoy it, haha. I do think he’d be overly sweet or maybe demand too much of my attention, which would drive me crazy. I feel like he’d be very sweet both in and out of bed, and he’d probably give you gifts or take you out on dates often—very tender.

5.7/10 (If you’re looking for something casual and a guy who’s VERY attentive to you, he’d probably be more your type. Unfortunately, not mine.)

+Bonus

William Peck: I always hated him in Cold War but in Black Ops 6 I honestly like him (I'm still waiting for a backstab but ok). He has a shitty character that I barely tolerate but ironically that makes me laugh. He's too smart and conceited. I usually get irritated by know-it-alls BUT at the same time that about Peck and his humor makes me like him. I wouldn't be his girlfriend for anything, but if he asked me out on a date I would definitely accept. Who knows, it could even be fun. Specially if you're interested in spending 2 hours listening to someone like a fucking living podcast. I would honestly love to challenge him intellectually.

I wouldn't have sex with him even if they paid me.

______________________________________________________________

Ok ok, le vi esta idea a @quizzyisdone y a @softcallofdutyimagines asi que, aunque nadie me preguntó, yo también quiero hacer mi versión de Black Ops Boys and how I realistically have a relationship with

Alex Mason: bueno, honestamente no creo que pudiera ser su novia o algo. Perdón, me daría miedo, he estado con gente con problemas mentales antes y tengo un límite muy fuerte y miedo. Entiendo completamente que no fue su culpa, pero lo siento. PERO si que sin duda podría ser su amiga. Me encanta ayudar, además se me hace de los más amables y gentiles, ya es padre pero no me molesta. No podría ser madrastra de David pero si como esa tía cool. Lo amo, me dan ternura los Mason. 

4/10 (no podría tener una relación pero sí una linda amistad)

Frank Woods: Honestamente no sería mi primera opción pero no descartaría que pudiera enamorarme de él. Tal vez al inicio choquemos demasiado, pero con cosas en común podríamos ir conectando poco a poco. No soy fan de las hamburguesas pero podría ir a comer con él sin duda o comer hamburguesas sentados sobre el auto en alguna noche y descampado. Si le gusta limpiar armas o algo podría ayudarlo, curiosear y preguntar y si me deja hasta ayudar. Amo que sea tan directo y honesto porque soy igual, lo bueno es que podría confiar en él desde el minuto uno por esto. Amo su estilo rudo así que sin duda, a pesar de diferencias iniciales, podríamos congeniar. Seguramente huele a desodorante fuerte, perfume fuerte o tal vez hasta sudor algunas veces, amo.

Seguro lo encuentras haciendo pesas o algo pero podría sentarme cerca mientras hace ejercicio o cualquier cosa. Seguramente un plan recurrente sea ir a algún bar de noche, plan que amo por cierto. A veces siento que es muy grosero o infantil pero creo que tengo la suficiente tolerancia. Además que tu vida sexual con él sería mega activa, pero tal vez agotadora, tal vez muy rudo o pasional pero sabe lo que hace, te trataría bien sin duda, un dios en la cama aunque tal vez rudo o muy a su manera. Amaría abrazarlo y estar con él acurrucada donde sea, amo su barba por cierto y su humor.

8.5/10 (No tengo muchas quejas, solo siento que podría costar el inicio)

Russell Adler: Al contrario, tal vez, que muchos, yo siento que sería con el que mejor podría congeniar. Tal vez porque él y mi padre sean ENTJ… y en serio, jugué BO6 adelantandome muchas veces a sus diálogos o acciones solamente porque es lo mismo que haría mi papá. Siento que con esto podría sobrellevarlo bien y sin problema. Soy bastante introvertida y que él sea extrovertido hace que me enamore más. Entiendo que seguramente no sea al 100% el mismo tipo que vemos en los juegos (porque ahí lo vemos trabajando y situaciones de riesgo) pero seguramente sería más tranquilo. Si creo que sería un novio MUY posesivo pero honestamente no tendría problema, ojo, no creo que se ponga celoso porque tienes amigos, Adler es muy seguro de sí mismo como para preocuparse por eso a los 54 años. Lo que sí también sería MUY protector, tal vez por ti, tal vez por su trabajo y todo lo que ha vivido, repito, yo no tengo problema con eso. No creo que fuera a ser una relación fácil, justamente por todo lo vivido (divorcio, MK-ultra, traición muchas veces, etc.) pero yo también tengo lo mío así que intentaría que recordara que ambos somos un equipo y apoyo el uno del otro. También creo que, al menos por mi edad, la relación sería más como un sugar daddy. Si ves algo que te gusta, lo tienes, ni lo dudes, te regalaría cosas también por cualquier motivo o simplemente porque algo le recordó a ti. Aunque, como con Woods, siento que la vida sexual sí sería mega activa, sobre todo porque soy joven (y no tengo experiencia) siento que si le digo eso sólo sería para que él sea más posesivo aún y tal vez tenga más ganas por la diferencia de edad. Un dios en la cama sin duda. En serio, siento que si convences a este hombre puede hasta encontrar atractiva la diferencia de edad más que ninguno.

10/10 (Honestamente me encanta. Y yo siendo INTJ pues los ENTJ son mi debilidad.)

Jason Hudson: Honestamente creo que es un sabelotodo, cosa que por lo general, no me gustan estos tipos en general…peeero si soy muy curiosa, así qué aunque siento que es más calmado que TODOS los anteriores eso también tiene un encanto para mí, a su propio modo. Me imagino que si fuera su novia podría estar en su regazo mientras está en su oficina en la casa o algo mientras lo abrazo. No creo que sea el más pasional, siento que está más enfocado en su trabajo, pero como con Adler, yo prefiero eso y a hombres enfocados en su trabajo, con tal de que no me sofoquen a mi. Así que para Adler y Hudson eso a mi les suma puntos. No creo que sea el más pasional pero seguro no te dice que no alguna que otra noche…si no se pasa de tiempo trabajando. Igual creo que intenta cuidar su sueño. Seguramente te trata super bien y todo y también seguro es una enciclopedia andante que sabe prácticamente todo y tiene alguna respuesta para todo. No creo que pierda la calma por cualquier problema que tengas, está acostumbrado a cosas MUCHO más estresantes. Si creo que tiene mucha paciencia, pero es demasiado serio.

7/10 (Si te gustan los hombres más serios y salir con alguien que seguramente sea jefe dentro y fuera del trabajo pues está bien, pero tal vez sea demasiado serio para mí, le daría puntos extras si fuéramos amigos pero como novio creo que sí sería más complicado, a veces)

Grigori Weaver: Honestamente me encanta, comparto muchos traumas y miedos con Weaver (no quiero profundizar mucho por temas personales pero digamos que me identifico demasiado). Creo que si se enamora de mi y deja de ser mujeriego sería lo mejor, el tema es que al inicio me sería difícil confiar en él para una relación por bueno, ser mujeriego, tengan en cuenta que tampoco tengo demasiadas experiencias. Mi miedo sería ser solo una más en su lista pero siendo honestos Weaver no ha sido mujeriego tanto por gusto, en su caso creo que más bien aunque haya querido una relación estable digamos que su vida no se lo permitió. Aún así seguramente si fuera mi novio estaría todo el dia sentada en su regazo mientras trabaja o hace algo. Escuché que es buen mecánico así que estaría a su lado si arregla algún auto o algo y le preguntaría qué hace y cómo funciona lo que sea que esté arreglando. Amaría abrazarlo todo el día sea en la cama, sofá, silla, lo que sea, no me importa, amo los abrazos y sé que Weaver también los ama aunque nunca te pediría uno. Yo soy mucho de contacto físico y amo su barba (me encanta Weaver en Black Ops 6, qué decirte) así que me la pasaría tocandola, su barba, su cabello, todo de él. Me encanta cocinar y amaría cocinar algún plato típico sovietico para él, sería un reto pero lo haría, aunque sería mejor si tengo ayuda directa, lo haría que me ayude jeje. Si noto que Weaver tiene demasiados traumas y a veces le cuesta expresarlo sobre todo si no lo escuchan pero como alguien que tuvo el mismo problema por años intentaría ayudarlo e incentivarlo a ir hacia el futuro en todo momento, aunque las pérdidas duelan y no podamos hacer que el dolor disminuya si podemos hacerlo ameno juntos. En serio, el tipo es sumamente leal y amable, hasta le organizó una cita a Mason,¿Qué acaso crees que este tipo no haría lo que sea por mi si fuera su novia? el tipo está desesperado por una conexión humana, genuina y real, imaginate como se pondría si la obtuviera. Viene salvando a Maxis desde 1979 hasta 1991, este tipo es leal y perseverante. También creo que por todo lo anterior es muy protector y  ya saben que a mí eso me encanta. Creo que no sería tan intenso sexualmente con la frecuencia, tal vez como Adler o Woods, pero definitivamente este tipo tiene un master en sexo. A mi me haría cualquier cosa, ya el tema estaría en si puedo aguantar o no y honestamente me da miedo responderme eso a mí misma. Si disfrutas mucho con él en el sexo, eso es seguro, pero no creo que presuma. Tampoco creo que la diferencia de edad sea algo que le moleste, es más, creo que ni pensaría algo sobre eso, le da igual.

10/10 (Siento que encajamos muy bien y seríamos muy tiernos juntos) (ojalá arreglar nuestros traumas juntos)

Lazar: Viendo como trataba a Park en Cold War siento que me podría abrumar mucho en un inicio. Me sería difícil enamorarme rápido de él por más encantador que fuera. Si, me gusta, si me atrae fisicamente, si, amo que por su tamaño SEA UN OSO GIGANTE LLENO DE PELO y si, me gusta su personalidad, solamente que ser tan denso para alguien como yo le resta puntos. Tal vez solo no es mi tipo y ya. Además, demasiado extrovertido para mi gusto, tengo límites, perdón. Si lo viera en persona primero me perdería en sus ojos, luego sería consciente de lo pequeña que soy a su lado y si bien me excitaría eso a la vez me intimidaría jeje. Aunque no creo que sea tan mujeriego como Weaver si siento que no tendría demasiado compromiso a menos que él quiera, nop, no puedes cambiarlo. Asi que tal vez si quieres algo más casual y sin compromiso te guste más, repito, no sería mi tipo para una relación formal. Eso no significa que no disfrute jeje. Si creo que sería empalagoso o tal vez requiera mi atención demasiado, cosa que me desesperaría. Siento que sería muy dulce dentro y fuera de la cama y te podría hacer regalos o invitarte a planes seguido, muy tierno.

5.7/10 (Si buscas algo casual y un chico MUY atento a ti seguramente sería más tu tipo, por desgracia no el mío)

+Bonus

William Peck: siempre lo odié en Cold War pero en Black Ops 6 honestamente me cae bien (sigo esperando una apuñalada por la espalda pero ok). Tiene un carácter de mierda que apenas tolero pero irónicamente eso me da risa. Es demasiado inteligente y presumido. Por lo general me irritan los sabelotodo PERO a la vez eso en Peck y por su humor hace que me caiga bien. Ni loca podría ser su novia, pero si me invitara a una cita sin duda aceptaría. Quien sabe, hasta podría ser divertido. Sobre todo si te interesa pasar 2 horas seguidas escuchando a alguien como un maldito podcast viviente.Honestamente amaría retarlo intelectualmente.

No tendría sexo con él ni aunque me pagaran.

[butterfly-stitches]

DOG-EAT-DOG.

[ Explicit ] // MDNI

AO3

Pairings: Russell Adler x Bell, Russell Adler x Reader Ensemble: Russell Adler, Reader, Bell (Male!Bell), Helen A. Park, Jason Hudson, Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin, Perseus

* Rape/Non-Con *Graphic Depictions Of Violence *Major Character Death Alternate Universe, Abuse, Non-Sexual and Sexual Submission, Dom/sub Undertones, Ownership, Dehumanization, Dog Fighting, Obedience, Size Difference, Degradation, Hurt No Comfort, Power Imbalance, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Trauma, Loss of Identity, Rough Kissing, Watersports, Blood and Gore, Dry Humping, Protectiveness, Possessive Behavior, Human Ashtray Master/Pet, Forced Orgasm, Orgasm Denial, Leg Humping, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat < Other Additional Tags to Be Added >

A guard dog to some, a hunting hound for many. But to one, you were nothing but a yapping lapdog. Spoiled rotten, overstepping, treated equally when you were nothing but a prized possession, a pampered pet; a damn dog.

Lured away, you’re brought out back, hung up like a carcass, beaten to a pulp, and put down like the animal you are. But what is dead may never die. As you’re soon found and taken in -– rescued, adopted. Belonging now to a scarred man. A new owner, a new master with a cruel hand and even crueler intentions. Stubborn, aggressive, unruly, you were leashed, collared, muzzled. Forced to obeisance, forced to submit. His ambition, his will; now, your purpose.

But every dog has its day. And you’re just biding your time. For if a dog was man’s best friend, it wouldn’t be a dog-eat-dog world.

---------------------------------------------------- WARNING: ➡ Dead Dove: Do Not Eat ⬅ Please, mind the tags. Take a second to read them over to see if you're comfortable enough to move forward. Bell is dehumanized, degraded, and abused. Apart of a back-end system where there are literal owners and those that are literally owned -- pets. Seen as nonhuman, as nothing but a dog. A companion even, if one's owner is kind enough. Here, Adler is overly cruel, abusive, controlling, manipulative, and forceful with an all-embracing god complex. Seeing Bell as nothing but a means to an end. To do with as he pleases when he pleases. Please proceed with caution and please take this warning into account. Otherwise, enjoy!

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Chapter 1: cornered animal.

[1 / 7]

Words: 2,025 Summary: In which you awaken …

You were slipping in and out of consciousness.

Stranded in a sort of limbo. On the fine line of sleep and death. Between the distorted planes of both reality and dreams that blurred into one. Rendering you sightless and senseless; numb.As if you were floating, set adrift. Carried away in a dreary astral sea that was boundless and as it was endless, for which there was no end nor beginning. Infinite, indefinite. A perpetual stagnation like a serpent eating its own tail; a self-inflicted, self-induced ouroboros. Where you knew no ending.

But on occasion there were slips in this nightmarish, dreamlike in-betweenness. Anomalies, abnormalities. Like small bumps on a clear stretch of roadway. Where you somehow became aware, and your surroundings bleed through. They were fleeting as they were rare and inconsistent. Just fractures of memory that you could barely process or even recall. Muddled, mangled, nonsensical in your brain’s fried synapses. 

Sights : shadows at the edge of your vision, distorted blurs of figures in front of you, the glint of scalpels in scialytic lamps. Smells: rusted iron, peroxide, bleach, oxidation. Sounds: disembodied voices, hushed whispering, harsh conversations, high-pitched beeping, and worst of all, a ghostly chime of a bell in the distance. Ringing over and over and over again in your head. Sensations: the sting of needles into your arms, piercing into your veins. A suture needle sewing thread through your skin as easily as any fabric. Blood filling your mouth from a bitten tongue. The burn of ropes around your wrists and ankles. 

But as quick as these sights, smells, sounds and sensations came, it all went, disappearing. From remembrance, from your recollection. And again you were pulled down under, soft as a falling feather. Back into inertia, lost in comatose, stuck in stasis. 

That is.. until you woke up. 

It was a painstakingly slow wake. One that left you groggy, disoriented, and insensate. Even more so as there was only darkness to greet you. A nightless night underneath a starless sky. It was hard to fully register, such a new feeling of consciousness and corporeality. Far too accustomed to the weightless ebb and flow of oblivion that cradled your fragile state of nonexistence. There came a precipitous flood of feelings; physical, psychological. Newly felt sensations, newly realized sensibilities. Confusion, uncertainty, panic.

Pain. 

Dulled, diluted. Yet still perceivable, still tangible even in the disposition you woke up with. The feel of the first manual breath as you gasped aloud for air. The pattern of a pulse that throbbed underneath the skin, the steady rapid-fire pulse of a heartbeat. Eyelids that were hard to keep open fully. A tongue that was like lead, dry and heavy, and stuck to the roof of your mouth. A jawbone that ached from grinding your molars together.

A body that felt boneless, slow moving. Too heavy to keep yourself upright from the cold ground. It was too much, it was all too much. Overstimulated, overwhelmed. Taken from the womb like a newborn. You felt yourself spiraling, afflicted by shock, beset with qualmishness. Free-falling into an abyss, carried away by an event horizon,. Instinctively, you curled into yourself. Limbs pulled close to your body, knees drawn up towards your chest.

Then there came a sound. 

Loud, echoing. Grounding you, forcing your focus. Sobering you up as you stilled in anticipation by the marching of footsteps that steadily approached you. Two sets, on either side of you. There came a voice. Rough and sonorous, calling out from the dark. You couldn’t comprehend what it said. Suppressed by your mind. It held no meaning to you. But it should, it seemed, by the voice repeating it again. Insistence with each verbal reiteration, only honing the voice sharper and harsher as patience wore thin. While you just stared out blankly into the dark. Only when the voice said it a final time, hoarse and full-throated, did you realize that it was an order being spoken to you . A command waiting to be obeyed and fulfilled by you . 

But you stayed put. Unmoving, unyielding. Unaffected by the voice’s importuning. Whether by choice or from circumstance, you couldn’t make sense of your willingness to stay and need to disobey. And by the sudden silence, it seemed that the voice pondered something similar or  second-guessing perhaps. The silence lasted for a long while until you heard the shuffling of feet, the movement of bodies. There was a quiet exchange of words between two voices now.

The conversation didn’t last long as you heard the retreat of a pair of footsteps. Only for the other to slowly come closer a few seconds after the first one left. These steps were heavy-footed, with a wide and easy stride. No doubt a man, tall and sizeable. Not less or more than you, you think. More importantly, one that was overconfident and heedless. You weren’t being perceived as a threat, but rather a nuisance. Hearing the footsteps approaching closer and closer made you bristle up. Gooseflesh breaking out across your skin like burning hives.

The footsteps came to a stop right in front of you. A darker outline just perceivable in the dark. Your head didn’t move but your eyes flicked up slightly from the ground where you lay, still curled into yourself. You felt a pair of eyes, staring down at you. Looking you over, wondering if your unresponsiveness was because you were nothing but cadaver rotting away in the dark. Then your body was jolted forward so abruptly that you didn’t have time to process what happened. Taking you a whole second to finally realize that you had been prodded by a heavy boot. 

Then again as if the man was a child poking at something interesting in the underfoot with a stick until it reacted or boringly didn’t for that matter. With another nudge of his boot, more weight added to it this time, all you could do was curl into yourself tighter, tucking your face away and against your chest. Folding into yourself further, wishing to collapse into yourself and just vanish into thin air. Free from your skin, from what came with consciousness.

The man hummed, seemingly chuffed. He spoke a string of words, more of a murmur than anything. Something spoken underneath his breath. Talking to himself more than anything as he thought to himself. Though you were more lucid, your brain was still a bit lagged. It took you a long moment before you could absorb his words. Understand what was said:

 “Not dead then, just half-dead.” The man had uttered. “Got one foot in the grave, but the other’s still kicking.”

Movement in your peripheral as he crouched down in front of you. You untucked your head from your chest. Eyes slightly widened in response to the action. 

 “M’not here to hurt you.” His voice dipped low, a faux gentleness. To pretend benignity that he lacked. “M’here to take you to your examination.”

You didn’t move, couldn’t. Just blinked blearily up at him, lost in thought, teetering at the cusp of dissociation. He clicked his tongue, catching your attention as you snapped out of it, making your ears perk up at the sound. 

“C’mon then.”

The man nudged his chin over his shoulder, hoping you would get his implication to get up and follow. But you didn’t move. Trying instead to discern his facial features. Like a Polaroid camera lens trying to find focus at night. But found nothing but a shadow, a faceless face to you. 

“Hey, you listenin’ to me?” He snapped in your face, “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

When you still didn't get the memo, you heard him let out a heavy huff before abruptly standing. 

“Alright. M’done playing nice. Looks like I gotta make you get up.”

The man reached out towards you. Intending to grab you forcefully by the scruff of your neck. There was no hesitation as you acted out of gut reaction. You lunged forward, biting the outstretched hand before you. 

“Agh — ya fuckin’ mutt! ” The man hissed through clenched teeth. 

He tried to pull his hand away but the effort only encouraged you. You only bit down harder. Until you heard him yelp and scream. Felt the popping of flesh. The burst of breaking skin as your teeth sunk in deeper. The taste of blood on your tongue was exciting. Even as his fist came down onto you, hitting and smacking down on your head to get you to let go of him, but you didn't let up. Even as you ached.

The hitting quickly turned to battering and kicking, desperate to free himself from your grasp. With a strong yank, he forced his hand away, ripping it out from your mouth. Taking one of your canines along with it, still embedded in his hand like a piece of broken ceramic. But you didn’t feel the pain of its loss, benumbed by adrenaline. The sudden lack of leverage drove you backwards, falling to the ground, as the man stumbled back. Holding his afflicted hand in his other, the rapid sound of dripping liquid hitting the floor. Like the pealing of a bell. 

But you didn't allow him to react. At that tell-tale sign of weakness, of opportunity. You pounced. Toppling the man to the ground, on his back. Your nails reached his face, scratching, clawing. Even as his initial surprise passed and he defended himself. Even as you felt some of your nails peeling back to the root from the viciousness of your swipes. Even as he tore hair from your scalp, trying to pull you away. But it didn’t stop you nor dissuade you. And it wasn’t long before your teeth found his throat, and you bit down. Harder and harder like you did to his hand.  Until cartilage cracked, until your mouth filled with blazing blood, until you felt his struggle began to wane. 

Until you felt him choking. Slow and steady suffocation by the crushing of his windpipe.

There was a rush of movement from the dark. Silhouettes rushed forward.Yelling and screaming. From others, other voices, other shadow people. You were pulled off of the man quickly, suddenly. Your teeth were still embedded into the throat. Still holding on, teething and chewing. Dragging the man with you. Until the shift of your body, your quick misbalance made you let go. But your focus was solely still on the man laid out on the floor, not yet dead, yet not lively. Half-dead. Blood ebbed and flowed, frothing at the exposure of torn open flesh. Effervesced through the puncture wounds in his neck as the man struggled to breath. Gasping, choking, gurgling. 

Still alive. Alive still, not dead yet. Still not dead.

But you were forced away. Dragged back until the dying man was hidden from view by a swarm of silhouettes. You were detained on the ground. Forced into compliance by being outnumbered. But that didn’t stop you from trying, clawing and squirming. Teeth gnashing violently as you tried to bite down on anything careless enough to get within reach. Your neck was yanked to the side, forcing you flat on the floor. 

You noticed something stood just at the edge of your sight among all the chaos. Someone . More discernible to you than the current vicinity, than those here and now detaining you. More sensational than your failed predation attempt. Shades crept in the dark, glinting like a cat’s eye. There, where the tenebrosity seemed the most concentrated and the most condensed. A deep, dark impression that cut an imposing and impressive figure in the background. Watching, waiting — onlooking.

As a needle gleamed above your head and a sharp pain burned when it sunk into your held-down forearm. It was fast-acting, almost instantaneous.Your vision began to dim, your surroundings fading away. It was getting harder to stay attentive, to fight back. To remain awake. Administered now with whatever was coursing through your veins, diluting your adrenaline rush. Pacifying you, until you were no longer a threat. 

Submerged back in stasis, lost at sea. Surrounded solely by a boundless nothingness once more. 

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A/N:

Critique welcomed and encouraged as long as it is constructive and polite (don't be rude/mean pretty please ◡̈ ). Also if I made any mistakes, grammar or otherwise, please to let me know.

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| Next ⮞

[djloveyou3000]

Do you guys think Bell would have funny/scary outbursts when people piss them off? Like, Bell is always calm, but there are moments when they get pushed too far, and they’ll say the funniest and most brutal insult known to man. For example:

Hudson: “Bell, you still haven’t finished decoding. I swear, you can’t do anything right. We should’ve never brought you.”

Bell: “LISTEN HERE, YOU BALD BASTARD. I’M THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS HOW TO DECODE THIS, AND IT’S A MIX OF OLD AND NEW INTEL. NONE OF YOU CAN DO IT, ONLY I CAN YOU UNGRATEFUL, BALD HEADED PRUNE. NOW GO WAX AND POWER WASH YOUR HEAD AND LET ME DO MY WORK!”

Russell: “Bell, we’ve got a job to do. Come on.”

Bell: “I KNOW! YOU KEEP TELLING ME THAT EVERY FIVE SECONDS, YOU CHEAP KNOCK-OFF ROBERT REDFORD! GIVE ME A MINUTE AND STOP SAYING THAT!”

And everyone just stands there, completely shocked and frozen, because Bell is never like this. But Woods? Woods lives for it he absolutely loves it, especially when Bell snaps at Hudson.

[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.

[ghostbustting]

𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Want to know more about my fics? read these ↓

🕷: 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐝𝐨 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭?

꩜ Guns N’ Roses

꩜ Metallica

꩜ Megadeth

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꩜ Etc. (Read the second point below)

🐙: 𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬! (𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝)

𖹭 Requests: Always open !! Though, at some points, I will take breaks from answering, especially when I have a very full schedule, which happens a lot. But feel free to leave a req anytime anyday, I will find time to do them asap <3

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𖹭 What I’ll Be Willing To Write: Fluff, Smuts, Angst, anything in the general fanfic world.

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P.S Feel free to message me if you’re interested in becoming moots !! Toodles~ ദ്ദി(*＾3＾)

[junkomc]

COD Omegaverse (male reader) Chapter 6 is now available. NSFW!18+

The sixth chapter is mainly about a foursome with Alex, Woods, and Adler. (I wonder if anyone will read it...?)　Everyone will pamper you.♡

Hudson also appears (foreshadowing...).

At the beginning, Hudson explains about male omegas, but if you think this isn't the omegaverse, then this is my own omegaverse, so if you can't accept it, goodbye...

Sorry for my crappy English, as always I've had to rely on a translation tool!!

Please see the full story on AO3.

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

↓Preview

-Jason, Russell, Alex, Frank, Omega-

A few years ago, Packhouse

"I didn't know the CIA had introduced this program either."

Russell said disdainfully.

"Russell, Are you against the omega breeding system? What about the other two?"

Jason looked back and forth between Alex and Frank, who were sitting in front of him.

"I don't think there's a problem if the omega volunteers of their own volition, and I respect their wishes. Of course we welcome omegas."

Russell was surprised at Alex's boldness in saying that, and Frank raised one eyebrow and looked at him in disbelief, and said,

"Alex...I know it's easy to say...but the one who gets added to the pack is a male omega, right? I've never seen a male omega before..."

"That's why he was sent to this pack. I'm going to give you a lecture on male omegas. Russell, Frank, I'm sorry, but we don't care what you think. This is decided. Accept it, be honored. ... I envy you guys, if I could, I'd like to have a taste of it at least once..."

The three of them looked at Jason, who was vague in his words, suspiciously.

"Anyway, I'll explain a few things about him. Omegas are valuable, but male omegas are even more valuable. They are lent to each other by allies who have implemented the Omega Program. This is the first time the CIA has tried this."

"Is there any reason to assign a male omega to a pack even if it means lending and borrowing them?"

Russell asked with a bored look on his face, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

"The first is their high reproductive ability. Their pregnancy rate during rutting is almost 100%. They also have the stamina to withstand the rutting period of male alphas. As for biting, once a female omega mates, she will only mate with that alpha, and will not rut or mate with other alphas, even if they are alphas of the same pack. But male omegas are different. Any number of alphas in the same pack can mark an omega. They can mate with any alpha in the pack. However, please note that you can only mark an omega after it has given birth. This is because if he and you don't get along well, the omega will have to be moved to another pack. In that case, another omega will come here."

"...I feel bad because it seems like they're being welcomed into the pack just for the purpose of breeding."

Frank glared at Jason with a bitter look on his face.

"This is an order from above. You can't refuse anyway. So why not just enjoy the situation? You can enjoy a precious male omega."

Russell gave Jason a critical look, but Jason didn't seem to mind at all. Instead, he sighed as if he couldn't understand why Russell was so negative about the system.

"That's right, Frank, it's a decision that Omega will come. I'm sure he'll have a hard time in his new environment. I'll feel sorry for him if we don't open up. Russell will also change his mind when he meets him”

Alex was more adapted to the situation than anyone else and rather willingly welcomed the male omega. He seemed excited to see what kind of passionate mating he would have with a strong male omega during the rutting season.

-Omega, Russell, Frank, Alex-

"So you two weren't happy about me coming at first?"

You asked, leaning back on the sofa and looking back and forth between Russell and Frank, who were sitting on either side of you.

"Yes, I'd like to show the old Russell and Frank what they're like now."

Alex said as he appeared from the kitchen, giggling and holding a mug of decaf coffee.

"Alex was the only one who was excited about me coming, right?"

You took the mug from Alex, smiled mischievously, and looked into Russell and Frank's faces again.

Russell lovingly stroked your now slightly more noticeable belly and said in a gentle voice, "That's not true, I've been wanting to meet you as well." Frank kissed your temple and whispered in your ear, "Me too."

You closed your eyes, entranced by the warmth and love you felt from both sides of you.

"I know, you've both been so good to me since the day we met..."

"That's right, both of you had hearts in your eyes the moment you met an omega."

Alex said mockingly, and the alphas on either side of you laughed and threw cushions at him.

Alex deftly caught them, held out his hands to you, and urged you to stand.

You set your mug on the table and walk over to Alex, placing your hand in his large, warm one.

“We’ve always been crazy about you. Look into my eyes and you can see hearts, right?”

Alex smiled, gazing at you with loving eyes.

You smiled back at Alex, and the alpha hugged his omega gently but firmly.

“You’re still as good at seducing omegas as ever.”

Before you knew it, Russell was right behind you, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and saying, "That's how you always tempt our omegas."

And with that, Frank came right next to you and gently stroked your cheek with his bony alpha fingers.

You surrender yourself to the pheromones of your three beloved alphas,

You felt the presence of a puppy in his stomach and murmured dreamily, immersed in happiness.

"Hey, do you know? Alphas...I always have hearts in my eyes too."

As if to confirm your words, Alex grabbed your chin and made you look up, staring at you and saying, "Yeah, that's true," and kissed you. At the same time, Russell behind you gently bit the side of your scent gland, and Frank next to you pressed his nose behind your ear, enjoying the scent of your omega.

While kissing you, Alex began to unbutton your shirt, Russell slowly slid his hands inside your pants, and Frank whispered in your ear, "Let's go to bed."

"...Ah, Alex made me coffee, and..."

When you said this with an exaggerated, disappointed tone, Alex smiled and said,

"I'll make it again later."

"Ahh... Alpha..."

You lie on top of Alex, pressing your back against his chest as he lies on the bed, enduring the pressure of his penis thrusting into your hole.

Russell slowly leans over you and asks you worriedly, "Two at the same time? Are you sure? I don't want to push my omega and the puppy in my belly too hard."

"It's okay, Russell..."

You gently stroked Russell's cheek to reassure the alpha in front of you.

"I'll tell you if it hurts..."

Although you said that, the size of Alex inside you was already enough for you, so you were feeling a mixture of anticipation and anxiety about what would happen if Russell's thicker, longer thing entered you.

Frank immediately sensed your feelings and next to you, holding your hand and whispering,"Don't force yourself" before kissing your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips. You liked the feeling of Frank's beard tickling the area around your mouth. You closed your eyes and surrendered to the comfort of Frank's soothing kiss, enjoying the feel of his beard on your fingertips.

At that moment, Alex bit into your neck through your collar from behind.

You were a little surprised by how hard he was about to rip the collar off, but Alex quickly removed his mouth and instead sucked tightly around the collar to leave a mark, groaning.

"...Omega, I want to mark you."

Alex had just come inside of you a while ago, but his penis was still inside of you, and although the knot had already come loose, it was still hard, and he would occasionally lightly poke you from behind and rub the remaining juices into you.

"I know... it'll be soon..." you said, rubbing your head against Alex behind you as you felt his penis assert itself inside you again.

"... We're all looking forward to officially welcoming you into the pack... I can't wait to meet the puppy..."

In front of you, Russell smiled and stroked your slightly swollen belly, then slowly slid his hand down, stroking the part where you and Alex are joined.

"... Are you sure?"Russell asked.

You nodded desperately, no longer feeling a shred of anxiety, wanting to get Russell inside you as soon as possible.

The tip of Russell's penis was already slick with pre-cum, and the entrance, slippery with your love juices and Alex's semen, accepted his thick stake without resistance.

"...Ah, oh...Omega...this is amazing..."

Russell let out a deep breath from the intense grip, but you forgot to even breathe, and with your eyes tightly closed, desperately enduring the pressure you were feeling for the first time.

"Omega, are you okay? Take a breath and relax..."

Frank whispered gently while holding your hand, and kissed your cheek.

Concentrating on Alex's sexy moans behind you and Russell's hot breath, your tension gradually eased, your hole gradually adjusted to the size of the two of them, and the sweet voice of the omega leaked out, overlapping with the alpha's voice.

"...Does it feel good, omega?"

Russell moved his face closer to you to make sure you weren't forcing yourself, and pressed his forehead against yours. This caused the insertion to deepen, and you moaned unconsciously, but you quickly nodded and looked into Russell's eyes. The alpha grinned, kissed you, and started to rock his hips back and forth.

"Mmmmm..."

With your lips still covered, he rocked you, and your breath was trapped in Russell's mouth.

The two hard, large penises wriggling inside you rubbed against your inner walls, competing with each other to inject a large amount of thick milk into you.

"You shouldn't put a knot in there..."

Frank warned Russell, who then glanced at Alex behind you.

Alex, sensing something, slowly pulled out of you and began caressing your breasts next to you.

After gently kneading your entire chest, he pinched and twisted your nipples, tugged and caressed them, as if enjoying the way they gradually became harder. All the while, Russell was making slow, shallow thrusts, teasing you just before your favorite spot, enjoying your reaction.

"...Oh, Alpha...more..."

"I know, I know, Omega."

Russell said this with a nasty smile.

You had been enduring the indescribable sweet torture with your eyes closed, but suddenly you were lightly slapped on the cheek and you slowly opened your eyes to find a fully erect, impressive penis with many veins wrapped around it.

It was Frank's. "Omega, please let me cum in your mouth..."

Frank gently caressed your chin, and as he guided you, you ran your tongue along Alpha's penis and slowly took the tip into your mouth.

“…Haa, Omega…”

A sigh escaped Frank's lips, and you wanted to hear more of his sexy voice, so you carefully caressed the alpha's penis with your tongue, moving it up and down as you sucked on it.

Russell's thrusts from below sent his penis unexpectedly deep into your mouth, pushing Frank to his limits.

Just as you tasted Frank in your mouth and heard the Alpha's heavy breathing reach its peak, Frank cum in your mouth.

"...!... Ah..."

Tasting the warm, copious amount of milk, you lovingly ran your tongue over the Alpha's swollen knot in your mouth.

Just as Frank was taking a breather, Alex muttered.

"...Frank, Russell... look."

Alex lightly pinched your nipples, and a thin, cloudy white liquid dribbled out.

"Really? You start producing milk after you give birth, right?"

Russell was amazed, transfixed by the way your milk ran down your skin.

You bent your neck to check your own chest to see what was going on.

"...The doctor said that there are a lot of exceptions for male omegas... this might be one of them..."

As you said this, Alex brought his face close to your breast, tracing the streaks of breast milk with his tongue, and when he reached your nipple he gently sucked on it.

"...Mmmm..."

Alex caressed you, stimulating your already sensitive spots once again, and you unconsciously squeezed Russell inside you.

"...Male omega milk. Alex already loves sucking on omega nipples... I'm sure this will make him even happier."

Please see the full story on AO3.

Tag List

@bunbunboysworld

[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

[faith-skull]

🦋About my blog🦋

I go by she/her and you can call me Kaizeril or Kai

I write for different cod characters I do not write NSFW content I only write SFW content

‼️ please DO NOT be weird or request weird stuff‼️

Characters I may write for (you can request whatever cod characters you want!!):

Jason Hudson

Russell Adler

Maxim Antonov

Ingo Beck

William Peck

Lev Kravchenko

Vladimir Makarov

Grigori Weaver

Nikolai

David Mason

John Price

Gabriel T. Rorke

Dimitri belikov

Vadim Rudnik

"Bell"

Mendo Garcia

Victor Zakhaev

Philip graves

(I'm sorry if this intro thing sucks I'm new to writing..)

[r0syr3a]

A rosy introduction

Hello everyone! I figured that now I'm writing and being more active on my blog, I'd give a formal introduction <3

My name is Rea or Ryder (Rea pronounced Rye-Uh). I am an '05 babe and a Gemini.

I write fanfics and poetry and will be sharing others (Artists support Artists!)

Who I write: OG lineup of Guns N Roses, All Metallica members (yes, including Dave), and Motley Crue. I may write for TV shows/movies in the future.

What I write: I will mainly be writing fluff and angst, I can try smut if requested, but it is not my normal. Some pieces may be suggestive but that's about it and it will always be in the warnings. I currently only do "x reader". It can be romantic, platonic, or even family.

All my works will be under the rosywrites tag so you can find them easy! (Or you can use my masterlist!)

Requests are currently open! Don't be afraid to ask, if I'm uncomfortable with something, I will say so.

Thank you for reading <3

[bruhhhh-huhhhhh]

CoD Cold War Masterlist

Alex Mason

Nothing yet

Lawrence Sims

Nothing yet

Frank Woods

Nothing yet

Helen Park

Nothing yet

Russel Adler

Nothing yet

Lazar Azuolay

Nothing yet

Jason Hudson

Nothing yet

[maymaylyn]

Just a crush. Right?

Frank Woods x Medic!Reader-no gender, no warnings on this one

The rumors started subtly. A passing glance. A touch that lingered half a second too long. Woods’ habit of sticking close whenever you were in the field, always keeping you in his line of sight.

It wasn’t unusual for Woods to be protective—he watched over the entire team like a damn hawk—but with you? It was different. More deliberate. More personal. The others noticed.

“Y’know,” Hudson muttered one evening at base, eyes flicking toward where Woods stood beside you at the briefing table, “he doesn’t hover like that over anyone else.”

Mason snorted, arms crossed. “Woods? Nah, come on. He’s just—”

“Just what?” Adler cut in. “Just watching their six a little too much? Just finding every excuse to be next to ‘em? Just nearly broke a guy’s arm for getting a little too friendly last week?”

Mason paused. “…Shit. Maybe.”

The team started making a game of it. Not in a cruel way, but in the way soldiers do when they’re stuck in the same hell together and need something—anything—to keep morale up.

Mason started keeping count of how many times Woods said your name in a day. (The record stood at twenty-seven.) Weaver made a point to watch Woods’ expression whenever you laughed, smirking whenever he saw the telltale softening around the man’s eyes. Even Hudson, the most skeptical of the bunch, muttered a knowing huh when Woods immediately handed you his canteen after a long mission, before you even had a chance to ask.

You, of course, were oblivious. Or at least pretending to be.

One evening, the teasing hit a peak.

You were patching up Mason after a rough skirmish, hands steady as you worked. Woods leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with that ever-present gaze of his.

“Y’know, Woods,” Mason drawled, wincing as you tightened a bandage, “you could just admit it.”

“Admit what?” Woods grunted.

Mason smirked. “That you’ve got it bad.”

The room went still. You froze mid-motion, heart hammering in your chest.

Woods scoffed, but there was something—something—behind his voice. “You talk too much, Mason.”

Mason chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

You dared a glance at Woods. He wasn’t looking at Mason. He was looking at you. And for the first time, you saw it—the truth written all over his face, clear as day.

The rumors weren’t just rumors.

Not anymore.

—

You chose to ignore it. You had to.

Even when you felt Woods’ eyes on you, burning, heavy, searching. Even when Mason’s words settled in your chest, rattling around like a stray bullet.

Because it didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense.

Frank Woods—loud, reckless, sharp as a damn blade, the kind of man who chewed up war and spit it back out—liking you? Wanting you like that?

It was easier to pretend. Easier to brush off the heat that crept up your neck whenever he was close, whenever his voice dipped just a little lower when he said your name.

And God, it wasn’t like you didn’t want him. You’d had a thing for Woods longer than you cared to admit.

Tall, mean, all man.

He was everything you weren’t.

Where he stormed into danger, you stayed back, steady hands stitching the team together when they inevitably fell apart. Where he cracked jokes and barked orders, you let yourself fade into the background, content to play your part.

But then—

Then there were moments.

Like now, when you finally tore your gaze from Mason’s knowing smirk and dared to look at Woods.

He hadn’t moved from the doorway, still leaning against the frame like it was the only thing keeping him steady. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes—God, his eyes—were locked onto yours.

And you swore, just for a second, something in your chest tilted.

“…I should finish this,” you mumbled, turning back to Mason, trying to ignore how unsteady your voice felt.

Mason didn’t say anything, but his smirk widened.

Woods exhaled sharply through his nose and pushed off the doorframe.

“Don’t let him get in your head, Doc,” he muttered as he walked past, voice quieter than usual.

But the thing was—he already had.

—

The base was quiet, save for the distant hum of generators and the occasional murmur of voices from the night shift. You sat outside near the barracks, a cup of lukewarm coffee in your hands, watching the smoke from Woods’ cigarette curl into the night air.

Neither of you had spoken much since earlier that day, since Mason’s comment. You told yourself it didn’t matter. That nothing had changed.

But you could still feel it.

The weight of Woods’ stare. The way he always seemed to find an excuse to be near you. Tonight wasn't different. The way his voice softened—not much, but enough—when he spoke to you.

The rumors. The looks. The possibility of it all.

“You’re quiet,” Woods finally muttered, tapping ash off the edge of his cigar. “More than usual.”

You huffed a soft laugh. “Didn’t know you paid that much attention.”

His brow twitched. “I do.”

Your fingers tightened around your cup.

A beat of silence. A long, stretching pause where you swore the night got heavier, pressing against your skin.

“…Is it true?” You blurted before you could stop yourself.

Woods shifted beside you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Is what true?”

You exhaled sharply, eyes flickering to the ground. “What Alex say.”

Silence again. But this time, it wasn’t empty.

It was charged.

Then Woods sighed, running a hand through his hair, his cigarette burning low between his fingers. When he finally spoke, his voice was different—gruff, but quieter.

“He talks too damn much.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “No, it ain’t.”

You swallowed. Your pulse thrummed at your throat. “Frank—”

He turned to you then, really looking at you, his gaze intense in a way that made your breath hitch.

“I ain’t good with this kinda shit,” he admitted, voice low. “Never have been. But yeah, doc, it’s true.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

Before you could process it, before you could say anything, he reached over, plucked the half-empty coffee cup from your hands, and took a sip, like he hadn’t just turned your whole damn world upside down.

You stared.

“…You just—”

“Didn’t wanna waste it,” he muttered, a ghost of a smirk on his lips.

You wanted to laugh, wanted to say something, but all you could do was shake your head, cheeks warm, heart pounding.

The cool air biting at your skin, but you barely felt it. Not with Woods sitting so damn close. Not with your mind reeling from his words.

It’s true.

He said it so easily, so plainly, like it was just another fact of war, just another mission brief. But it wasn’t. Not to you.

“…You really mean that?” you finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Woods huffed, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t.” He leaned back, balancing his cigar between his fingers. “Kinda figured you’d noticed by now.”

You let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh. “Noticed what, exactly?”

He turned his head to you, eyes sharp and unreadable. “That I got a thing for you, Doc.”

Your stomach flipped, and your fingers curled into your lap to keep yourself steady. “Frank—”

“I ain’t expectin’ anything,” he cut in, voice rougher now, like he was forcing the words out before he could take them back. “Just—” He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wanted you to know. I don’t do this shit often, and I sure as hell ain’t good at it, but… it’s been there a while.”

How long? You wanted to ask.

How the hell did I miss it?

Because now, looking back, it was obvious. The way he always stood between you and danger. The way he lingered near your side after missions, making sure you were in one piece. The way his voice lost its usual edge when he spoke to you, like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful.

The realization hit you like a damn freight train.

“…I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, voice small.

Woods chuckled, the sound low and warm. “For once, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but the teasing only made your pulse quicken. He was still watching you, still waiting, like he needed some kind of answer—even if he’d never ask for it outright.

So, instead of speaking, you reached over and took the burning cigarette from his fingers.

And then, before you could lose your nerve, you brought it to your lips and took a breathe in.

Woods froze. His gaze flickered to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

“…Really?”

You shrugged, barely biting back a smile. “Didn’t wanna waste it.”

A beat of silence—then a bark of laughter, loud and unrestrained, as Woods shook his head.

“Jesus, Doc. You’re somethin’ else.”

You weren’t sure what this meant, what would come next—but for now, with Woods looking at you like that, it didn’t feel so cold anymore.

.

.

.

[makeila04]

I have a problem regarding Weaver's direction concerning the original team… or what's left of it

I realized something: the Panama disaster happened in 1989. Well, if Weaver got out of prison in 1991 and was in prison for 6 years... it means that he most likely DOESN'T know that Hudson and Mason are dead. And Woods is in a wheelchair...

Weaver would have been arrested around 1985, meaning he missed all the events that led to Hudson's death in 1989 and Mason's capture. By the time he gets out in 1991, the world he knew has drastically changed.

Imagine that moment when, now free, he starts looking for his old teammates. Maybe he tries to contact Hudson first, only to find out his fate. Then, he searches for Mason and discovers that he’s disappeared. And when he finally finds Woods... seeing him in a wheelchair must be a huge shock for him.

Weaver doesn’t know that Hudson and Mason are dead. Hudson and Mason died in 1989 at the hands of Menéndez. Hudson was tortured and brutally murdered while trying to protect David Mason (Alex's son), and Mason was executed later (depending on the Black Ops 2 ending). Weaver was arrested before this happened, so he has no idea what happened to two of his closest comrades. When he got out in 1991, it's likely that no one directly told him, or that the CIA hid the details, since Weaver was a political prisoner, and his access to information must have been very limited.

Weaver doesn’t know that Woods is in a wheelchair. Frank Woods was left paralyzed after being tortured by Menéndez in 1989 and has been living with unbearable guilt ever since. If Weaver hasn't been in contact with Woods, then he probably still imagines him as the same strong and energetic man he knew before going to prison. When he finds out the truth, the blow will be hard.

How could Weaver find out? There are several ways Weaver could find out what happened:

A casual comment from someone in the CIA.

Woods could mention it if they reunite.

When he finally knows, his reaction will be devastating.

What if he meets Adler? He just rejoined the CIA after being hunted for over 10 months, given all the events we see in the Call of Duty Black Ops 6 campaign, also set in 1991. So imagine that Woods recommends going to Adler to talk and catch up on everything. Everything that happened in the CIA, all the traitors, Pantheon, Jane Harrow, how they framed him for the Panama disaster in 1989, but we know in the end it wasn’t Adler. A conversation that would give Weaver more context on everything that happened from 1985 to 1991...

If Weaver and Adler met in 1991, it would be an intense conversation, filled with information, repressed emotions, and perhaps a bit of resentment toward the CIA. We know that Adler was on the run for 10 months after being framed for the Panama disaster in 1989. Now that he has been reinstated into the CIA, Woods could recommend to Weaver that he speak with Adler to catch up on everything he missed while he was in Terminus Island prison. From Weaver's perspective, he just got out of prison after 6 years, the CIA betrayed him, Maxis is still lost in the Dark Ether, and his old world no longer exists. The first thing he would expect from the meeting with Adler is reliable information.

The second thing, although he would never admit it, is at least some human connection. Weaver always had a professional relationship with Adler, but both were men loyal to the CIA and hardened by the Cold War. Everything Weaver knew has crumbled. Hudson and Mason are dead. Woods is incapacitated. The CIA is no longer what it was. Pantheon controls things from the shadows.

The agency he swore to serve abandoned him and used him as a disposable pawn. Well, now the CIA director is Daniel Livingstone, and he’s the one who reinstated Adler and Woods so they can continue protecting them from the shadows and find out what else could be happening or who else might be left from Pantheon or who they are now under whatever name they have, but eliminate them once and for all from the CIA...

I would wholeheartedly like Weaver to stop looking for Samantha Maxis along with Requiem, Peck, Maya, and Ravenov just because Dr. Elizabeth and the others from Requiem insist and believe that she is still their friend because she sacrificed herself to defeat the Forgotten in 1985. I repeat, whenever she appears, something bad happens.

Now, there's no Hudson, Mason is gone, and Woods is screwed. Adler and Weaver know each other, and we know they get along and are familiar with each other. Why not help Adler? If Weaver wants to find a place to belong, what better than with the only two old friends he has left? Clear their names and his own. Isn’t that better?

Should Grigori Weaver stop searching for Samantha Maxis and join Adler and Woods? From a strategic and emotional point of view, yes, it would be the best for him. But Weaver is a complicated man, trapped in his own obsession (Kravchenko, Richtofen...) and misdirected loyalties.

Now that Daniel Livingstone is the CIA director and has reinstated Adler and Woods, the agency has a chance to redeem itself and eliminate any trace of Pantheon or their successors. This means that Adler and Woods have a new mission and a clear purpose, as we see at the end of the Black Ops 6 campaign. Weaver, on the other hand, continues to chase a ghost.

Reasons Weaver should stop looking for her:

She always used him for her own benefit and never saw him the way he saw her.

His obsession has kept him stuck for years, while others have moved on.

If she returns, it doesn’t mean she’ll be the same person. She spent too much time in the Dark Ether, and there’s no guarantee she’s still the Maxis they knew.

Weaver owes her nothing.

At this point, staying with Requiem is just prolonging his suffering.

Weaver is completely alone. Hudson and Mason are dead. Woods is no longer the same. But both Woods and Adler are still fighting and have been reinstated into the CIA. Adler and Weaver have a lot in common:

Both were betrayed by the CIA, used as disposable pawns.

Both have been through torture and prison (Adler was interrogated and hunted for almost a year).

Both don’t fit into the current world, but they can still fight. If Weaver really wants to find a purpose, what better than helping the only friends he has left?

Advantages of joining Adler and Woods:

Clear his own name. He wouldn’t be "the Terminus prisoner" anymore, but an agent with a real mission.

Focus on the real enemy. Pantheon, the traitors within the CIA, and the threats that still persist.

Finally break his obsession. Looking for Maxis is chasing the past. Helping Adler and Woods is fighting for the future. If Weaver decides to leave Requiem and join Adler and Woods, this could happen:

He would face reality. He’d have to admit that Maxis was never what he thought.

He could have conflicts with Requiem. They would see him as someone who abandoned them, but in reality, it’s Weaver who has been deceived for years.

He would have a real purpose. He would no longer be just a man searching for something that never existed. Now, he would have a mission, a reason to move forward.

Adler would welcome him with open arms. He needs him. If Woods can no longer fight like before, Weaver would be his best ally.

Key conversation: Weaver tells Requiem he's leaving, something like:

Weaver: "I’m going to help the only friends I have left. Woods and Adler need men in this. The CIA needs to clean up from the traitors who infected it. That’s where I should be."

Elizabeth shakes her head.

Grey: "Are you going to abandon Maxis?" Weaver looks at her emotionlessly.

Weaver: "Maxis abandoned us first."

In my opinion: Staying with Requiem means continuing to chase a lie. Joining Adler and Woods means fighting for something real. If Weaver wants to find a purpose, it’s not with Maxis. It’s with the only two men who still believe in him. And perhaps, for the first time in his life, he can finally be free. Ah... I don’t know... And not to mention that Weaver has been rescuing and saving Samantha Maxis from 1979 UNTIL 1991 AHHH WEAVER!! VALUE YOURSELF SON!!

Tell me your thoughts, or if it’s just me.

Tengo un problema sobre el rumbo de Weaver respecto al equipo original…o lo que queda.

Me di cuenta de algo:  el desastre de Panamá ocurrió en 1989. Bueno, si Weaver salió de la cárcel en 1991 y estuvo 6 años en prisión...significa que muy probablemente NO sabe que Hudson y Mason están muertos. Y Woods en silla de ruedas…

Weaver habría sido arrestado alrededor de 1985, lo que significa que se perdió todos los eventos que llevaron a la muerte de Hudson en 1989 y la captura de Mason. Para cuando sale en 1991, el mundo que conocía ha cambiado drásticamente.

Imagínate ese momento en el que, ya libre, empieza a buscar a sus viejos compañeros. Quizás primero intenta contactar a Hudson, solo para enterarse de su destino. Luego, busca a Mason y descubre que ha desaparecido. Y cuando finalmente encuentra a Woods… verlo en silla de ruedas debe ser un impacto enorme para él.

Weaver no sabe que Hudson y Mason están muertos

Hudson y Mason murieron en 1989 a manos de Menéndez. Hudson fue torturado y asesinado brutalmente mientras intentaba proteger a David Mason (hijo de Alex), y Mason fue ejecutado posteriormente (dependiendo del final de Black Ops 2).

Weaver fue arrestado antes de que esto ocurriera, lo que significa que no tiene idea de lo que pasó con dos de sus compañeros más cercanos.

Cuando salió en 1991, es probable que nadie se lo dijera directamente o que la CIA haya ocultado detalles, ya que Weaver era un prisionero político y su acceso a información debió haber sido muy limitado.

Weaver no sabe que Woods está en silla de ruedas

Frank Woods quedó paralítico tras ser torturado por Menéndez en 1989 y ha estado viviendo con una culpa insoportable desde entonces.

Si Weaver no ha tenido contacto con Woods, entonces probablemente aún lo imagina como el mismo hombre fuerte y enérgico que conoció antes de ir a prisión.

Cuando descubra la verdad, el golpe será fuerte.

¿Cómo podría enterarse Weaver?

Existen varias formas en las que Weaver podría descubrir lo que pasó:

Un comentario casual de alguien de la CIA.

Woods podría mencionarlo si se reencuentran.

Cuando finalmente lo sepa, su reacción será devastadora.

¿Y si se encuentra con Adler? Él acaba de reintegrarse a la cia luego de haber sigo perseguido por más de 10 meses, dado a todos los acontecimientos que vemos en la campaña de call of duty Black ops 6, también ambientado en 1991. Así que imagina que Woods recomienda ir con Adler para hablar y ponerse al tanto de todo. Todo lo que pasó en la cia, todos los traidores, Pantheon, Jane Harrow, como lo inculparon por el desastre de Panamá en 1989 pero que al final sabemos que no fue Adler. Una charla que le de más contexto a Weaver de todo lo que pasó desde 1985 hasta 1991... 

Si Weaver y Adler se encontraran en 1991, sería una conversación intensa, llena de información, emociones reprimidas y quizás un poco de resentimiento hacia la CIA.

Sabemos que Adler estuvo huyendo durante 10 meses tras ser inculpado por el desastre de Panamá en 1989. Ahora que fue reintegrado a la CIA, Woods podría recomendarle a Weaver que hable con él para ponerse al día con todo lo que se perdió mientras estuvo en la prisión de la Isla Terminus.

Desde el punto de vista de Weaver, acaba de salir de prisión tras 6 años, la CIA lo traicionó, Maxis sigue perdida en el Éter Oscuro, y su viejo mundo ya no existe.

Lo primero que esperaría de la reunión con Adler es información confiable.

Lo segundo, aunque nunca lo admitiría, es un mínimo de conexión humana.

Weaver siempre tuvo una relación profesional con Adler, pero ambos fueron hombres fieles a la CIA y endurecidos por la Guerra Fría.

Todo lo que Weaver conocía se ha derrumbado.

Hudson y Mason están muertos.

Woods está incapacitado.

La CIA ya no es lo que era.

Pantheon controla las cosas desde las sombras.

La agencia que juró servir lo abandonó y lo usó como un peón descartable.

Bueno, ahora el director de la cia es Daniel Livingstone y fue quien restituyó a Adler y Woods para que puedan seguir protegiéndolos desde la sombre y averiguar qué más puede pasar o quién más puede rondar que haya quedado de Pantheon o quienes sean ahora bajo el nombre que tengan pero eliminarlos definitivamente de la cia... Me gustaría de todo corazón que Weaver deje de buscar a Samantha Maxis junto con Requiem, Peck, Maya y Ravenov sólo porque la doctora Elizabeth y los demás de Requiem insisten y creen que sigue siendo una amiga de ellos porque se sacrificó para vencer al olvidado en 1985. Repito, siempre que aparece ella algo malo pasa. Ahora, no queda Hudson, tampoco Mason y Woods está jodido. Adler y Weaver se conocen y sabemos que se llevan bien y se conocen ¿por qué no ayudar a Adler? Si Weaver quiere buscar un lugar a donde pertenecer ¿que mejor que con los únicos dos viejos amigos que le quedan? Limpiar sus nombres y el suyo propio. ¿No es mejor?

¿Debería Grigori Weaver dejar de buscar a Samantha Maxis y unirse a Adler y Woods?

Desde un punto de vista estratégico y emocional, sí, sería lo mejor para él. Pero Weaver es un hombre complicado, atrapado en su propia obsesión (Kravchenko, Richtofen…) y lealtades mal dirigidas.

Ahora que Daniel Livingstone es el director de la CIA y ha reintegrado a Adler y Woods, la agencia tiene una oportunidad para redimirse y eliminar cualquier rastro de Pantheon o sus sucesores. Esto significa que Adler y Woods tienen una nueva misión y un propósito claro, como vemos al final de la campaña de black ops 6. Weaver, en cambio, sigue persiguiendo un fantasma.

Razones por las que Weaver debería dejar de buscarla:

Siempre lo usó para su beneficio y nunca lo vio de la forma en que él la veía.

Su obsesión lo ha mantenido estancado por años, mientras que otros han seguido adelante.

Si regresa, no significa que será la misma persona. Pasó demasiado tiempo en el Éter Oscuro, y no hay garantía de que siga siendo la Maxis que conocían.

Weaver no le debe nada.

En este punto, seguir con Requiem es solo una forma de alargar su sufrimiento.Weaver está completamente solo. Hudson y Mason están muertos. Woods ya no es el mismo. Pero tanto Woods como Adler siguen luchando y han sido restituidos en la CIA.

Adler y Weaver tienen muchas similitudes:

Ambos fueron traicionados por la CIA, usados como peones descartables.

Ambos han pasado por la tortura y la cárcel (Adler fue interrogado y perseguido por casi un año).

Ambos no encajan en el mundo actual, pero aún pueden pelear.

Si Weaver realmente quiere encontrar un propósito, ¿qué mejor que ayudar a los únicos amigos que le quedan?

Ventajas de unirse a Adler y Woods:

Limpia su propio nombre. Ya no sería "el prisionero de Terminus", sino un agente con una misión real.

Se enfoca en el enemigo real. Pantheon, los traidores dentro de la CIA y las amenazas que aún persisten.

Finalmente rompe con su obsesión. Buscar a Maxis es perseguir el pasado. Ayudar a Adler y Woods es luchar por el futuro.

Si Weaver decide dejar a Requiem y unirse a Adler y Woods, podría suceder lo siguiente:

Se enfrentaría a la realidad. Tendría que admitir que Maxis nunca fue lo que él pensaba.

Podría tener conflictos con Requiem. Ellos lo verían como alguien que los abandona, pero en realidad, es Weaver quien ha sido engañado por años.

Tendría un propósito real. Ya no sería solo un hombre buscando algo que nunca existió. Ahora tendría una misión, una razón para seguir adelante.

Adler lo recibiría con los brazos abiertos. Lo necesita. Si Woods ya no puede pelear como antes, Weaver sería su mejor aliado.

conversación clave: Weaver le dice a Requiem que se va, me imagino algo así:

Weaver: "Voy a ayudar a los únicos amigos que me quedan. Woods y Adler necesitan hombres en esto. La CIA necesita limpiarse de los traidores que la infectaron. Ahí es donde debería estar."

Elizabeth niega con la cabeza.

Grey: "¿Vas a abandonar a Maxis?"

Weaver la mira sin ninguna emoción.

Weaver: "Maxis nos abandonó primero."

En mi opinión: Seguir con Requiem significa seguir persiguiendo una mentira. Unirse a Adler y Woods significa luchar por algo real. Si Weaver quiere encontrar un propósito, no está con Maxis. Está con los únicos dos hombres que todavía creen en él. Y quizás, por primera vez en su vida, pueda finalmente ser libre. Y ni hablar que Weaver viene rescatando y salvando a Samantha Maxis desde 1979 HASTA 1991 AHHH WEAVER!! VALORATE HIJO!!

Ah…no sé… Díganme sus opiniones o si soy solo yo.

[butterfly-stitches]

DOG-EAT-DOG.

[ Explicit ] // MDNI

AO3

Pairings: Russell Adler x Male!Bell, Russell Adler x Reader

* Rape/Non-Con * Graphic Depictions Of Violence * Major Character Death Alternate Universe, Abuse, Non-Sexual and Sexual Submission, Dom/sub Undertones, Ownership, Dehumanization, Dog Fighting, Obedience, Size Difference, Degradation, Hurt No Comfort, Power Imbalance, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Trauma, Loss of Identity, Rough Kissing, Watersports, Blood and Gore, Dry Humping, Protectiveness, Possessive Behavior, Human Ashtray Master/Pet, Forced Orgasm, Orgasm Denial, Boot Worship, Leg Humping, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat < Other Additional Tags to Be Added >

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Chapter 2: caged animal.

[2 / 7]

Words: 3,520 Summary: In which you attempt to escape …

[very lightly edited]

When you awoke again, your head was throbbing with a dull pain, a vice grip squeezing onto both sides of your head. Limbs like lead, body like a casting of concrete laid out onto the ground.

But there was no darkness to greet you like before. Your surroundings were brighter, a blaring white without a sense of warmth or comfort. More clinical and aseptic. You recoiled at the brightness. That burned the shadows away and along with it, a sense of security. You felt vulnerable, exposed. Eyes squeezed shut, watery and stinging, teardrops collected along your waterline. Your eyesight snuffed out by the intensity of it. Unable to see straight, or at all for that matter, like looking directly at the sun. 

You curled into yourself again. Shielded yourself from the brightness. Creating your own refuge within your own casted shadow. There, you hid and blinked away your grogginess, the initial shock of the blinding lights. Growing more lucid, it was only then that you carefully turned your head. Letting your eyes adjust to your surroundings. Slowly, steadily.

You blinked and blinked, looking around until everything started to take shape around you. Accreted into noticeable surroundings — a white room. That was more like a box. With four blank walls, bland tiled flooring, a metal door with a wire mesh glass vision panel, and a single one-way window adjacent to the door and situated directly across from where you were. An observation room you thought. Like a viewing point into an enclosure like you were a wild caught animal newly housed in a zoo for rehabilitation, or rather for the process of it. That realization made you wary, felt intrusive to you. 

There were eyes on you, watching, observing from behind the window. But you didn’t know how many there were behind the glass. Innumerable and unaccounted for. Though you desperately wanted to, you couldn’t take your eyes away from that one-way window. To what it showed. To a reflection, your reflection, staring back at you. That was more like a stranger than your recognizable self. Sunken eye sockets, despairing bloodshot eyes. 

Your head was shaved, a regulation cut gone too far and buzzed too close to your scalp. As if overdone or hurried if the scabbed over cuts on the shells of your ears were anything to go by. You lifted your hands, wanting to feel the absence. To the prickling strands of your scalp, only to wince in sharp pain. Noticing then that they were tightly bandaged, speckled with rusted stains along the palm and fingers. Where you felt some of your fingernails were missing.

Such a bizarre sight only made you sit up and squint, taking in the new you. 

But it was not only because of that. You were cold, the room itself a few degrees below being a mellow temperature. Deliberate you think. Whoever kept you in this room wanted your discomfort. Easier to whittle away at you was your conclusion. It was no wonder you were so cold when you looked yourself over. You were dressed in a hospital gown. Thin sweatpants underneath and plain socks that didn’t help insulate your feet. The cold of the room and the tile easily perforated through the cotton material, feeling like you were surrounded by ice. 

The initial shock of it all waned, giving way to flashes of memory. Bits and pieces. From where it all stemmed from.  From… hours ago? Days? A week? You didn’t recall, but the taste of blood was timeless. As was the thrill of a kill, and the struggling body underneath yours, growing lifeless between your teeth. A refusal of a request — no, a command — and this was the result of your noncompliance. You clenched your hands and grit your teeth. Causing new blood to flow out and blotch all the bandaging a dark red. But you paid no mind to the burning pain or the fresh scent of iron in the cool air. Succumbed with a growing fury, an unbridled rage. Silent and simmering like a slow rolling boil, a gathering storm. Where violence just lay idle. 

You made an effort to stand but the sounds of chains dragging made you freeze. You looked aside, to see a heavy manacle fastened to your non-dominant ankle. Connected to a chain link, hooked to a welded shut coupler mechanism in the floor. Tethering you to a dedicated space like a tie-out chain. It only allowed you a certain radius to wander with. And from your estimates, it was enough to move around to the other wall parallel to where you were. But not enough to allow you to go to the opposite side of the room. 

You grabbed at the heavy metal chain. Pulled at it, giving it a few good tugs, testing its quality. The chain links only clinked and clanked with the motion. It would take an unprecedented amount of effort to break the links, but your main focus was where the chain was fastened to in the ground. Where the opportunity to break free was most possible. 

Where the breaking point was achievable with either excessive force or a constant, consistent stress that would weaken the closed coupler mechanism. It depended on you really. If you wanted to go all out at once and try to use what strength you had left or play the waiting game and slowly apply tension. You didn’t want to prolong anything, especially remain captive to whoever or whatever wanted to keep you there, or to wait. But that would be too slow of a process.

So you stood, ignoring the fresh blood trails down your forearms and staining the bandages around your hands. Ignoring the stinging pain in your fingertips as you peeled the socks off your feet and grabbed the chain with both hands in a tenacious grip. Pulling along the length of it, making it shorter, the excess thudding onto the floor in a coil. You reduced the leverage. Giving it less slack, more potential for tension. By doing so, it will not only be more likely to break, but it will be easier. 

You changed your stature, widening your stance. Cracking your neck, you rocked between both legs then began to tug. Pulling with all your might. Over and over. Letting the chain loosen, the noise of the ending chain link rattled against the closed coupler mechanism, before pulling it again. Your attempt didn’t go unnoticed as you expected. A crackling sound echoed around you, filling your head with white noise. Its unexpectedness made you stop. 

You looked around. Realized that the sound came from a singular speaker on the opposite wall, above the window of the observation room, near the ceiling in the far center. There was an elongated pause before the speaker crackled to life again. Sputtered another static string of words that made your head feel fuzzy: 

“You are currently engaging in unauthorized activity. Cease immediately. Further action will result in immediate involvement of security personnel. Excessive force will be authorized for noncompliance.”

Your chest rose and fell with your heavy breathing. Sweat accumulated on your brow. Your muscles ached, blood pumping, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You looked towards your reflection across the way, looking right back at you. Though you couldn’t see into the observation room, you felt the burn of eyes against your skin. But it didn't dissuade you. Your gaze didn’t wane, you had the inkling that you were looking right back. Straight into those eyes that watched as you picked up the end of the chain and steadied yourself once more before you began your efforts again. Pulling, tugging, yanking. Gritting your teeth as you strained against the chain link. 

It wasn’t long before the warning rang true. The door was thrown open by those promised security personnel. Two of them in all black, wearing body armor. You dropped the chain in your hands. Stood taller, more square-shouldered. Puffing out your  chest, your bleeding fists clenched at your side. Already primed for detonation. By their slow approach, they both knew that you weren’t going down without a fight. 

You let them get closer side-by-side, watching as they acted as a bulwark wall closing in on the space between you all. Before splintering off, one to your right and the other to your left. They were taking advantage of their numbers. You, however, weren’t unused to being in such a position. Though your mind was frayed, your body remembered. Without taking your eyes off of the two security enforcers, you took steps back towards the corner, making sure that the chain was nowhere near your feet. And not allowing them to get behind you but letting them corner you further. 

You wanted them to come closer. To make the first move. 

The security personnel to your right was the first to step forward, while the other stayed back, hovering near. This one was more assertive, more confident than the other that stayed back. You knew the only way to deal with a person like that was to let that confidence go to their head or throw them off by either surprise, misjudgement, or outmaneuvering tactics.

So you did what was unexpected of you. You willingly backed down and acquiesced. Raising your hands up in surrender, surprising them. You watched them falter a bit, both sharing a quick look between themselves. 

The confident one only smirked. “Heh, you’re smarter than you look.” 

But you could practically taste his disappointment. He was looking forward to your resistance. 

“Turn around and face the wall.” He directed, still keeping a safe distance. While the other one watched. Still on edge, not trusting your compliance. 

“Hands up against the wall.” 

And you listened. Pressed your palms against the painted plaster. Felt him slowly move forward in your space.“So the damn mutt can listen to orders.” 

A booted foot kicked your legs apart, widening up your stiff stance. “Lost all your bite, did you?” You gritted your teeth, feeling him begin to pat you down more aggressively than needed. “Heard what you did to Murphy… mauled his face so badly that his wife could barely recognize her dead husband.” 

Flashbacks again through the blank slate of your memory. The taste of blood, the tear of flesh; a dying man’s last breath. In your mouth, your tongue darted out to a hollow space in your gums. Tracing along the dip left there by a missing canine tooth. 

The security personnel finished patting you down, but he didn't move back right away. “You’re lucky that you’re under protection. Otherwise, you’d be long dead. Thrown in a ditch somewhere, where no one would find your remains. Besides the worms.”

You felt him step back. “But everyone’s luck runs out eventually.”

He knelt down behind you. You watched from your peripheral as he unlocked the manacle around your ankle, both the manacle and connecting chain splaying out on the floor with a heavy thud. He stood up, nodded to his partner who went to the door. He grabbed both your arms from the wall, pulling them behind your back. You peered over your shoulder. As the man holding you went to grab the cuffs attached to his vest. But you were more focused on his partner. Watching as he turned his back and unlocked the door with the swipe of his keycard. 

Then you acted. Throwing your head back so hard that you heard the crush of cartilage of the man’s nose behind you. His grip on your arms loosened as he staggered back. You spun around, quickly grabbing him by his arm. Using his arm as an anchor, you took advantage of your momentum, flipping him, and slammed him down onto the ground onto his back. The limb overextended in an arm bar. But that wasn’t enough to incapacitate him. You pulled against the limb’s natural range of motion, until it twisted out of shape and snapped at an odd angle. Hearing the agonizing scream that followed echo against the walls. 

Without wasting time, you jumped over the man on the floor and rushed toward the door, where the security personnel’s partner was leaving the door’s threshold. Using himself as an obstacle in the straight shot path toward the closing door. And with it, your chance of escape.

You lunged forward, quicker than the remaining security personnel could react. Forcing him backwards, against the doorframe until he lost his balance and fell in the doorway. His upper body acted as a doorstop. You stood over him and grabbed the metal door with both hands before the man could grab your leg. With all your strength, you slammed it forward. Banged it shut over and over again against the security man’s head. Until you heard the crack of his skull. 

You dashed forward through the door, emerging into a bright hallway. In a  split-second decision, you went in a random direction. Sprinting aimlessly

down a corridor of white walls, wide windows, and linoleum flooring. Hoping for an exit out of wherever you were. But you were only met with more hallways, more corridors. More white walls, linoleum flooring and bright headache-inducing lights. It was almost like you were running through an elaborate maze. 

You were panting, sweating, growing tired. But you could hear more personnel looking for you. You wiped the sweat from your brow, then continued to run, ignoring the burn in your legs. You turned a sudden corner, colliding against a wall with your speed. But you only shook it off, and pushed yourself off of it, sprinting forward once more. You looked behind you, relieved to not hear the march of boots right on your tail. Taking all those turns seemed to have bought you some distance. 

But as soon as you turned around and looked down the end of the corridor did you come to an abrupt halt. Bare feet squeaked against the flooring with your stop. There stood an obstacle in your way. A person, a man to be exact, a close distance from you. Seemingly just as surprised to see you there as you were to see him. But there was something else about this person. Something phantasmal, intangible. 

Had you seen him before? Did you know him?

The shape of sunshades lurking in the shadows, a cut-out carved deep in the dark.

You narrowed your eyes on the man, trying to get a good look at him. But a pair of shades obscured his facial features, a half-smoked cigarette burning between his lips. He had been smoking leisurely it seemed before you appeared. 

Had he gone off on a smoke break right before the whole ordeal transpired? 

His gorgonic gaze was felt even behind the dark sunglasses he wore. It left you paralyzed as if such a gaze turned you to stone. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t breathe. You soon realized it was the effect of his very presence. 

Who was this man? Who was he to you?

But your little staring contest with the strange man didn’t last long. Before you realized it, a group of other security personnel rounded the corner. As if finally released from the man’s hypnotic stare, you reacted and tried to run. But it was already too late. You were quickly grabbed and dragged back. Though you struggled, it took four men to finally detain you, forcing you down onto the floor. Cheek pressed onto the smooth flooring. You heard the hurried clicking of steps down the hall that you had run down from. The clicking grew louder as they turned the corner, then slowed. Until you saw heeled boots come to a stop just by your head. 

Your eyes followed up from the boots, past the curve of calves and thighs beneath dark jeans, along a white lab coat – where a clipboard was cradled against a chest. Paused to the person’s face. A woman. Well, a woman’s side profile. Hidden behind dark, neck-length cropped hair where only a small button nose just peeked out. You thought she was looking down at you, maybe she had initially. But her focus now was solely on the man standing in the corridor.

There was a prolonged moment of silence. As you squirmed as your arms were forced behind your back and secured tight with flex cuffs. 

“Thought you had it all until control.” 

A low voice echoed from down the hall, one belonging to the man. You could practically feel his disapproval from here, his condescension curling around the syllables as he spoke. It seemed it wasn’t all that veiled by the way the woman next to you tensed. Maybe it never was intended to be. 

“I do.” She soon replied more calmly than you expected; than the man deserved. You felt her gesture down towards you. “As you can see the subject has been apprehended.”

Heavy footsteps echoed from down the hall. In the corner of your eye, you watched the man walk forward. Slowly, stalking like a big cat. A large shadow enfolded over you, blotting out the bright lighting. And with it came the dense stench of cigarettes. Your eyes flicked up to the man who stood over you, who wasn’t even sparing you a glance. Still, even with half of your face pressed down to the ground, you were able to get a look at him at this angle.

He was a rough-cut man with a fearsome face. Tall, strong, broad-shouldered. Light-haired. Stubbled and square-jawed; an eye-catching scar set a layer deep on the side of his face like a branding cattle mark.

The man took a drag of his cigarette then hummed, exhaling a steady stream of smoke. “By the skin of your teeth.”

Another moment of silence came and went before she nodded aside to the security personnel. A nonverbal directive that caused them all to try and get you to stand. You began to flail, not making it any easier for them. The woman turned around, intending to lead the way down the corridor.

“You’re bringing him back to the med bay?” 

The man’s voice stopped her in her tracks. And made the security personnel leave you as is on the ground.

She turned towards him. “He’s not medically cleared.”

“It’s not needed.” He brushed off her words with the wave of his hand. “The escape attempt is proof enough. Take him to the backrooms.” 

Ignoring her desire for a dissertation, the man looked away from the woman and down at you. Fixing you still with the weight of his heavy stare. He flicked the ash from his cigarette intentionally. Letting the flakes of hot ash fall and land onto the side of your face. “He’s ready.”

With a nod from the man, you were quickly lifted up from the ground and forced on your feet. The man shouldered past the woman, while she stared down the hallway, as you were taken away. Dragged kicking and screaming down too many corridors, too many foyers for you to even keep track of where you were being taken to. Before you knew it you were sequestered to a private sector. Different from the one you were being held in – the med bay. This one was all reinforced steel and concrete; the backrooms, you remembered the man had said. Whatever that meant. But it was a new environment. Better than four blank walls and bland tiled flooring. Well for now, until you grew tired from it eventually too. 

You were unceremoniously shoved into some side room. The security personnel were uncaring as you stumbled, as they found it easier to just drag you inside like a body bag. Like before, you were tied down. But not just by a simple ankle. But by both, connected to a heavy chain fastened to the ground once more. Near a drain grate. This one was shortened, no longer giving you the space to wander about in your surroundings. Not only that, your arms were chained together in shackles as well. Looser than the one around your legs that made you shuffle and practically waddle just to walk. 

You were quickly left alone afterwards. Seemingly to let you adjust. A small light bulb dangled from the ceiling, the only source of light in the room. You took the time to get used to the low lighting and looked around the room, curious and cautious. By the layout, it was like a prison cell. Concrete walls and flooring. Fronted with double bars and a single solid steel door. It was intrinsically bare within, except for a single thin mattress in the far corner. Stained with what you assumed, and hoped, was old blood stains. But it wasn’t a small, enclosed space. It was like a basement, as if it had been renovated and repurposed within the decade. It was elongated, spacious. Too open, too visible.  

It was then that a sudden realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

This was a cage. But not just any cage. One fit not just to house, but a perfect place for taming purposes. 

To tame you. 

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A/N:

This chapter was lightly edited. Critique welcomed and encouraged as long as it is constructive and polite (don't be rude/mean pretty please ◡̈ ). Also if I made any mistakes, grammar or otherwise, please to let me know.

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[djloveyou3000]

I have something to say if Lilo and Stitch came out in the 80s bell would be obsessed and would love stitch I’m curious on what you guys would think the others in Cold War and black ops 6 what would be their favourite Disney and Pixar movies