#vikhor kuzmin x reader

[cass-the-mess]

Was it Real?

Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin x Bell!Reader SMUT 18+ MDNI

Photo cred: @pricescigar

A/N: This has been brewing in my drafts since MARCH lol, and I suddenly felt the urge to finish it today so I hope you guys enjoy it!

Synopsis: Bell manages to break out of Adler's mind control early on in the game. She infiltrates the KGB to hopefully reconnect with the current leader of Perseus himself Stitch, angst ensues, old feelings emerge, betrayal happens, they deal with it in the most reasonable way: Shmex :)

CW: Dark themes, dubious content, SMUT, office sex, ex-lovers to enemies to lovers? Stitch is a bad guy ish, possessive sex, degrading, PWP, canon typical violence (this is COD) but not the main theme of this, they're in love but it's complicated because she's a double agent, not really a happy ending but also not a sad ending.

P.S. this one is dedicated to @stararch4ngelqueen because she's great and she makes me wanna keep writing so :)

P.P.S. Dialogue in Italics are flashbacks, dialogues in bold are russian.

You see him right away when you turn the corner of the hallway, his imposing form walking out of the elevator surrounded by some of his most trusted men. The silvery scar tissue cutting through the left side of his face and into his eye adding onto the threatening aura around him.

You remember him, you remember the relationship you had with him before you got taken away and had all of your memories jumbled and carefully rearranged to fit into the narrative the Americans wanted you to be a part of.

Vikhor Kuzmin aka “Stitch”, current leader of Perseus, your mentor, the man who had taught you everything you knew. The man who had made you into the woman you were. That woman was long gone, that thought angered you. You had no loyalties to the American cause, nor to the men who you were currently working for.

Your loyalty to Russell Adler, the leader of this operation, was especially treacherous. You knew what he did to you, the lengths he had taken to turn you against the very people who had built you from the ground up, whatever charade you were currently playing by “helping” him sneak into the KGB to recover intel, was about to end. Sooner rather than later.

You watch intently through the shaded glass of the door you’re hiding behind as Stitch walks through the empty corridor, the armed men at his side posting themselves at strategic points in the hallway as he continues to make his way through the space, not sparing them a second glance, his patterned eyes ice cold and constantly searching and analyzing. The hood covering his head as well as the mask obscuring the bottom half of his face keeping his true emotions from shining through.

Your heart squeezes painfully at the sight of him, you didn’t know where you stood with him anymore, you knew just how important Perseus’ cause was to him, and how loyal to it he was. You doubted he’d ever forgive you, no matter the circumstances surrounding your disappearance, people didn’t just leave Perseus, and if they did, they were found and dealt with. You knew because that was your job, the executioner. The shadow of death, you were the last thing traitors saw before the light left their eyes.

At one point in time, you were his most trusted advisor, his right hand, his friend. You’d spent countless hours with him, the both of you planning, scheming, organizing, a myriad of different operations to spread your influence through the western countries. Most of which had greatly succeeded, you were always five steps ahead of the Americans.

You don’t know when exactly it changed, when your relationship with the stoic, brutal man, changed. When you became something more, when he started looking at you with a glint in his eyes, when his face relaxed a little when it was just the two of you in the same room, or when he started removing his mask around you. Exposing the gnarled, scarred skin of his face to you, letting you see just how truly broken he was.

But you didn’t think he was broken, you saw a man that had overcome challenge after challenge, continuously coming out on top and never giving up. Your respect for him grew, as did your heart. Butterflies swarming your abdomen whenever he looked your way, not needing to say a single word to you, his eyes always speaking so loud in the silence of the room.

Then he started smiling at you, not a full-blown smile, you didn’t think the man was even capable of such a feat, but a small, subtle quirk of his lips. So small you thought you’d imagined it at first. A fleeting curve of his full lips towards you, gone as fast as it had appeared. The memory makes you blush slightly in the dark space of the office you’re hiding in, chewing at your lips anxiously as you wait for him to dispatch the men around him, giving you an opening to talk to him. Hoping your connection plays in your favour, hoping the man won’t shoot you where you stand, knowing that he would, knowing that he should.

Afterall, you’d not only betrayed your cause, but you’d also betrayed him. That realization had weighed heavy on your shoulders ever since you woke up from whatever trance Adler had you in, all of your memories coming back to you in painful bursts, flashes of images blinding you as they assaulted your brain. The pain you had felt as each memory hit you, still sizzling inside you, causing a shiver to trail up your spine.

You take a steadying breath as you watch him through the tinted window, his white, scarred eye, glinting under the artificial light emanating from the fixtures above him. You’d asked him once if he could still see out of that eye, out of curiosity, but also because he seemed to see everything, all the time. Nothing ever escaped him, you wondered how he was able to be so alert with half his vision gone.

“I see.” Had been his curt answer, not giving you anymore detail than that, leaving you to speculate in silence about it, you found it unlikely that his vision had remained intact after taking a knife to the eye, though you supposed miracle stories could happen and he might’ve just been very lucky.

What had surprised you the most though, was weeks later, when you and him had been working together late one night, both absorbed in your respective tasks, you weren’t really paying attention to him, too preoccupied with finishing your own paperwork. He was though, you’d come to learn that he always was, his eyes always straying back to you, no matter how many times he tried to scold himself. You remember it like it was just yesterday, the scene playing out in your mind like a movie. That had been the start of something that meant so much more.

“it’s colour. I can’t see colour.” He’d said suddenly, his voice gruff from lack of use, the heavy Russian accent wrapping clumsily around the syllables of each word, startling you out of your state of deep concentration and forcing you to look up at him, your mouth agape at his sudden answer. The dim, amber lighting of the light above you, bouncing off the discoloured surface of his eye as he looks at you with an unwavering gaze.

“I- is it, weird…? Seeing colour with one eye and not with the other?” You’d replied to him after a beat, your voice coming out unsure as you took a hesitant step towards him, his two-tone eyes following your every movement like a hawk.

He’d never really given you a clear answer, his shoulders lifting in a shrug before dropping his gaze from yours and going back to his work, pensive look on his face as he continued to meticulously organize the papers before him. You didn’t blame him for not answering, hell, the fact that he even talked to you in complete sentences was something to marvel at. Considering he usually only interacted with his men, and even then, he would only really bark orders at them before dismissing them.

He tried though, you could tell he did, his English was choppy at best when he tried to talk to you, sometimes jumping back and forth to Russian when he couldn’t find his words. You’d started to learn Russian that way, and he started to learn English. It was beautiful really, now that you thought about it, he would teach you words in Russian, and you’d teach him the same words in English. He’d get frustrated when trying to pronounce some words and you’d giggle in your sleeve as he grew more and more flustered, the tips of his ears growing red with embarrassment until he huffed out a curse and gave up.

Your throat grows tight at the memory, eyes starting to sting with unshed tears as emotion threatens to overtake you, he was a complicated, brutal man, and yet he was so patient and gentle with you when you were together, his naturally gruff voice growing softer when he spoke to you. It hadn’t always been that way, of course, at first, he dismissed you as just another body in the sea of men he had to direct, not giving you his time of day, and barking orders your way the same way he would the rest of the men.

But then you’d started to make your mark, your work within the organization gaining more and more recognition from your peers, whispers growing and growing until they became a loud roaring in each room you would walk into, eyes tracking your every breath. Soldiers hanging onto your every word like they were prophecy.

He noticed, like he always did, way before everyone else did. Taking matters into his own hands and tracking your progress, reviewing everything you did himself before approving it to be passed down the chain of command, reeling in the few men who thought acting like dogs would get them anywhere but six feet deep with a bullet between their eyes. And so, the whispers started to change, echoes of Perseus’ executioner leaking from the cracks in the walls, men thrice your size averting their gaze when you walked by, in fear of angering their leader, knowing him as the type of man to not make threats, only promises.

He would seek your advice more often, confiding in you and asking your opinion on certain aspects of operations he wanted to greenlight. You’d been privy to the birth of many successful missions, a lot of which you’d tweaked and reworked under his careful guidance, the subtle glint in his eyes growing more and more every time you managed to surprise him, the pride in his voice unmistakable when those plans came to fruition.

One of those nights after a successful mission, he’d finally kissed you, it happened out of nowhere and even he seemed surprised about it. He’d been watching you all night from across the room, ice cold eyes trailing after you as you mingled with men unworthy of your attention, men who had no idea just exactly who they were talking to. His own thoughts surprised him, the sudden possessiveness coursing through his veins startling him and causing him to stiffen up in the corner of the room he was standing in, the men attempting to congratulate him on yet another successful operation immediately backing up at the sight of their leader so wound up.

You weren’t paying attention, not really, the sudden peak in popularity you were going through quite hard to digest at that time, going from “just another body” to Perseus’ Executioner was already taking its toll on you. So when a harsh slap resounded from across the room, startling everyone into silence, you took a second to understand what the buzz was about, your Russian at the time not as fluent as it was now, add to the fact that your brain was fuzzy from the effects of the alcohol you were drinking, the only words you caught amongst the whispers of the room currently staring in muted fear at their leader were “fucking mongrel” and “kill you where you stand.”

He'd stormed out after that, his anger palpable in the now silent room, the man victim of his wrath left to lick his wounds on the carpeted floor of the decorated conference room you were all left standing in, he wasn’t one for parties to begin with, he’d told you as much during one of your many late night conversations, social gatherings made him feel uneasy, especially when they served no purpose.

The remaining guests had slowly started to leave after that, some of them throwing you a questioning look as they walked out, forcing a frown to form on your face, sure you were still considered an outsider to this whole operation but you’d been with this team for months now, your work was paving the way for generations to come, Stitch was the first one to back that statement, his trust in you unwavering.

With that in mind, you decided to follow after him, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in your endeavours as the fuzziness in your brain started to dissipate from the alcohol you’d been indulging in earlier. His usual hangout place in the late hours of the evening tended to be in a room adjacent to his office, he used it for multiple different purposes, and right now, that room held most, if not all, of your joint findings for future operations. You decided to check there first.

You found him hunched over one of the tables, a piece of paper crumpled in his large fist, his shoulders heaving under the thick charcoal material of his jacket, the hood covering his head doing little to conceal the man’s current emotional state. You took a hesitant step forward, not wanting to startle, or anger him further in the state he was in.

“Vik…?” You’d called softly, the nickname somewhat new and foreign to you, but you’d taken to calling him that when it was just the two of you alone, his alias always felt wrong to say, you were never quite able to put a finger on why exactly you felt that way about him, but when he’d given you his real name after countless nights spent working with you, you’d decided to go with it, accepting the gesture as what you could only imagine meant something far greater to him.

He never did answer you, his hooded head shaking back and forth in the confines of the room, the flickering light above you doing very little in terms of actual lighting, mostly casting shadows on every corner of the room, illuminating his figure but not highlighting any of his features.

He was mumbling something under his breath, the heavy notes of Russian syllables registering in your mind and forcing you to get closer to him in an effort to understand his tense ramblings. He’d heard you for sure, but he was probably too far into his own head to really acknowledge you at this point.

You took another hesitant step forward, coming to a stop next to him, his words sounding clearer now that you were next to him, but your brain still couldn’t find the right associations at that moment, too overwhelmed with the events of that day to make sense of it all.

“Vik- Can you slow down? I can’t make out what-“

He’d turned around then, his bright eyes pinning you in place, his right eye as blue as the iciest lakes of Russia, and his left eye, as white as the tallest peaks of the motherland’s mountains. He rarely held any warmth in them, even when he looked at you, it didn’t surprise you, after all, the man was a product of his environment, and his environment had been nothing but harsh and unforgiving. All in all, he’d come out of it mostly unscathed, a smart and intimidating man with a steel resolve and an ambition for revolution, it was hard to not admire him in that sense.

“Fucking pigs. Have no respect for their superiors.” He finally answered after a long moment of looking at you, his breathing had calmed down some and he was finally able to slow down when he spoke, the harsh, grating sound of his dialect oddly comforting to you.

You frowned at him then, not understanding his anger, closing the distance between the both of you and gently grasping onto the scarred hand that was holding onto the piece of paper you’d seen him crumpling up when you walked in, extricating it from his grasp and straightening it.

Your eyebrows shot up as you carefully unfolded the paper to reveal the source of his anger; a crudely drawn stick figure with pigtails and enormous breasts, bent over in front of a hooded stick figure holding a knife. The drawing obviously representing you and him engaging in something obscene.

At the bottom of the piece of paper you made out the words “Perseus’ whore”, scrawled in sloppy writing, no doubt an attempt at humor from whoever gave this to him. You shook your head as a deep sigh escaped you, crumpling the offending art project and throwing it in the bin next to the table.

“He’ll get what’s coming to him.” You whispered as you gently placed your hand onto his broad shoulders, the soft fabric of his jacket warm under your touch, your head tilting slightly to catch his eyes. “The men closest to us respect me as they respect you Vik, this will not go unpunished.”

“No matter. I will not allow such vile conduct from lowly insects. He will pay with blood.” He’d said, carefully enunciating every word to make sure you understood his meaning well, his voice had grown rougher with barely contained anger.

The tension in the room had suddenly come to a boiling point, you remember the feeling vividly, his eyes had slowly dragged up your body until they’d landed on your face. The intensity he’d held in his gaze at that moment seared in your mind forever. You feel your breath hitch just at the memory, your throat bobbing as you swallow uneasily.

“My executioner. Together we’ll watch the world burn.” He had finally said, his rough hand carefully taking your much softer one from where it lay on his shoulder, fingers intertwining as he’d closed the distance between you and him. His mask long forgotten on the table next to you, he’d probably taken it off when he walked in, chucking it carelessly onto the pile of paperwork currently taking up most of the surface.

You remember smiling at his ruthlessness, the rough Russian words had somehow seemed so romantic to you in that moment. You remember the way his scarred lips had felt as he’d finally pressed them onto yours, so warm in contrast to the cold man they belonged to. You remember the way he’d held you that night, the way his muscular body had felt against yours, the way he’d whispered your name almost reverently in between soft kisses, his body gently crowding yours against the desk, pushing you up onto it so he could fit himself between your legs, his lips never leaving yours.

He'd taken you, right then and there, on the desk. Pushed everything off the wooden surface so he could have access to all of you without restraint. His lips explored your skin, worshipping every inch of it, every scar, every blemish as if the simple touch of his lips would somehow atone for the sins of others against you. The words he’d whispered to you alternating between Russian and English, he wanted to make sure you understood just how much you meant to him.

You’d done the same to him, ensured to kiss every scar you could see, your fingers gently traced the damaged skin of each and every one of them as you whispered your own words of worship to him, the taste of his skin burnt into your DNA, the shape of each of his tattoos engraved into your mind forever.

That night changed everything.

The memory fades, your heart clenches in melancholy at the knowledge that you’ll never be able to regain his trust, his softness, his love. All that you were eclipsed, and all that could’ve been was now nothing but wishful thinking on your part.

Vikhor didn’t forget, most of all, he didn’t forgive.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally dismisses his men with a curt nod followed by a rough command, the armed men hastily retreating to their assigned post, leaving the hallway deserted for the most part and the path to his office clear.

You follow his gaze as he sweeps the hallway himself one last time, the iciness of his eyes as they take in every detail one last time makes your heart beat faster in your chest, and you’re not sure if it’s out of fear or excitement. After a moment his critical gaze lands directly on the door you’re hiding behind, his eyes squinting at the tinted glass as you duck, a curse escaping your mouth.

The majority of his face is hidden by the gas mask he constantly wears outside, coupled with the thick hood obscuring his head, it’s hard to make out his expression as he finally turns around and enters his office, the door clicking quietly behind him. A relieved sigh leaves your mouth, you shuffle quietly, gathering your thoughts and trying to calm the storm raging in your mind as you get closer and closer to what you came here to do.

You hope he’ll listen, at the very least let you apologize and explain to him what happened to you, maybe even believe you when you tell him that your heart never left this place, that your purpose was and still is to be at his side, to rule the empire you helped him build over the years.

You know your chances are slim to none, but a small part of you hangs on to that sliver of hope that he’ll spare you, that he’ll accept the information you bring him. You swallow uneasily as you get up from where you were crouching on the floor, you throat suddenly dry and constricted. Most of all, you hope that he’ll remember his love for you, the love you both shared for one another before all of this went down, before your entire identity was ripped to shreds, before you were ripped from him.

You scan the hallway one last time before opening the door as quietly as possible, your eyes jumping from corner to corner to make sure no one sees you. You know this place like the back of your hand, spent countless hours walking through these very halls, working with some of these people, and yet, you’re nothing more than a ghost now, another soul lost to the cause, another name whispered, another body never recovered.

You step carefully, gracefully to his office, the blinds behind the tinted window are always closed and today is no exception. You strain your hearing in an attempt to decipher what he’s doing behind the closed door, nothing reaches you but dreadful silence. You grasp the door handle with a sweaty hand, fingers shaking as they wrap around the cold metal, your breath quickening as you slowly turn the handle and push open the door, one foot stepping in before you stop dead in your tracks, your eyes widening.

The sight before you is enough to make your stomach drop, you see the man you love lounging behind his desk, relaxed as ever, one foot propped on top of it, the heavy military boots he wears resting on the worn wood as he stretches his body out. His right hand wrapped around his gun, the metal glinting menacingly in the dim light of the room as he slowly rocks the weapon back and forth in his hand, dragging it over the surface of the desk every so often.

His other arm hangs on the side of the chair, out of view. His head is inclined slightly to one side, eyes pinning you to the spot as he glares at you with an intensity you’ve only ever seen directed at insubordinates within his ranks. The sword of Damocles hanging over your head in the very room you’d engineered Perseus’ most successful hits.

You open your mouth to speak but no words come out, your breath rushes out of you as you try to find your footing.

“Close the door.” He finally says, his English rusty and broken, his eyes unwavering as he tracks your every move like a predator waiting to pounce. You fumble with the door for a moment before finally closing it.

“Lock it.” He tells you, his voice coming out as growl and forcing a shiver of uneasiness to trail up your spine, every fiber of your being telling you to run, to get away, to save yourself before it’s too late.

“Vik-“ You start quietly as you turn around to face him, not moving from where you stand in fear of angering him further.

“Vik? After all this time?” He interrupts you roughly in Russian, his tone dripping with venom and disdain at your use of his given name. You miss the way he flinches at your voice, the lighting in the room too dark to perceive the slight reaction.

“Please listen to me, I promise- I promise this isn’t what you think it is.” You answer back in Russian, your voice quivering with unshed tears as you take a hesitant step towards him, imploring him to find it in him to listen to what you have to say.

“Do you know how many men I have looking for you, executioner? Do you know the price there is on your head right now, my love?” He spits that last part at you like the word leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, like he can’t believe he ever called you that to begin with.

He gets up then, slowly, confidently, his foot slowly dragging across the desk before falling heavily on the floor with a dull thud, the weight of it making the desk tremble slightly. The barrel of his gun drags against the wooden surface as he slowly rounds the desk to come face to face with you, standing well over a foot above you.

His smell assaults you then, clean linen and a hint of fresh mint overshadowed by gunpowder that sticks to every piece of clothing he owns. A smell that was once familiar and comforting now eliciting a shiver of fear in you, pale eyes that once held your entire world now only hold anger and hurt, a hurt that runs so deep you feel your heart crack under the weight of his gaze.

“I’m sorry Vik, I’m so fucking sorry, you have to listen to me please-“ You whisper as your voice breaks under the torrent of emotion raging through you.

“The Americans, they took me, they experimented on me, forced me to forget everything, made me into their puppet so I could feed them information on Perseus.” You tell him, stumbling over your words as you try to make him understand what’s at stake. His eyes harden, the scar running through his left eye looks even angrier like this, the usually pale blue of his right eye now looks almost black as anger simmers in it.

You swallow uneasily as cold metal presses under your chin, forcing your head up and straining the muscles of your neck.

“And? Did you? Did you betray us? Did you betray me, my love?” He whispers as he presses the cold metal harder against the delicate skin there, the heat in his gaze igniting something inside you, it feels wrong, so fucking wrong but you can’t help yourself as a whimper escapes you.

“No. No, I- “ You swallow uneasily as you try to keep your head upright and your gaze on his, refusing the let him see how scared you are.

“I told them nothing, I invented false leads to throw them off your scent. I convinced them to let me come here to get information because I wanted to warn you- They’re coming Vikhor, they want your head, Adler wants your head.” At the mention of Adler his other hand shoots up to wrap itself around your neck, pushing you against the door violently, the hand holding the gun lets go suddenly, the weapon clattering to the ground.

His now free hand comes up to his masked face, ripping away the constricting contraption to reveal more of his scarred flesh to you, his full lips pulled back into a feral snarl as he lowers his head to your ear. “You’re telling me Russell Adler is outside this fucking building waiting for you to bring him intel on ME?!” He rasps out in a deadly whisper, the hand around your neck tightening as he slaps the other one against the surface of the door, making you flinch.

“No. Not here. I’m alone, I promise I came alone, they trust me, I made them believe they could trust me. You need to move to a different location NOW Vik, I’ll give them a random location to give you time to get your men mobilized but you can’t stay.” You reply, one of your hands closing gently around the one at your neck, squeezing gently, reassuringly. Your eyes pleading with him, trying to get through the thick layer of ice between you and him.

He smirks then, his lips twisting in a deformed grin, exposing perfectly white teeth from the corner of his mouth as his hand loosens and his thumb slowly drags across your lips, his breath fanning across your cheek as a humorless laugh escapes him.

“I should fucking kill you, make an example out of you, discard you like the dog you are.” He whispers seductively, his eyes fixated on your lips as his thumb continues to rub gently across the delicate skin there, trying to coax your tongue out to wet them.

“Vik-“ You whimper breathlessly, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

“No, instead I think I’ll let you continue on this mission of yours, you keep feeding them faulty information and you keep giving me information like the good little bitch you are, and maybe, MAYBE, I’ll let you live.” He growls out, his lips now dangerously close to yours, a wicked glint in his eyes as his tongue pokes out, dragging across his own lips as hunger starts burning through the glaciers nestled in his eyes.

His mouth is on yours then, he’s kissing you like he’s never kissed you before, desperation driving his every move as both of his hands cradle your face, one of his knees pushing your legs apart, forcing your core against his clothed thigh, the thick muscle under you flexing to accommodate you.

Your own hands grab onto the sides of his face, his strong jaw speckled in stubble, the rough texture of it making you moan into his mouth, giving him the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue meeting yours for the first time in almost a year. A guttural groan escapes him at the taste of you, his desperation increasing tenfold as he suddenly scoops you up, one hand securely around your waist, while the other grabs a handful of your ass, encouraging you to wrap your legs around him.

You hear commotion as he drops you on his desk, his lips never leaving yours as he sweeps everything off the wooden surface, in one swoop all the clutter occupying his desk is sent flying across the room, you hear what you assume is a mug, shatter as it hits the floor.

His hands are grabbing everywhere at once, pulling at your clothing as he tries to get as close as possible to you, his need presses insistently against your stomach, pulling a moan from you as you try to move against him, your own delirium getting the best of you, all previous thoughts or worries gone from your mind as you finally feel him against you once more.

“Need you, Vik, please” You whine out, your hips straining towards his for any kind of relief, the Russian words coming from your mouth in such a needy manner pushing him into a frenzy, his hands dipping under the fabric of your shirt, pulling away from you just long enough to tear the piece of fabric off of you, exposing more of your skin to him. His hands immediately going to your breasts, pulling the cups of your bra low enough to expose them.

“Shut the fuck up, don’t say my name like that, not when you ripped my entire fucking heart out when you left, not when you left and took my soul with you. I couldn’t fucking think without you, I can’t fucking live without you.” He growls out, his voice betraying him as it cracks with emotion at his own admission.

Your answer comes as a moan as his lips wrap around one of your nipples, tongue curling over the sensitive bud, your hands tighten around his neck as you throw your head back in pleasure, hips grinding against his pulsing erection, the friction not nearly enough to provide any relief through the thickness of both your pants, you let out a frustrated cry at that, deciding to take matters into your own hands, you slide your fingers down his muscular chest, the wild thumping of his heart vibrating through your skin.

You reach his belt buckle a few moments later, nimble fingers working through the loops of his belt in quick efficient movements, finally freeing it. You hurriedly unzip his pants, his hips push into your hands as he continues to explore your skin, kissing and biting every inch of exposed flesh, making you his once again, making sure you’re real and not just a figment of his imagination.

When your hands finally wrap around the thickness of him, his forehead drops against your sternum, a grunt escaping his mouth as you slowly pump his length, your own mouth leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along his jaw, his name like a prayer on your tongue, reassuring him that you’re actually there, that you’re real, that you love him.

“Can’t- can’t wait. Need you, right here, right now.” He breathes out, his hands fumbling with your pants impatiently, almost tearing them in his haste to get them off of you, not even caring to remove them completely.

“I’m here, I’m here my love, take what you need.” You whisper reassuringly, your lips catching his in another kiss as his big hand cups your core, fingers dragging through your arousal before pushing one thick digit inside you, the tight ring of muscles relaxing around him as he starts thrusting his finger in a steady rhythm, more of your arousal leaking out around his hand.

You push your face against his clothed shoulder to muffle the sounds you make, not wanting to get caught, your teeth sinking into the thick layer of muscle when he adds a second finger, the soft squelching of your wetness resonating throughout the dark room, coupled with the soft curses leaving his mouth occasionally as you continue your own assault on him, precum leaking steadily from his tip and onto your hand, making a mess of his own.

“Always so fucking wet for me aren’t you? Even when you betray me, this pussy knows who it belongs to.” He growls possessively in your ear, his movements growing more relentless as you start clenching around him, the degrading statement only adding to your growing arousal.

You cum suddenly, violently around his fingers. Tears spring to your eyes as you throw your head back, a broken half sob, half moan escaping you as he continues to thrust his fingers slowly inside your pussy, your legs shaking from where they’re still hooked around his waist.

His fingers slide out of you, forcing a hiss from you at the sudden emptiness, but the feeling doesn’t last long, you feel the thick head of his length pressing against your opening, the familiar feeling causes a shiver to rip through you.

“Look at me. Wanna see you when I make you cum.” He commands, breaching you with a steady thrust. You struggle to keep your eyes open at the onslaught of pleasure overtaking you, your eyesight blurry from tears of pleasure threatening to spill out, but you nod clumsily, one hand twisting into the material of his sweater when he starts working himself deeper into you, his breathing growing ragged at the feel of you taking him deeper and deeper with each thrust.

You lose track of the words coming out of your mouth, Russian and English coming out as a jumbled mess, different variations of his name as well as pleas to let you cum fade into one another, his hips stuttering every so often when your voice cracks around the syllables of your prayers to gods who gave up on the both of you long ago.

His hands end up around your jaw once again, the roughened skin holding your face softly as his piercing eyes hold yours, his own jaw clenched hard enough to make the vein on his forehead jump with strain as he wrestles with his feelings and with the pleasure coursing through his body, wave after wave assaulting his senses like an unrelenting storm.

When your release comes, it’s an all-consuming inferno, the muscles in your core collapsing onto the heavy thickness of him within you, forcing his thrusts to turn erratic in turn. Your head thrown back in a silent scream as you soak the desk beneath you with the proof of your pleasure, a pleasure that gets stretched out as he chases after his own release, pumping into you with abandon, strong hands holding onto your head as his own eyes roll back into his head as he finally cums deep inside you.

You both lay there panting for a moment, your minds reeling, your hearts clenched tight with emotional turmoil, wanting to stay here forever, and wanting to disappear at the same time.

When he finally pulls out, a hiss escapes him, his eyes fixated on the evidence of your coupling slowly leaking out of your abused cunt as he tucks himself back into his pants gingerly, the mask of tense indifference he wore earlier falling back into place seamlessly.

“Go. Grab your shit. I’ll find you when I’m ready.” He grunts, turning around and exiting his office without another word, leaving you there.

[quizzyisdone]

Little Bird (Part I) | GN! Reader x Vikhor “Stitch” Kuzmin

A/N: This was requested by @thebestdecoder​ for Stitch comforting a wounded reader, however I decided to go a little bit above and beyond and create a whole mini-series around the premise of it. Part two will feature a lot more comfort, this is just some light angst as an appetizer. (Word Count: 2k)

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of blood, gore, betrayal. 

January 12th, 1981

You shut the giant red door behind you, glancing down at the small file of papers in your hand as the door made a loud, ungodly creaking sound from the rusty hinges as it closed. The documents were meant for Volkov, filled to the brim with all the relevant information for him to complete his part of Perseus’ plans. 

You revelled in the cool, wintery air blowing in your face, the cooling sensation a far cry from that old, stuffy bunker. You watched as some ex-Spetsnaz lackeys loaded your vehicle with some of the  weapons meant for the notorious arms dealer to smuggle through the eastern bloc.

“You weren’t planning on leaving without saying goodbye, were you Птичка (Little Bird)?” A low, gruff voice laced with a thick Russian accent chimed from behind you, and you grinned at the little pet name. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” You said as you turned around to face him, the normal hood and face mask was absent, illuminating his features in the white, incandescent light above the red door. His face was set into his usual scowl, but softened the moment he laid his eye on you.

“I was worried you already left. It wouldn’t be like you to leave without a farewell.” Stitch smiled, opening his arms and engulfing you into his broad frame as you took in his scent. Gunpowder and sweat, mostly, from his ventures outside the compound, but a twinge of cologne as well.

You hummed into his chest, relaxing your limbs in his warm embrace. “I’ll only be gone a few days, love.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure of the company you will be keeping on this one.”

“Arash? He’s an idiot, but he’s harmless.”

“You know I don’t trust him. He’s a dog.” Stitch grumbled.

“You never have. A dog he may be, but he’s toothless.” You giggled. “I’ll be okay, and I’ll arrive in Solovetsky late tomorrow night. And you better be there to say hello.” You pointed at him, your face in a serious expression, but that front of seriousness was betrayed by your joking grin. He returned that smile with a tender, barely noticeable one of his own as Stitch decided to let the argument go.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Птичка.” He said softly, placing a quick peck on your lips as he let you go, watching as you climbed into the backseat of the vehicle.

“See you tomorrow.” You smiled before closing the door of the SUV.

But tomorrow never came.

January 16th, 1981

It had been four days since you and Arash left for Trabzon, with no word from either of you or even Anton. Not that he would ever admit to it, but the men in Solovetsky noticed his suddenly restless behavior and would remark on it in hushed whispers, far away from the man in question -- Stitch was worried. 

But he consoled himself with the fact that this sort of thing happened a lot in your line of work, you often had to go dark and lay low. Maybe something went awry, and you were still alive just waiting out the metaphorical storm. 

At least, that’s what Perseus said in order to assuage his fears. He said you and Arash were probably fine, and the Americans lately had proven troublesome in executing their plans for their greater goals, forcing the two of you to completely radio silent. Funny, that was supposed to be the Soviets’ job to interfere with their plans, not the Americans, Stitch thought to himself. 

He sat on the edge of what was supposed to be your bed, thumbing over the charm on a necklace that was comically small and delicate in comparison to his large calloused palms, probably reminiscent of how the two of you looked together. Although, to be fair, anything compared to him would look dainty.

Stitch glanced at the dove engraved on the charm, My little bird. Be safe. He thought to himself. 

January 19th, 1981

Volkov came back to Solovetsky three days later, his hand empty of that dossier you were supposed to give him and lacking any of the weapons supposed to be in that shipment. 

“L/N and Arash haven’t been seen in days, and my weapons are nowhere to be found.” Volkov slammed his fist on the table in the makeshift meeting room, yelling in a thick German accent. “You’re supposed to have a tight leash on those two. I need those weapons.” He pointed to the elder man sitting at the end of the table, and Stitch couldn’t help but notice the empty seat next to Perseus. You’re supposed to be there. That spot is reserved only for you.

“Comrade, I’m shocked to hear that you are more concerned over some weapons than the lives of our friends.” Perseus said in his usual calm and collected tone, but the furrow of his brows and the slight frown on his face betrayed him. Perseus was angry. “We can get more weapons, but we can’t replace our own little L/N.”

What about Arash? Stitch smirked beneath his mask, amused at the old man’s deliberate omission of Arash in his statement. Arash was expendable, and his usefulness limited at best. How he ever came to involve himself in this little collective or even what Perseus saw in him to let him climb the ladder so high, Stitch never knew. But you could never be replaced. 

“For all we know, L/N could’ve very well betrayed us!” Volkov exclaimed, and Stitch could feel the anger boil in his veins at the very implication of your disloyalties.

“I can assure you, Y/N would never betray us.” Stitch snarled, raising his voice but not yelling, while glaring towards Volkov. “And if she did, I’d kill her myself.”

“Bullshit.” The other man retorted. “If it came to that, you will falter. You know you will, you love her too much for your own good.”

Stitch would’ve lunged over the table, were it not for Perseus’ intervention.

“Both of you! Sit down.” Perseus shouted. “Beating each other will not solve anything, yes?” His voice immediately went down an octave, reverting back to that cold, detached tone that was typical of the man. “We have some agents scouring around for their whereabouts, in the meanwhile, Naga can solve your little weapons problem. Won’t you?” Perseus glanced at Naga, who nodded in response. 

Volkov took his cue to sit down, his proverbial tail in between his legs, but Stitch still glared daggers at the contemptuous man. 

February 25th, 1981

Days had turned into weeks now. Yet today had been marked by a different type of anger, not the kind of anger that stemmed from a worry that you were missing or dead, but an anger because of the fact that you were still even alive. 

The old man told Stitch that Arash was dead and Volkov had been assassinated by some MI6 operation apparently. But that didn’t matter, Arash was trash anyways and Volkov was no longer necessary after he smuggled that nuke. But what did matter was that Perseus agents saw you cross the wall in East Berlin with him.

With Russell Adler. It would seem that even you were not impervious to the grim touch of him.

How long had you been a mole? Why did you betray Perseus? Better yet, were you even on their side to begin with? Was your love for him just a ploy to ingratiate yourself into the inner circle? 

Stitch collided his fist into the wall of what was supposed to be your room, carving a satisfying hole through the plaster. Tears, for the first time in God only knows how long, threatened to fall. No. He thought, sniffling. I will not give you the satisfaction. The satisfaction of his own heartbreak, the satisfaction of even appearing hurt by your betrayal. No. He could not appear to be weak. 

Betrayal. Anger. Bloodlust. That’s all that he could allow himself to feel now. He refused to acknowledge that broken heartedness, the utter stupidity, the quiet mourning he felt over this. He loved you. He gave you his entire heart.

No. No. He didn’t give it to you in the way he originally thought. No, like the dog you were, you had stolen it. Ripped what remained of his heart after the gulag from his very chest.

Now, you were going to pay the price of the heart you had stolen in kind, Stitch swore to himself as he threw the necklace onto the floor, slamming the door shut behind him. He’d show you the same kindness he showed everyone that stole something from him. It was just a matter of time.

“Little bird my fucking ass.” He snarled in Russian.

March 15th, 1981

Particles of ash fell onto his shoulders as the blinding light of the remaining fires shone brightly into his eyes. The ever present stench of blood filled Stitch’s nose and were it not for the fact that he had come to be used to the smell of burning flesh, he’d probably be doubled over right now, retching from the disgusting scent.

This was where you had ruined the plan that you, him, and so many others, worked tirelessly to enact. The bodies, both belonging to Americans and Perseus agents, littered in the rubble of the ruined monastery beneath his feet, only another reminder of your betrayal. 

“Comrade.” A voice chimed from behind him, tapping on his shoulder. Stitch whipped around to face the person in question, his face hardened, evidently not happy with being disturbed in his quiet moment of melancholy and reflection, but relaxed his features when he realized it was just Perseus. “One of our own saw her. On that cliffside, the one facing the ocean. You know the place.” Perseus’ face didn’t appear angry or raging at your betrayal, instead, it was solemn. “Go, find her.”

Mindlessly, he walked to that all too familiar cliffside.

No, he didn’t walk. Stitch ran, his gun cocked, aimed and ready to kill. The cool Arctic breeze from the ocean blew against his face as he ran, soothing his hot, irritated skin from traversing the ruins of what had been their makeshift base for years. 

And there you were standing. In the flesh.

But you weren’t standing, instead blood pooled around you, your hand gripping at your abdomen as your chest heaved with exertion, your face contorted in pain, little moans and whimpers escaping your mouth every few seconds.

Adler had gotten to you first. Although the fact that Adler had snatched the retribution that was supposed to be his deeply enraged the man, he was also twistedly amused at this deliverance of poetic justice.

The betrayer has been betrayed. By the very people whose side you defected to, no less. 

Slowly, he strided over to your form, pale and very nearly lifeless, pathetically clinging on the last strings of your own mortality. 

“Who are you?” You managed to say in between breaths, a single stream of blood trailing from your mouth to the side of your cheek. “Wait… don’t I know you?” You grimaced.

Stitch didn’t reply, but his features lessened from a scowl to more a look of concerned confusion. That shouldn't have been a question to even fall from your lips. Of course you know him.

You will falter. You know you will. Volkov’s voice rang in his head.

“There’s nothing left for me,” Your eyes filled with tears, a look of deep seated regret and pain shone through them as your voice became hoarse and choked. “Please let me die.” You pleaded.

You will falter. You know you will. 

Volkov’s voice replayed in a mantric pattern in his head, like Volkov was mocking his sudden, uncharacteristic inability to end this once and for all, to put you down like the dog you were. But he was right, Stitch would falter, and he should’ve known better to think otherwise.

“No. I will not let you die.” He replied, his voice now equally pained as he scooped you into his arms. “And you have plenty left for you.” 

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Could I get something with stitch comforting his S/O after they had a ptsd breakdown? (Stitch is my comfort character)

At long last...

This request shall be fulfilled 😌 (sorry)

Stitch is extremely sensitive to changes in his surroundings, so he can hear you crying from a mile away

Although he himself experiences PTSD episodes as well, he turned off his connection to his feelings years ago

However, this doesn't mean he can't understand the emotions of others, particularly when it comes to interpreting yours

There's nothing he hates more then to see you upset or hurting, so you can count on him to come to your rescue

It's taken a bit of training on your end, but Stitch has finally started picking up on things he can do to comfort you

The two of you share a bed wherever you are, at base or his personal properties

A while back he bought you a thick, fuzzy blanket while you were stationing in his homeland for the long winter nights

You've kept it with you ever since and everywhere you go

At times like these, if you don't already have it around you, Stitch will find it and drape it around you and himself as he comes to sit beside you

You're of course welcome to talk about what's bothering you if you want, but no one knows more then he does how hard it can be to put tough experiences and feelings like that to words

Regardless, his next move is to wrap his strong arms around you and hold you tight

He tucks your head under his chin and kisses your hair

Once you've had a bit of time to calm down, he offers you some water and returns quickly

He always tells you how much he loves you, and how he wishes he could do more to help you

Usually he'll try to lift the mood by talking about good times you've had together or whatever interesting developments are going on for his work

It's quite the impressive feat, but he always manages to cheer you up

The two of you can spend as long as you need together until you're feeling yourself again

But before you go, he gives you one more kiss and reminds you that he's here whenever you need

Always

[deaconusdelirium]

Would they ever hand you their jacket?

Fuck off, it’s cold here, and it’s raining non stop. To make it worse, I live in the forest, yay, jk. Really, it is cold, anyways, enjoy

———

Woods≈

Real talk? No, get your own, what makes you think he’ll give his jackets up? He couldn’t care less on your feelings, even more, if your cold or not. Should have brought a jacket.

However, if you manage to sneak into his heart. Take it, you want his ring finger too? Go ahead. He’ll give it to you. But he has to feel cold too just so he knows you actually are

Mason≈

(Inserts WildCats: Dangerous) somft boi. He will absolutely give you his jacket, there’s no need to tell him actually, if he feels a slight chill. He’s right by your side with his jacket already being wrapped around you. He can just takes Woods anyways, he has that much control over him

Adler≈

Umm, yeah I guess so. But it’s leather, and you know how leather jackets have that like, silky texture inside, and when you put it on its cold? Yeah, it’s like that, so yes, he’ll give it to you. But in the process, you’ll get colder to get warmer, he doesn’t do hugs when you have his jackets on though. Nope.

Stitch≈

No. Get your own. You have money, you can talk, most importantly, you have the body language if you can’t. No matter how many times you ask, he’s not giving it up. That’s all that can be said.

Naga≈

It’s a hard question. It’s either a yes or no, but it’s almost always yes. If you’re both out on a mission, then no. If you both are just sitting around or hanging out with others, it’s most likely a yes but you have to go somewhere private where the others won’t look at his body. He feels exposed and it’s uncomfortable when others stare

Ghost≈

Yes! And I say that with affirmation, he may be a bit shy about it at first. Since he always has either a jacket or long sleeve on, he’s never really exposed his whole arm, and when he does. My gosh, what a treat. And his jacket is the most comfortable thing in the world, he has no problem whatsoever when you want it. And it comes with hugs

Gaz≈

Oh my, did you just ask for his jacket? He needs to hear you say it again, then he’ll smile and hand it out to you. And boy is it a sight, you bundled up in his puffy jacket. He’ll be a bit extra and put his cap on you. Then laugh it off, he doesn’t mind, and quite frankly, he’s thinking of getting you one that looks exactly like his.

Yuri≈

Big strong man=big comfy jacket. He won’t exactly give it to you when you ask, but he will give you a sweater or one that he isn’t wearing. If you’re both alone, he’ll even give it to you. It makes his day when you go around with his jacket on, will probably tease you when the sleeves hang off your hands

Makarov≈

To be honest, yes. Yes he will give you his jacket, you know the camouflaged one? Yeah, that one. Sometimes he’ll let you wear his suit jacket. It’s not rare, but not common, maybe when you both stay late at his office, and you forgot to bring a jacket, then he’ll let you wear it. And those arms are just… mmm 10 points for the tattoos

Reznov≈

You’re his, and he’s yours. Your basically bonded together so he sees no point in asking for his jackets. Just take it. But if it’s in public, then maybe ask, he always brings an extra jacket, or he reminds you to get yours. If you forgot, then he’ll back you up with his other, or the one you left behind

Dimitri≈

Sweet baby, you may have it. He’s so lovestruck, he’ll do whatever you want him too. Even if you don’t ask for his jacket, he’ll still give it to you. It’s surprising at how affectionate he can be when you leave him be. He just feels the need to do so, it’s like an instinct.

———

Boring day means nothing to do. Have something on your mind or wanna make a little request, I’m open

[animefreak1145]

What Could Be(Adler x Bell!Reader)

Read This First

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Summary: Bell and Adler try to figure out their path from here. Everyone else can only watch in entertainment or in annoyance.

Or where Bell tries to find her feet and takes control.

Warnings/Tags: Trauma, Recovery from Trauma, Mental Anguish, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Major Character Death, Post!Solovetsky, Post-Canon, Bell!Lives, Implied Sexual Content, COD:BOCW Season 6 Outro Spoilers, COD: Vanguard Pacific Trailer Spoilers, COD: Vanguard Spoilers, Past!Stitch x Bell

A/N: Sequel Fic to What Could Never Be. Happy Anniversary to Cold War!

Words: 5.2k

▞ ▚ ✯ ✯ ✯ ▞ ▚ ✯ ✯ ✯  ��� ✯ ✯ ✯ ▞ ▚ ✯ ✯ ✯ 

“What are you thinking?”

You started from your desk, pausing your scratches to your papers and glances to screen of your computer in the safehouse of Verdansk to see Adler stood behind you, his eyes for you to see as he glanced at the papers in front of you. Your quiet corner in the small safehouse, small compared to the previous one in Berlin, mostly dark outside your desk lamp.

And, you took a glance behind Adler to see Hudson left, unguarded. You looked back to find that Adler was eyeing you. At least somewhat.

You closed your eyes, releasing a sigh as you rubbed your face and raked a hand over your hair to take some stray strands out the way as you faced back to what you were doing.

“Where we go from here,” you say, looking at all the papers in front of you. From one’s you wrote to reports and files that Hudson deemed to be too unimportant or not important enough and therefore safe for you to look through. “It seems this will only get harder. Based on what Captain Butcher said in the bunker and everything else he’s told us since coming with us here, our attention’s may be split.” You stared at the computer screen, blinking at you as you bit the bottom of your inner lip as the name Perseus seemed to say hello and wanted your attention. You looked away back towards the papers, motioning a hand towards them as Adler went to your side. “Finding and figuring out the next Perseus. Cleaning up and solving what Stitch did as Perseus. And now covert operations done by Nazi loyalists all over the world. All of these seem to take precedence but I don’t even know where to even start.”

That, and you finding out a piece of your past has made you once again wonder if the world loves to torture you.

You told Adler and the others about the German WWII bunker, where the other side was where Adler planted his decoy bombs when he wasn’t himself. Adler’s stoic expression almost faltered when you mentioned it but you kept going, reassuring that a Perseus agent known as Fuze handled it but the CIA type made bombs isn’t the reason you felt like they should go down there. Hudson’s suspicious questions and stares didn’t make you falter as you relayed to them that this bunker was a point of interest for Stitch due to it having information about a Projekt but that’s all you got, and they should take the chance and find out what it is before they leave to America. Mason heard German bunker and didn’t seem to need much more convincing and Woods, ever the comrade, didn’t need much either. Especially when you mentioned that agents could be down there trying to collect information too now that Stitch and Naga as well yourself have gone quiet and will be seen as KIA. “What are we waiting for than? Let’s fuck ‘em up!” Hudson was still suspicious, unsurprisingly, with his questions and implications of it being a ploy but the reminder from Adler that you could’ve killed him in those woods would make Hudson silent. It didn’t make his suspicious glare towards you lessen though.

They went inside the bunker, Mason leading with you and Adler next with Hudson and Woods behind. You finding the Nazi paraphernalia just as distasteful but the group was being loud, so it’s no surprise when they entered the only lit room within the bunker that the one inside stated he heard them, his British accent a comfort and his speech making one calm. It also helped his words of what he said to them, the man Captain Butcher and with the Vanguard. You recognizing the name as they all lowered their weapons, you in between Adler’s and Hudson’s side as the man began his story. About all the Nazi’s left. But as he spoke, the Captain kept glancing at you. As if searching your expression. You were confused as to why, until you finally found a part of the story of the Captain’s you couldn’t help but question. Ever the analyst.

“If there are these many covert operations happening, why haven’t we been informed?” Captain Butcher turned his stare at you, squinting his eyes slightly as if he didn’t expect you to speak. You felt Adler shift next to you, arm brushing yours as he adjusted subtly the hold of his gun, but didn’t feel his stare, nor Hudson’s. Seems they were wondering too. “This seems serious. The war wasn’t that long ago and yet there’s a chance of resurgence based on your words.”

“A Russian.” The man said instead of answering, your Russian accent mixed with the American able to be heard as he hummed curiously as he glanced at the others. “And here I thought you American’s will have your spats with Russia forever.”

You kept still but your eyes did slightly tighten at the reminder.

“That shit doesn’t matter,” Mason answered, stepping up slightly now that it’s been long confirmed the man before them is a friendly. “As long as we fight together for the same reasons to make sure the world we live in stays standing, we don’t care who’s from where.”

Captain Butcher chuckled, crossing his arms as he stood and threw a subtle nod in approval.

“No need to remind me. It wasn’t that long ago we all worked together. Us Brits. You Americans. And,” the retired SOE officer glanced at you, “and the Russians. Why do you think I shared the story about the Vanguard? Besides thinking I’m an old wanker desperate for listening ears, that is.”

His amused smooth raspy voice with that accent would make you calm, but his curious stare did not leave. The others noticing as well, Adler stepping slightly in front of you as he squinted his eyes at the Captain, your eyes almost meeting your once handler’s shoulder that would block your vision but you kept your eyes on the elderly scarred man.

Woods took a step forward, confrontational as always as his face formed into a slight scowl.

“What the fuck are you looking at her for than?” You noted that both Mason and Woods took your returning appearance easily. Well, easily compared to Hudson when it was clearly implied if you weren’t there at the grave site with Stitch, Adler would lay dead and they probably would’ve been too. That and all the work you did while with Perseus helping the CIA. You would say it was almost back to how it was before in the safehouse, except they seem to be more protective. You felt odd each time you noticed. Woods made a swooping gesture with his hand towards you. “All that talk about us being Allies once got your—your what, knickers in a twist?”

“Woods,” Hudson warned as Captain Butcher laughed goodnaturedly while Woods exclaimed what but Butcher just waved the comment off.

“Nothing wrong with jokes. It’s just been awhile since I seen that face, darling.”

You blinked, realizing he was talking to you.

“You know me?” You asked, incredulous.

“No, not you personally.” Your confusion grew, brows furrowing deep. “Your mother. Polina. Surprised you didn’t ask more questions about her.”

You felt yourself freeze, jaw hanging as you felt the others look at you just as shocked. Adler moved his gaze back towards Butcher, brows furrowed.

“Polina? Polina Petrova from the Vanguard? What makes you so sure that they’re related?”

Captain Butcher scoffed lightly.

“I’ve worked with the woman for years. That and have seen her files probably more than all the royal families. Despite you seeming to favor your father’s side, darling, I can recognize Polina’s face in you. That, and I heard the woman settled somewhere years ago. ” This time, his brows furrowed as he took in your slack expression. “Why? Don’t tell me none of you knew?”

“I—“ you felt tongue tied, the revelation making your head spin. “I was an orphan. No one raised me.”

You got that when you were with Perseus and the others. You, by yourself, finding supplies near a gulag to sell yourself. Just a child. A kid. One that Perseus picked up. You apparently didn’t share much even when you were young, but Perseus told you it was clear you were alone when you told him once you had no one to go back to.

Lady Nightingale? My mother? That can’t be true.

Captain Butcher didn’t help though, when he said that couldn’t be true before asking where you were born. With you stating Volgograd, which only seemed to hammer it farther when the Captain pointed out Volgograd used to be known as Stalingrad—where Polina grew up. And where the Captain heard she settled once more in the 50’s, him hearing from others that she had a child. You growing paler and paler when you recalled Portnova and Kitsune teasing you once that you were high and above them with you only being three to four years older than them in age.

1953. I was born in 1953. I was in Stalingrad. I have Polina’s face. Perseus saw me. He picked me up. I was his second. I was going to—

You took a stumbling step back, feeling nauseas at all the bits of past you never had before but all falling towards you now. Adler catching you by the arm and even Hudson putting a hand to your back as you felt breaths escape you, seeing from the corner of your eyes that Hudson and Adler shared a look. The both of them seeming to come to the same conclusion and realization you did.

This changes things, you distantly thought as Captain Butcher asked them if he could accompany them to the safehouse with the information he gathered and they can go on what to do next from there. Feeling stares on your person constantly even with Mason’s pat to your back and Woods making dark Nazi jokes promising their deaths to your ear, even you felt their glances towards you. The strongest stare being Hudson’s, which you can’t blame him. You never seem to be able to. This changes everything.

You raised your eyes to meet Adler’s grim ones, his eyes holding yours and having that knowing glint that made you look away with teeth harshly biting your bottom lip. His words at the grave site echoing in your ears.

“They were manipulating you.”

Perseus knew. They all did.

The trip back to the safehouse they had in Verdansk was quiet. Captain Butcher, not seeming to understand the somber serious mood and thinking it’s only because you felt abandoned by your mother a hero, said some additional stories to you about her. But this is so much bigger than being abandoned. The probable root cause of your dangerous loyalty. The others knew it too. So when they arrived to the safehouse, Mason and Woods quickly distracting Captain Butcher and helping him put the files down and make some calls to find out more about the bunker—Hudson and Adler took you to a separate private room where you sat with your hands holding your head with your elbows leaning against the table. The room being your interrogation room a few days prior, but it had a couch across the room from where you sat so you guess it can be a comfort.

But Hudson was a hound in a hunt, determined to get the game.

“You didn’t know? They didn’t tell you anything?”

He didn’t seem like he could believe it, but you couldn’t either as you kept your face hidden in your hands as you quietly said no. The man, who still had his war paint on and glasses free where you can see his tight eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“This is fucking fantastic. Perseus managed to grab a hero of Russia’s daughter, a hero that helped the Allies and therefore us. The man may be dead now, but he knew what he was doing.”

You thought of kind pats to the shoulder and fatherly ones to your head. Your hands tightened on your head, slightly scratching yourself as your throat felt tight.

“Perseus had a fail safe,” Adler agreed, lighting up a cigarette with a click and blowing upwards as he stood more behind Hudson’s form who was across from you in the table, hands splayed on the wood. Adler was frowning deeply, staring intently at you as he took another deep drag in the dimly lit room, the fluorescent lighting above not as bright as it should be. “Able to have a war hero’s daughter for your cause will have anyone want to join it. Just mentioning how great of a soldier Lady Nightingale was in the war and having her daughter be related to her in your group. . . You have a certain pull that other groups and organizations that are like Perseus don’t have.”

A hero of Russia turned terrorist.

You have luck and irony laughing at your face with this.

A war hero’s daughter, to terrorist, to tool of America, to hero herself, to dying on the cliffs. You thought in bitter dark amusement as you stared at the grains of the table before lowering your hand as Hudson and Adler went back and forth on what this could mean and what having you in U.S. land could cause if Russia found out they have you. Whether captured for questioning or on their side. The effect you will have on the Cold War is huge. Adler always said I was the key. He just didn’t know how big.

“You guys must know now,” you toned, eyes staring ahead between the two men who turned to you, your body tense in the seat yet shoulders drooped as you shut your eyes. “This wasn’t how I wanted to say it. . .”

“Say what?” Hudson questioned sternly. You can tell his face was morphed into one of severe lines and narrow eyes. “You have something to add?”

You sighed loudly, mussing your hair as you opened your eyes half lidded as your eyes moved from the frigid Hudson to Adler’s inscrutable expression. Your eyes meeting his studying ones, the hand holding his cigarette keeping the stick a shadow away from his mouth pausing and twitching down and brow arching an uptick, before looking away back towards the couch across from you against the wall that was between their forms as your hand stayed tangled slightly in your hair.

“You guys know. I explained further what Stitch told Adler already. The ways of Perseus. The leader. How there’ll always be one. But this. . .this. . . what Captain Butcher said I—shit.” You chuckled breathlessly as you moved your gaze to the side, hand going over your mouth before saying the curse once more and lowering your to hold your chin. “This. . . is all kinds of fucked up. Ever since that airfield. . .” You turned your gaze to meet Adler’s as you nodded at him with a bitter smile. “You truly got lucky, Adler. You had Perseus all along. At least, the one meant to be before Stitch.”

The silence that followed was a tense thing. You maintaining your stare towards Adler to see a change.

You figured it out when you were with Perseus and the others. The connection of you being his second, the way Perseus spoke to you and the times you were before—you believing in his cause and the actions he did and just being the foolish loyal woman you are for ambitious men. “You put your faith in me, radnaya. The chance to make way for the path, the true path, of what Russia is supposed to be. No gulags. No suffering. Everyone equal.” He flashed an airy smile at you. “We still have much work to be done, my little mouse.” It wasn’t just him. If the others weren’t looking at you with gazes of sympathy or pity, you can spot the glint of deep respect there. Especially when you made an order or command to another for an assistance with a code, they easily fall and listen. And Stitch. . .

Well, Stitch always looked at you as if you were something more.

“You can carry the world, zaya.” He said, lips ghosting over your naked shoulder and leaving a trail all the way up to your neck, voice rough and low in your ears. “Just say the word, and I’ll carry it with you.”

Vikhor. . .I’m sorry.

You feel used and fooled, yet the memories with them, and the past ones they would share to you—you can’t help but look back on. It felt real.

And yet the safehouse did too.

As you stared at Adler, all he did was arch an amused brow at you with his eyes glinting to match along with a ghost of a smirk as he tilted his head at you.

“I got that almost immediately after I saw you in those trees, kid. Combine the information of what Stitch said and the fact of how high up you were in the Collective, well,” Adler took a drag of cigarette, blowing it cooly as he stared down at you and your troubled expression. “It didn’t take much thinking.”

“That is the exact reason we have to hurry back and sort all this shit with Black,” Hudson stated, crossing his arms as he had his narrowed eyes at you. You feared his reaction the most. Adler promised he wouldn’t kill you, didn’t mean others wouldn’t. Hudson than shook his head and released a heavy sigh. “This is just one thing after another. This complicates matters and muddies the water even further on where to go from here.” He than lifted his head and you were pinned beneath his glare, the war paint on his face just adding into how cold he looked as he came closer to your table and putting a flat hand to it. “You complicate matters. Do you understand just how much of a mess you’ve made?” He asked accusingly, harshly.

You can understand the hidden implications of what he wanted to say though.

Do you understand how your life has ruined so many others? A Perseus agent willing to kill millions. Meant to die and be swept under the rug only to go back to Perseus again. With the face of Russia’s greatest.

You bit your tongue, your shoulders straight as you met Hudson’s glare with a subtle sharp look of your own.

Adler broke the tension by telling Hudson to back off, there’s no point in going through these hoops again with you. The fact of the matter is you were one of them now and how to handle having Polina’s daughter with them to the CIA. And to of course keep Captain Butcher hidden about how you were before but you felt like that was a given, with Hudson saying that was an expectation while giving you another scathing look to giving one to Adler when the scarred man added that he was sure you would meet every expectation like before. You felt like Hudson had a sharp retort to that, but they got interrupted by Mason knocking on the door.

That was just yesterday, and now you’re here basically being guarded constantly but making it seem like nothing due to Captain Butcher’s presence. The British man can’t know who you were before. Thankfully, with the work he’s focusing with the covert Nazi operations and trying to track a suitable team for the job has been keeping him busy.

And you?

You’re just trying to make sure you’re of use. And if that means trying to juggle Perseus and this Nazi business. . .well. You always seen yourself as a multitasker.

Adler, who was silent as he thought about your question, moved and leaned against your desk by your chair and grabbed a paper you were writing on as you blinked.

“Let’s start with this.”

You glanced at the paper he took and was studying, leaning your back against the chair.

“That is one of the layout’s I was able to memorize during my time with them. A safehouse close to Kyrgyzstan,” you explained as Adler scanned through the paper before picking up another one, you easily switching the topic without him having to say anything. “Another safehouse we transferred to the Netherlands. In Emmen. We bounced around a lot. They were really careful when it came to not staying in one place for long.”

Adler hummed, looking at the drawn layouts of buildings and some parts where you had question marks if you weren’t able to fully explore the building.

“How many safehouses you went through exactly?”

“Seven,” you answered as you peered up at the man, observing how well he looked compared to days prior. Hair styled once more compared to how disheveled it was when you first saw him after three years. His beard trimmed but not shaved to the point of what you remember, with the slight shadow. You wonder what he would look like cleanly shaven. Your eyes darted to the papers he had in his hands when he glanced at you, hoping he didn’t notice. “Some stays were longer than most. But never a set building. I don’t think we ever went to a place that can be seen as the main headquarters. . .” You muttered almost to yourself, your suspicion of the others knowing only growing. Now only being muddled with the information you’ve learned.

You felt Adler’s stare at you at your last sentence but focused back onto the papers and over his shoulder to the desk to see the others you have.

“Are you still working on the others?” He picked up another paper, holding the information you know of the Perseus’ agent—Fuze. “And the other agents?”

“Yes and no.” Adler gave you an inquisitive stare as you moved on, tapping a finger against your desk and throwing the man a slight smile. “I’m waiting on what exactly we’re going to do from here after we go to America. I know you meant what you said, Adler. But that doesn’t mean Hudson or Black won’t like to see me flayed for being a commie bitch. Besides, we’ll have to plan accordingly on what we’re aiming for.”

You saw Adler’s expression turn unreadable outside squinting down at you slightly when you mentioned Hudson and Black, tilting his head down more to stare down at you and you took note that his hair moved with the movement to be more across his forehead. Adler lowered the papers back on your desk, hands leaning against on either side with the one closest to your side and your own hand mere inches away.

“You shouldn’t worry about those two, although I get it. Still, it would be more an advantage if they keep you.” Adler explained calmly and trying to meet your eyes but you were focusing on the computer screen once more. The Perseus letters flashing as you listened. “You’re too valuable, kid. Even without the knowledge of your parentage and who you are. You have knowledge no one else does, even though you think it may not be much. It’s enough.” Your gaze lowered, biting your inner cheek. You know all your value is in what you know, like before. Still. It stings. Seeing that he could catch your gaze, he sighed through his nose and gazed ahead, moving a hand to his dark pants to take out his box of cigarettes. “Besides, we might not even go back yet. You said yourself that those with Perseus were interested in the information in the bunker. Perseus being mixed with Nazi’s, it won’t bode well.”

You shook your head as Adler put the nicotine filled stick in his mouth, preparing to light it with his customary zippo.

“I doubt it’s for that. We hate those vermin like the rest of the world. . . they may be interested in these covert Nazi operations as a sort of inspiration, however. Perhaps use them for a time but kill them once they got what they wish. A Projekt that Captain Butcher mentioned or something.” You than glanced at him, the click of his lighter creating the flame as he lit the cigarette, frowning. “We shouldn’t stay here this long. We’ll need rest. You—” that got his attention as his eyes moved down towards yours as he took his first drag but you already moved your gaze towards his arms that were exposed, where you spotted the pale spot on his skin basically a week prior and where he looked exhausted despite his straightened shoulders. “You were recently deprogrammed, Adler. That. . . isn’t something to make light of. Trust me. And I understand. The longer we wait the more they can plan together now that. . .that Stitch and Naga are gone.”

You almost slipped that time. You do not think Adler will like you calling Stitch by his real name instead of his moniker. But it’s been getting difficult.

Still, you find this Adler an odd thing. He’s been acting different you noted. Not just with the stray touches the past few days, but his stares towards you were different. You felt like in the safehouse, with his glasses on his head, he would study you as if you were a curiosity that he wished to unveil. Intense in his assessment at times you recall, but closed off to his thoughts due to those shades that served as a wall. He was careful.

But here, without his aviators and his face being more open due to you being able to see his eyes, you can gather that he still wants to observe you. But it’s more considering looks, searching in a way where he always seemed to want to grab your chin to make sure their gazes can meet. His expression still being seen as apathetic to others but more languidly casual to you. Yet,  he’s turned rash.

Not to say you aren’t aware the man can’t be reckless with how he works. You still have your memories of Vietnam after all. Recklessness and impulsiveness may be needed for missions. It’s the difference of death or survival. So you are accustomed to his ways where others may deem his actions insane.

But the fact that he purposefully brought a light team to meet Stitch at the mall, knowing it was a trap yet not bringing or calling for backup, the way he easily went straight towards the mission after just being deprogrammed, how he didn’t pause to consider that Stitch may have backup in the forest with the grave site and went in alone, and how he wishes to even go even further without any rest or downtime. . .

He’s grown desperate throughout the years, you realize with another tap to the desk and in deep thought. Blinded to catch a mere whiff of Perseus where he throws his well-being and even others out the way. As long as he catches him.

But now he’ll never catch him. Because Perseus is dead.

Yet, not really. For there will always be another Perseus. A cycle that can be as never ending like how there is life, there will be death.

Adler couldn’t even be satisfied in another way. You stole his revenge to Stitch and even Naga from him.

But you found you killing them yourself was necessary. For if you didn’t kill Naga, he would’ve most likely killed either you or Adler next if you shot Stitch before him. And Stitch. . . You had to kill Stitch because. . .

“Mon zaya.”

Because. . .

. . .

You had to.

Did I ? What did I create if Adler beforehand was already hungry for blood? How far will he go now for just a drop of it in order to take Perseus as a whole down?

You would grow pale at the possibilities, if you weren’t a monster yourself. Loyal that you are.

The one who was willing to kill millions for one and save millions for another.

“He loved you. And you killed him. Did you?”

And who killed someone who loved you.

Adler’s voice echoed in your mind once more, the way his gaze seemed to bore up into yours in the forest. It was strange. The lighting on his face. For a moment, his eyes appeared green instead of blue.

“So you understand.”

Understand what?

This time, the Adler next to you leaning against your desk, spoke. His words making you start and eyes dart towards him.

“You loved him,” he said, tilting his head towards you and clear blue eyes on you with smoke trailing up from the cigarette in his left hand. You could only stare, silent. Words trapped on your tongue from the man’s hawkish gaze. He took a slow, steady drag, his next words being accompanied with smoke but careful to not have it go towards your face. “At least, in your own way. Even after finding out that they were using you. Tell me. How can you love a man like that?”

I love a man like you.

You kept your mouth shut, biting your tongue.

You didn’t bother being surprised at his observation. He can read you easily. He knows you more deeply than anyone. More than you know him, even though the only other who knows him as equal as you is Sims. And yet, you still can’t read his thoughts as well as he can do you.

You’ve long gotten over the frustration of that. Instead just feeling annoyed acceptance at the fact.

You wonder if he even knows what he’s asking. Because the way he set up the question, it’s not meant to be surface level and taken at face value. Which already answers enough.

For Adler always knows what he’s doing.

Seeing that you will keep your silence, your eyes lowering back to the papers on your desk and how close their hands are, Adler switched tactics. Using the ash tray on the shelves on your desk over you to tap his cigarette against it.

“Look at me, Bell.”

He’s been calling you by that name since the reunion. The others as well. And the stray touches he’s done has been more than a comfort than anything, so his fingers grazing your hand as he said that wasn’t to blame either. No. All you heard was his commanding tone, voice firm and you were transported back into the gurney with an equal firm touch to your jaw and you flinched. Pulling your hand quickly back to your lap, as if burned and your head bowed with gaze to your lap and heart pounding against your chest. From the corner of your eye, you could see Adler grew tense before he released a defeated sigh along with a quiet apology and snuffing out his cigarette as he said he’ll leave you to it.

He was gone by the time you raised your gaze and before you could think to stop him.

▞ ▚ 

▞ ▚ 

 ▛ 

A/N: I watched the Vanguard Campaign, saw Polina , and basically the whole time I was watching it I was thinking to myself that I hope she lives because that would give Bell an in canon familial relationship with someone.

It would also make sense that Perseus would want someone that is Polina's offspring. Really good for his brand. Now, Perseus is nice, but he was using Bell in a way. But he uses everybody. Just like everybody uses anybody. Still, that must've stung for Bell. Adler, like always, seems to know best.

And since I watched the campaign, and even before with that Pacific trailer--I've been thinking to continue this universe with Adler x Bell x Past!Stitch and just expanding it. I may have gotten out of hand but oh well. Expect the next chapter soon! This is for fun and for the anniversary of Cold War! Thank you to the OG's of this fandom, love you guys! <3

Tell me if you wish to be tagged for my future works or to not be tagged.

Tags: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir-deactivated20211103 @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zombiequeennxx @writer-of-various @holy-crap-i-am-russell-adler @zulema117-blog @kylezkie4adler

[keiossance]

Perseus/Adler/Stitch: *exists & breathes*

The fandom & (probably) Bell:

Saw this in Tiktok and I had to do it

(Not guilty with having such thoughts 😎🍸)

[whimsywispsblog]

Spades

As the deafening sounds of the chopper and the gush of dry wind and dust came to a halt, Vikhor looked up to the warm orange skies one last time before turning away towards the man he despised the most. But he wasn't going to let that ruin his admiration towards the brief moment of tranquillity he got. Probably the last angelic hush he would ever get. It was nice, almost like a fully finished circle. The first time he ever got to enjoy such a serene evening was when he was a newly married man. Well, a few seconds, freshly married man. The skies were orange too then, but with more joy and laughter and kisses. (Y/N). A small ghostly smile appeared on Vikhor's lips briefly, vanishing just as fast as he finally turned towards his arch-nemesis: Russell Adler. Capitalist dog. A monster. Killer. Spawn of the devil destined to burn and rot in hell.

And the killer of Vikhor's wife.

And as a cherry-on-top of his grim horrendous situation, Adler never even knew that he was the one who killed (Y/N). In fact, he was never even aware of her existence. She was just another chess-pawn that he destroyed ruthlessly.

When Vikhor was taken in by the CIA for interrogation, he bit his tongue harshly. He resisted that strong urge to spit in Adler's face, telling him about the death of his wife, telling him that his hands were dripping with the blood of his lover. But Adler was a man devoid of emotions when it came to his enemies. Especially the Soviets. He didn't care for whoever he killed- be it man, woman or child. They were all the same to him: A threat to their way of life. A typical progeny of the McCarthy Era. Vikhor knew very well that the death of his woman would hardly shake a man like Adler. In fact, he would be satisfied, and that is something Vikhor vehemently refused to give him. And so, he swallowed it down.

As Adler kept throwing curses and harmless threats at Vikhor, he could hardly process whatever Adler was shooting at him. His mind was still stuck with the soft evening glow of the skies and his lover's giggles that sounded like the gentle chiming of the wind-bells during the first spring: Warm and cheery. It was a perfect day. It was one of the many memories that kept him alive during his vile and gruesome time in the Gulag. As he lay on the cold, wet, dirty floors infested with bugs and mice, he imagined (Y/N)'s loving hugs and kisses engulfing him as he buried his face deep in her soft breasts, his hair and face caressed by her dainty hands and her sweet voice telling him, "Shhh...I am here." On days he would be battered and beaten by the other inmates in the Gulag, he terribly missed her delicate hands tending to his wounds and his festering infectious injuries. But it was all a distant, broken memory. He had no one as he lay on the floor curled, vulnerable and cold. Betrayed and shattered. Humiliated. All day, he would pray to the heavens begging them to end his suffering. To let him see his girl again, somewhere in the afterlife. Sitting by a riverbank, her legs in the water, splashing it with her feet as she played with the little fishes. She would be in her little white dress, her hair let loose and the wisps of stray hair flying with the sudden gush of cold wind. But fate had abandoned him. Or perhaps, it had different plans.

After joining Perseus, Vikhor's first impulsive decision was to kill Adler, not show him the mercy he showed him. But then killing him would mean letting Adler have an easy way out. No. He had to suffer in agony, and he had to hate every moment of his life, and he had to regret every choice he ever made.

Adler was a man run by a deep passionate hatred towards one person- The leader of Perseus, who he believed was...Perseus. Typical American logic. After his leader's died in '83, Vikhor took the perfect opportunity to start his new game- one where he would run the show and leave Adler be the man who lost everything. It was like a game of dominos- one event to another, Adler lost everything one by one. First his sanity, next his honour and finally, his ultimate life goal: Perseus. It was a success.

Vikhor looked at Adler, and he was still barking like a dumb dog, not knowing what he had just lost.

"Where is Perseus?!"

They never learn.

"Here. Cancer took him in '83" Vikhor pointed to a tombstone. Adler's face darkened. A wave of shame and despair washed over him as he felt his throat tightening. Adler lost his mission. He lost the sails that helped him navigate through the uncharted, unforgiving waters of his Project Perseus. Vikhor smirked. Victory. His wish had been fulfilled. And now, there was just one last wish he wanted and one he knew he was close to getting: Death.

Death's sweet embrace. But for Vikhor, it was going to be (Y/N)'s sweet embrace.

Vikhor turned to the evening skies one more time. He wanted it to be ingrained deeply in his soul- the chill, the vanilla orange swirls of the sky, the trees and his vivid imagination of (Y/N) hopping somewhere amid the woods, smiling brightly at him. He shut his eyes gently, ready to be reunited with her.

The shots were fired.

His eyes never opened again. To others, it would have been a brutal murder, a war crime. But to Vikhor, it was a peaceful death. Peace. One thing he never had. Maybe the closest thing he achieved to being peaceful was with (Y/N). But it was short-lived. However, that day, he earned his eternal peace. A small pleasant smile curled on his lips as he gave his last breath, his body going numb and cold with the last brassy rays of the evening sunshine.

I am coming home, my love.

A/N: So this was a story written on a whim. In the Call of Duty wiki, it was mentioned that the King of Spades signified "a widower, a man in anger or difficulty, and one given to inebriety". And in one of the Cold War trailers, Vikhor's picture was next to the spades, hence where I got my title and my story plot.

[jesuiscalmedammit]

Surprise || [Russell Adler x fem!Bell]

"Oh, boo-hoo, 'I should kill you for what you did to me,' he says," you said in a mocking voice as you slowly walked over to Stitch.

Russell's heart rate jumped when his eyes landed on you. At first he didn't want to believe it. It had been so long since you ran away, and they didn't even know where you were and what you were doing. A part of him hoped you just wanted to be alone, to be away from him, but at the same time he knew witness protection would've given you the same benefits.

And now that you stood by Stitch's side, it became crystal clear whose side you were on. There was no doubt it was on him, after all he had been the one who brainwashed and manipulated you. He pushed you this far and now he had to deal with the consequences.

Lowering his gun a little, he gulped and tried to pull himself together. "Bell. What are you doing here?" he asked as calmly as he could.

"I'm only here out of morbid curiosity," you replied with a shrug. For a quick moment you glanced over at Stitch before turning your attention back to Russell. "I knew what he was planning to do and I wanted to see where this was going. And before you think about doing something stupid," you said, looking over at the trio of Mason, Woods and Hudson, "I have snipers around the place. They'll shoot you before you could pull the trigger."

"So your voice... I really heard it, didn't I?" Russell asked, referring to a faint memory from after his kidnapping. You nodded with a wide grin as you folded your hands behind your back. "Did you come here to kill me?"

Letting out an annoyed groan, you said, "Like I said, I'm only here to see where Stitch's plan is going. He didn't tell me much and I was curious."

-

(I might write a part 2 for this AU ending.)

[wfanfic56]

Closeness | Normal life | Stitch x Reader

Chapter 3

“Just one more step and your session is over for today" Slobodan said while holding Vikhor during his walk. It was almost six months since you found him in the forest, and three months since you weren’t at the safehouse. 

Slobodan and Maria stayed with him, watching him over and taking care of him, while you were on your way to find his family. Brother,sister,parents, grandparents or pets. You just wanted to find someone who he’s related to. 

After three exausting months, you came back with a picture. Moscow is big city and you needed few days to find his apartment where he lived. It was empty, furniture was torn apart, books shelf were all over the place. You searched around and you found that picture. There was Vikhor with his mother he had described you, and unknown older man in green army coat. So you picked it up and went back.

You entered the safehouse and you couldn’t believe it. Vikhor was walking, slowly but surely. After seeing you he froze.

“Абсолютно невозможно/ Impossible”

“Hey Vik!”

“Heey Y/N!" He slowly approached to you and hugged you "I thought something happened to you. That you were angry or something. Slobodan and Maria didn’t want to tell me where you were. Was it everything okay on your trip, wherever you were?”

“It was. And I found something. *you showed him the picture* It was in drawer in your bedside table. I was in Moscow looking for your family but I didn’t find anyone.” Vikhor looked at you, he’s eyes slowly soaking with tears.

“You went to Moscow only because of this? Y/N, this is the dumbest thing you ever done. Don’t you EVER do this again!” His reaction surprised you. It was unexpected reaction from him. Slobodan ran downstairs and he stood there watching you two. Vikhor turned around and went back to his room. 

“Ako hoćeš, mogu mu noge polomit. Kad bude molio za milost, slomit ću mu vilicu./ If you want, I can break his legs, and when he begs for mercy, I will break his jaw.” you looked at him and it was a sign that he crossed the line.

You let him be in his room, you didn't want to make things worse, so you started unpacking your things from your bags, and getting them in their place. You prepared some clothes for later and went in bathroom to take a shower.

You took off your clothes and went in, and after few moments, while you were washing yourself with lukewarm water, you felt someone's hands on your waist. As you wanted to turn around, he put his chin on your shoulder and hugged you from behind.

You aren't used to this closeness, but you're enjoying it. You look down to his hands and his tattoos revealed him, and just as you wanted to speak, he spoke before you.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you earlier. This is the best gift you could give to me -memories. But you could have been killed, because somewhere in that apartment is bomb planted, and if it was behind the drawer, it would blow you up. That's why I was angry. And this isn't some excuse, for what I've done, and if you're angry that's alright, but next time, if you want something like this, ask me."

"Vik, I-"

"Y/N, I'm not angry, I am scared. This is the first time I am scared because I could loose someone. The way you just disappeared for 3 months got me crazy, and the way you got back here and with that picture from that apartment that was risky and everything-"

"-can you just shut up and enjoy in this shower?" God, how much he waited for that, and he got his chance.

"Yes, ma'am." was all he could say before he started washing your whole body.

[zulema117-blog]

I wanted to make a mini comic of these two

[snowgoldwaylon]

Snowgoldwaylon's Masterlist!

I will NOT write about:

Drug addiction.

Addiction to anything serious or harmful in anyway.

Any kind of sexual assault. That isn't tolerated on my blog.

Racism. I also don't accept the "oh I was just joking."

Cheating, infidelity, or r@pe.

Key: 🌟 means it contains smut/NSFW

🌠 means it has angst

👣 means family oriented/pregnancy.

Russell Adler: 🕶

Age Gap Headcannon

Cosmos and Cauldrons

Slipped Away part one part two part three🌠

Sleep Headcannon

How Do We Fix This? 🌠

Hang On!

Can I Have One Last Kiss? Part Two Part Three🌠

Wait, Does That Make Three of Us?👣

No More Second Chances, X Alex Mason Part Two🌠

After All This Time

The Outfield

Frank Woods: 🏹

I've Got You! Part one Part two

You What??

No Matter What

Likes and Dislikes Headcannon

Family Headcannon 👣

Auf Wiederseh'n PT. 2

I'm Gonna Rock You

Alex Mason: 🌞

All Night Long

Backyard Boy

20 Years Later 👣🌟

Ring of Fire

Eleazar "Lazar" Azoulay: 🍻

Soft Lazar Headcannon

New Dad Lazar Headcannons 👣

Lawrence Sims: 🧭

Relief

New House Headcannon

Helen Park: 🇬🇧

Life Saving Surgey Headcannon

Kapano "Naga" Vang: 🎭

And That's When You Came

Not So Rough After All

NSFW Headcannon 🌟

Harry Stone: ♠️

S/O Headcannon 🌟

Shane Sparks: ⚡

Date Night Headcannon 🌟

Dimitri Belikov: 🚁

You Call That Sneaky??

Traitor Headcannon🌠

Raul Menendez: 🇳🇮

Whisper of Roses, Part One Part Two

Nightclubbing

Family Headcannon 🌟

Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin: ⚰

Anything for You 🌟

Cold Truths 🌠

John Rambo: 🪖

Hurt reader Headcannon

Grigori Weaver: 🎃

New Dad Headcannon

A Night At The Opera

Samantha Maxis: 🧟‍♀️

Hanging out with the Safehouse Crew HC!

Freya 'Wraith' Helvig: ❄

Gender Neutral Headcannon!

Ingo Beck: 🇧🇪

Smut Headcannon!

[cass-the-mess]

🌺 About Me 🌺 I'm Cass, I'm 24

I'm an avid reader of all things and more recently and tentatively, a writer as well. I write mostly for myself and to help clear my mind, therefore I am not consistent in producing material, but I'm ever so grateful to see that people enjoy what I put out, and it motivates me to write even more!

*** This blog is mainly NSFW, what I post and repost may containt adult themes, please browse at your own risk, I do not want to interact with minors and I will block accounts that do not display their age on their blogs. ***

💫 My interests as of now are mainly Baldur's Gate 3, Cyberpunk 2077, God of War, Call of Duty Cold War & Call of Duty Modern Warfare II.

💫 I do not follow a set schedule for writing (even though I wish I could), but I do tend to post in advance when I'm planning to release something!

💫 I'm a veterinary nurse and passionate about all things animal health and welfare, so you might randomly see me post about such things to raise awareness! I am open to questions, but please know that I can only offer advice and any medical concerns should be addressed by a veterinarian! ❣️🐶

🌺 Masterlist 🌺 Call of Duty 🌺

** PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS FOR EACH WORK, THERE MAY BE THEMES THAT COULD MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE **

Callsign: Zero (18+ Captain John Price X Reader) (Ongoing Series on AO3 - ON HIATUS)

2 years ago you saved John Price from an untimely death, only to disapear without a trace before he could thank you properly for getting him back home safe. You show up again 2 years later to help the task force defeat a new enemy. Tensions rise as you show your true colors and navigate through unresolved issues that puts you and your new team at risk. Are you willing to finally open up or do you keep pushing everyone away to keep yourself "safe".

TW for each chapter may differ, I flagged specific ones at the beginning of each new chapter, but general cw for canon typical violence, gore, past s*xual trauma.

Was it Real (18+ Vikhor "Stitch" Kuzmin x Bell! Reader)

Bell manages to break out of Adler's mind control early on in the game. She infiltrates the KGB to hopefully reconnect with the current leader of Perseus himself Stitch, angst ensues, old feelings emerge, betrayal happens, they deal with it in the most reasonable way: Shmex :)

CW: Dark themes, dubious content, SMUT, office sex, ex-lovers to enemies to lovers? Stitch is a bad guy ish, possessive sex, degrading, PWP, canon typical violence (this is COD) but not the main theme of this, they're in love but it's complicated because she's a double agent, not really a happy ending but also not a sad ending.

Take me Home (18+ due to violent & distressing themes Captain John Price x Reader)

What if Price was the one to fall by the hands of Makarov?

TW: Major character death, blood, gore, injury description, ANGST!! No happy ending here folks.

🌺 Masterlist 🌺 Baldur's Gate 3 🌺

To Build a Home (18+ Halsin x Durge!Reader x Astarion) (WIP)

Set 6 months after the events of the game, you deal with the aftermath of rejecting Bhaal and the urge, you and Astarion finally decide to go see Halsin in Thaniel's realm in hopes of rekindling your old flames.

TW: TBA

[quizzyisdone]

A Little Snippet From an Upcoming Stitch x Bell Oneshot

This is obviously a rough draft, so it’s not very good, but I thought I’d share with you guys to give you a taste of what’s coming soon. An appetizer, if you will.

“L/N and Arash haven’t been seen in days, and my weapons are nowhere to be found!” Volkov slammed his fist on the table in the makeshift meeting room, yelling in a thick German accent. “You’re supposed to have a tight leash on those two. I need those weapons.” He pointed to the elder man sitting at the end of the table, and Stitch couldn’t help but notice the empty seat next to Perseus. You’re supposed to be there. That spot is reserved only for you.

“Comrade, I’m shocked to hear that you are more concerned over some weapons than the lives of our friends.” Perseus said in his usual calm and collected tone with his gloved hands clasped together, but the furrow of his brows, the way his knuckles turned nearly white from his grip, and the slight frown upon his face betrayed him. Perseus was angry. “We can get more weapons, but we can’t replace our own little Y/N.”

What about Arash? Stitch smirked beneath his mask, admittedly a bit amused at the old man’s deliberate omission of him in his statement, despite the circumstances of this little meeting.

[softcallofdutyimagines]

Hey! Love your blog!

Btw, could you do Stitch with a s/o who's a really sweet and kind person?

DNSJSKSJSJ !!!!!!! I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE THAT LOVES THIS TROPE. I swear, the like terrifying, not a great person x the super sweet cinnamon roll is a MOOD 🥺

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

---

Ok, first of all, you are kept VERY secret

Partially bc he'd probably lose some credit for having an S/O period, but mostly to protect you from everyone else

Even if you were some crazy, ex kgb super agent or something, you know, someone who could stand up to a little uh "rough interigation", he still wouldn't want you getting captured and used against him

But anyway, when he's with you, you get to see a whole other side of him

A side that ONLY you see, tbh

Some guys say that their gf can bring out the devil in them, but for you and stitch, it's more like bringing the lovely dovey out lmao

Honestly, this aspect of him probably wouldn't exist without your influence

He's all too aware that he's getting too soft around you, but he never bothers you about it

Stitch is very cuddly in private and he loves to be babied

You know, like he'll put his head in your lap and so you can stroke his cheek or something like that

If anyone found out, he'd be ruined

But luckily, he trusts you to keep a secret

Your relationship is at such a point that he can confidently say that he'd kill and die for, easy

He's never had such a close, personal, and loving relationship with anyone before he met you

And if anything or anyone tried to come between that? No way

When he can, he will secretly bring you cute little gifts, like a small stuffed animal or some flowers

He knows you love things like that, and nothing makes him happier then seeing you happy

Besides, it increases his chances of receiving pets from you later on

Not that that's normally unlikely :)

[yunatheintrovert]

you’re a beautiful broken thing | Stitch/Fem!Bell AU

“мой верный.”

Cool leather brushed against your lips. You felt a gloved finger lightly push past your lips, ever so slightly nicking your canine. You looked up to see a familiar scarred eye staring down thoughtfully at you. 

It was rare for him to take his mask off. He usually kept it on. But there were quiet, little moments like this where he’d silently take it off and stare down at you like that before leaning down to kiss you. 

There was nothing gentle, tender about it. 

But you didn’t need that. 

You closed your eyes, letting yourself simply experience the familiarity of it over you. It was an anchor amongst nothing, 

It was so easy to forget.

A tiny whisper at the back of your mind dared to ask what you had forgotten but you ignored it. You didn’t know what it was. 

“В сломанных вещах есть красота.” he whispered against your lips. You brought your hand to his face, brushing the skin near the scar but never getting so far as to touch the scar. 

You had scars too. 

And he knew better than to touch certain ones. 

After he pulled away, you felt the familiar shape of the gas mask he had given to you once again go over your face. Large gloved hands reach behind your head, easily securing the straps and tightening them. 

You felt a firm pressure on your chin, tilting your head to look at him. 

You opened your eyes only to see Stitch smile as he spoke in English this time.

“We’ve got a job to do.” 

_____________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: This was just a short little snippet I wrote after talking with some people on the Thotlers discord server about the idea of Adler being distant from Bell and Bell then going missing or getting kidnapped and then manipulated/brainwashed by Stitch who exploits the conditioning Adler implemented in Bell with MK Ultra. Also, I swear it seems like I’m writing pairings that are either not very well-known at all or just didn’t exist until now XD. Either way, I’m having fun! I’m definitely thinking of writing some Adler/Fem!Bell content for this AU. Thanks for reading this short little snippet!

[animefreak1145]

What Could Be(Adler x Bell!Reader)

Read This First

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Summary: Bell and Adler try to figure out their path from here. Everyone else can only watch in entertainment or in annoyance.

Or where Bell tries to find her feet and takes control.

Warnings/Tags: Trauma, Recovery from Trauma, Mental Anguish, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Major Character Death, Post!Solovetsky, Post-Canon, Bell!Lives, Implied Sexual Content, COD:BOCW Season 6 Outro Spoilers, COD: Vanguard Pacific Trailer Spoilers, COD: Vanguard Spoilers, Past!Stitch x Bell

A/N: Sequel Fic to What Could Never Be. Happy Anniversary to Cold War! I still want scruffy Adler S6 gifs. Also, Hudson is growing on me.

Words: 6.9k

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It’s a been few days since the interrogation that turned more into you just explaining the intricacies of Perseus to Black and Hudson and even Adler once it was established that Black deemed you useful.

From sharing the various safehouses, to the members real names, to who you believed the top three candidates that could be the next leader and what tactics they would use if they were in charge.

Two being Portnova and Kitsune. They were both dangerous and sly with their work—even more deadly due to their skills in communications and technology and with how the Numbers station can be spread through those two things, it can be a problem if either of them became Perseus. It didn’t help that they were by you when you did your codes, watching and learning from you since you were the best despite how Portnova was efficient in her own right.

The third being Jackal. Jackal was close to Naga and Stitch, but the man was volatile and unnecessarily violent when the situation didn’t call for it. His role as leader would be more explosive and you wouldn’t be surprised if Fuze would become the man’s closest confidant if it could create chaos everywhere with bombs and deaths following. Chaos mixing with the insanity of the Numbers and sleeper agents isn’t something the world needs. Especially since they have to deal with the multiple sleeper agents on the CIA’s side still and find a way to either rewire or deprogram all of them before heading out in missions.

Although your mouth and throat felt dry from all the talking, thinking to yourself you may dislike Black more than Hudson, your mood lifted when you finally exited the room to meet Adler’s approving nod at you along with his eyes gleaming to match before driving you to an apartment complex a mile away from Langley and you promptly knocking out when you thanked him and closed the door when he left after explaining when he’ll get you.

You had trouble sleeping, but you slept enough. Even if you had to quite literally shake away images of a body with a bullet in their head with a grave site having a flower inscription not far.

After that, Adler picking you up in the morning to take you to Langley and sketch out a plan with him and Hudson. Barely any time at all for a break outside eating or a cup of coffee in the room they chose to cover all of this. The room being your own conference room and might as well be your office and Adler’s new one. You heard he had his own but he’s been sticking with you all this time, the room practically just filled with nicotine and smoke if the two filled ash trays had anything to say about it that the man would have to clean up as he chose who they’ll have in the team for when they head out.

The two of you still have avoided speaking about the elephant in the room. Or rather elephants. It seems you and Adler will just keep pretending that nothing occurred and there’s nothing to speak on about the last three years or what happened three years ago. It didn’t help with how the tension of something unspoken would rise at times, when their hands would graze with passing files or writing equipment or his lighter that he had on the table that somehow got on your side. Both of you not wearing gloves able to truly feel the brush of fingers, no matter how slight and wishing for a firmer touch. Nor when the two of you would sit close together over their plan, thighs touching with shoulders grazing and you having to be mindful to not look to the side where you would feel Adler’s stare on you. Fearing what may happen if you looked and saw his handsome face close to yours, able to fully see his eyes that aren’t hidden from you from the shades he liked to use and has been hanging from the collar of his button up shirts that were apart of the uniform for the CIA.

Too soon, you would tell yourself. The memories with Perseus and Stitch not able to go away no matter how many times you tell yourself they used you like the CIA. But they didn’t quite did. Because they actually cared and laughed with you and told you past memories you’ll never be able to remember yourself and only imagine. It’s still too soon.

Adler seemed to be able to read on why you couldn’t quite meet his eyes when it was just the two of you, his lips pressing once or jaw ticking and he would get distant again.

And this is where you felt like the two of you should talk. They won’t be able to understand each other if they don’t speak on it—about your relationship with Perseus and Stitch—Adler’s mortal enemies and rivals. But, again, you wonder what is the point.

It’ll just turn to an argument.

The both of you have been cordial, even friendly with one another despite their past, and you would rather keep it. Past and present tensions aside.

“I dreamed of you.”

Besides that, your concern for Adler and his insane need for Perseus hasn’t lessened. He truly won’t give up and the amount of time the both of you just focused on those within Perseus and not the other concerns about the Numbers program and how to stop it or what Captain Butcher is focused about. You admit you’re indulging him quite heavily with everything you know, staying as late as you will it until the both of you decide to call it a day.

But when the two of you are silent and going through files, you think about Adler being reckless with his light team. About easily accepting to get back into the fray after being kidnapped and tortured not even two weeks later. To go back again without a pause after being deprogrammed.

And your concern turns to anger when you think about who would had to have ordered and given approval. For the more you thought on it, the more you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

So when Adler stepped out the room to get more files on another floor, you took your chance with the other man in the room as you kept your eyes on the door where Adler just left.

“Sir, we need to speak about Adler.”

Hudson looked up from his file and the projector he was messing with that had a layout of a Perseus safehouse, seeing the back of your head before you turned and stared over at him—serious, and your brows pinched.

Hudson released a sigh through his nose.

“So you’ve noticed it as well.” At your nod, the man sighed again as he put the file atop the projector and crossed his arms, eyes behind black aviators on you. “He won’t stop. And with you giving all this information over, even though he knows that Perseus fucker is dead along with Stitch, it’s only made the man scramble. But he’s the best equipped when it comes to this. Even now. He’s going to stay on it. Especially if you keep feeding him.”

You frowned, turning yourself in your chair towards the man at his clear disapproval. You can already tell this conversation won’t end well.

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of sir—“ he didn’t scoff, but he might as well have when he huffed out his nose. “—but I’m just giving information. We’re all aware that Perseus can be never ending. Kill one, five more can take the place as the head. I know if we take out the next head so soon after the last one though, they’ll scramble. That’s not what I speak on though. Adler. . . he needs someone to pull him back from doing something reckless when we’re out in missions.”

“And you think it should be you?” Your silence and stare was your answer as Hudson shook his head, saying something to himself you didn’t hear, your eyes narrowing.

“Fine. Than what happened to Sims? He can maybe cool Adler better than anyone else.”

“Retired.” Your eyes widened as Hudson placed his hands on his hips, continuing measuredly. “Has been since last year. He would’ve been part of the team to rescue Adler from Laos.”

Something doesn’t add up. Sims would’ve came right back in if he knew what happened to his oldest friend.

Your blood ran cold as your eyes focused on the severe man.

“You didn’t tell him,” you say in disbelief, Hudson turning his head at you but keeping silent as his brows furrowed. You grew tense, scowling as you put a hand to the table and half rising out of your seat. “You didn’t tell him?! Why wouldn’t—what do you think Adler must be thinking in his mind, huh? His best friend nowhere to be seen in any of the operations since he got kidnapped and tortured and—“

“Watch your tone, Bell.” Hudson warned, cooly. Your mouth clicking shut, but your scowl still on your face. “Sims stated before he didn’t wish to come back. He wanted to live a life, as much as one as he could despite everything he’s seen. His words not mine. You expect me to take that away from him?” You bit your inner cheek, watching how tense the man’s shoulders were before he spread an arm out. “Bring him back to this,” he motioned at all the files and papers strewn across the table and the projector. “Adler should’ve known better. And you need to know to not presume.”

You rose from your chair this time at that, snapping.

“How would’ve Adler gotten approval for such a mission to the mall? With a light team? If he didn’t get approval than he wouldn’t have—“

“Hold the fuck up and watch your tone, agent. You think I was aware of what Adler was doing in the ass crack of Germany?” Your brows furrowed, Hudson’s lips forming a thin knowing smile. “You did. You know what happens when you assume? No wonder you don’t fucking like me. You think I didn’t notice?” He asked in response to your slight wide of the eyes, hand gesturing to himself.

Frankly, no you didn’t. You don’t make your distaste as obvious as he does. At least, you thought. You slowly moved back to your seat, your brows heavily furrowed.

Hudson scoffed, shaking his head at you as he than sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before letting his arm fall back to his side after a few moments of silence.

“Adler left Berlin with his team to New Jersey without so much as a check in he was following a lead. Next thing I know, tracked down his heli with his team dead and him MIA. Where does that leave me?”

“. . .he’s off worse than we thought.” Hudson didn’t say anything to that, but you know. You put your head to your hand, rubbing your forehead as you cursed to yourself. You know Adler loves control, but to go around superiors? Just for that small hint of Perseus. He threw away his whole team just for a possible hint. Still, you’re not done with Hudson yet as you raised your head, your eyes narrowed as he met your look with a crossing of arms. “You knew though. That he was like that before the kidnapping. Yet you let him go off two weeks later after his rescue. Did you even do a mental evaluation on him?”

“You think I don’t fucking know that?” Hudson snapped, voice loud in the room as you blinked, Hudson moving a hand through his head. “We did an evaluation but maybe I should’ve ordered another one. Russ’ evals always raised some red flags but the man gets shit done. The past year he’s been more and more determined to get Perseus and now that the rug got pulled under him by finding out the man got clipped by cancer? Who knows what he’ll do?”

“Rewire his brain for one,” you muttered, your eyes moving to the side when Hudson threw you an unamused look. “But. . .wait a minute,” your eyes met Hudson’s shades. “You said past year. Since Sims left?” Hudson seemed to know where you were going with this, him cursing under his breath as you rubbed your eyes. “This goes back to what I said before, sir. He needs someone to pull him back.”

“You’re the last person that’s going to do that,” he says curtly, “You’re the Perseus that never was. A walking incarnation of his obsession. You’re not doing him any favors. And you think you can protect him from himself?”

Your gaze turned to the side, hand on your lap below the table clenching once before releasing.

Hudson never minces words. And he’s not wrong.

You wonder if Adler feels additional frustration towards you due to never really capturing you either. Or ending you.

No Perseus. No Stitch. And no you.

You released a puff of air, before looking at Hudson and clasping your hands on the table.

“Look,” you begin, focused on the man whose arms were crossed in front of him with the usual harsh visage but his gaze steady along with yours. “I feel like I need to. . . go back to what you said in the plane. The understanding.”

“One you didn’t want to agree on,” Hudson said before nodding. “You got something to add besides creating air?”

Ugh. Got it. He hated I didn’t say I would follow his orders if it was between him and Adler.

You felt your face sour before you did your best to clear it.

“Respectfully sir, I don’t mind following your orders. That’s not a problem. I’ll do what I must. Always have and always will. But listen,” you lean forward in your seat, eyes on his aviators and you could spot from the lighting that you can see his eyes from here, connecting. “When it comes down to it, I’m going to follow Adler. In anything. Just like I’ll do what I must to make sure he lives another day. And the way he’s going, he’ll have an early grave by next year. So yeah. I might be a bad choice, but know I’ll make sure he calms down.”

Hudson studied you, considering your words with a thoughtful frown. And than:

“You and Russ like to take turns and act as protector,” Hudson commented, a suspicious glance at you as your gaze didn’t waver before he sniffed. “Why? Why go so far for a man who renamed you?”

You lifted your chin, eyes glinting.

“The world needs Russell Adler.”

Hudson stared at you before he inclined his head in semblance of a nod. All that you needed for him to give the okay. A few moments later, someone knocked and a man with an eye patch came in, black hair graying and a horseshoe mustache with long sleeve button shirt and tie and dress pants to match. Your brows raising when you heard his Russian accent as him and Hudson talked about Captain Butcher and the project the old Quartermaster brought up, the both of them briefly working with one another until the Captain finds what he’s looking for. The man with the eye patch than turned towards you, you raising from your seat as Hudson introduced you to the man named Weaver and with your name.

You extended a hand and he took it as you tried not to stare and look at the man in bewilderment as you gave pleasantries.

The man, Weaver, brows rose as he turned towards Hudson next to him.

“You didn’t tell me we had a new devushka, Hudson! And here I thought I’m the only one surrounded by you stars and stripes.” To your shock, Hudson’s mouth actually lifted. Into an amused smile. You’re dreaming. Weaver turned towards you, giving you a charming smile. “Priyatno poznakomit'sya, tovarishch. Ne protiv etogo zho-pa zdes', devushka. Vsegda chto-to v zadnitse.”

Nice to meet you, comrade. Don’t mind this asshole here, young lady. He always has something up his ass.

You giggled despite yourself, Hudson throwing Weaver a flat look as he was able to understand everything while Weaver just smirked at him.

They’re close. Even though he’s. . .

You looked at Hudson in a new light, a stupefied expression on your face which Hudson scoffed at when he caught it. At least you know why his expression turned unreadable on the plane when you called yourself an Ivan.

Turns out, he just plain doesn’t like you.

You can work with that.

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“You alright?” Adler asked lowly, searching your eyes when he would glance at you before turning back to the road before him as he drove.

You were leaning forward, head on the dashboard as you sighed.

“Yeah,” you say roughly, before clearing your throat. Your sleep still seeming to be on you. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll do what I wish, kid.” Adler drawled with a cool smile. “Besides. If I won’t, who will?”

You huffed, but you were smiling as you turned your head away from him so he wouldn’t see it.

The two of you were heading to the safehouse they have in the Netherlands, you establishing that Perseus safehouse there was quite grand and intricate and they couldn’t have moved everything and everyone yet. Not only that, it could hold a hint of who the next Perseus could be. Adler chose his team, careful on who due to the trouble with the Numbers station. You’re glad Woods is along for the ride and will meet him there but saddened Mason decided to set his focus on another mission. Apparently helping out Weaver but mostly Captain Butcher about the Nazi business. Based solely on Woods words, Mason heard Nazi’s and asks how many. Which you no doubt can guess is from his past with a man called Steiner. Woods said that Mason is only going to give a small helping hand and than he might call it quits and go back home with his wife and son.

You and Adler will meet the rest of the team later.

You slept on the plane here, but not soundly sadly. Plagued by nightmares with Stitch. Adler had to shake you to wake you up, his expression one of an interesting mix of concern yet tension as he did, hand staying on your shoulder even as you blearily blinked and called his name with voice rough with sleep. But the warmth of his hand and how quiet his voice was almost made you fall asleep again. It was only how close his face was that made you pause along with your breath as Adler’s eyes darkened. You glanced at his hand and he took it away, informing you that you were talking in your sleep before moving and getting you a glass of water and pretending it didn’t happen.

Until now apparently.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you in the car, the cold wind hitting the windows of the car as they drove in the open road with fields around them, buildings scatters in the distance. The two of you wore clothes befitting the weather here, you having a blue flight leather jacket with fur lining the collar and a black turtleneck underneath with skinny jeans and black ankle combat boots while Adler had his favorite tan jacket with a burnt orange long sleeved button and a scarf with colors of dark yellow, brown, and cream hugging his neck and khaki’s with hickory brogue boots. His hair was styled as it always was, in that side swept but you noticed he still didn’t cut it, some strands periodically going over his forehead and at times his eyes and the honey hair on the back of his neck were curling with some gray. He also decided to keep his beard, still trimmed and you can spot the gray in it as well showing his age that only made you entranced. He had his aviators over his eyes, but they were slightly down the bridge of his nose where you could see those eyes that would make you pause and stare each time they turned your way.

Somehow, this reminded you of the rare times before where you would drive around with Adler in Berlin too.

You were so lost in thought, you didn’t notice your gaze was maintained on Adler for a period of time that he felt like he needed to comment.

“Something on my face?”

You started, staring at Adler’s amused visage as you sat back in your seat and looked out the window, cheeks warm.

“Nothing.” Adler hummed, the sound making your lips form a pout as you turned back towards him. His smirk only widening and making you open your mouth. “It’s just. . .your hair looks long is all.” You gestured lamely before lowering your hands back to your lap.  Get a grip, you stupid girl. “You just look different is all.”

“Didn’t have time to cut it,” Adler carded a hand through his hair as if to show, the other staying on the wheel as you watched in envy as it went through his fingers. Get a grip. Focus. He glanced at you, palming his trimmed beard. “You got gripes about it, kid? Can see why you’d ask though. I usually leave the rugged lumberjack look to Woods. It fits him more.”

You released an amused puff out your nose, shaking your head as you turned your head against the head rest of the seat, looking through your lashes.

“No. Like I said, it’s just different. You look handsome.”

You didn’t turn away, meaning your words and wanting him to know. Adler’s amused look turning into pleased as he arched a brow and his smirk softened as he glanced at you. Although you didn’t look away, you felt your cheeks still prick and your heart skip a beat at the look.

“Gray and all?”

“Yes,” you quickly answered and cringed internally at the swift answer.

You kept your eyes on Adler though, who was studying you with his soft smirk before a thought seemed to pass by his eyes as his smirk fell. His eyes going back on the road as he let out a soft sigh.

“We’re going to have to talk, Bell.”

The shift in the air gave you a hint of what’s to come as your brows furrowed.

“About what?”

“Don’t do that,” he reprimanded quietly, peering over at you. “We’ve both been avoiding it. Using excuses by creating all these plans to hit the Collective before they can know what happened. I wanted to give you space too. So you can gather your thoughts. You’ve. . .you’ve been through a lot the past few years, Bell. And sudden info dumps on you hasn’t helped you either I imagine.”

You looked away, leaning your elbow against the car door with your hand holding your head.

“Hudson hasn’t made it any easier,” you joked, taking a page from his book.

It worked, bringing out a low chuckle from the man that tickled your senses as he focused on the road. Turning every so often as they grew closer to the scattered buildings.

“No. No, he hasn’t. But from what I’ve seen the past few days, he seems to have loosened that pipe up his ass a little. Whatever you did, seems to have worked.”

“I just trust in what Hudson would do and values,” you say, Adler’s words about trust being about control echoing in your head. Adler seemed to get what you were hinting at, based on the meaningful glance your way. You broke into a humored smile. “It’s not much difference either way. Before he looked at me as if I was scum and deserved to be stomped. Now, he might have the decency to look me in the eye before he kills me.”

Right when the words came out your mouth, you regretted it. Hitting too close no matter how the words were filled with dark wit or not. You don’t know how it would be translated.

Not well, based on Adler’s black leather gloves hand clenching on the wheel and his shoulders tensing along with the silence that fell.

Well, shit. So much for using humor to cope. Thought he would use it too. Not like it happened to him. Unless. . . does he actually regret?

The thought made you blink. You know Adler’s different compared to before, but to actually feel what he did to you and not just think on the logic and necessity behind it, it threw you for a loop.

“I saw you too.”

You’re not the only one who saw ghosts after Solovetsky. You don’t think Adler was alone in his imprisonment with Stitch and Naga.

“This is what I’m talking about,” he sighed. “We have to talk about this. Clear the air before we’re with the team. I don’t want any tension between us to blow over in front of them.”

“We won’t.” You say, defensive. “And I know you mean me but you should know that I can keep my mouth shut, Adler. Besides,” you blew out a huff as you turned back to the scenery out the window. “There’s nothing to talk about if you’re referring to three years ago. I know what you’ll say, so don’t.” You say begrudgingly.

“Do you?” He asks cooly, the languid tone causing your skin to ripple with goosebumps. “Tell me than, kid. What am I going to say?”

“That you had to. I didn’t talk for any of you when you caught me in Trabzon, because I’m in expert in keeping my mouth shut. Loyal to a man that was willing to kill millions. All for the motherland that is suffering. So, you had to take different measures. You needed what was in my head and if you didn’t do it, millions would’ve died. It was necessary. Which is fine, I get it. I would’ve done the same.” You were practically an overflowing sink with how many words were falling out from your lips. But you’ve thought about this for years. Every day. Since the cliff. You can’t even be angry. You felt pressure in your eyes and a odd lump in your throat all the same as you finally looked back at Adler, spotting his brows pinched together and his frown but outside that his countenance was unreadable. Behind those fucking glasses. “I. . .even get why you didn’t just leave me under that pile after the explosion in Solovetsky. Woods and Mason never knew before that mission. Or maybe they didn’t even know till after. But they wouldn’t have given up searching for my body. They wouldn’t have allowed. . .for me to be left behind. That’s just how they are. And you knew it. You were probably hoping I got killed somewhere along the mission though. Easy. Clean. No questions from anyone. . . all strings nicely tied and not having to get your hands more dirty.”

You felt a tear go down which you hastily swiped, determined to keep going even as your voice was tight and words tremulous. He wants you to talk, than you’ll talk. You clenched your black gloved hands on your lap as your gaze lowered to look at it, observing how the material wrinkled.

“But, that didn’t happen.” You released a shuddering breath. “It was a problem. I was a problem. I knew too much. MK-Ultra. MI6 being involved. And. . . Vietnam. . . what we—you did. Some of the missions. . . it’s best to keep it secret. We talked about that once, outside the safehouse.” You lips pulled into a melancholic smile. “We both agreed we did what must. Whatever it took. And didn’t care about what other people would call us. I think your words were “you know I can’t give a shit”. God,” you released a humorless chuckle, raising a hand to your mouth as you bit your lip to stop the slight wobble it had before continuing, “I was an idiot. But one who knew too much. I saved people sure, but what if I changed my mind? Wanted revenge? Give messages to Perseus? You didn’t know.”

Your shiny eyes moved back towards Adler, noting his tight jaw.

“No.” He said, quietly, lowly—roughly. “No, I didn’t.”

You huffed out your nose, wrapping your arms around yourself with a brittle smile.

“I wouldn’t have either. A risk you can’t control, is a risk you have to throw away. So. . . you took me to the cliffs. With the cool arctic air. Refreshing.” You can see it in your mind’s eye, as if you were there. The breeze playing with your hair and your face cold from being exposed to it. The sound of the ocean and the birds, the flowers next to your legs. And Adler, combat gear equipped and cigarette in hand before throwing it and turning towards you, prepping to grab the firearm hidden from your view. You think Adler is thinking of it too, his lips pressed like they always are when he’s in deep thought, his jaw ticking. “It. . . could’ve been worse I suppose. Could’ve killed me in the car and left me there, surrounded by machinery. Could’ve even pushed me over the cliff instead. But. You didn’t. You let me take in the scenery, the smell, your words that I actually did something—a hero. You even looked me in the eye as you did it. You. . .you killed me like I was really your friend, Russ.”

You bit your lip harshly, tightening the hold on yourself as silence reigned outside the thrum of the car with them now passing the stray buildings by the plains.

Adler released a quiet where one had to strain their ears yet strong “Fuck” before he slowly pulled off to the side of the road. Your brows furrowing in confusion as you looked around, not seeing they were close to the safehouse yet. Still off by a few miles as you understand. They should reach there before night falls but. . .

“Adler, what—“

Adler quietly shushed you, before rubbing the bridge of his nose. Than, he took off his glasses, putting it on his shirt and turned fully towards you in his seat, eyes connecting to your watery ones and holding you in place, your breath stuck in your throat.

“Keep going, Bell. I’m listening.”

“But,” you glanced at the road and back at him, brows furrowed in confusion. “The safehouse, we need to—“

“They can wait. We’ll get there eventually. You’re more important, Bell.”

If your breath was stuck before, it escaped you with that as your lips parted. You? Than this operation? Based on how his eyes bore into yours, not faltering and serious, he meant it.

You bite your bottom lip, looking away. Down towards Adler’s hand that was between the two of you, atop the center console before looking at your own hand on your lap, lightly swallowing as your eyes peered up at him through your lashes. Adler’s eyes, open for you to see and clear and soothing like a lake, patient.

“I. . . I just. . . I guess the parts where I don’t understand is, the times where it felt like it wasn’t just an act. A part you had to play for the illusion that MK-Ultra needed. Letting me take all those pictures, even though you would say I was wasting film, you didn’t stop me. You didn’t even look like you wanted to,” you say, eyes searching his as he observed you. “And always taking breaks with me—probably had to do with not letting me out of your sight but, you listened to me. Talking about my books—of Nietzsche, Dostoevsky, and Tolstoy. And we would talk. About words. Sayings. Quotes. About anything and everything. Of war. Of soldiers. If philosophers even knew what they talking about with the shit they spouted. And you—you’d get close. Very close. Where I could feel your warmth without you touching me behind me, until you did.” His chest to your back or his shoulder to your back, his breath fanning as he would lean over to look at your book. “It. . . felt like, sometimes—it was just the two of us. Just us. No title or moniker. No Perseus or anything. Just us, under the depressing gray sky of Berlin. Talking.”

You felt your eyes water again strangely. Maybe it’s because that the two of you dropped the differences between you two as well when you took those breaks.

You weren’t a Russian, the right hand of Perseus and next in line—a terrorist. And he wasn’t an American, America’s Monster and who does whatever it takes—a soldier.

You were Bell. And he was Russell.

And that’s all that mattered.

“I really,” your voice cracked, you swallowing thickly to try to fix it but your words still came out brittle as if the wind could carry them. “I really l-loved those times. And I know. . . I know you did too. So when I was bleeding out there, and you left me there. . . all I could think, all I could wonder—“ your chin wobbled as stray tears went down your face but you met Adler’s tense eyes, pained, half-closing when you put a hand atop his between you two and squeezing as he squeezed back, a crumple of a smile on your lips. “Did you have to miss? You could’ve stayed with me at least. You left me. Alone.”

Abandonment.

The root—the seed of your loyalty. The one you rarely hand.

Betrayal.

The arching large branches to protect your trunk. For you don’t think you can trust anyone again.

You turned your face away, shoulders tense and drooped, wishing to get your messy face under control as you sniffled loudly.

Adler’s hand, large and calloused under those gloves, squeezed yours just as he turned your face towards him with a touch to your chin. He thumbed your tears and tear stains away, gentle as he did it just as he rubbed the back of your hand, his face mere inches away where you can see every ridge of his scars.

“Listen to me, Bell,” he said softly, breath fanning your face due to proximity. “You weren’t just a job. You got that? Maybe at first you were. I won’t bullshit you on that. You’re right, I had a job to do and had to get it done. No matter the price. But know this,” he searched your teary face, padding the corner of your lip, “those moments? Between me and you, kid? They were real.”

Your breath shuddered, eyes closing as you brought your hand up to hold his against your chin. The heat being able to be felt through even with the gloves. The warmth feeling as if it was spreading just from the two points where your hands are touching his. Your eyes opened a hint, and all you could see was burning electric blue eyes, the sun coming from the car window hitting them in just a certain light as his lips pulled into a thin smile.

He has little flecks of green in his eyes, you think, bewitched.

“And I’m glad I missed. We’re both here.”

You chuckled, him chuckling with you, the air now clear. Who knew what would’ve happened to him if he actually got you. You bit your lip as if to hide your smile, Adler’s eyes following the movement as he inhaled deeply, his thumb going to your lip and releasing your teeth’s grip on it, your eyes wide and heart pounding.

“You keep doing that,” he says huskily and low, darkened eyes back up to yours as he swiped the leather clad thumb on your lips, “you’re going to drive me crazy, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart?

You thought dumbly, mouth feeling dry as Adler studied you, his hand between the two of you grazing up to your forearm, to your bicep, to your shoulder to cupping the space between your shoulder and your pulsing heated neck. All while he watched your flustered expression with a heated one of his own.

Your throat felt dry too, you swallowing and you licked your lips, able to taste the leather due to Adler’s thumb not leaving your mouth.

His eyes, if possible, darkened more—pupils blown wide. Matching your own eyes in dilation as he drew closer, until all you see, hear, and smell was Russell Adler whose lips brushed yours as he spoke, voice taut.

“Tell me you want this, Bell.”

You stare at him, chest heaving in shallow breaths due to blood pumping, raising a hand to his head. Brushing the styled wheat with strands of smoke tresses out of his forehead, moving your hand as if you could put the stubborn hairs behind his ear and you wish you didn’t have these gloves on to actually feel how soft his hair is like you’ve always imagined. You brought your other hand to his scarred cheek that partially covered by his facial hair, his head leaning to your touch as his breath stuttered and his eyes shuttered once before focusing on you again—all blue fire and with specks of forests.

This is all I’ve ever wanted.

Adler saw your gleaming eyes, taking the look in as he held your chin gently and kissed you, the whiskers of his beard tickling you more than pricking you. His tongue swiping and you opening up easily for him as you whimpered, grabbing the hair on the back of his neck as the hand on his scarred cheek travelled down to his chest as he tilted your head to taste you more. While you tasted him, the smoky taste of cigarettes that was just as addicting to you as the real thing. And you wanted more, your breaths quick and want growing as you pulled his bottom lip between your teeth. The man releasing a sound deep from his chest, his lips up into a smirk as he nipped at you back before pulling away, head leaning against yours with eyes alight and hand cupping the side of your neck.

“You really do want to drive me crazy, sweetheart,” he smirked, eyes soft and clouded as his other hand fixed a strand of hair that got in front of your face. “Or would you prefer moya lapooshka?” He asks before dipping his mouth back to yours again.

“Mon zaya.”

You tensed, your mood evaporating. Adler noticing as he pulled slightly back to stare at you as you looked away, your hand on his chest to back him up more as you shook your head. Mute, as if he could read you and what’s wrong with you.

Adler’s eyes narrowed, realization going through him as he let you go, releasing a sigh as he leaned against his side on the car door.

“I shouldn’t have said that. The last thing I want is you think of him.” Your brows furrowed at him as you looked up, bewildered at how he knows as Adler minutely shook his head, exhaling deeply as he frowned before looking back up at you. “Your nightmare. It was about Stitch wasn’t it?” You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Your gaze lowering was enough. “You were calling out for him in your sleep. Him. You used his real name though.”

You didn’t say anything, not wishing to give more reason to his agitation. He sighed again, reaching and squeezing your hand as he apologized quietly to you before letting you go. Turning the car back on and putting his aviators back on his face as you looked at him, not knowing how to explain this odd thing too as they went back on the road. You don’t know why you keep thinking of Stitch.

You didn’t love him as much as you did Adler. Clearly.

Or else he would’ve been alive instead.

You think back again, about the odd instances where you felt like the others may have known. Where Stitch knew of what you were doing. The feeling not going away.

“Tell me this,” you look at Adler, the engine of the car thrumming as they drove and Adler glanced at you, eyes searching. “Was he gentle with you?”

Your mouth parted, confused but being honest anyways.

“Only to me. Yes. He never hurt me.”

For some reason, Adler released a humorless chuckle with a matching dry smile. He shook his head to himself, hair moving as he did so as you watched, his hand tightening than loosening on the wheel. He glanced back at you, taking in your mildly concerned expression, using his free hand to thumb your abused lips before lowering it and turning back to the road.

“Good,” he uttered, and than stronger, “Good.”

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A/N: I realized I was making some unnecessary tension between Bell and Hudson that may be seen as something else as I was writing and briefly contemplated making this more fun but threw the idea away. 💀 Hudson is happy with Jenny and Bell is fine with Adler. But woah, is Hudson growing on me. Sorry for the small/subtle hint of Bell x Hudson. I swear I didn't mean to create that kind of tension.

Hi, Weaver! Hudson and Weaver seem close so I think Weaver will give Hudson an insult or two sometimes. And he would be extra happy to see a fellow Russian so. And I feel like Captain Butcher helping Weaver with Projekt Aether a little makes sense. And Mason helping with Nazi’s. That man wants to kill every single one—more than most. Maybe as much as Polina.

Also, Bell and Adler sure know how to make 0-100, huh? Than again, they're both crazy so. 💀 Dom!Adler might do me in. Oh my goodness. 🥵

A little more and than done! Hope you guys are enjoying!

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