#vikhor stitch 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.

[butterfly-stitches]

DOG-EAT-DOG.

[ Explicit ] // MDNI

AO3

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

* Rape/Non-Con * Graphic Depictions Of Violence * Major Character Death Alternate Universe, Physical and Psychological Abuse, Non-Sexual and Sexual Submission, Dom/Sub Undertones, Ownership, Dehumanization, Dog Fighting, Obedience, Size Difference, Degradation, Hurt No Comfort, Power Imbalance, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Trauma, Loss of Identity, Rough Kissing, Watersports, Blood and Gore, Dry Humping, Protectiveness, Possessive Behavior, Human Ashtray, Master/Pet, Forced Orgasm, Orgasm Denial, Leg Humping, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Animal Metaphors, Bondage and Discipline, Finger Sucking, Hand Feeding, Leashes, Sleep Deprivation, Touch Aversion, Non-Consensual Touching / Groping, Dissociation, Praise Kink < Other Additional Tags to Be Added >

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter 1: cornered animal.

[1 / 7]

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

You were slipping in and out of consciousness.

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

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

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

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

That is.. until you woke up. 

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

Pain. 

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

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

Then there came a sound. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“C’mon then.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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A/N:

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

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| Next ⮞

[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.” 

[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.

[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

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“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.

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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.

[zulema117-blog]

I wanted to make a mini comic of these two

[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

[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 25

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

[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!

[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.

[wfanfic56]

Breathe | Normal life | Stitch x Reader

Chapter 2

“Slobodane!!! Zovi Y/N,brzo!!/Slobodan!!!Call Y/N, hurry!!” Maria yelled while she tried to give CPR to Vikhor. 

Slobodan rushed in your room, pale as ghost. “Nije dobro./ Not good” You two ran back to his room, Maria giving everything she could to save him. 

“Maria pripremi defibrilator./ Maria prepare defibrillator.” you gave him one shock and his heart beats normalized on the vital signs monitor. “Good work you two, you saved his life. Maria, you know what to do.”

After a while, Slobodan came on the doorway of your room. He watched you doing some research and writing important notes while drinking your coffee. “Mama bi bila ponosna na tebe. Podsjećaš me na nju, uvijek spremna za svaku situaciju,uvijek imaš riječi za svakoga. Samo ne razumijem zašto se nisi... okrenula prema sebi i svojoj budućnosti?”/ Momma would be proud on you. You’re reminding me of her, always ready for every situation, always have words for others. I just don’t understand why didn’t you...plan something for yourself and your future?”

“Ne znam. Možda zato što više volim pomagati drugima nego sebi./ I don’t know. Maybe because I love helping others more than myself.”

“Maybe you should watch yourself from now on. Yeah, I forgot, Vikhor woke up. He asked to see you.” you nodded and stood up from your chair. 

You were on the doorway looking at him. His breathing was accelerated, like he was scared of something., like someone or something hunted him. 

“Vikhor, calm down.” Stitch looked at you, stretching out his hand for yours. “Calm down, breathe. Just look at my breathing and imitate it.” His breathing after few breaths calmed down, he was looking you with trust in his eyes.

“Y/N, thank you.” he answered slowly. He needed someone beside him right now, he needed company. So you stayed with him, with one hand holding his, and with other caressing his head.

“You’d be alright, don’t worry. I’m here with you. I’m here.”

Photo by @hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform

[pricescigar]

"Please don't leave me."

Request by: @frankwoodsmalewife

Vikhor Kuzmin X Male!reader

(GIF ISN'T MINE, BELONGS TO: Collinnmckinley)

⚠️THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING A CANON X READER, SO I DEEPLY APOLOGISE IF IT ISN'T GOOD⚠️

"Y/N... Nightmares can be a terrible thing, I know they can be. I know that feeling all too well..." Stitch would begin to speak, to Y/N his arms wrapped around his body. Staring into his eyes, (E/C) which was the most beautiful color he had ever seen in his life. He had always felt bad for Y/N, for what he had endured, the pain and the suffering that came with it too. So much horror, bad memories, forever nightmares. The shaking, trembling, breaking down in tears. It had always broke Stitch's heart, he always tried his best to be the form of comfort for Y/N. If anything, he would do all what he could to make the pain go away. Anything. He was truly devoted to him.

"To have those unwanted though invade into your mind, those same thoughts are the worries of life itself. The anxiety and stress that comes with it too..." He began to talk, he always knew (Y/N) loved the sound of his voice. And what better yet to assure him, to comfort him and to show him that he would always be there for him no matter what.

While (Y/N) was in Stitch's arms, he laid his head on his chest. Continuing to hear him speak, slowly bringing his mind to ease. He had no idea what the time was, not that it ever mattered to him. The sound of the rain hitting against the window, it was nice and calm for once. While still having that same overwhelming thoughts of being so unsettled, because of the nightmare. He still found himself not knowing what to do. Why couldn't he handle it like everyone else? Yet not everyone is strong as they think, even the most strongest people in the world have their weakness too.

"Please... Stitch, continue to speak. I like to hear the sound of your voice." (Y/N) would say in a whisper, with them in each others arms. He didn't even care at this point, what he would talk about in the end. As long as he could hear his voice, then everything would be alright.

"Ok then..." Stitch spoke softly, thinking of what to talk about. Nothing far too interesting came to mind, though there must be something he could talk shout that would bring (Y/N)'s mind to ease. There had to be, and he would make sure he would do so in the process.

"Maybe a small story would help? Not sure if you're a big fan of them... Or anything like that but it'll help... My mother told me this story." He whispered to him softly, with a moment of silence before Stitch would begin to tell (Y/N) the story in his mind.

"The story of Ivan Tsarevitch." Stitch would jokingly mock, with a story like voice which did make (Y/N) laugh softly, with a nod of approval to the story. Excited to hear it, and it  also made Stitch chuckle too before he would begin to tell the story.

"Ivan Tsarevitch, had three sisters, the first was Princess Maria, the second was Princess Olga, the third was Princess Anna. After his parents die and his sisters marry three wizards, he leaves his home in search of his sisters. He meets Marya Morevna, the beautiful warrior princess, and marries her. After a while she announces she is going to go to war and tells Ivan not to open the door of the dungeon in the castle they live in while she will be away. Overcome by the desire to know what the dungeon holds, he opens the door soon after her departure and finds Koschei, chained and emaciated. Koschei asks Ivan to bring him some water; Ivan does so. After Koschei drinks twelve buckets of water, his magic powers return to him, he tears his chains and disappears. Soon after Ivan finds out that Koschei took Marya Morevna away, and chases him. When he gets him for the first time, Koschei tells Ivan to let him go, but Ivan doesn't give in, and Koschei kills him, puts his remains into a barrel and throws it into the sea. Ivan is revived by his sisters' husbands, powerful wizards, who can transform into birds of prey. They tell him Koschei has a magic horse and Ivan should go to Baba Yaga to get one too, or else he won't be able to defeat Koschei. After Ivan stands Yaga's tests and gets the horse, he fights with Koschei, kills him and burns his body. Marya Morevna returns to Ivan, and they celebrate his victory with his sisters and their husbands." Stitch's reading voice was so ever soft, delicate. He had the change of tine too, to make the short fairytale to be so adventurous and everything else.

"That was... Interesting, unique and beautiful Stitch... Thank you, I feel so much better now." (Y/N) spoke happily, keeping his arms around him.

"You're welcome (Y/N) Anything for you, you deserve the world." Stitch mused, smiling to himself. Glad that he managed to cheer him up, and planted a kiss on his head

"Stitch can you promise one thing for me? Just one small thing, it's all I ask of you." (Y/N) spoke looking up at him.

"Da?" Stitch asked looking down at him in curiosity.

"Please don't leave me..." (Y/N) spoke tiredly, nearly falling asleep within his arms.

"I won't, I promise." Stitch spoke reassuringly, running his hands through (Y/N)'s hair in comfort. Befote he would slowly fall asleep himself, fulfilling his duty in protecting him