#vikhor stitch kuzmin x bell

[hazard-15]

Just a reminder of the height difference between Mariana and Stitch 🤭🤭💖💖💖💖

[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.

[whisperingexecutioner]

Is user zombie-nymph (zykova) still active?

Went to re-read her StitchxBell fic "Sin" as reblogged here, https://yunatheintrovert.tumblr.com/post/646234305999306752/sin-stitch-x-bell-18, and the page wouldn't load when I tapped the link to continue reading. It is still available right? :/

[yunatheintrovert]

just like old times pt. III | Stitch/Bell

TWs: Blood, Accidental tasting of Blood (there's context I swear), Forced Attempted Vomiting, and Minor Character Death. There's some scenes in here that may be subject to different interpretation.

“As you know, Perseus continues to be at large. However, there’s been a significant shift in his operations towards chemical warfare production in Rebirth Island. We suspect the operative behind this is Vikhor Kuzmin-” 

Having been previously grounded to paperwork duty in the safehouse by Hudson, you were one among some of the few analysts to help Adler prepare the briefing. There wasn’t much point in you devoting your full attention to something you effectively helped create. 

You tried to ignore the eyes that proceeded to look at you at the mention of his name. You turned your attention to the nagging irritant that had been tearing at you for the past hour.

She was a walking airborne toxic event of bright hints of green soon drowned by overpowering artificial fruity notes with orange blossoms accenting the scent. However, beneath the bombastic scent, there was something there that just tore at you. 

You tilted your head to the side, trying to avoid being so subtle about sniffing. Although, the scent she left in her trail as she walked past you at the table was anything but subtle. Suddenly, Nancy whipped around on her heels, scowling at you with an offended look. 

Apparently you hadn’t been so lowkey about it.

“Are...are you smelling me like a dog?” It came out as almost a defensive sneer with her lip curled in disdain. 

You once again leaned your head to the side, trying to guess what that damn scent tearing at you was, “You smell -”

“Oh, screw off,” Nancy scowled down at you before storming off in those heels of hers. 

She was a hotshot analyst with a stellar education from Yale, according to the briefing. More specifically, she was a new analyst brought to cover your workload. After all, you were assigned to focus on identifying and decrypting any and all weaknesses in the cryptography of the Underground Collective. 

As she stormed off, she left a thick and heavy trail of that bombastic scent. Giorgio , she had called it rather proudly and imperiously.

This scent , you thought, massaging your temples with your hands. The nausea had developed into a migraine with a steady throb in your head. It was only when the pulsing slowed that you focused on the scent finally.

You hid your grimace with a hand over your mouth and nose, not wanting Adler to notice your lack of attention on his briefing. And then you recognized the scent. 

Peaches. 

________________________________________________________________

You sighed, passing the monitors surveillance station yet again. You had been making rounds around the safehouse with the files casually clutched in hand. Your Walkman played Pat Benatar’s “ Hit Me With Your Best Shot ”. It took your mind away from the still nagging scent of that damn Giorgio perfume accented by the smell of peaches . 

You didn’t know how many times Nancy applied that cursed fragrance. She must have done it recently because you could have sworn the smell of peaches got stronger .

You shook your head to yourself. You were going to focus on work, not that godawful scent. 

You proceeded to go over the files in hand. Numbers and encryptions swirled in your mind. Perseus must have assumed his crypto communications had been compromised. They reverted to a new system soon after Solovetsky. However, one couldn’t re-engineer and rebuild an entire encrypted  communications system in six months. 

Not without mistakes.

Even though they used one-time pad ciphers, there were always those weak links.

Mistakes. 

A little slip up here and there in sloppily reusing certain one-time pads is all it took for just a little part of the communications to be compromised.

However, even as you made progress in identifying the surprisingly many mistakes of the past and present encrypted communications of the Underground Collective, your thoughts soon wandered. 

After all, that sickly sweet fragrance of peaches lingered in your thoughts. You had been grounded to fieldwork upon Hudson’s insistence. 

You knew the looks they gave you after that operation in the Mall at the Pines. Up until then, there weren’t any living witnesses to encounters with Stitch, however rare his appearances were until that point.

Yet he spared you. 

Perhaps, he wanted to torment you under Perseus’ orders to make your death slow and painful, fitting for that of a traitor to the collective. That’s something you took cold comfort in. 

At least there was a logical reason for it , you thought with the upbeat tunes of  a song in your mixtape playing through the headset at your ears. 

Just as you walked past the caged in areas where the sensitive cryptography machines were held, you blinked as everything suddenly went dark. 

You quickly removed your headphones to your neck, pressing pause on your Walkman at your waist. You could hear the click and rumbling of the backup generator kicking on. The emergency lights suddenly flooded the safehouse with crimson lighting bathing the room you were in. 

Suddenly, you heard gunshots coming from the other side of the safehouse. Close to the entrance where the surveillance monitors were , you guessed. That made sense. What little security was at the safehouse was located there. It was the most efficient way to secure the site. 

As you heard the sound of gunshots come to an abrupt end and heavy footsteps rushing around, you immediately dropped to cover under the desk you found yourself standing beside. It was only a matter of time before they swept the entire safehouse, securing or eliminating any sensitive intel and remaining personnel. 

You instinctively reached at your hip in a familiar motion only to silently curse when you only found your Walkman there.

After the operation at the Pines, you noticed the rather uneasy looks some of the personnel sent you. They had been filled in on the bare details of your background, omitting MK Ultra of course. All they knew was that you used to work for Perseus and that you weren’t completely stable mentally as shown by the medications you had to take. 

Ultimately, that had culminated in Hudson strongly suggesting that you didn’t carry around a handgun in the safehouse. Sims managed to make a compromise between the two of you by offering for you to have access to the weapons locker anytime in the safehouse. Although, you always had to go to him for that. 

And Sims was not here. 

Based on the number of footsteps you heard a distance aways, you guessed the strength of the attacking force to be around 4-6 at max. Outgunned and outmanned, you thought to yourself. If you had your weapons...it’d be a different story. 

But there was one thing that you had: a knife. 

And most importantly...

Closets. 

You pressed yourself close to the walls with your ears alert for any approaching sounds. When you heard a single pair of footsteps coming closer to your corner, you withdrew the knife from its sheath at your waist. 

As soon as you saw the back of the operative, you lunged forward quietly. You pressed one hand against the mouth of the operative, muffling the yell of surprise from him, before slamming it into his jugular. His body soon sagged against you in a matter of moments. 

Immediately, you let his body go down to the floor silently while you looked for any weapons on him. You grabbed the Krig 6 assault rifle from his hands and the Makarov pistol from his holster.

Knowing what Belikov taught you over a few bottles of vodka, you dragged the operative’s body over to the nearby maintenance closet. You quietly opened the doors and propped his body against the interior of the closet. Then you shut the doors. 

Checking the ammo count on the Krig 6 and the Makarov, you smiled to yourself as best as you could in the present situation. It sure as hell was better than taking on the attacking force with just a knife in addition to making sure other safehouse personnel weren’t caught in the crossfire.

Speaking of the personnel, how many were left alive in the safehouse? There were at least 4 analysts not working anywhere near the entrance of the safehouse where you heard the gunshots originate from. 

You knew what your priorities were.

Secure or eliminate sensitive intel and technology in addition to ensuring the safety of the analysts from the attacking force if possible.

________________________________________________________________

The radio crackled to life at your hip, sending a note of alarm through you. The noise was impossibly loud in the quiet of the corridor you were in. As you crouched behind a wall with your rifle ready for an ambush, you cautiously reached for the radio at your waist, lifting it up while dialing back on the volume. 

“I know you are here, маленький предатель.” A voice nearly rumbled over the radio. You grimaced at the familiar muffled deep voice. The sickly sweetness of peaches always accompanying his presence was something you could nearly taste in your mouth. 

It didn’t help that Nancy’s fucking perfume was accented by peach fragrance. 

Resisting the urge to leave a few choice remarks, you reduced the volume of the radio to little more than a slight whisper into the air. You scanned the empty hallway ahead of you for any sign of movement.

All clear-

“You cannot hide, Зая ,” Stitch said, his voice carrying down the corridor. There was something about his voice almost savoring the dread it got from you. You risked leaning out once more to peer down the seemingly empty hallway. Where could he be hiding? 

“I will find you.” 

You further pressed yourself against the wall with your breathing coming out in halting little breaths in anticipation. You could hear footsteps from a distance coming closer and closer-

And then those heavy footsteps stopped . 

“Oh, Bell.” Stitch sighed out in his thickly accented voice. You nearly swore that you could hear your very own heartbeat in that moment. There was something, daresay, intimate about the way he said your name for the first time. It was as if he savored saying those words. 

“We’ve got a job to do.” 

And then your vision flashed white. 

How odd, you dazedly thought as you found yourself staring up at the large familiar, hooded figure. Instinctively, you reached for your Makarov at your waist and aimed it at him. Strangely, he didn’t react aside from the rather amused and muffled breath of air he let out from behind his mask. 

You twitched at the scent of those damn peaches yet again. Damn it. Nancy and Stitch would make quite the pair considering how they both favored annoying the hell out of people with obnoxious scents like peaches . 

“Hey, Peaches.” you said easily with your Makarov aimed at him. Yet the Perseus operative remained nonplussed. 

He tilted his head to the side slightly before chuckling lowly, “Drop the gun, Bell.”

You nearly laughed with him at the ridiculous order. Yet when you tried to raise the gun higher to his head, you found yourself paralyzed with something clawing at your mind. 

Don’t. 

It was all too easy to let the hand aiming the Makarov fall to your side with the gun’s safety on as it dropped to the floor. Your fingers trembled with effort, trying to pick up that gun again because why why why couldn’t you raise the gun enough to shoot him-

“Isn’t it funny?” he said while amusement danced in his lone cerulean eye as he shook his head, “Adler put that crimson bunker door in your mind.” he said with a little mutter about амерѝка̄нскӣ and their foolish games. 

Stitch took several sauntering steps towards you. Yet you couldn’t even bring yourself to step away with just one quick little order from him telling you to be still. 

“But he forgot to throw away the fucking key.” he said, his face inches from you. You tensed at the smell of peaches growing stronger to the point where you could taste its sickeningly sweetness in your mouth. You bit your lip, instantly tasting the familiar metallic taste in your mouth. 

His lone cerulean eye looked down at your lips in some kind of interest...fascination? 

As the taste of peaches and blood mingled in your mouth, you felt something twitch inside of you. 

You took a step back.

In that moment, you could have sworn Stitch smiled beneath his mask.

Suddenly, you lunged forward, driving your knee into his solar plexus, ballistic armor be damned. His shoulders moved, giving you  just enough time to brace yourself when he slammed his fist into your abdomen. All that was on your mind was one thing:

He exploited something in you. And you needed to end this before he could do it again. 

You made a desperate move for his rifle, gripping the stock as he turned it towards you. All you could hear was the crack ringing through the air. 

You instinctively looked down, expecting to see a bloom of crimson on your clothing. Yet you saw nothing. 

Against your better instincts, your attention was compelled to your leftside where there was...crackling of static coming from a radio. Strangely, you could hear distorted voices coming from it again and again. 

That static, you winced. 

You whipped around to face the current problem. Stitch tilted his head as he looked down at you, interest dancing in his eyes. 

“ӱ̷̨̡̢̨̧̧̨̡̛̛͖̘̲̬̼͉̺͇̟͍̗̟͉̪̹̬̘͚̖̞̪͔̫̳́̋̇͛͗̃̈̈́̀̌̊̓̇̿̇̈̆̽̅̓͂̿̏͑̇̍̿͗̎̑̄͒̇̋̔͆̏̆̔͂͒̆̋͑͘̕̚͠ͅͅͅв̴̡̨̡̨̢̨̛̙̱̩̞̙͓̣͔͈̞͇͚͔̤̞̼̯̻̭̘̩̗̻̜̗̝͓̞̠͚̗͖̹͉͖͍̮̮͉̗̤̞͈̰̳̞̤̠̦̟͙̜̤̩̮̠̤̠͚̖̪̜̱̓̾͑̄̈̅̽̓̉̃̇̔̅̋̃̓̓͋̌̉̀̃͌͑̇̚͠͝͝ͅͅл̷̢̢̢̧̨̡̧̡̨̢̡̢̡̡̡̢̨̢̛̛̛̛̛̻̲͓̤̞̟͉͕̙̙̝̳͍̝̪̤͓͕̠̤̹̺̺͔͍̯̯̹̤̜̱̺̩̯̣̯͎̺̗̰̪̘̼͈̟̯̣̜̬͓̞̠͉͔̼͔̥͉͓̦̫̼̟̜̖̬͙͇̠̠̪͍̣̱̰̦͖̹̮̠̝̪͔̬̺͓̩̜̪̼͇̞̳͙͍̝͚̰̳̥͍̯͙̼̙͚̬̭̤̺̮̝͍̯͚̜̼̰͕̜̱̟̖̠̻̹̙̭̲̺͎̮̙̹͙̳͚̹̭͍̘̯̝͖̝̼̬̜͉̟̫̮̹̳̥̝̤̹̫̖̻̗̲̣̘͉̲͉̞̘̥͔̯͔̼͙̼̣̪̰̣̼̰̼̱̼͆͐̋́̆̾̿̓̉̑͌̅̏͊̏̀̍̿̊͑̓̇͗͊͗̅̉̅́̎̂̄̎̌̏̊́̐̐̎͐̉̔̄͒̿͑̉̈́̏̂̒̈̐̔̑̄̌͊̂͐̐́́̔͊̋͑̅͗̊̂̔̃̄̓̇͗̽̔̈́̽͊͂̄͗͛̌̇̃̈́͋͋̋͋̐̆̅̎̈́̊̇́͒̑̏̈́̈́͑͛͌̎̆̓̕̕͘̕͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͠͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅе̷̨̢̧̨̢̡̡̧̢̧̨̡̨̧̢̧̢̧̡̡̛̛̛̛͈͍̬̝̭̻̺̬̭̞̖̠͓͉̟̻̲͓̭͈̗͈̖͙͙̱̹̜̫͈̖̟̟̪̰̗̗̻͚̹̩͇̺̞̫̥͇̮̱̤̪̩̘͕̝͙̠̥̹͓͙̼͚͔͙̫̖̜̠͕͈͔͚͎͙͇̙̥̹̥̼̲̖̟̺̗̜̭̠͈̩͈̤̳͖̬̳̜̺͈̯̣͔̮̲̻̯̹͍̞͇͎͈̦̯̘̱̩̤̟̪̘̺̘̳̜̱̮̪̬̪̭̯̳̖͍͉̗̣̣̠̥̞̯̝̝̭̰̞̠̲̞͙͙̠̹͍̮͖̪̖̗͔̬̘̮̪̱̤͉̖͔͇̞͈̭̗͖̹͕͚̩̼͙̤̗̥̭̞͔̪̙̹̥̼̜̳͙̞̤̬̖̺̩̜̤̲͉̊̇̆͋̔̑͑̄̈͊̋̔͐̾̍̔̇͗̀͗̑̽̄̔͂͐̓̎́̽̐̋͊͗̓̈́͒̄͂̈́̏̃̿͗͛͂͂͛͗͒͋͊̌̾̅̆̃͋̇̈́̆̊̾̐͋̅̾̅̄̉̋̊̉́̿̾̊̏̈́͒͛̊͂̐͆̅̈̂̑̈́̄̔̾̉͒̿͛̓̏͑͌̽̽̿̒̿̃̐̒̂́̒̑͆̅̎̆͌̌̌̓͆̈́̂̌͛͒̀̋̾̄̿̽̐̃͐̉͊̐͑̈́̑̒̓̉̊̈́͂̐̑́̆̌̃͊̓̊̀̓̇̅̓͊̈̑́̃͐͋̌͂̈́́͊̐̋̈́̏̇͂̉͌̅͛̓̃͊̋̾̒̓̃͗͗̌͗͌̂͐̈̑̍͒̔̽͆̒̎̂̌̿͗̄̓͋̈́̇̃̇̿͌̎̕͘̕̚̕̕̚̚̕̕̕̚̕͘̕̚͘̕̕̕̚̕̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͠͝͠͠ͅͅͅͅͅͅк̷̧̡̨̨̧̛̗̲͓̞̠͎̤̙͓̤̳̩̖̼̟͉̘̣͎̼̦̼̭̥̥̘͉͙̠̣̫̻̭͚͍̦̹̭͕̹͓͇̹͍̖͍͖̙̟͂̄͑̓̽̂͂͑̉͑̅͒͊̆̊̋̌̒̈́͌̓͊̃̄͆̃̽͂̂̓̍̊͌̒̒̒̂̕̚̕̕͘͜͝͝͠ͅͅа̶̢̡̡̨̨̤̠̖͕̗̖͚̩͈͉̟͇̥̹͚̩̰̳͔̝̗͓̭͙̪̺̰͔͚͖͎̼̩̥̖̠̼̬̩͈͙̠̞̮̻̗̜͇̫̯̠̫̙̗͚͈̭̟͎̘͍̩̗̖͕͍̮͙͓͕͈͖͙̱̳̇̅͋̒̆͊̚̕͜͜ͅт̸̧̢̡̨̡̧̨̧̢̧̡̢̢̨̧̨̨̢̡̧̧̧̛̛͎̤̝̤̯̘̰͙̳͎̣̪̹̻͙̤̦͎̬̼͎̮̬̺̼̣̟̠̖͙̠̰͙͕̭͉̖̲̜̙̫͇̜̤̥͓͎͙͈̞̱̪̙̱̺̝̰̳̰͙̩̰̳͚͎̖͍̱̰̺̟͓͇̮̰̦̞̮̼͖̺̖̘̜̘̼̱̤͎̘̳̙̩̦͍͚̤͇̭̗̜̪͕͙̦̗̪̮̤̣͈͓̺͔̩̮̞̹̬̙̪̱̝̫̮͈̫̤̫͉̘͔̤͈̻̝̙̖̺̼̩̠̗̞͕̘̭͚̦̬͓̮̲͖̺̤̝̖͇̜̱͓̭̙͉̗̬̹̞͎͎͙̱̳̦̩̭͎̩̜͔̼͕͕͕̦̜̦̮̪͔̝̩͍̥̯̜̲͍͕̹͕̲̠̫͈͕̞̖̹̭͎̰̘̮͔̞̲̳̭͓͉̗̯̩͖͈̖͚͇̭͙̫̤͓̘̖͇̤̩͈̺͇͔̙͕͈͍̂̒̊̆͐̓̒̀̀͂͂͂̄̒͋̓̍̅̈͗̀̽̑͆̉̂̀͂́̓͋͒́̍́̅̀̈́̒͑̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅе̸̡̢̢̧̨̧̢̡̡̧̢̧̢̡̨̡̡̨̨̢̡̛̛̛̛͎̝̝̲͕͖̮̗̠͈͓̞̮͍̻̝͉̗̤̺͕̮̭͇̬̦̰̩͎̹̥̼̮̺̞͙̮̟̠̦͇͓͈̹̰͎̹̙̟̮̬͚͖̘̙̞͉̯͖̳̼̺̭͕̯͍̟̥̫̱̠͍͎̬͍͕̦͈̗̭̙̺͎͉͉͇̤̬̟̪͙̳͕͍͔͓̙̜͍̮̟̞̙̦̲͈̼̘̬͈͈̜͙̺̤̭̯̮̺͇̱͚͓̪̲̦̳̥͕̤̜̘̰̺̯̺̣͎̗̯̯͎͍͙̮̘̭͍͇̝̳͍̜͍͚͔̥̜̯̻̺͓͕̰̞̝̱͎̘͔̗̣͈͚͔̝̫͉̘̤̳̹̖̣̲̺̮̼̦͙̳̦̝̭̭͕͖̦̦̦͓͚̦̱͔͉̯̤̩̝̟̪̥̭̭̜͍̺̔͂̆̌̀͐̈́͒̌̍̉͂̾̔͆̀͒̿͋̋̆̑̌̑̊̏͌͊̄̽́͌͆͛̄͒͋͛̈́̒̓̌̇̔̇́̀̓̉̈́͗͆̈́̎̂͐̔̔͊̏̀̉͌̂̑̊̈̐̈̽̎̽̾͐͂͊̀͛̒͌̽̏̉̽̿̒̿͑̍͗̾̽͆̄̾̈́̅̄͂̽̿̀̀̈́̄̄̈́̓͒́̐́͑̐̈́̓̏̇̏̌̄̽̂͗͂̌̅̄̽̂̀̐̒̈́͋̿̃̒̔͐̾͑́͐͗̈̽̅̍̊̓͆͋̍͐̇̒̄̅̔̒͒̈͊̾̒̉̑̒̌̀̊̒͑̊̅̓̀͊͒̌̏͂̑͛͘͘͘͘̕̚͘̚̕̚̕̚̕͘̚̚̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅл̴̡̨̡̢̡̨̧̢̧̧̡̨̧̲͓͉͍̱͕͖͕͎͉̞̘̖̼̠̭͇̳͈̭̠͎͕͈̯͍͖̘͓̗̰̩̥̯̫̗͉̘̮͔̳͔̫̪̻̣̼͉̗̳̬̯̱̹̙͍͇̬̜̥͇̬̻̗̭̼͖̤̟̺̖̪̭̗̬̟̠͚̠̲͍̟̥̖̟̥͖̼̻̞͚̖̙̲̗̩̼̣͖͈͈̭̫̺̪͇̤̳͓̠̙̠̹̖͈̰̭̖̜͈̤̙̳̲̤̗̩̤͚̮̰̰̖͇͕̝̬̘̠͎̖̻̬̟̞̺̠̥̫͎̜̠̤̘̗̝̳͉͎̩͖̹̭̱͈͇͍̤̞̮͔̲̮̪̙̫͕̖͈̜̣̜̪̜͔̮̣͔̲̪̪̤̱̰͎̣̻͈̖̜̦̣̣̪̈́̂̈͌͊̈́̎́͐̓̉͊͊͐͆̾͒̓̏͘̚̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅь̷̡̧̨̧̢̧̨̢̧̡̨̧̨̨̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̘̻̲̙̦̹̯͈̯̤̫͍͈̗͔̭̙̘͉̳͙̰̖͔͔̗̤̰̭̹͚̟̟͉͙̹̬̰͉͇͔͔̯̝͓͓͚̩̘̜͕͔͈̤̘̹̣̳̫̘̝͉̖̯̪͇̹̼̗̻̮͙̠̬͍̠̮̯̘͖͕̝̭̲͉̰̻̩̤̲̺̗̘̲͚̤͎̙͇̲̠̭̦͓̦̤̥̫͖͕̤̗̹̹͕͇͇̗̳̯̠̥̱̱͔͖̗̹̠̫͕̠̗̱̤̦̙̯͙̗̰̞̮̮͔͍̭͚̖͎̪͎͈̥̙͕͍̣̤̭͈͔̼̫͍͚͈̝̇̇͆̉̇̾̑̓̃̓̆̉͋̈́̌̾̆̅͆̿̉̓̾̆̉̏̉̃̿́̍͒̓̋͑͐͒̓̌̂̀͒̈́̆̊͗̈̇͌̾͌͆͌̎̉̅̉͊͆͒͑̑͐̆͆̏̊̌̎̂̏̈́̑̅̈́̎̀͛̏͋̂̐̾̌̇̒̏́̎͗͗͂̾͌̅̅͌͘̚͘̚͘̕͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅͅͅн̶̛̛̛͆̑̅͐́̓͛͆̇͗̐̋̑̈͌̽̌̇͋̿̍̌̑͆̀͊̅̑̒̏̈͌̇̆̆̃̽͗̈̐͐́̊͂̊̉͌̑̚̚̚͘̕͘͘͘̕͝͠͠͝��̧̡̧̡̢̧̧̧̡̢̧̨̧̧̧̨̬̣͇̥͓̪̖̺̥̦͚͚̼̲̬̙͈̲̰̬̬̩͇͎̪͔̤̯̼̥͔̫͚̗̩̫̗̩̭̯̯͔̝̯̹͚͖̪̼̘͍̞͇͖͓̲̺̤̞̠̮̰̩͉̟͖͈̫̦̟̘͕͚̲̟͍͉̹̳̗͈͇̱̮̜̞͎̼̥̗͚̮͇͓̮͍̞̠̻̮̳̳̣̲͔͉̥͎̮͚̥̪̮̺̫̙̭̭̞͚̱͇̝̤̥̭̺̙̯̩̦̠͔͙̘̯͖̯̗͕͇̭͈͙̫̦͌͘͜͜͜͜͜͜ͅͅͅͅы̷̡̧̡̨̢̧̢̢̢̡̡̢̨̛̛̛̛̛̤̘̥̦̞̳̖̲͇̮̝̰̰̣̖̹̜͔͎̱̱̠̺̼͙͖̫̳̼̺̞̻̻͉̮͔͉͙͙͔̳̰̼̲͕̭͓͍̪̬͎̙̝̤̝̜̻̩̼͖̜̝̤͈̝͔͈͚͖̘̜̭͈̦͕̬̠̖͚̳͚̙̥̲̣͚̩͈̬̯̙̘̠͎̻͎͈̜̜̣̬͎̱͔̪̙̜̯̮̐͆̿̓̓̈́̒̃̎̄͊̈́͋̏̍̈́͗̒̒͛̓̔͐́̅̈́̈͋̓̇̓͒͊̑̀̏̊̿̊͐̾͊̐̆̅̀̈͒͆̒̈̎̉̌̀̏̎͒̓͂̎̽͆̍̂͂̈́͊̓̾̏͑̇̕̕͘̚̚͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅͅй̸̨̢̨̨̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̠̲̟̘͚̼̬̫̬̼̮̼̮̤͈̫͙͈͉̝̬̻͈̤͙͍͍̈́̇̎͌͋̀̒̾̌̓̍̈́̒̎̓́̃̑͂̈́͑͋͛͊̎̏͗̅̆͒̍͂̈́͗̒̏̑͆̐̃̇͋͐̃̿͑̅͛̓̎͂͒̋̃́̐̾͌͑̈́̂͂̂̍̓̂̓̓̈́̎̏̊͐͌̆̑̎̂̊͌͐̋̀̊̆͆̂̓̐̔̄̐̓̂̐̿̏͒̔̂͛̄͗̑͋͂̔̔͗͐̇́̋̑͐̅̈́͗̓͒̓̍̿̈́̒̉̀͒̃͒̊̈̌̍̔̌͊̄̓́̔̅̃̏̇͆͒͆̐̉͑̐̐̑̐̉͋͐̄̾͊̽̐͋̊̂̂͛̆͆̿̑͂͗̍͊̀͗̍̒̇͂̍͛̕͘̚̚̕͘͜͠͝͠͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͠,”Stitch rumbled out, something in his voice almost excited. Before you could even react with the static crackling in your ears, you saw the blur of the butt of his gun coming at you. 

And suddenly your vision went dark. 

________________________________________________________________

You blinked. The crackling of static distorted your hearing as it overlapped with the words and sounds around you. 

You saw Stitch walking alongside the lined up analysts with his soldiers standing behind them, their rifles aimed and ready. 

“The first one to give us the microfilm will be…” Stitch trailed off, pondering over what word in English to use, “-pardoned,” he finished with a rather disappointed tone. 

Any volunteers?” he asked dryly, looking over the hunched over forms of the analysts. Some trembled while others were simply frozen in place. You noticed how his attention leaned towards a particularly trembling figure.

“I know where it is,” Nancy piped up.

You blinked dazedly. It was almost like watching a drama, you laughed quietly to yourself. The twist of betrayal. 

“̵̨̢̨̧̡̛̛̱̻̠̩͕͍̯̲̺͇͈̮̤͖̰̜̭̘̙̣̱̗̻̩͓̝̻̞̟̱̹̜̞̘͈̼̞̃̎̂̉͗͛̔̾̈́̃̈́̓́̿̾̽̅̔́̂̎͒̀̈̈͗̌͛̓͛̈́̕͘͝͝ͅН̸̛̰̫͖̭̼̬͈̯̲̪͇̅̂̊̈́͂̈̏̐̋̀̔̈́̐̾̌̏̄̏͆̑̂̍̐̽̍͊̍̃̎͝͝е̵̲̘͖̲͇̲̼̬̹̪̞̬̗̲̜̦̪̒͊̔̽̐̊͒̄͊̒̈́̎̌͜͝ ̸̜̩̤͚͉̠̦̇͗͛̇̋̐̈̉̾̽͒̅̆̍̂͌́̑͐͋̈̇̐̀͑̅̊̿͊̆̋͘͘͝͝п̸̢̨̡̣̤͖͉̦̟̭̤̻͕̙͉̖̮̤̩̮̭͉̮̭̺̦͈̠̲̮̙̠̻͙̙͕̣̳̣̙̪̙̬̠͒̌̊͐̃̾̅͗̋̋͒̐̒͝ͅͅͅо̶̢̢̧͍̰͔̺̝͈̤̰̥̦̭̬̠̗̖̩̯̱̖͈̳̙̗̞̗̠̻͔͉̰͔͉̠͓̼̬̝͚͍̟͌̇̈́̄̽̊̈́͂͒͒͜͠ͅз̷̢̡̡̢̡̰̯̪͎̗̭̘͍̺͚̳͓͎͍͚̥̰̬̬͔̰̰̹̞̪̰̲̺͓̗̪͖̮̮͎̞̙̪̝̙̰͎̞̪̭̠̭͎̻͑̉̓̆͌͌̊͌̔̾̅͆̽̃͌̋̏̈́̇̒̆̚͠ͅв̶̧̢̨̢̢̨̛̙̟̫̜͚̦̖̘̼͙̰̺̗̳̪̳̲̟̪̠̘̻̖͎̬̫͎͈͇̘̗͉̙̉͆͐̌̈͋̾͊͌̔͂̆̈́̎͑̐̈́͒̐̈͑̐̌̾̑͊̂͛̔̓̋̌̏̀̃̀̇͐͐̈́̾̀͘͘͘͜͝͝͠ͅо̵̡̜̞̖̱̰̙̫̝͎̰̻͈͓̓̏͑̅́̓̌̍̄̃̆̎̄͋̋͛͘͝͠л̷̡̢̡̡̧̨̡̡̖̥̮̭̺̞̪̩̤̯̰̖͉̙͉̖̘̰̝̟̗͖͉̝̞̝̤̪̭͈̮͎̻̩̙̼̏̎̀́̌̏̈̆͗̽͂̆̈́̉̿͐̒̊̀͆̾̇͐̏͊̔̕͜͝͝ͅͅя̴̡̨̨̨̢̢͇̥̳̥̱̥͎̟̤̳̣͓͈̣̬̖̯̟͎̜̤͉͔͍̭̩̱̟͉͚͍̩̰͈͈͙͔̳̝̝̞̜͓̠̟͍̮̘̤̠̑̓̿͛̃̓̿̾͛͜ͅͅй̴̢̧̛̛͇̪̬̦͓̙͚̭̭̗͙̳̩͙̬̜͈͉̘̖͔̫̳̤̭̮͔̰̠̜͈̥̭͉͚̣̥͉̼͓̳͔͕̙̲̟͖̣͖̲̺̳̝̩̬̬͍̰͍̈̄̆̓̽͑̏̆͐̏̑̊̐̂̃̅͛̽̾̋̌̐͆̓̀̃͂̓͗͂̄͘̚͜͝͝͝ͅт̸̧̧̨̡̛̦͈̮͙̹̖̦̯̯̠̜̖̰̘͙͉̞̱̔̋̋͆̾͊̒͂̓̃̊̓̿̾͑̀͗͋̋͐̍̾̍͗̅̑̀̿̽̑̈̓͂͒̿̃̔̈̇̆̈́̐̈́̃͒̚͘͘͘͜͠͠͝͝͝е̵̢̛͎͖͉͎̜̟͋̏̓͆͊̾̉̀̇͊̏̌͊̈͒͑̔̐͌̄̌̈́̊̏͑͛̈́̈́̈̄̈̎̄͐̏̄́͒̋̇̈́̏͘̕͝͝͝͝ ̵̡̧̧̨̢̩͍͚̫͍͙͈̱̭͕͓͇̱̠̯̼̳̂̑̆͐̀͊̽̒̓͊͂̾̈̽̍͒̈́̈́̊̄͆͑̾̒͗̋̉̓̋͂͌̔͛̊̅̏̈́͒̀̽̃͂̊̕͘͘͘͘̕͜͜͝͝ͅе̴͉̥̻͙͈̥̙̭̞̗̖̪̜̫͎̝̱̺̌̉̄̀̄̈́̂͋̔̇̓̾͋̇̈́̎̍͂͑̃͘̕̕͝ͅͅй̷̡̹̼͙͖̜̅͊̍͗̚ ̷̨̢̨̧̨̧̧̲̜͖̙̪̟̝̰͈͇̙͔͇̣͙̘̖̻̝̪͓̪͚̼̱͙̦̰̯̥͕̫̞̼̖̝͉̯̯̱̳͖͓̜̭̖̻͕̙͑̿̿ͅй̶̨̧̨̡̛̛̳̜̥͎̘̳͎̭͎̘̦̬͔̼̖̭͙͇͖͖̭͓͔͔͚͇̞̟̤͍̫̪̞͇̟̗͚̦͖͕̲̙̳͔̇̂͑̽̎̈̋̊̈̇̒̂̇̌̊̆̄̉̍͆͗̐̈̔̚͜͝ͅͅд̴̡̨̹̣̭̱̈̔͗̌̎̃͊͂̀͊̃̾̂̌̽͜͠͝ͅͅт̵̡̛̯̙̲̮̟̬̺̤͕̤̩̳̖̣̩̠̣͌̀͑͆͊̈̊̊͐̃̿̓͌͊̇̿̇̌̎͋̋̂̒͒͋̐͐̆̕̕͠͝͝͝и̸̢̡̢̡̨̗͎̣̦͖̭̥̯͈̠̫͙̯͖̪̝͚̥͈͕̘̫̤̻͇͙̜̘̞͎̭̲̞̱͈̙̝͖͓̠̣̺̗͔̭̖͚̹̱͓͔͛̈́̉̒͌̓̄̒́̓̈́̓̂̓͗̃̍̏̚͜͜͜ ̴̨̨̡̢̧̛̛͙̤̻͉̤͈̳̮͎͚͙̯̰͉̖̹͔̙̱̖͈͉̳̖̊̑̓̔͒̐̔̋́͆̂̓̇̉̎̽̈͆́̌̽̓͊̊̇̈́͗̎̓̚̕̕͘͘͠͠н̴̨̢̧̢̨̝̟̗̳̙̭̖͇̩͓̮͓̳̘̙̝̺͎͉̰͕̘͔̙̰̲̥̪̦̗̬̥̩̩͂̉͌̋̋͋͗̈́͜а̴̨̧̧̨̨̨̧̛̩̜̜̝̘̜̰̮͎͍̼̬̪͙̜̯̺͎̟̪͉͉̻͖̘̖͉͍͇̜͍̺̭̙͇͑͐͛͌̎͐̌̽̈́̿̎̉̍̓̈́͐̅̅̓͆͗̑͌̏͊̅͛̎̈̏̑̒͑̆͋̈́̎́̔͂̀̔͛̅̀͑͊̄͐͋̌̈́͑͘̕̕͝͝͝͝ ̸̨̧̢̨̨̡͚̯͚͕̳̣̝͈̥̭͔̮̜̗͚̠̰̣͇̞̱̦̣̫͚̞̘̘̗̠̞̤̤͍̼̮̭̮͇̘̥̜͕̔͌͆̅͆̉̀̈́̄͒́̍͊̎͆̍̈́̔͑͆̋͆̓̋͒̈̓̍̎͐͐̌́̑̈́̄͒͛͐̄̃̈́̿̏͆͛̽̕͘̕̕͝͝͝к̶̧̡̡̨̢̛̛̛̩̬̠͖͍̫̱͖̲̩̪͕̲͎̖͖͕̝͗̑͐͒͂̓̏̔͆̐̐̽̔͆̽̍̅̔̈́̊̽͒̆͌̏̈́̒̋̂̃̿͒͛̈́͒̓̃̈́̂̐̆͆̌̾̋͛͛̈͒͘͘̚͜͝͝͝͠о̸̡̡̛̩̯͇͙̜̘̠̘͓̗͚̖̖͇͇͉̠͚̣͍͇̞̯̝͎̮̦͔͎̩͓̜̘̖̼̠̳͉̣̭͉̱̘̙̠̘͉̫̫͎͉̀̎̋̄̑̅͗̇̍̏͆͊̽̂̍̎̾̊̎́̾̀̎͌͂̓̓͗̇̈́̎̀̈̇̑͠м̶̛̠͈͙̒͛̈́̒̓̍̾́̉̏̉̌̂̽̈̒̇̈́͒̓̾̇͗̑͊̂̎͆́̕̚̚͠͠п̴̨̢̢̢̨̛̛̬͕̬̣̳̖̬̫͎̬̬̘̰͖̠̠̰̟̫̹͙̺͔̘̤͙̱͈̪͍͚͍̥̙̙̩͚̱̹̯͕̻̃̂͑̅̅̐̑̈́̇̍́̔̉̋̉̍̈́͘͘͘ͅр̶̧̢̯͈̣̱͔̰͍̝̖͖͇̤̮̗̲̣̰̺̟̘͙͉͓͎̖̼͕͇̞̦̤̤̞̹̜͔͔̘̗͍̣͔͇̊̃̽͂͗͐̅̔̍̇̍̈́͒̅͊͘͜͝о̵̠̺̘̹͓̖̣̋̊̂̕͠м̴̡̨͖͕̙̝̮̩̠̻̺̣̫̲̘͎̪̝̻̼̳̼͕̖̊͐͗̉̊̽́̊̓͐̒̾̆̑͋͑͌̿̈́̂̓͛͒̓̑̇̂͊͘͘̕͜͝͝͠ͅͅи̸̡̢̧̡̢̨̡̛̭̦̺͓̞̩̪͕̠̞̗̗̯͙͚͓̦͍̖̟̗̜̤̣̝͓̪̣͔͍̰͉̙̱͖͙̩͚̲̥͔̼̤̫̪͕̣̪͍̘̰͎̪͐̄̄̄̑̂̈́̾̉̈́̒͌̿̎͋̃̇̿͑̇̈́̊̈̏́̿͌͑̀̚̚̕͜ͅс̷̨̹̹̳̣͎͎̳̦͎̥̪͕̭̞͇̜͉̟͍̣̰̻̺̪̠͈̟̞̠̮̫̬̞̬͈̰̳̱̹͙̞̖̜͍̜̲̈͗̂̇̀͜͝ͅс̴̧̨̬̜͖͔͓̹̠̩̟͈̘̟̘̳̙̙͔̻̫͎̤̲̠̫̞̳̝̻̯̮̹͌.̴̨̛͖͈͎͈͑͆̃̔̉̊͛̍̾̂͌̅̈́̌̾͗́̉͗̂͒̑̌̄͌́͒̅͋̈́̏̍̀̐̉͒͑͋̚̕͘͝͠͝”̵̛̛͓̬̲̟̋̈́̏̐̇̀̍̎̃̏̈̌̿͑̑͆͂͌͌̓̌̇̊̓̾͋̋̌̃͂͋͌̊̓̕͘̕̕̚̚͝͠͝͝

Something urged you to move , a nagging instinct clawing at the back of your mind.

And so you did. 

You kicked at the legs of the Perseus operative standing guard over you, making him shout and pointing his rifle at you. 

“Нет! Не убивайте ее! ” Stitch barked out. 

Much to your surprise, the Perseus operative hesitated. You didn’t take a moment to indulge in that as gunfire erupted around you. 

You instantly ducked behind the closest thing to you. After hearing the brief pause in gunfire, you made a mad dash to the cover of the desk. There was only one thing on your mind, more than the hostages, more than getting out of there alive.

Microfilm, you thought distantly. 

You needed to prevent it from falling into their hands. 

Somehow, your eyes locked onto that little container containing the microfilm filled with sensitive intel about the operations of Adler and his team. It was slick with blood and your eyes followed the trail of the blood to its originator.

Nancy. 

She was shot several times in the shoulder and abdomen. 

You blinked. That source of momentary cover had been her. 

Н̷̧̧̡̨̧̛̲̣̳̭͇͎̻͇͙̪̰͎̟̫͖͍̭̤̜̟͈͔̠̖̪͔͙͇̱͈̹̳͉̫̖̻̖̱͓̰̞̙̫͖̿͌̄̾̂͑̆̌̐̽͗͂͒́̄͐̏̾̆́̒͋̈́̌͗͛͘͜ͅе̸̢̧̬̞͔̹̘͖͓̼̲͔̫̟͚̯̝͔̤̺̲̹̲͓̩̝͔̼̳̼̉̆̏̆̀̅̐́̈́̃̍͐̇̾̏̈́̑̽͗̆̽̄̋̑̓̃͐̽͊̒̃̾̿͆̅̄͆̿͐̇̏͗̆̕̕̚̕̚͜͠͝͠ͅ ̷̨̛̛̺̥̝̤̬͉̦͚̙͓̞̖̩͇̪̺͚̰̱̫͍̪̺̫̪͐̐̓̌̆̈̋̌̄̐̎̈́̐̎̑̑̃̈̂̓̈̃̂̉̓̉͑̈́͌̅͒̌͌̀̚͘͘͜͝͝д̶̡̢̧̧̨̨̛͈̣͈̘͕̲͉̭̠͈̫̬̺̝̟̳̺͎̣̞̰̼͎̯͕̮̤͎̪͚͖̞̤̠͚͉͓͙̼̠͔̞͕̉͗̎̂̎̎̍̒̀̈́̒̃̒͊̄̌͑̋̒͘͠͝а̶̨̨̢̡̨̨̨̛̩̜̜̠̞̝̟͖̞͚̰͖̦̖̲͕̤̘̤͙͉̭͙̠͔̗̠͉̱̯̭̺͓̣̭̜̞͕̬̮͚̩͉̹͓̄̉̈́̀̉̃͊̈́̋͒̾̓͛̌̂̏̋̈́̒͐́̾̏̿͑̓͆͐̓͆͂͌̄̚̕͘̕̚͝͠ͅͅͅй̵̡̢̡̨̡̢̨̛̩̰͚͔̪͙͈͖̝̦̥̰͉̬͙̱͈̹̼͇̩͎̙̦͔͉͓̭̰̼̰̙͕̣̙̬̮̠̯͎̳͓͔͖̯͇̱͎̭̻͌̑̎̆̄̔̎̊̾̍̅͗͛͐̂̑͂̆̔͗̌̈́̒̆̿̈̋̽̎͗̓̊͑̈́̋̊͂̌̐̾̈̚͘͘͜͠͝͝͠͠͠ͅͅт̴̛͉̲̘̳̬̘̖͙̀̍̉͛̿̃͗̈͂̓͑̈̌͋̍̅̓̏̓̂̓̽͌̓̂̐̉̉̽̂̑͑̆̊̔̈́̅͋̊͆̊͒̄̽̋͗̅̎̽̌͘̕̚͠͝͝͝е̷̧̨̧̨̘̳̝̱̰̭̘̟̝̯̘̯̤̖͓͍̦̯̝͖͎̠͓͍̳̺̘̞̖̪̓̃̋̀͐̃͒͑̾̏̊̌̕̚ͅ ̶̡̛̮̜͎̯̣͑̂͑̄͑̈̔̕͝ͅе̴̨̨̧̛̞͕̤̻͈̺̱̮̩̲͎̝̱̮̱̹̙͉͈͎͈͎̠͊̒̏͛͗̇̇̔̄̈́͊̇̒̍̓̂͒̈́̉̕͘͝͝͝м̴̛̛̦͍͙̱̹̦̼̱͍̤̺̮͈̓̿͒́̂̐̊͌̾̒̈̿̄͂̿̉͗̈̉͑̽̾͑͆̊̃̐̂͑̔̀̋̇͛͆͊͊̐̆͋̈́͗̐̚̚͜͝͠͠у̴̢̡̦̭̟̤͚̜̹̯̺̜̦̬̠̫̱̦͓̭͎̩͎̫͙̗̒̈́̓̿̓̄̊͗͛̐͛́̌̉̋̔̾̑̔̈́̓͗͂̈́̂̿̽͒̚̕̕͝͝͝͠͠͝ ̶̛̛̛̬̬͕͍̱̯͍̰̰̭̹̱̤̹̼̙̬͒̈́͛̀̾̎̃̉̍̑̉̇̅̈́̈́̓͛͒͑͊̉͛̋̆̍͗̋̅̄̽̃̈͘̕͜͝͝п̴̧̢̨̧̨̢̧͇̠̯̫̺̤͇̖͚̱̫͈̺̮̹̹̦͕̤̝̣͚̹͔̞̹̣̺̤̯̹̮̜̲̟̩̟̹̪͈̤͔̳̪͙͖̝̐̈́̈͐͑̏̓͑̔͆̐̌̐̎̽͛͐͒͂̔̈́̅̆̏̑̈̏̌̈́̇̕̕͜ͅͅӧ̷̡̨̡̢̢̨̘̟̫͚͕̮̟̻̹̺̝̦̪̮̦̖͎͖̩̮̤̗͎̦̼͇̙̳̲̜̖̳̗̭͇̦̣̣̞͙̙͔̹̱͔͔̣̑͋̋̒͐̐̍̏̈́́̈́̏͌̿̔̌̂̄̔̂͊͜͜͝͝ͅͅͅп̷̧̡̜̩̘͎̼̥̤̥̩͕͙̭̠͇̙̞̲͍͍̬̅̐̊̂̐̅͂̊͂͗̐͗̊̌̂͆̉̀̀͂̌͊̋͂̎̐͛̅͗͋͂̽̍͜͜͜͜͝͝а̶̡̬̳̜̹͍͖̥̱͈̭͇̣͙̪͖͓̙̯̙͓̮͖̗͔̲͔̳̫̳͎̱̱̩̮͉͓̙̣̤͙͚̻̏͒͊̎̄͗̋̽̂̾͆̋̃͑͌̑̎̐̉̐̽͒͆̓̄̍̇̅̾̈̑̌̿̂͂̉̉̐̔̈́̉́̏̒͒́̏̈́̑̾̎͆͘̕̕͜ͅс̴̨̧̡̨̡̢̨̦͇̪͙̲̙͓̦͚͕̝̖̤̩̥͎͚̥͙̘̘͈̪͕̦̻͖̤̜̠͖̼̗̦͉̫̱̥̩̯͕̱͇̜̱̪̬̯͙̞̝͑͗͌̌͆̈́̂̈́͂̽̄̏̓̀͐̂͗͌̄̄̐͒̍̾̽̄͑͑̈́̔͘͘͜͜͜͠т̶̨̢̛̛͖̙̬͓̼̞̳͉̜͚͈̬͉̫̣̻͖͎͕̭̙̼̪̪̟̹̲̝̙͔̝̲͙̎͋̔͋̓̋̿̓͑̇̀͋͛̅̈́͊̚͝͝͝ь̴͚̈́͜ ̸̧̭̦̦̟̼̩̪͓̥̮͖̻͙̦͎͎̲̙̙̱͖͉̮͎̙̲̼̈́̃͜͜в̵̧̨̨̡̨͚̤̻̯̬̞͉̗͚͇̮̺͙͔̺̘͔̭̫̗͉̺̹̮̖̙̩̣͙̈̽͗̎͊̉̔̌͋̔̂̍̕͜͝ͅͅͅͅ ̴̛̛̛̤̖͖̈̎͋̈̐̃̔͊̔̓̎́̑͐̌̊̂̓̀̀̌̎͆̈͊̎̃͌̎̒̏̏̕͘̕̚͝͝͝͝͠и̷̨̡̛̛̣̩͈̬͍͓̲͉͓̠̙̬̖͔̦̯͓̣̟̻̺̼̓͆̃̈́͑̑͋̔͋̌͋̑͆̊̂̿̋͊̔̏̃̈́̃̽̓͌̈̀̆̍̔̅͋͂̈̆̈́̔̆͐̽̈́͂͘̕͜͜͝х̴̢̡̛̠̼̲̼̗̣̲̫̗̖̰̣̩̼͓̣͚̜̜͎̮̖̟̗͉̠̝̺̞̯̪͇͓͕͎̰̘̞̜͈̝̺͎̥͎̣̬̞̤̼̥͙̲̮͕̙͋̔̽̐̍̌̆̓̈́̋̀͋͐̾͗̈́͆͘͜͜͜ ̶̨̧̢̡̡̰̟̭̪͙̻̩͎̩̦̰̼̗͚͓̗͉͎͈̮̭̠͚͙̙̬͈̳̳̬͇̘̙̖̘̖̤͉̘͈̯̹͓̬̳̹̳̍̍̄̑̋̈̓̌̄̈́̂͐͆̏̾̌͛̑̋̌̈́̎̈́̌̽̃̎̄̆̈́̏̑̑̃͒̈́̆̓͌̄̿̂̒̾́̍̃̉̏̈́̎͆̉̎̕͠͝͠͝͠ͅͅͅр̴̛̛͇́̓̄͌͆̀̏́́̈́̈̃̏͒͐̅̇̔̾͂͛̒͛̋̒̒͂͋͑̓̓̌̽̑͒̎̽͗̔̈́͒̏̚̚͘̚͘͝у̷̡̧̢̢̧̧̛̠͖̬̹̣̣̫͚̰̝̹̫͍͖̱̬̞̦͍̜̟̣̬̳̱̤̙͎̙̖̗̮̤̤͓̦͉̘̩͖̠͔̪͕̎̓̈́̒̍̔̆̍̒̿̐̅̃̈́̈̊͌̉̑̍̂̚͠͝ͅк̶̨̧̧̧̨̛̜̠̞͖̻̹͇̥͍̳̪̣̙̜̣̘͖͎̮̙̳̭̳̲̤̥̥̬̗͚̟͍̦̘̟̟͕̫̲̬̹͓̠͈̤͓̦͕̝͋̌̆̿̉̃̆͑̎̇̄͂̓̈́͒̓̂̌̓͛̂̆̓̌̋̍͊̐͆́̔̏̆̍̈̉̔̓͋̽̏͋̚͘̚͜͠͝и̶̨̡̨̨͓͍͈̝̞̤̰̳͉̜̮̰̖̝̼̜̰͈̖̯̣͔̻̪̲̟̜̹̟̥͍̭̱͔̜̘̝̱̫̭͎̪̤̖͍̠̉̏͒̐̉̉̇̑͋̓̓͛̅̕͜͜ͅͅ.̴̡̢̡̛̘͉̥̜̮̜͓͎̪͍̖͉̗̯͖̞͓̰̪̺̥̫͕̩͙͚̺͉̗̜̰̺͔̬̲͖̼̣̙͉̯̞̜͇̞̣̺͇̞͛͒̇̅͊͊̇̈͌́̑̈́̃̓̊̏̇̈̂̑͌͒̈́̂̐͂̍͊̐̐̃̌̎͛̊̅̄̑̽͐̆͂̆̄̑̓̏͘̚̚̚̚͝͠ͅ

The static grew louder and louder. Distantly, you snatched up the microfilm roll and looked down at it. It left a crimson mark on your hands with the blood. 

It was almost instinct , you thought numbly. The metallic taste of the microfilm’s blood-slicken surface was acrid in your mouth as was the bombastic peach fragrance aftertaste of Nancy’s Giorgio peach-accented perfume. You swallowed the microfilm container quickly and turned your attention to securing yourself next. 

As you found a pistol on the floor, you hastily gripped it despite the slicken feeling to it. It was covered in blood. You immediately took the safety off and leaned slightly out from the cover of the desk to take aim at the boots walking towards you.

And then you heard it click.

It jammed. 

Shit.

The static grew stronger. You winced at the intensity. Where the hell was it coming from? You sure as hell didn’t see any radios or monitors on nearby since the main power was cut by Stitch and his operatives. 

Forcing the static from your mind, you nearly growled in frustration…

—And promptly threw the gun at Stitch. 

You blinked in surprise at the sound of metal hitting the material of his gas mask. He even recoiled slightly in surprise before a feral look entered his eyes.

Payback was one vindictive thought that entered your mind. 

Oh shit was another that soon followed. 

“I will kill your comrades one by one.” Stitch warned. Although, something in his voice easily told you he wouldn’t mind that outcome, “Stop.”

You stared at him through the fuzzy distortion of your vision. 

Comrades , you pondered. 

They took priority over you. 

You relented, going down to your knees as he wanted. 

Still, you refused to look up at him but rather gaze at the analysts still lined up, ready to be shot dead from a single order by Stitch to his soldiers. 

“Give it up,” he demanded, gripping your face tightly with one hand. You simply looked up at him calmly. No .

“Приведи ее сюда .” Stitch gestured over to Nancy.

You watched as his operatives hauled Nancy’s body to your feet, leaving a bloody trail in their wake. Her hazy eyes stared up fearfully at you. 

Gardenias and jasmine , you noted vaguely. You hadn’t noticed that about her bombastic Giorgio scent until it had been stripped away of its grandeur right before you in the blood and gore. 

“P-please,” she begged, not looking at you but up at him. 

Stitch chuckled lowly. He too must have been rather amused by her attempts for mercy from him of all people. 

“Look at her,” he gestured to you with the Makarov in hand. 

And so those watery cerulean eyes of Nancy’s gazed at you. 

“...please.” she said quietly.

You only stared at her back blankly. 

She was going to give up the microfilm and anything she knew to Stitch. 

With this thought in mind, you watched the muzzle of the gun press against her head before you heard the gunshot. You only blinked when you felt something wet and warm on your face. 

Distracted by the sensation, you were pulled away from your thoughts when leather stroked against your cheek in an almost affectionate fashion. You felt something wet smear against your cheek as his gloved hand stroked the skin there. 

“Ruthless as always,” Stitch said with a rather approving yet feral look in his eyes as you gazed up at him. He laughed a little to himself before adding, “I’m glad the CIA did not make you soft.” 

You blinked. Why...why hadn’t you said anything when they were going to shoot her?

She was a traitor, the thought came to mind instantly. But you nearly winced at the thought. 

So were you. 

You pulled away from your thoughts suddenly when you felt a firm pressure at your lips. His gloved fingers were pressing against your lips insistently with the wet metallic-smelling substance still on them. 

Stitch stared down at you with that milky eye of his blank and emotionless. It contrasted sharply with his cerulean one filled with a rather keen interest, “Open,” he demanded.

You glared up at him. 

“If any of your piece of shit comrades swallowed that, I would have cut them open like pigs,” Stitch casually said resting a knife at your abdomen as if he contemplated the threat of gutting you open. 

However, the pressure of the knife against your abdomen lightened as he stroked a gloved thumb over your lips. He seemed a little too preoccupied with doing that for some reason… 

“But you, Зая, I will make an exception.”

You blinked once again.

Somehow, that didn’t sound like a good thing. 

Suddenly, his large gloved hand moved to grasp at your jaw, pressing down on it harshly. You nearly winced at the pressure, preparing yourself for the inevitable. He was definitely going to break your jaw as expected…

You glanced quickly over to the analysts still lined up like ducks to shoot down before Stitch’s operatives. They looked at you rather nervously and with concern. You blinked at them. Sure, you were about to get your jaw broken but you were sure you’ve had worse in the past considering your scars. Besides, it was hard to top MK Ultra...

Suddenly, you felt him press down on the joint and his hands forced your mouth to open even as you desperately tried to fight it. What the hell was he doing-

You blinked. Your eyes glanced down to confirm that yes-

Stitch actually was shoving his fingers into your mouth. 

You struggled to bite down but that insistent pressure at the joint of your jaw kept you from doing so. His fingers forced deeper into your mouth until they reached the back of your throat. The moment they pressed there you felt your throat convulse and your eyes watered. 

However, even as your throat convulsed as you gagged on his fingers, you tried not to dry heave. 

But then underneath the dull taste of his leather gloves, you tasted that familiar metallic taste.

Blood.  

There had been blood on your cheek which he had stroked with a gloved hand before brushing your lips with that same one. 

Suddenly, you felt saliva run down your throat alongside his fingers.

And it was at that moment you felt yourself choke. 

“сдавайся уже.” he said impatiently, withdrawing his fingers at last when he noticed you just couldn’t breathe. You only glared up at him with teary eyes blurring your vision with your hand immediately rubbing tenderly at your throat as you struggled to calm both your stomach and your breathing. 

You opened your mouth to say something but then you heard something...beeping in the background. You turned your head to the side, seeing that it originated from one of the large cryptography machines sent from the highest levels of the cryptography department of the CIA.

You briefly glanced at the analysts who were nodding at you. 

You blinked. What were they trying to say-

Suddenly you heard a deafening bang with a ringing- not static -in your ears-

And then everything went dark. 

________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note: Special thanks to @samatedeansbroccoli​ for beta-reading this late at night last-minute! Without their feedback, I probably wouldn't have been able to post this chapter and this chapter would have been in a worse condition. 

Thanks for reading!

[cherryafton]

Together forever (oc!Bell/Stitch)

Fandom: Call of Duty Black Ops: Cold War 

Warnings: Blood, torture, starving, violence, mild gore, whump, angst, spoilers.

Summary: Bell survived hell caused by Adler only to be trapped by the devil himself, Stitch. Give her a break.

This fic takes place after the events of the game. Let’s say, Bell survives to the shot and because she’s related to Perseus, he sends people to search for her body only to realize she’s alive. Of course, she needs to be penalized for her betrayal.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28562193/chapters/69996273

Word count: 1005

A/N: Big thanks to @yunatheintrovert for getting me into my new obsession, giving me a lot of feedback and just helping me out to improve. I appreciate everything they’ve done for me. They’re an amazing writer. Please check out their blog. :-)

I’m using my oc Viktoria. If you want to know more about her, check out her tag (oc: viktoria norin bell)

Also, I have a playlist inspired by this fic (it’s still in progress so I don’t have a lot of songs there, if you have any song suggestions, I’d love to know them). You can listen to it here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/58pSSmNvqKXpBD7fX4KxAn?si=wnFXRCLXTpSgeOvP4A63PA

Anyway, I hope you like it!

Chapter 1: Rebirth

A painful blow woke Viktoria up, “Wake up, подонок” a voice buzzed through her ears.

Stunned, she looked in the direction where the blow came from. She hazily noticed a large figure standing beside her as he pulled up a chair and sat in front of her. 

When her vision completely cleared, the figure was a masked man with a distinctive scar on his left eye. 

He grasped her chin and eyed her with hatred “Perseus has been looking for you everywhere and it was to expect, you’re related. Unfortunately for you, you’re a survivor which means you have to pay for what you did,”

“You are a traitor and I will treat you like one, being Perseus’s granddaughter won’t save you” he continued as he finally let go of her face.He stood up, gaze never leaving her.

“Bell, we’ve got a job to do” was the last thing she heard.

‘No, not again, please’ she thought as she was standing in a corridor and saw that damn red door again. She tried to focus herself on something else, but her attempts were useless. Viktoria didn’t have a choice but to walk towards the door.

She took a deep breath and opened it, which took her back to the Safehouse, like it used to be.

“Welcome back, Bell’’ Park greeted with a smile as she walked past beside her. She looked around and everyone was there, even Lazar, but something felt off.

Adler was missing.

Typically, he would’ve been sitting in front of the evidence board while smoking a cigarette or in the office doing paperwork. She looked out everywhere for him until she went into the red room, decorated with all the pictures she’d taken on the missions.

Suddenly, the tv at the end of the room turned on. She peeked out of the room. The Safehouse had become empty with no one being around anymore. She walked towards the tv in confusion until she noticed it was playing footage of war, the same she's always seen.

She closed her eyes. When she opened them, she was in that jungle, living those fake memories again until she arrived at the door and came back to the corridor.

This time, she saw Adler entering through the door, “Adler, wait!” she shouted as she ran towards the door and when she opened it, he went gone, just an empty dark room.

“Don’t leave me, not again, please” she said, crying out. She laid down on the floor and curled up, realizing she got herself into something worse.

Vika gained conscience when she received a hit, this time, to the temple.

“Come back to earth, сука” a soldier scowled, she looked up at him.

“Fuck off” she said blankly, earning other punch on the nose, it started bleeding and now, he didn’t stop beating her up. After some minutes that felt like an eternity, someone gestured to him to cease. They turned off the lights and left the room, leaving her in the darkness, her entire body throbbing. She spent her days like that, lights off, no food and an insignificant amount of water. 

What they were doing to her was barbarous, humiliating.

One day, they gave her a decent meal and the soldier that brought her the food had the lowest ranks because of his uniform. The way he tried to act tough but failed. He untied her to the chair she was in to allow her to eat.

“No funny business or you’re done, got it?” he scolded as he drew his gun, Vika just nodded and stood up to stretch her legs. After a while, she sat and started eating as if there was no tomorrow.

She savored the sensation of having something in her stomach. When she finished, she stood up again, knowing this weirdly kind gesture happened once in a lifetime.

She didn’t even dare to escape, it’s not that she enjoyed being there, but she was weak and couldn’t stand a chance to escape. She definitely didn’t want to test her luck. 

The soldier signaled her to sit and tied her again to the chair. He turned off the lights. Before leaving, he simply said, “You’re lucky Stitch is compassionate with you, you know?” with that, he left. 

His statement stuck in her mind and she kept thinking about it frequently.

‘Why? He said he wouldn’t treat me differently just because gramps is his chief, he must need something from me, that’s for sure’ there’s just one way to find out.

Stitch came back. He had that look in his eyes, determination; she recognized that look pretty well, she’s seen it before, she had it before. Then she saw a combat knife in his hand. 

That wasn’t good.

Stitch walked towards Vika. He lowered himself to be at her height and removed his gas mask.

“Oh Bell, у тебя была работа” he sighed and bit her earlobe, suddenly he turned to give her a small peck on her neck. 

She froze there, not knowing what to do (not that she could) but it turned into her least preoccupation when she felt an unbearable pain in her abdomen.

‘That son of a bitch’ she thought as she looked down to see her clothes full of blood, he pulled her hair, Viktoria closed her eyes, earning her a slap on the cheek.

“Look at me,” Stitch commanded. She complied, hoping he’d stop and stared at him, eyes watering from the pain inflicted.

“будь ты проклят” Viktoria’s tone lowered to the point that it was almost like a murmur. He took out the blade, which gained a groan from her as she tried to move away. 

He didn’t stop, bruise after bruise, stab after stab, her arms, her torso, her legs.

She was all bloodied, her vision blurred, her head was spinning and finally, he stopped.

‘This is the end, this is finally it’ she thought, numbly laying there. It was only a matter of time before she passed out from the injuries.

Here's the meaning of the words I used for this fic:

подонок: bastard

сука: bitch

у тебя была работа: you had a job to do

будь ты проклят: damn you

[animefreak1145]

What Could Never Be (Adler x Bell!Reader x Stitch)

Sequel

Summary: You’re a sniper hidden in the trees meters away from the meeting of Stitch and Adler in front of the grave.

It’s time you choose.

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

Words: 9.1k

You saw the helicopter when it landed, several meters away from your disguised camouflaged  form within the high sky reaching trees of Russia. You kept your eyes on the scope, able to see with the zoomed in and the well equipped sniper you had within your hands. You moved the scope away from the helicopter before anyone got out and back to where Stitch stared at the grave site.

Perhaps you were imagining things. But there was something strange about how Stitch’s shoulders looked from where you were. Almost resigned. Accepting. But that can’t be right.

He must be wishing to put on a final show, you thought. Stitch can say what he wishes but he does have some appreciation for theatrics. 

Different from Perseus. You wonder even now what the man would say. Your once friend and superior, your confidant. Stitch wonders the same you’re sure. You do not presume to know about what Perseus would think, but you can see that Stitch has gone quite far. For the Perseus Collective. Not quite as devastating as it could’ve been if you didn’t ruin Perseus’s plans for Europe, but a blow nonetheless. Just as dangerous.

You can admire that at least. You never have been surrounded by stupid men.

Perhaps you should’ve, you tell yourself as you move your scope, your heart thundering as you looked for the form only for your breath to hitch when you found it. Him.

Adler.

You flexed your jaw, seeing Mason pat Adler’s shoulder before setting him off. Alone. To Stitch. 

You wanted to spit at the foolishness, almost shaking your head but you could only watch as Adler drew nearer to Stitch. 

Through comms, you heard Stitch say your name calmly—the old one, the true one that never felt quite the same no matter what he did or say or what the others could do. As if he could sense your trepidation from where he was at only to begin to turn when Adler came upon him with his pistol in hand.

Your finger twitched, moving towards the trigger as you watched and heard the interaction through comms. Your teeth being gritted and brows heavily furrowed and your heart feeling as if it would burst out of your chest from how fast it was going.

This was it.

Recompense.

A chance.

Redemption.

Seeing the man, hearing his voice—it brought memories. Too many. Despite Stitch finding you bleeding on the cliffs and Perseus and him deprogramming you, it did not take away the memories. Of Vietnam. All of them. Not just Fracture Jaw. You can close your eyes and see it being played, sometimes you even dreamed of it. Of claps to the shoulders and back, of teases from Sims and you doing the same about his magazines with Adler doing the same, of talks on the beaches, of trading of rations and eyes the color of the Arctic sea with it’s clearness winking at you to hush. For others to not get ideas he’s not spoiling you. The ways you would have his back like he always did yours. Of coughing harshly at trying a cigarette of his and him and the squad laughing at you and your face.

But you knew how to smoke. Stitch told you after he offered you one when you were recovering from your wounds.

“As if you were a chimney that only swallowed instead of expel,” the man would say in reference to how many packs you used to smoke, a tease in his tone and a fondness you couldn’t give back. You couldn’t remember. Only what you knew. Vietnam. The safehouse. The cliffs. Stitch seemed to tell when you were troubled by that, because he would hush you quietly, and carefully putting an arm around your shoulder and whispering vengeance to your ears. “The Westerners will pay, zaya. Adler will get justice for what he’s done. Just rest.”

Zaya. зая. Little rabbit.

They must’ve been close. But you don’t remember. Only what you know. And what you know has made you trust anyone very little. You didn’t think you could trust anyone again.

Adler’s words haunted you. The last words especially. Calling you a hero. But it wasn’t so. You were a pawn, nothing more. No one will know your name—what you did for Adler’s country. Only Adler does. The CIA. Even than, what was done to you, it was only told to certain people within the organization. Others will thank Adler for what he did. Stopping the nukes. Stopping the destruction and murders of millions of people. 

You were quiet with the others. Perseus would visit you if it wasn’t Stitch. And if not Stitch, it was this woman called Portnova. She said you used to be legend within the KGB when you worked with them. You don’t remember, no matter what they say. Perseus looking at you sadly yet with grim determination while Stitch seemed to be at a loss and only grew angrier. Not at you. He never did despite his harsh appearance. At everything else. Adler especially.

You didn’t know what to do.

You stopped these people from killing millions, but they were. . .kind to you. Patient. Even with your nightmares that were more night terrors as you screamed and yelled about red door’s and jungles and needles and T.V.’s. Perseus did not let any television be near you if you walked around the large safehouse or any other they went to after your recovery, and if there were, they always had to be on. Stitch didn’t let others hold you down if they had to give you medicine through a poke, a deadly glare and hiss if they tried. Knowing you hated being trapped or stopped in any form. You at first even had trouble with blankets being over you—feeling as if they were choking you, gripping you, like a firm touch to your jaw and you would sometimes hallucinate and see suede shades for walls above you when you awoke.

They aren’t good. Not what you know of the word, at least the you now.

But they were kind. To you.

And that was what made you conflicted.

They weren’t good but they were kind.

The others were good but they were liars.

Adler would kill you if he knew you were alive. You knew he would. Because that’s what he tried to do the first time. Missing just by an inch.

“A miracle, you’ve always been one.” Perseus said at the news, much later when you were almost fully recovered and were at a loss on what to do as the Russian man smiled kindly at you, the lines on his face apparent when he did it. “Since I happened to find you all those years ago. Alone by a gulag and wishing to get supplies just to get by. Looking as if you were a rat that went for a swim in a dumpster. Your round eyes looking at me like I was insane. Perhaps you were more a mouse.”

You were alone. You felt like you always were. In one way or another. It explained a lot.

Your loyalty.

Why you would kill millions for one and save millions for another.

You were dangerous.

You do not know it was more then or more now when you are at a loss on whose side you’re on now.

When Perseus said that though, you couldn’t help but disagree. You think the world just wants you to suffer. Suffer from surviving Arash. Surviving torture. Brainwashing. Barely escaping Volkov. Almost dying in Cuba. Again in Solovetsky. Only to suffer once more from a bullet to the chest. Overlooking the pretty horizon as you slowly bled out and eyes squinting against the sun and green grass stained red along with the flowers moving with the cold arctic wind.

Perseus only strengthened his words more, after cursing both Arash for his traitorous ways and for Volkov for not informing him about you immediately.

“You’re a survivor. You’ve always been.” He said, comforting hand to your shoulder as you could only stare. Throat oddly tight as he looked down at you kindly, a small smile under his mustache. “You’re the best out of all of us. Why do you think you were my second?”

You do not think he solely meant your skill set.

He soon added that he believes Adler saw the same. And used you for it. The way you were. Your perseverance and loyalty. With false bonds and lies.

You kept silent. Throat only getting tighter and eyes strangely feeling pressured.

It was true. Vietnam was fake. No matter what you saw when you slept.

But the safehouse.

The safehouse. 

You went through every moment within that place the time you were with Perseus and recovering. Them not pushing you to go back to work for them. They had others that could do what you could. But they would remind you that you were always the best. Thanks to that, you played back everything. What was lies. Half lie. Half truth. And if there were any truths to begin with. 

It always got muddy with Adler. 

Even when you were with them, after a moment with Adler in the safehouse, you would needlessly analyze the interaction and scrutinize it. What he said. What he didn’t say but you can see something between the lines he wants you to read. Wanted you to read. How he would stare at you. All moments when they didn’t mention Vietnam or another event that Adler would say happened but you just don’t remember cause of your accident—just speaking. About anything. Indulging your wants with the camera. Indulging your reading. You realized you loved him from those moments, a book in your hand and an Ernest Hemingway quote on your lips of days that will ever be while he had his cigarette in hand and his shoulder to your back to lean over you and a wry tone matching his words “Here’s to the other shitty days to come and all the wars that comes with it, kid.” You don’t know why that sentence of all things made you realize your heart was battering against your ribs for a reason. Maybe it was how he said it, how his breath on your neck and hair felt, his scent that’s all nicotine and masculine cologne—maybe it was because in his own way he finished the quote and the fact he knew the quote in the first place to summarize it so well. A soldier tired of wars but expecting them either way. Maybe it was all of that. 

Still.

You do not understand these moments. No matter how you try to look at it.

You just know your chest weighed heavily each time you thought on it, and you thought often.

It was months after recovery, your Russian accent slowly coming back and mixing with your American one, you awakening from a nightmare due to Stitch waking you up with a certain look in his eyes as he called your name that you don’t feel is yours.

“You were calling for his name.” At your questioning glance, Stitch just continued to stare at you. Almost assessing. “Adler,” he spat. “Tell me, zaya, did he make you love him too?”

You didn’t know how to answer. Only staring at your lap but that’s all Stitch needed because he quickly stood up and paced and cursed and fists clenching and muscles tensing.

You watched as he did and something seemed to click.

“We weren’t just friends, were we?” Stitch stopped, head bowed and and back facing you. You tried to think back once more, but you came out blank. Only little flashes of something, of hands and stray touches but that could be anything. “I. . . I’m sorry. I—I don’t remember.”

He just turned towards you, moving slowly and his shoulders appearing slouched as he sat next to you with a chair by your bed. His eyes crinkled sadly, and he brought a hand up, almost ghosting over your cheek and you let him. Almost entranced at how soft his face could be, even with one blind eye.

“Do not apologize, mon zaya. Perhaps with time.”

You don’t think so. MK—Ultra is powerful. Even with deprogramming, it only worked getting rid of the trigger phrase. You don’t think you’ll ever get your memories back. Stitch knows it too. But he said the white lie anyways. You wonder if it was more for him than you.

The time came, a month later that the woman you know as Kitsune came to you and gave you a folder with an arched brow. You staring at her in mild confusion before opening the folder and you seeming to freeze, as Kitsune said they need your help and they wouldn’t have asked if they didn’t. You recall pressing your lips, your mind whirring with decisions and plans for those decisions that was always in the back of your mind as you stayed with them.

To save.

Or revenge.

You chose. And worked on codes and decoding. Even when Stitch gave you an out, his hand to your shoulder but close to cupping your neck gently as he stared down at you that you didn’t have to do this. You remember swallowing thickly before strengthening your resolve and sticking with it. His lone eye seemed to glitter and gleam with soft pride and an emotion you can’t give, but your heart quickened all the same. As if recognizing—remembering for you.

It was when Perseus got diagnosed, that you felt like you were faltering. The man slowly just kept staying in bed and say the orders there—meetings as he laid and looked pale and lost his hair. The old man still would smile at you even in pain and you didn’t even realize you were crying by his side until he shushed you and put a hand to your head as you sobbed.

“Come now, radnaya, it’s alright.” He said, even with trembling hands he would comfort you and clear your tears. Still with that kind smile. Your chin wobbled. “I do wish I was like you now, however. I imagine you would survive this. If only I was a miracle like you. My dirty little mouse that believed in me.”

“You’ll survive this,” you blubbered between sniffles and you didn’t even notice Stitch came into the room until he put his hands on your shoulders, as if to ground you. “Y-you can. . .you shouldn’t speak like you’ll die. You can’t.” You stated without thinking. You weren’t thinking at all. You always felt strongly, your eyes pleading as you grabbed Perseus’s hand between your own as you pleaded with the older man seeming to share a glance over your head to Stitch. “Please. I—I don’t, I don’t remember anyone else. Anything else.”

You don’t remember your own father’s face.

You don’t even know if you had one.

But you know Perseus was the closest you could ever get.

Perseus smiled. And squeezed your hands and brought them to his lips to kiss the back of them.

Stitch took you away after that and a few hours later, your father figure was gone. You didn’t think about how the man was the one who Adler has been obsessed with for more than a decade. How Adler will never get the chance to do the deed himself, never get the satisfaction. How he got rid of you, at least hoping to, to make sure Perseus couldn’t get someone like you again. You didn’t think about how Adler might look at finding out about Perseus and how you would feel about that until later. 

No.

You were hurting. You were in pain.

And Stitch was too despite how he tried to hide it as he held your sobbing form to his chest. That’s all you thought about, until a possible reprieve formed in your mind as Stitch’s hands caressed your back in comfort, up and down to your shoulders and even tickling your neck. You moved your head to stare up at him, your eyes meeting his and something flashed within them and you took your chance.

You stretched upwards, thankful he had his mask off for once, and kissed him with your hand to the back of his neck and the other to his chest. He groaned in your mouth, in a mix of thankful need and almost as if it said finally as he easily wrapped his arms around your waist. Stitch kissed you as if you would disappear in front of him and you guess in a way that did happen already, only for him to pull back, a hand to gently on your chin. His eyes scanning your face before understanding took over at what you want. That you still didn’t remember.

“Is this what you wish, mon zaya?”

You barely let him finish, kissing him again before you started dragging him to your room only for him to take lead instead to his. “More privacy,” he said to your ear, breath on you before kissing it. Him laying you down on his bed and over you as he kissed you everywhere and hands wandering as you pushed his hood off him along with his many layers to feel his chest. “I missed how you taste. Mon zoya. So strong. Even after everything.”

You don’t feel strong. Just tired. Always tired.

But the sweet words helped, the few ones he would do to your ears outside of his quiet sounds that came from his chest more than his throat.

When you laid your head atop his bare chest, under sheets, you wonder what you’ve done. But. You’re tired. You’re in pain. And Stitch—despite everything—is kind and gentle and soft to you. You couldn’t help but selfishly keep it.

And so it kept happening, Stitch as the new Perseus, and you still creating codes and more codes and backup codes and decoding and decoding in various forms as time went on. You and Stitch now together, and the Collective seemed happier with it. Almost like everything was back to normal.

You don’t remember normal.

Stitch’s plans were in the making and he didn’t want you to help, barely answering your questions when you heard about the Numbers and somehow Adler’s name being brought up. Stitch only kissing your forehead and telling you your time would come later for the Westerner that did this to you. That he shall have his turn for now.

You found out later what occurred, due to Portnova and Kitsune. Stitch brainwashed Adler.

Brainwashed Adler.

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. A full guffaw towards the sky and hand to your mouth as if to stifle it but you could not help it.

Stitch was not kidding about justice.

Still. You worried.

About what?

At this point, you’ve accepted you’ll never truly know anything again. Especially your own feelings.

You kept coding and decoding, but mostly coding. Always coding. Codes in newspapers and obscure articles, a stray TV channel. You did it.

Verdansk happened. The explosion.

Your lips formed to a wry humorless smile at Adler’s work even when brainwashed. Even that can be seen as funny.

So obsessed with the mission—to stop Perseus—that his brain rewired itself to achieve it.

You remembered his words to you, after you asked him more on what he meant that Hudson doesn’t trust what he couldn’t control. Adler seemed to throw you a smirk as his brow arched, smoke billowing out from his mouth as he sat on his desk and you sat in front of him.

“Trust, kid, is all about control. Remember that.”

You didn’t forget. 

You feel a little jealous though. You wish you were able to rewire yourself.

You then get the call from Stitch, to head to Verdansk. That it’s time.

You checked over your codes and sent them before nodding to yourself, and leaving. It was not only you however, Naga came along too. In the forest of Verdansk. You put a hand on the tombstone, as if you could feel Perseus’s hand instead but you didn’t. Just stone. Hard. Cold. You lowered your hand and left to your position, Naga doing the same when you glanced towards him. Stitch coming and just waiting in front of the grave.

And now you’re here, trigger on your finger and eyes on the Russian and American as they spoke which you could hear through comms. Stitch explaining what Perseus really was. 

Adler, as you thought, wasn’t having it.

“You’re coming with me,” he quietly commanded, but with all the calm authority he always exudes even though he appears he’s seen better days. His wheat hair mussed and wounds upon his face and person everywhere but his arm up with the pistol steady. Always steady. And looking at Stitch in the eyes. “There’s blood on your hands.”

“Are your hands clean, Bell?”

You felt your face wince but Stitch threw his own retort, about what Adler did in his brainwashed state. What he did to Verdansk.

Adler scowled.

“Fuck you!” His hand tightened around the pistol and you felt sweat gather on your temples, feeling cold as you bit the inside of your cheeks and lips. You tightened your hold on the sniper as well. “I wasn’t in my right mind. You saw to that.”

Stitch chuckled lowly, amused and uncaring as he moved with Adler’s pistol not wavering. 

“You Westerners. . . so squeamish. Look at where we are. This was the Eastern Front. The blood of millions,” Stitch stressed, motioning and pointing his finger down upon the ground, ”of my people so deep in this soil. Men and women, who paid the ultimate price for what had to be done.”

You bit your cheek harshly, you tasting blood as your finger twitched on the trigger. You taking a quick glance to where you knew Naga was. 

“You’re a fucking monster.” America’s Monster growled out in your comms, your eyes back through your scope as your breathing felt short and your hands under your gloves felt sweaty. “I should kill you for what you’ve done. For what you did to me.”

Ah. There’s the answer than.

You took a steadying breath, staring at these two powerful men through your weapon. Before quickly moving the scope to see the helicopter and where the others were that left Adler alone in the first place, seeing they seem meters away as well from where Adler and Stitch were. You felt sweat come down your neck and temple as you closed your eyes. The world seeming to slow.

“My life no longer matters,” you heard Stitch say sorrowfully. You wonder. . . Your eyes opened, moving the scope back to them but you farted your eyes back towards Naga, trying to spot him through the camouflage. The hooded man turned and let his back face Adler as the scarred man drew closer, his lips pressed together the way they always did when focused. “Do what you will.” You took the safety off as Stitch’s hand slowly rose, and you moved the silenced sniper and took aim, your finger squeezing as Stitch did the signal by touching his blind eye and trees rustled in the wind. “Finish what you started on Rebirth Island. My broadcast is complete.” Stitch wasn’t sorrowful. He sounded resigned. Your chest heaved and your heart battered as you moved once more, licking your lips and putting your eye to the scope. Hand slightly shaking around your weapon but you held your breath. “I have changed the world, Adler. In ways you can’t even imagine. . .”

Your finger squeezed just like your heart did. 

You slumped your body against the tree just like a body fell, your eyes closing as you hit your head against the trunk. 

“What the fuck?” You heard through your comms, your lips twitching at Adler’s bewildered tone. It sounded funny when he’s confused. “A sniper. . .”

You heard Adler’s steps walk past with the comms until you couldn’t hear anymore. You sighed, shoulders slumped as you waited. Maybe if you just stayed quiet and didn’t move an inch, you can live out your days in trees that almost touched the sky.

You smiled at the thought.

You heard noise from below, your eyes moving downward as you saw Adler moving and looking at the trees with his gun out. Your smile turned sad.

No, you think as you watch the man who’s plagued your mind for years, the world isn’t that kind to me. It never has been.

You dropped the sniper purposefully, it landing on the ground with a harsh thunk from the height. Adler immediately turning himself and his gun towards it before his eyes slowly lifted to where you were as you took the foliage off you that helped hide you. Eyes that were harsh ice widened and cleared.

“Bell?” 

You barely heard the name, him almost seeming to say it to himself in disbelief. It didn’t help you were quite high up. You’re surprised you heard it at all.

You swiped away any remaining foliage, staring down at Adler with a passive quirk of the lips.

“Hey, Adler.”

At your words, he seemed to shake himself. His eyes back to hard as he kept his gun on you. Another thing you expected. Along with his sharp tone.

“How are you alive?”

“I’m breathing,” you answer, nonplussed.

“Still a little shit, I see.” Adler retorted blandly before his expression maintained its stoicism as he analyzed you and your uniform, eyes narrowing at the patch you had. “You crawled back to Perseus when you got a second chance? No—you’re fucking third chance?”

“I couldn’t do much crawling when I’m bleeding out,” you clipped from above, before you reigned it back in. You rather not fight. Not now. Despite. . .everything. “They found me. Specifically. . . Stitch did. If you wanted to kill me, you should’ve kicked me over the cliff for good measure. I’m here because of you.”

Adler stared up at you, then glanced at your sniper than towards the direction of where Stitch’s body laid. His pistol didn’t lower as he moved his hawkish gaze back towards you. His mind seemed to whir and you could tell because he didn’t have his shades on. You could see him now. 

“. . .it was you. You sent the messages.”

You snorted at his slow realization, unamused. Adjusting yourself on the branch by laying your arm against your bent knee.

“Lot of good that did. You got tricked by the Nova 6 bait anyways.”

“Our decoder had to leave,” Adler excused with a frown. “It’s not like you made the messages easy to decipher.”

“I couldn’t! The various things I had to do to make sure I didn’t get caught, from fake codes to real ones to the ones I sent to you—don’t blame me because the CIA is horrendous at analytics and linguistics of all forms.”

“You’re a genius, kid. Don’t blame others because you’re better.”

The compliment threw you for a moment, you blinking at him and how easily he said it as his arms slowly lowered and his pistol was to his side but still tense.

You frowned before glancing away.

“Doesn’t matter. It seems the lot of you were able to get the message on specifically where in Verdansk Stitch was going to be.”

“Lot of good that did. You couldn’t let me do the deed, Bell?” You didn’t answer, your frown only deepening. Adler squinted up at you. “What made you do that anyways? And was what Stitch true or was he just spouting shit to sound ideological? That grave too.”

“I had to do it. And. . .it’s true. Perseus was never one man. Never will be. Another one will pop up after Stitch. The one you knew as Perseus though—the one we both knew as Perseus, is laying in that grave.” You say, an iota of solemn in your tone.

Adler’s expression darkened, his fists clenching as he cursed to himself before his eyes narrowed as they turned back towards you suspiciously.

“You were close.” You didn’t say anything, just stared down at Adler and met his piercing gaze. “I know the two of you were. How much did you do for Perseus, Bell? What was his plans?”

“I didn’t do much,” you answer carefully, eyes inscrutable. “I was recovering from my wounds in the cliff and after that I was recovering from the effects of MK-Ultra.” Adler’s expression didn’t change, so you just continued as you sighed. “They didn’t wish me to push myself, after everything. They—one day I just got a folder and I was back to coding again. But,” you say immediately when Adler’s expression seemed to harden, “that was when I decided to do the secret codes to the CIA in secret. They only gave me small jobs either way. Only coding. They. . .they just didn’t want to push me. And what Stitch said was what they basically want.”

You wanted to be careful with your wording. Your feelings are complicated when it comes to the Collective and you don’t need Adler catching it and using it. He did though.

Based on how his lips almost seemed to curl.

“Seems you had nice caring friends, Bell. The homicidal friendly aura’s grew on you?”

Your eyes narrowed, anger rising.

“I don’t expect you to understand!” You thought of what Perseus did for you, with the televisions. How patient he was. You thought of Stitch, his protectiveness when it came to your medicine in needle form and wouldn’t let anyone get too close to hold you all of a sudden where you felt like you would choke. Your eyes grew teary. “You—you out of all people wouldn’t. What they do, their plans—all of it—it’s horrible. I know that! But. . .they were kind to me. Even after everything I did for you, they didn’t care. They just wanted to help me—“

“To use you.” Adler cut in firmly. “You’re a genius, Bell. You got some talent to have the skill set you have—but your coding is where you always shined. They were manipulating you—“

“They weren’t!” You refuse to hear this. How dare he say this anyways?! “And don’t speak like you weren’t above that either! Pot calling the kettle black much, Adler?!”

“I know what I am.” Adler stated quietly, eyes cool. “Just like you do. But do you know what they are? They don’t care about anyone—just using others for their sick ideology. You’re going to defend them?”

“I’m not defending them!” You shouted, aghast. It’s like everything you’re saying is going one ear and out the other. Adler doesn’t think straight when it comes to Perseus. It’s mind boggling. “They helped me with MK-Ultra, what you did. Do you know how long it took me to get a full night’s rest? How long it still takes? I have your memories of Vietnam. I have memories of needles and televisions and being in the lab. Memories of you making me go through those scenarios over and over and over again. I felt like sometimes I saw you everywhere, even awake. They comforted me and took away any triggers for me and they were there when you—“ you cut yourself off sharply, biting your lip and looking away. 

It was silent for a few moments. You didn’t look at Adler when you slowly began again, you wonder if he could even hear you with how softly you spoke.

“Perseus took away any televisions. And if there were, he would leave them on so I wouldn’t. . .wouldn’t see anything. He didn’t push me to work, this was after almost or basically a year passed with them. And it’s because someone else needed my help. He said I didn’t have to do more. Stitch too. Stitch made sure about needles and people not getting close. They. . .I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember my family. Which is why. . . the safehouse. . .” You bit your lip, than continued. “Perseus I think is the closest father I will ever get. And Stitch. . . Stitch. . .” You trailed off, not knowing what to say.

Adler though, as always, read you easily. 

“He loved you.” Your eyes closed, your lips pressing into a frown as Adler nodded over in the direction of Stitch’s body, you barely hearing his mutter that it explained a few things which made your frown deepen. Did Stitch mention something when he had Adler in Laos? “And you killed him. Did you?”

Does it matter? You wanted to ask, but instead your eyes opened in a half lidded state as you answered tiredly. 

“Trust is about control. I remembered.” 

You didn’t want to, but you did. Or rather, you just chose to. You used Stitch’s feelings for your own selfish reasons. To get you here.

Adler’s eyes seemed to turn unreadable as he tilted his head slightly at you.

“So you understand.”

“What?”

Adler stared at you a moment more before breaking his gaze to the side and staying annoyingly silent. Appearing in thought as the silence stretched and the breeze blew by you due to the height you were at. You taking slow breaths as you clenched a fist on your knee before narrowing your gaze at Adler.

“Don’t torture me with this silence. Do it.”

Adler arched a brow slightly at you as he craned his neck back up to where you were at.

“Do what?”

“Kill me. Finish the job. Tie up the loose end. Just hurry up with it, before Hudson comes.”

Adler rose both his brows at you.

“Why would I do that? You have the most information about Perseus now. About who could be the next one. The people. The next possible plans. Everything. It’d be a waste.”

He won’t stop. Even with him dead.

You felt yourself pale.

“Are you going to torture me?”

“Will I have to?”

You briefly contemplated jumping off the tree. It would be quick. Quicker than anything you’ve gotten. You always seemed to bleed slow or be suffocated slowly. You never got it easy. The jump and fading to black would probably be the easiest thing you will ever have.

“You’re a survivor. You’ve always been.”

You steeled your expression and Adler spotted it, seeing you slowly go down the tree and he put his pistol away when you landed in front of him. His arms by his sides like yours and you having to slightly crane your neck up to meet his gaze. Your eyes remained connected before his moved and roved over your form. You doing the same now that you were closer. 

He still smells like cigarettes, you think fondly and saw all the cuts upon him. How ragged he looked, and how the beard just added to it. So different from how you always saw him, sleek and clean. The hair is still distracting.

Your thoughts halted when Adler reached a hand and ripped out the patch on your shoulder with the Perseus symbol, him glaring at it before throwing it away. It landing on the ground a few feet away from them as you looked at Adler with brows slightly pinched together. He took another look at you and gave you an imperceptible nod, his lips pressed in approval before he shifted his stance and put more pressure on one leg.

Is he injured? You took a closer look at him, spotting his tired eyes before spotting a paler spot in his temple when his hair moved before looking at his arms and noticing a pale spot as well as a spot where it looked he got pricked by his veins. Your brows went up. He’s freshly deprogrammed. And he came here immediately. Is he insane?

Yes. He is.

But you’re no better.

“Why did you do this, Bell?” You blinked from your thoughts, noting that Adler is trying to read you as his eyes squinted more from the sun than anything else. “All of it. Why?”

You feel like he knows.

How far you go for loyalty is no secret.

The bastard just wants you to say it.

You leaned back against the tree, crossing your arms and looking to the side towards the tall trees, the direction of the grave site and a body. You thought of breaks outside the safehouse, of clouds of smoke and talks of philosophy and books. Of curious tilts to the head that makes honey hair shift and the relaxed quirk of the lips as he would listen to you. You pointing at a passage of a book and him leaning over your shoulder to see what makes you passionate, your hair rising when you would feel his breath on you and his scent of nicotine and woody cologne overpower your senses. You thought of after Volkov, him going over your injuries and his fingers grazing a bruise on your temple to your cheek as you felt your breath escape you while he just did the action like it was nothing with that nonchalant expression of his, feeling as if his eyes behind his shades were burning. You thought of amused tones and languid body language when he would tease about your pictures and you’re wasting film but he’d let you anyways. Making sure to always tell you to get his good side if you were going to take some of him.

You thought of your head free from your beanie/ski mask for once, his hand over it and fingers almost carding your hair due to a job well done.

“Same reason I said Solovetsky.”

You felt Adler’s gaze on you intensify, but you kept your gaze away and down as you clenched your hands under your crossed arms.

“Try again,” he said, making you throw him a confused look. Your confusion growing when you spotted his scarred lips twitched upward in amusement and eyes almost seeming to soften. “Anyone ever told you, you have bad taste in men?” Your jaw dropped, cheeks pricking as you stared mortified and his lips lifted more before straightening and taking a step towards you. “You need a better reason than that. Try again.” He implored calmly as he eyed you.

You clicked your jaw shut, still keeping your arms crossed tightly to you as you moved your head against the tree to the side. Before looking back up at him and putting your arms back to your sides.

“Obviously it’s because it’s not right to kill millions. In any way.”

Adler nodded at you, moving to grab your sniper and putting the strap over himself before turning back towards you as you watched him go back to your side.

“Make sure you say that to everyone. Especially Hudson.” 

He started walking back to where the grave site was, you hesitantly doing the same as you tried to catch his eyes again but he kept his gaze forward and seemed to be in thought.

“You’re really not going to kill me?” You stated more than questioned, not knowing what to think.

He threw you a side glance, noticing your unease.

“I told you, kid,” he said, looking away with gaze and tone distant. “It’d be a waste.” You didn’t know what to say in reply, only staring at Adler in hopes his expression can perhaps give away something. Besides appearing in thought and tired yet still have this focused air around him. There’s something you’re missing. What happened to him? Did the brainwashing to him actually open his eyes? Or. . . Did he see things like you did during the deprogramming? “You’re going to follow my lead. I’m sticking my neck out for you so make sure you play along.”

“Why?”

You recognized they were getting closer to the grave site, but you kept your gaze on Adler who hummed distractingly.

“Along the same reasoning as you.” 

Your mouth parted but they arrived at the grave site, Adler putting a tight hand on the tombstone with jaw tight as you crouched to where Stitch’s body laid. Throat tight as you stared at his corpse and the blood upon the ground. You made it quick. You made sure. You wonder if Stitch had an inkling and that’s why Naga was here too. 

He’s with Perseus now. The thought made your lips form into a ghost of a melancholic dry smile. No. That’s not right. 

You closed Stitch’s eyes with your fingerless gloved hands, feeling the coolness already from his body. You heard Adler step behind you.

“Did you know?” At your silence, keeping your eyes on Stitch and the hole on his hood and his head, he continued lowly. “What Stitch did to me. You knew?”

“I only knew afterwards,” you say, standing up and turning towards him only to see that he was quite close to you and we’re almost chest to chest with him as he stared at you. You kept your ground as you swallowed lightly. “Like I said, they wanted me mostly focusing on other things.”

Adler snorted humorlessly, turning his gaze to Stitch’s corpse with a narrowing of his icy eyes.

“You can say it. It was karma for what I did to you. You probably thought it was funny.” His face shifted, eyes darkening as his jaw ticked. “I know I would’ve.”

“You shouldn’t have fallen for the trap,” you say instead of directly answering whether he was right or wrong, face disapproving. “Even without deciphering my message about Nova 6, you shouldn’t have taken a light team. You knew what would happen.”

Like you, Adler avoided to answer. Which was an answer in itself as you sighed, putting a hand to your face as Adler’s eyes turned back towards you. You seeing Adler turning his head over his shoulder towards the grave site and staring at it.

“Did he suffer?”

You stared through your fingers at the grave site, biting your lip as you thought of medicine after medicine being pushed through the older man’s body. How pale he looked. How skinny. Where his speech was more like rasps and breaths.

You nodded. Adler giving a strong nod of his own, eyes vicious at the grave and satisfied.

“Good.”

He turned his head back towards you, noting you seeming to bite your tongue as his hands clenched before turning his back towards you and staring at the grave, shoulders appearing drooped. You deciding to join by his side, arms brushing when you reached him before pulling it back to not touch and just stare at the grave site. 

You wish they put his name but you understood why Stitch and the others decided to not. People would desecrate it. And it’s fitting Perseus at least had his favorite flower on it, the symbol of the flower looking harsh and not as beautiful as the real thing could be but still able to capture one’s eyes to look at the pattern. 

“. . . I saw you too.” 

What? Your eyes darted towards Adler, side eyeing him as he spoke lowly. His eyes were staring at your hands between you two, his pistol long put back in its holster on his leg. Saw? Wait. . .did he also. . .? You noticed the holster was in the same area as it was on the cliff. As it should, it was his dominant side. But you thought of the cliffs anyways. Nonetheless, your expression was one of bewilderment as his eyes didn’t stray. You spotted his lips twitch before he rose his eyes and connected to yours, your breath hitching at your throat when he threw you a soft smirk.

“I dreamed of you too, Bell.” You inhaled sharply, eyes widening before Adler’s expression settled as well as yours as your head darted to sounds ahead. Adler went in front of you, his form able to cover you from who was coming. “Stay behind me. And follow my lead.” He lowly commanded and you followed.

You heard Hudson, Woods, and Mason come up. Seeing Stitch’s body and Hudson saying they were wondering what was taking so long. They didn’t even hear his shot. Woods saying that at least the fucker is dead with Mason adding that there’s few things that’s better than killing the ones who fucked your head. 

Not the right words right now, Mason. You thought, cringing internally. But Adler spoke for you.

“It wasn’t me.”

The others threw him various looks of confusion.

“What the fuck you mean it wasn’t you?” Woods questioned. “He has a hole in his head, doesn’t he?”

“If it wasn’t you,” Hudson asked, always focused and getting the bottom of things, “who was it?”

“Adler,” Mason called, voice tense as he brought his gun slightly up. “Who’s behind you?”

You didn’t move. But Adler slightly did to show you to them, hand moving back behind him to keep on your waist just in case. 

“Wha—?! Bell?!” Woods gasped, almost dropping his gun from shock as Mason’s own eyes widened.

“You’re alive. . .”

You threw them a shaky smile and a wave, before dropping both when you could spot Hudson’s tense form.

“Adler,” Hudson toned lowly, dangerously and making you subconsciously grab Adler’s shoulder to help ground you just as Adler gave your waist a comforting squeeze as you stayed behind. “What is the meaning of this? You said you fucking handled her in Solovetsky but she’s breathing and moving to me. She’s dangerous.”

You don’t miss Hudson’s attitude towards you. Even though you’re aware of why he had it before. You still find it distasteful.

“To others maybe,” Adler replied steadily, but there was a hidden coiled tone underneath as he kept his face unreadable as possible without his shades. “I did say she was the one that killed Stitch. Why do you think that is?”

Adler didn’t wait for Hudson’s probable scathing retort, based on how his face seemed to morph into a scowl, moving to explain he thought it a waste to throw someone of Bell’s talents away. So they both formed a plan, Adler did shoot you but not fatally, and allowed you to go back to Perseus to spy on them for him. At this, Hudson stepped up to Adler. Adler straightening his shoulders and letting you go as Hudson got into his face.

“You gave her back to Perseus. . .?! Were you fucking insane?! I didn’t give you leave on this, Russ—no one did!”

“This is fucking crazy. . .” Mason let out, still looking at you as well as Woods and holding onto their weapons but they were pointed down this time. 

Woods huffed, scratching at his beard and looking at you with an expression that almost looked like one of pity as Hudson kept going but Adler kept his frigid stare on the man.

“She knows fucking everything. She could’ve relayed information to Perseus and the rest while she, what—let you get kidnapped and brainwashed as a gotcha?!”

“I didn’t know about that,” you spoke up, almost wishing you hadn’t when Hudson and all his rage went to you and almost seeming to burn brighter when he looked at you. Adler kept his stare on Hudson but you spot his lips pressed in disapproval. “But I did warn him about everything else. I sent coded messages throughout my time there. How do you think you got that message about coming to these specific coordinates?” Hudson’s hard stare didn’t lessen but his brows did furrow. “I warned him beforehand about the mall and Nova 6 being a distraction but they weren’t able to decipher it—but I know other locations and objectives that Perseus planned and was able to tell you and the ones you were able to decipher, you went towards them. I made sure I found as much information as I could but I kept anything else I learned during my time you guys to myself. And don’t blame Adler. It was my idea.”

Hudson switched his gaze back towards Adler, Adler throwing a look at you over his shoulder but you didn’t falter.

“And you decided to accept this, why?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Hudson, would you calm down?!” Woods put a hand to Hudson’s tense shoulder. “You heard her. All those missions we did was because of messages we couldn’t figure out from who,  right? It was Bell!”

Mason stepped up, giving you a small nod in greeting which you gave back.

“It does check out. All the messages about the prison transport in Miami and even the attacks on a NATO base in Germany last year as well as everything else we got always was right. Who knows what other codes we weren’t able to get because of Bell’s unique skill at coding?”

“That doesn’t excuse it and you know it.” Hudson stated coldly, not keeping his eyes off Adler as your once handler kept the the man’s stare even through his black shades. “You kept this information to yourself all this time and chose to not report it at all. Not even Black, I imagine. And you indulged an asset’s idea.”

“Ignore her. It was my idea. And like I said,” Adler said lowly, quietly where you had to strain your ears to hear as his eyes were hard. “I don’t like wasting talent. She’s the best fucking coder I’ve ever seen and you know it, Hudson. She isn’t just an asset. Not anymore. She’s one of us.”

“You’re still one of us.”

You whipped your eyes towards Adler as Hudson continued talking about something or other with Adler continuing to have your back and defending you, continuing the cover he made and you reinforcing it. You released a small smile, the tension in your shoulders releasing. Seeing that Adler is going to stick with what he said, he’s not going to kill you. And it seems he won’t let anyone else either. The conversation moved to Perseus, Hudson questioning if Adler was able to get answers from Stitch before you shot him. 

Adler scowled.

“Perseus is dead. Look behind you.”

The three men looked at the tombstone, you confirming without them asking that it’s true. The Perseus Adler has been chasing died last year from cancer, and Stitch was the new one. Now another one will come along.

“You happen to know who, Bell?” Mason asked and you shrugged slightly, turning your gaze back towards the trees and your position earlier.

“I think it was Naga.” You heard Adler almost growl the name to himself as you continued. ”He was with us as a backup but I handled him before I got, Stitch. I feel like. . . they had an inkling about me. . . Doesn’t matter now. Naga was close to Stitch when it came to the work—the next Perseus could be anybody.”

“You have a better idea than us,” Woods stated, rolling his shoulder slightly as he looked around before scrunching his nose when his eyes moved back to the grave site. “But you can tell us later. Let’s get out of here. I’ve been here too long already.”

All of you began to move, you stepping up to Adler’s side but Hudson stopped both of you by getting in your paths.

“Don’t think this is over.” Hudson moved his sharp gaze between you and Adler, jaw tight at Adler’s apathetic expression. “You both have a lot of interrogation to do when we get back. Black is going to hear of this.”

“I imagine he will,” Adler replied casually, Hudson giving the man another look before throwing you one of severe judgement and turning away. You released a breath when the man was far away enough you didn’t feel like he could hear you, tension leaving your body only to blink when you felt a touch on your head. You looking at Adler who had his brow up a modicum. “I’m trying to keep you alive. I’ll take the hit, Bell. Don’t worry about it.”

Adler released you, stepping away and going back towards the helicopter with one more lingering glance towards the tombstone as you moved to his side.

“But—“

Adler turned his head towards you, cutting you off with a look.

“I said I got it. Try to rest on our way to the safehouse we have here, it’ll be a long ride.”

You feel like any lingering questions you may have is for later too. Everything that’s happened since they were apart will be spoken about one way or another. All the actions, thoughts. . . maybe even emotions.

“I dreamed of you.”

Later, you decide, getting on the helicopter with Adler’s help and you sitting next to him. Exhaustion hitting you immediately, from guarding in the tree for the longest, to the emotions you couldn’t help but feel when you shot Stitch, to the ones you felt when you spoke with Adler and just everything that’s happened to you since that day on the cliffs. And the reason why. Loyalty. I really am dangerous. 

You fell victim to your exhaustion, head slumping over to Adler’s shoulder despite the noise of the chopper and him letting you when he glanced at your peaceful expression. Giving you a once over that you were strapped on tightly, pointedly ignoring three different gazes on him as he adjusted you more to his shoulder with his hand so you’d be more comfortable. The least he could do.

Adler thought of hallucinations that kept him sane in Laos, of dreams that could never be and nightmares that plagued him, of being inside his own mind while being deprogrammed and who he saw to help him guide him out.

It’s the least he could do. After everything he’s done.

Besides, Adler thought darkly as he took another glance at you and your sleeping face, there’s still Perseus to be dealt with. I’ll fucking rip them from the root. 

One thing is for certain for the two of you, it’s how obsessive the two of you are.

After you awoke and gave report along with Adler to Hudson in the safehouse, and glances being shared between you two or stray touches but nothing further than that the next two days before you shared that they had to go to the WWII bunker in Verdansk due to important information being there that the Collective wanted—Adler nodded.

“Alright, Bell. Like old times. You’re with me.” 

You huffed out your nose at the words but nodded anyways with a grim smile.

“Always, sir.”

Onto the next mission.

.

.

.

A/N: Sorry if this feels rushed, it wasn’t even supposed to be this long. And sorry about the no kiss! Didn’t think it would fit. Bell and Adler need more time for a relationship but I’m sure I planted enough seeds for you guys to fill in the lines yourselves that these two are both insane and obsessed—thankfully in Adler’s case—for each other. (He needs other obsessions. To be healthy. Or healthier.)

Maybe I’ll visit this universe again. Depends what they will do with Vanguard since they merged Adler, Woods, Mason, and Hudson into it somehow 💀

I had more of a fun time writing Perseus and Stitch than I thought. With the recent S6 trailer, my interest with Stitch grew exponentially. I can now see what everyone goes on about with him. That Outro revealed a lot to me about that man. Too bad he’s gone now. :/ And Perseus is nice to write too 💗 This was really fun!

Hope you guys enjoyed!

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

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

[zulema117-blog]

“We don’t just sit back and hope for the best…we’ll make the best happen.”

[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 😎🍸)

[cryinginthebackseat]

you’ve got more poison than sugar - part iv

AO3  part i  part ii  part iii

Fandom: Call Of Duty

Pairing: Russell Adler x Bell

Words: 5.856

Warnings: some mild sexual content and swearings, like usual. 

Author’s note: hello, hello, i'm back. it's been 6 months since the last time i updated and I'm truly sorry for the delay, but i ran out of inspiration the first 2-3 months trying to write down this beast of a chapter, but thank god i managed to pull through. a word of warning, though, this chapter is quite the emotional rollercoaster ride to read so, buckle up, fellas *laughs nervously*

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“my hunger burns a bullet hole, a spectre of my mortal soul,” - radiohead

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Adler learns two things:

Bell is most definitely, unimaginably loud in bed. A contrast to her usual close-lipped routine.

He thinks he can’t get enough of her taste. If he has to choose between heaven and that baby doll softness between her thighs, he'd choose her over and over again even if he'd burn in hell for it.

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March 8

It seems a tad too pedestrian and normal, that they're now sitting side by side in her bed, naked, chain-smoking. His hand caresses the inside of her thigh. She's still warm there.

“Tell me something, have we ever done this before?” Bell asks in that sleepy, scratchy, post-sex drawl that never fails to strike him in the heel.

“Done what?” he asks, being purposely obtuse.

Bell rolls her eyes. “This. Fucking, getting it on, going all the way- whatever the heck you want to call it."

“No,” Adler admits. “Our relationship had always been strictly professional, actually.”

“Until now.”

Adler can’t help the smirk pulling his mouth. “Until now,” he echoes her words. “You don’t exactly make it easy for me, Bell- you never have," he quickly amends.

She nods and takes another drag of her menthol cigarette. Her face is shuttered, calculating, in other words, dangerous, nothing like the raw openness he’d seen her hours ago. The memory of it sits tangible and confusing on him. Adler remembers everything: the hot, wet clutch of her around his cock as she came, her blunt nails marking red all over his back, her mouth pressed against his cheek as he felt her skin overheat under his.

He’d licked at his teeth when she went to the bathroom.

He knows what Bell tastes like now.

“Why now, though? What changed?” she asks now, honestly curious. “Did it really take Alex to stick his cock inside me for you to finally cave?”

Beside her, Adler goes still as a bomb. His sex-addled brain carefully considers his answer. How awful if she caught his smoke and mirrors now, of all times.

Fortunately, it’s easy to slip back behind his mask. “No. No, it’s not like that.” He’s been taught to shapeshift to get what he wants. It’s easy like this, lying. “I was married,” he continues.

“Oh… Oh, right.”

A miniature of pause stretches. A breath escapes her; a start of a laugh, tinged with something that sounds a lot like embarrassment or frustration.

“Actually, no, I don’t have any recollection that you were married," she admits, voice unsteady. "Hell, I barely recognized you when I woke up."

He is left staring at this beautiful, abused, raw woman beside him. If he must kill her, he might as well make it matter.

"Hey," Adler says softly. "Look at me." Bell, however, remains stubbornly still, so he grasps her chin with his free hand and tilts her face towards his. She looks up at him with a vulnerability he’s never seen in her before, no sharp edges, no mask.

"Hey,” he says again and kisses her forehead, her temple, her cheek. “It’s alright, Bell. You’re alright. These things take time, but you don't have to shoulder this all on your own. You've got me."

She pulls away and looks at him, her eyes searching. “Yeah?”

He holds her gaze, but he’s confident he’s giving nothing away. This doesn’t have to mean anything, he tells himself. Nothing at all.

“Yeah." The words roll off his tongue perfectly. Lying to her is easy. "Yeah, you've got me."

Only sometimes, Adler wonders if the guilt he’d feel for telling the truth would be less than the guilt he feels for lying to her.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Bell walks him to the door, barefoot and indolent. He decides not to stay. There’s no reason for making this than what it already is. Except Adler doesn’t know what any of this is supposed to mean.

She'd snatched the blanket off the foot of the bed and draped the quilt around her naked form. She's quiet now, like she's thinking or maybe she’s regretting what they've done.

Adler wouldn't hold it against her if it's the latter. He knows damned well he wasn’t supposed to fuck her, he has no clue why he did what he did and now he can still smell her all over him, taste her when he moves his tongue and Jesus Christ, he really is fucked, isn’t he?

He saunters past her, hand reaching out the doorknob. Bell grabs him by the wrist and he turns back to look at his hand, their hands, then glides up to her face. Her face is that hard to read in the semi-darkness, but there’s a nervous glint in her eyes.

“Bell?”

She doesn’t move; her fingertips are cold against the cuff of his leather jacket.

“Do you really need to go?” Bell asks glibly.

Adler blinks. The corner of his jaw leaps, a twitch. It doesn’t matter, his head says. None of this has to mean anything, but he’s desperate to know. “Do you not want me to go?”

“I don’t know.” She’s frowning now, still not letting go of his wrist. “I don’t think so.”

Something like fear settles over him. It’s not Bell he’s afraid of, not anymore. It’s him. He’s afraid of what he's about to do.

“What do you want, Bell?”

He moves his hand and entwines it with hers. His body bows towards hers until their foreheads touch. Their noses bump together. She smells exactly like him- or is it him like her? There is no telling which is which anymore.

Bukowski once said: 'There is always somebody about to ruin your day, if not your life.'

Bell mustn't know that she’s ruining him. It’s not like he’s keeping tally, after all, how could he know this city was tailor-made for his downfall? But she will. She’s already ruined him.

“What do you want?" Adler whispers, his mouth- his cheek is rough with stubble as it’s pressed against hers. "Tell me."

Bell exhales, like relief. Then she does: “Stay.”

He doesn't react, doesn't move. He’s weak. This is a fall of his own making. He’s chosen this, not Mason, not Perseus. But his.

“Say it again.”

"Stay, Russell." A drag of mouth and teeth over the hinge of his jaw and he fucking caves every single time. "Please."

Adler sighs, like he’s been waiting for that word all his life. No one has ever asked him to stay and said it like they mean it. Of course he stays.

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March 9

In the morning, Adler ties his shoes on the bed he fucked her on last night, but they get ready with the unspoken agreement to arrive at the Garage separately.

He’s to leave first. Bell approaches him, handing him his jacket. He, at least, has the grace of keeping a straight face about this strange domestic dynamic going on between them.

Bell brings her mouth closer to his.

“Be careful,” she says and then she kisses him, almost tenderly compared to last night.

He nods- don’t worry, it says- and pulls her to him. Adler knows her this way now, the shape of her body against him, her face close to his, close enough to hit save.

“Don’t forget to take your meds,” Adler utters. He kisses her bare shoulder and moves towards the door, wondering why he did that. “I’ll see you at the safehouse.”

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Adler had to trudge through a ridiculous amount of dossiers to find replacements for Mason and Woods since they’d deserted the team, but he found them- a Marco Ocaña and a Gary D'alessio. One of those sharp-jawed, dark-haired, no-nonsense types that remind Adler, unfortunately, of two things in the following order: they’re only half as effective as their predecessors and the blame for this is exclusively, solely on his shoulders.

And now they’re here, picking up where Mason and Woods had left off. But it’s not the same.

Adler is looking over the evidence board, reviewing the intel they’ve gathered so far on Hastings, when Sims appears at his side.

"What's your reading on the temperature, doc?" Sims asks suddenly. There’s only them in the corner, while the rest of the room moves around them.

“What, on Hastings?" Adler asks back, not looking away from the board.

"No." And Adler twists his head to him, a curious brow raised. Sims nods his head towards the direction Adler can’t see. "Ice cube with his new chewing toys yonder."

Adler turns around. Halfway across the room, Hudson orders and barks in that cold, machine gun staccato; D’alessio pages through a black leather binder, laser focus; while Ocaña, the unwilling understudy, frowns behind the desk. It’s the fucking Jason Hudson special.

Faint amusement crowds Adler’s face. “Someone’s thinking of knocking Hudson’s teeth off, someone’s actually going to do it."

Sims snorts. "Man, I'd pay to see that happening."

"Get in the fucking line." They both smirk. Adler turns back to the board. Neither speaks for a moment. "So, you wanna cut the shit and tell me what's eating you?”

Sims' face goes cagier, before he laughs, wry and forced. “Hang on, I’m getting there,” he drawls.

"I mean, small talk? You?" Adler's smirk grows. "You really have gotten old, haven't you?"

"Yeah well, fuck you, doc."

Adler chuckles. "Hey, hey, relax. I'm just trying to pull your leg a little, Law."

"Uh uh. Right. Jesus, why did I even bother volunteering for this operation again?" he says, but his lips still tilt up into a small smile. Then it slips off of Sims’ face, as if it was never there. “But yeah, I wanted to ask you something.”

Adler thinks he knows what it is, but nods anyway.

“Why did you do it?” Sims asks with that practiced carefulness. There it is: the real purpose of this conversation. “Why did you tell him?”

A breath escapes Adler. The thing is, he doesn’t think he has the answer to that either (this is false. He does know, but refuses to call it by name and he’s not sure what to do with that), but there is that ambivalence to what feels good and what’s right, and it just struck him, with resignation and dread-filled clarity, how he would purposely take the path that gains the most collateral until he's fucked and that’s awful. Awful because it fucks up most of everything external in his life and for some reason, he can't stop. He keeps doing it over and over again, fucking himself straight in the ass and then feeling bad at everything, and then going ballistic nuts and then fucking things up even more until eventually he has no choice but to sack up and clean the mess he's made.

“I don’t know,” Adler says after a pause, “I guess I thought I was doing what’s necessary to win.”

Sims nods, like he’s expecting that kind of answer from Adler. “And was it worth it?”

Was it? The answer to that he thinks, the one he refuses to take at face value let alone consider, is that he knows he can’t always test his strength and luck by how far he can bury himself and dig himself out at the last second. One day, it’ll bite him in the ass.

One day, he is going to reap what he sows.

He ducks his head. “No,” Adler finally says. “Fuck no.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It has started drizzling when Bell slips inside the car.

They're a few odd blocks away from the safehouse, where she had waited alone for him on a chilly, blustery March night.

Bell ducks her head into the collar of her coat as she makes a beeline for his car. Adler reaches across and opens the passenger door from inside.

“Hi,” she says, as she enters. Her hair’s damp and messily pulled back at the nape of her neck and she looks impossibly astronomical like this, in the brusque lights of his car. But a beautiful beast will always be a beast, and he mustn't forget that at the end of the day, this is all just a game. “Where are we going?”

Adler puts the car into gear. “How’s Italian for dinner sounds to you?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

After dinner, they left straight to her hotel.

Bell lets him fucks her again that night, into her desk where all her medicine and papers are sprawling haphazardly on the tabletop. The wood cries out and thuds noisily against the wall. His mouth finds her breasts through her lacy bra and bites. Bell whines. She takes what he gives her. She grabs onto his shoulder, her other hand roughly twisting into his hair and pulls and something jackknives in him. Something primal. He doesn't stop fucking her, murmuring, "that's it. Come for me, Bell," in her ear until she's shaking violently and he feels her coming apart around him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 10

He wakes up before Bell does and slips out of her bed to get ready.

He pads back into the room from the bathroom, scooping up his clothes only to hear Bell stirs in the bed. Adler turns to face her, eyeballing the curious lines of her flesh as she stretches and mewls, that narcotic way she moves. Her nipples are pink and bruised from where his teeth had grazed them; her legs parted slightly.

And he can't fucking look away. He should really look away. He can only look at her and the satisfied quirk of her mouth suggests that she was aware.

“Morning,” Bell mumbles in a yawn, feigning innocence. That minx.

“Hey,” he replies, his throat suddenly feels tight. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I usually get up around this hour.” She stretches and yawns again. She looks at him. “Well, you’re all dressed up.”

"Thought I’d head downstairs and get us something to eat. Are you hungry?”

Her mouth suddenly spreads into a closed-mouth grin. “Famished,” she intones, voice low and there’s a bit of that coy, I have my finger on the pulse of those who crave me, neo-noir undercurrent to it.

She props herself up on her elbows, spreads her legs wider. He can see her that much clearer now, wet and bare just for him.

“Okay.” He takes off his sunglasses and tosses them carefully onto the table. “What will you have?”

She frowns, confused lines drawn between her eyebrows.  “I wasn’t talking about food.”

Carefully, Adler sheds his jacket. He comes to her and it's like a wild animal wearing his skin every time. There’s that wanting again, that impulse pulsing through him, to the point where the ocean demands violence and the only thing left to do is drown.

So he does.

“Neither was I.”

And then he gets down on his knees.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In his car with Bell, on the way to drop her off at a nearby bus stop, Adler sees her rubbing her temple and wincing ever so often.

Adler places his hand on her thigh and asks, “You okay?”

Bell turns to look at him, glassed-off blank, like she’s being sedated. “Hmm?”

A frown quickly descends over his face, tinged with something akin to fear. “You keep rubbing your temple. Headache?”

Bell turns his hand over, her fingertips soft against his skin. “Yeah.” Her hand closes around his then, and holds him in place. Like he’s her only anchor. “Yeah. It’ll usually pass, though. Don’t worry about it.”

But he worries anyway, especially when he can tell from the sidelong look she gives him it’s not true, but now his tongue is chained to the roof of his mouth.

“Okay,” Adler eventually forces the word out. The record crackles. “Let me know if it gets worse." And she nods.

There’s no denying it, time is catching up to them. Their two week is almost up. It’s moving fast. They need more time.

Maybe he’s only deluding himself at this point. After all, he knows all too well there is only one way this could go and it usually ain’t with the two of them walking out of this alive. It’s when you know what you’re up against, when you know the dyad that is Bell and Adler is never meant to form a line and the possible answer narrows itself down to that single marker in the center of the screen. Only that.

But Russell Adler is just human. Without his persona and gravitas, he’s no one. Only a name; a man. And for once, Adler lets that man govern his emotions.

Maybe that’s why he allows himself this one moment of weakness, when he wishes they had more time.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

There’s a knock on the door. Adler switches his gaze from the papers to the door only to see Park marches inside his office furiously.

“You’re playing with fire,” she declares once the door’s locked.

Across the desk, Adler’s face is cautious and cold, his posture stiff. Park isn’t dumb, he should have known that it’s only a matter of time before she finds out.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She points an accusatory finger at him. “You bloody well know what I’m talking about,” Park spits out, waspish. She stands there, fucking staring daggers at him; a gun with its safety switched off. “Or do you want me to drag her in here to jog your memory a bit?”

Adler scowls at her, then exhales. It’s time to face the music, he thinks. He needs to choose his next words carefully.

But first, “How did you know?”

“I am not the one who wears sunglasses indoors, thank you very much.”

Adler sighs. “Who else knows?”

“I’m not sure, but Lazar already has a sneaking suspicion about the two of you. So, I’ll say it again: you’re playing with fire.”

"I know what I'm doing."

“Oh, yes, of course. I’m sure you do.” Her voice laced with sarcastic mockery. “I thought the point of telling Mason about her is to nip this in the bud?”

“No, Mason was gambling the whole operation because he couldn’t save his own marriage and needed someone to keep his bed warm. This is different,” Adler says, almost sounding like he really believes it.

“And how is this exactly any different?” she demands.

“Because none of this is real.” He doesn’t know why he says it, but it is the truth- a sliver of it, at least. It’s the first time Adler acknowledges it aloud, though, and in a way, he’s got to thank Park for making him say this. At times, it’s so easy to let the lines become a blur until it’s like looking into a blank sheet of glass. “It’s nothing. Just a ploy to keep her close."

Park is quiet for a while. Adler can tell she still doesn’t approve of any of this, but a pause means uncertainty; it means she’s considering this.

“Christ, Adler,” she says, softer now and shakes her head, once and then again. “You’re putting everything we’ve built on the fucking edge here and if it plummets, do you really think you come back from this?”

“If everything goes according to the plan, then it won’t come to that.” But Park doesn’t look convinced. “Park, trust me. It’s all sewn up. I wouldn’t have done this if the odds weren't in our favor.”

“That doesn’t mean I approve of this… this farce.”

“Listen, I understand your concern, but save it for somewhere else, hmm? I’ve got this,” Adler argues.

“Alright.” She holds a hand up. “Alright, fine. I just thought it would be unconscionable for me if I didn't say anything regarding this."

"And I hear you."

"Oh, you better." Then she spins on her heel to leave and scoffs, as if he's nothing but a lowly piss boy at a tavern. "Men and their cocks."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Later, he tells Bell about his little ‘tête-à-tête’ with Park and to his utmost surprise, Bell snorts and laughs.

“Oh, it’s nothing.” She waves her hand half-heartedly at his confused stare. “Well, it’s not really a nothing, actually, but Park once warned me about you. Told me to give you a- quote-unquote- ‘wide berth’.”

Adler hums, like it’s funny. Maybe it is. Maybe the point of this whole thing is to see who has the last laugh.

“That’s one way to phrase it.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 11

Here’s another way to phrase it:

He finds Bell crying that night. It’s 2 am.

A harsh breath escapes her. Sounding like a pained gasp, then she opens her eyes and sits up, her body angling towards the door. Adler watches as Bell stays that way for a solid 2 minutes. There is something way off about her, like she's forgotten whose skin she lives in. She's gripping the bedsheets so hard like she's hurting even if her face is blank.

Honest concern rushes through him. Adler makes his way to her. He stops in front of her and kneels before her by the bed.

“Bell?”

And just like that, the spell breaks. Bell blinks at him. And refocuses.

And then she fucking sobs.

“Bell, what’s wrong?” He places a comforting hand on her shoulder, the other on her cheek. She says nothing. Her whole body’s shaking. “Bell?”

“I can’t,” she chokes out, a wet gurgle sound. “I can’t. I-” she sniffs and groans. “Russell, it hurts.”

“What hurts?”

She’s breathing heavily. Bell grabs his hand on her cheek and holds it, her grip white-knuckled. Then, she drops their joined hands down over her chest. Adler can feel her heart beneath it; beating, alive.

“I don’t know,” Bell squeaks. “Everything. Everything hurts.”

Adler stills, the fear overwhelms him now. “Bell,” he says, careful and slow. “Bell, I’m here, sweetheart.” And pulls her into his arms. He doesn’t know what else there is to do. “It’s alright. I’m here.”

Her crying stops as suddenly as it started. Adler notices the shift, her body going lax before his and she’s slumping against his chest now. She’s asleep.

He gently lays her back onto the bed, tucks her in, rearranges her pillows. Adler doesn’t know how he finds the strength to rise and walk away, but he does.

He walks to the armchair and collapses atop the velvety upholstery.

Bell slips back to dreaming. Peaceful amidst all this mess that keeps on piling in his head.

Adler sits there, like a statue, staring up at the ceiling.

He doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“How are you feeling?”

Bell cranes her head and stares at him with the mildest of embarrassment. “I’m okay.” She’s not. There are bags under her eyes; Adler never noticed her pallor beneath her skin, but he sees it now. Everyone in the Safehouse would have guessed the breakdown she had last night. “I’m sorry you had to see all of that.”

Adler ignores her. “Does this happen often?”

“No, that was the first time it happened,” she says, sounding steady enough.

Adler closes his eyes. Shit. He’s pretty sure he’s aged fifty years just about now. The things this operation does to him.

“Then we need to tell Park about this. If she thinks you need a pharmaceutical intervention, I can notify the OMS to switch your medications and we could monitor for any developments from there,” he tells her.

Bell doesn’t react for a while. Then folds her arms over her chest and heads to the chair. She takes a seat. Adler remains standing, pacing; restless and distracted. It’s spiraling, the ticking grows faster. They fucking need more time.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I think maybe we’re trying to fight a losing battle here,” and Bell pauses, her mouth twisting into a sad smile. “Sometimes, I think maybe I’m living on borrowed time.”

Adler glances at her in surprise, his mouth thins. “Bell, don’t say that.”

She leans back in her chair, like she’s about to cry and goes on, “The truth is, I’m very scared of living like this.” Here she is, the woman whose life he has shattered into million pieces and she is showing him every single shard. “Ever since I woke up, I feel like I’m being thrust inside this confusing, never-ending hall of mirrors and I try- I’ve been trying to find the way markers, anything that could get me out of here, but,” she shrugs. “It’s like every turn I make always leads me back to square one and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Adler can only look at her. He can't have this conversation; he doesn’t trust himself for it.

“I’m tired, Russell,” she continues, voice wavering. This time, a tear does fall from her eye. “I’m so, so tired of being so… lost. I’m trying so hard not to lose hope, but hope is not exactly something you could see in a dark room.”

“No.” Adler breathes out the word more than he says it. “No, it’s not. But you have to have it.”

“I know. I do.” She wipes the tear away from her face. Bell looks down at her hands, knotted together in her lap. “It’s you, you know? I know you’re technically my handler, but you do make it easier for me to see in the dark. So, thank you for that.”

Something nonnegotiable crawls over him. She might as well have slapped him, she might as well have put a stake through his heart.

Nonetheless, he moves to sit beside her. Body moving on autopilot. The inward pull of the noose around his neck tightens.

“I’ll be here. I told you I’m not going anywhere, Bell.”

Bell nods, once then again before she starts to cry into his arms. Adler lets her tears ruin his shirt, lets her hold onto the last bit of hope. He feels sick. For the first time since he's destroyed her, he feels poisoned.

“Do you think I'll ever get better?” Bell asks into his shoulder, looking up at him beseechingly. “You know me, do you think I’ll get through this?”

"You will,” he says, slowly, and the trap door opens. His body collapses. Suffocate.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

In the Safehouse, Lazar tapes several documents on the board regarding Hasting’s recent movements and, to Adler’s curiosity, a single note card which reads: “The only victories which leave no regret are those which are gained over ignorance.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“So, it's not enough that you brainwashed her, you're also fucking her into submission?”

“It’s not like that.”

Hudson had cornered Adler in the garage earlier. There was that expectant coldness on his face, like anything else can be used against him.

“We need to talk,” he spat out. “Meet me at Die Stube once you’re don-”

“The bar?” Adler interrupted. “What, we’re mixing business with leisure now?”

"No, because I can't exactly shoot you at point-blank range in a public place."

"That didn't seem to be an issue for Michael Corleone."

"Yeah, well, I'm not Michael fucking Corleone." Since Adler isn’t planning on signing up for an early death and for lack of anything else, he agreed.

“You must be desperate,” Hudson continues now. “To do this. What, the girls back at home didn’t do it for you anymore?”

Adler doesn’t take the bait. “Sure. Whatever the fuck you say, Hudson.”

“I’ll admit, I thought you’re above these things.”

“What did Sun Tzu say again? All warfare is based on deception.”

“I’m pretty sure Sun Tzu didn’t tell you to fuck your enemies, Russ,” Hudson drawls.

Adler’s mouth twists. “Is that why we’re here? You, grilling about my personal affairs until I hit well-done?”

“Oh, it’s personal now?”

“Whether it is personal or not, you have no right to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. Let alone on my operation,” Adler says coldly. Hudson’s frown deepens.

“Technically, if you managed to upend this whole operation just because you couldn’t keep it to yourself, I’m the next in line to the throne.”

He should have seen this coming. Hudson only cares for what he can control or who he can undermine and cast out like garbage just to get what he fucking wants. It’s a ruthless game.

Adler leans forward in his stool, places his glass down noisily on the desk. “Listen to me very carefully,” he says. “If you think you can intimidate me and steal everything I have bled and fought for from me, then you really don’t know me at all. You are not in control here, Hudson. If you have problems with the way I operate my operation, then feel free to walk the fuck out like Mason and Woods did.”

“Then tell me something in return,” he’s quick to parry. “If somehow, by a miracle, you get the chance to save her- when push comes to shove and it’s either putting a bullet in her head or not, which one do you choose?”

“You damn well know which one I’d choose.”

Hudson quirks a brow, near mockingly. “Do I?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Are you doing this for us or for yourself?”

Funny, his wife had once asked him the same question, years ago before she took a French exit out of his life.

They had plans. They were supposed to move upstate- a change of scenery would do them good, he’d thought; maybe have kids. They would reinvent and thrive and get together and all that shit married couples around their ages do. They thought they could be happy there.

“Why are you even asking me this? Of course I'm doing this for us."

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “Sometimes I feel like I hardly know you at all.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 12

This is what will happen:

In less than 14 hours from now, they will catch a plane to Cuba. She will be sitting next to him and they will be talking about the weather, the travel magazine she’d bought at the airport.

He will assign her with Lazar and Park for the mission. She will nod and head into the other room to get ready, and he will follow. At this point, he will not remember why he’s doing this- why he’s being this reckless. This dime-store fascination, the corruption that is spreading through their veins; they’re all merely afterthoughts.

He will pull her into his arms and kiss her. “Be careful,” he will say.

And she will nod- don’t worry, it will say- and pull away from him. They’d done this before. The familiarity had scared him then, it will scare him now.

“I’ll see you on the other side, milyj,” Bell will reply. She will walk out of that door. He will let that happen.

Oh, he will let so many things happen.

But there is only now . And now Adler and Bell are reading in her hotel room. Now, Louis Armstrong is playing on the radio, crooning a song he’s once heard before. Again, there is something so irrationally domestic and quiet to this; a life that is normal enough to belong to anyone who makes up the landscape of anything average.

She is with him, and he’s with her. It’s as simple as that.

Bell is sitting across from him on the armchair, knees pulled up to her chest. She’s watching him, grinning.

Adler looks up from his book.

He chuckles low.

"What are you smiling about?” he asks kindly, his mouth stretches in a line that mirrors her own.

Bell shakes her head. "Nothing.”

Adler lifts an eyebrow. He puts aside his book on the coffee table. The smile never leaves his face as he says, “Come here.”

She does. Bell gets to her feet, giddy and impatient, and crosses the distance between them. Adler pulls her wrist closer and she straddles him on the couch.

Adler tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Tell me?”

Bell doesn’t say a thing for a beat, but her face grows serious. There is a lack of knowledge of what’s about to come out of her mouth.

"I like this," she tells him, gesturing to the world around them: her book he was reading, his shirt clinging onto her lithe frame, the music that is playing, the pale sunlight creeping through the sheer curtains- this little corner of the world they’ve been hiding together for the past few days.

"Me too."And he knows without a doubt that he means it.

Adler really can’t help himself- not when it comes to her. He knows that now. He feels like Bell might understand him fully, if he lets her; that she’s the reflection he sees in his hall of mirrors- and his opposite; that he’s that lost, that lonely too, despite everything he’s done.

He doesn’t really know what any of this means, he never did. He’s crossed that line- or if there was even a line in the first place and now he could not return.

Park was right, you don’t come back from this, no matter what will happen.

You just don’t.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

March 13

He heard the explosion through his earpiece and the first line of thought that hit him was Bell.

The plane seems to be swallowing him up. Adler runs a hand through his messy hair. His gloves are hot and sticky with blood. His hair’s permeated with it too now. Ocaña and D'alessio are looking at him worriedly. They heard it too, the moment the RPG hit them. The look on their faces tell him that nothing good can come out of this, but Adler refuses to cling to mere assumptions.

“We’ve got contact on the Ground team.” The pilot’s comm buzzes and Ocaña quickly rise from his seat, makes his way to answer.

“Did we manage to get all of them?” he asks, looking sidelong at Adler.

“Negative. Confirmed contact on one personnel, over.”

The three men exchange looks with each other.

Something cold lurches in Adler’s chest. “One?”

At that very moment, Adler’s earpiece crackles.

“-dler, do yo-” the line goes static, “ead me?”

Park.

“Park,” he exhales, almost like a relief. “What the fuck happened? What’s your status?”

“We’ve been compromised. Bell-” another static, “ She-” A gunshot rings on her end. “-eft us. I don’t have much time,” her voice grows shaky, like she’s holding back tears.

Did he hear that right? “What did you say?” Adler asks. “Park, did Bell abandon you down there?”

Adler can hear a man barking in Spanish on her other end, followed by another gunshot. He thinks he hears Lazar screaming, but he does think he’s losing focus here.

He approaches the pilot cabin. He’s shaking so hard with repressed anger, frustration. This is all so fucked up. He needs to do something about this.

“Park, listen to me. We’re coming back to get you and Lazar, do you hear me? So, sit tight,” he yells. “We're coming back for you two.”

“No.” And then: “I’ve done my part,” she utters slowly, an invocation passed by one soldier to another on the battlefield, their enemies growing closer on the horizon and something switched behind Adler’s eyes.  

“Now it’s your turn.”

One final gunshot and the line goes dead.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Notes: sooooooooo, yeah, please don't kill me. also the song that is playing on march 12 section is louis armstrong's we have all the time in the world, so if you know you know.

[hedgehogsaretheultimatelifeform]

Spoilers for S6 Outro

Gravestone

Stitch was waiting for him.

“Where is Perseus?”

Of course. There was the Adler he knew. Straight to the point.

“You still don’t understand, do you. Americans.” Stitch shook his head. “Perseus isn’t just one man. It never was.”

“Where is he?” Adler demanded, aiming his gun towards Stich.

“He’s gone. Cancer took him in ‘83.” Stitch watched as Adler’s brow furrowed. He didn’t believe him. “He was not the first Perseus, just as I will not be the last.”

“You’re coming with me. There’s blood on your hands.”

Stitch laughed. “And there isn’t on yours? Why do you think we are here?” His gaze drifted to the gravestone.

Adler followed it. “That his?”

“No. I found them at the bottom of a cliff, not far from Solovetsky. I buried them because you never would.” Stitch stepped closer, chancing Adler’s distraction as he looked at the gravestone.

“There’s no name on it.” Adler spoke quietly, looking back at Stitch.

Stitch laughed. “Yes, because you knew their name.”

Adler stiffened.

“Did you think I’d mark their grave with your little pet name for them? What was their real name Adler?” Stitch goaded. His chances of walking away from this alive was low, he knew that, he planned that. That’s why it would be here. He wanted to be with them in death. Not even Adler was going to stop him in that.

“I don’t know.” Adler admitted, pointing his gun at Stitch again. “I know what you’re doing. Your bullshit numbers won’t work so you’re trying to get in my head a different way. Bell... meant nothing to me.”

“Yes, they did. You Americans are so sentimental.”

“You’re not walking out of this alive.” Adler snarled, gripping his gun tighter.

“I count on it. My work was done before your… little act of rebellion.” The men’s pacing around each other meant they’d swapped places again. “I’ve changed the world, Adler. In ways you can’t even imagine.”

Stitch rested his fingers on the gravestone.

“It’s funny. If you hadn’t killed them, we probably wouldn’t be here.” He gazed into the golden sun. “Go on. Finish what you started.” His finger trailed down over the scar on his eye.

A gunshot.

[hazard-15]

12, and 5 for MarVi

1 and 4 for Armyhorse (Can be Primis or Ultimis)

Forgot to ask you this btw, been busy with school and other projects with me

@shinmiyovvi Girl when I tell you I don't blame you one bit, school started for me too and if it's not school or burn out, it's me getting sick who pushed this farther back than it should've been done already 😤 but anyways! Thank you for the ask 💖💖💖💖🥺🥺🥺

MarVi 

5) Who curses, and who reprimands the other for it? 

Tbh, I see the both of them cursing like they were born with the mouth of a sailor lmao but here's a funny thought I had 

Naga; Fuck….

Stitch; *Gasps and covers Mariana's ears while dragging her away* 

Mariana; Fuck! 

Stitch; *Gasping while looking at her and about to beat Naga up* 

12) Who's more protective? 

Stitch, there's no doubt about that, and I don't blame him considering what happens to Mariana 😭😭

Armyhorse (works for Primis and Ultimis)

Who makes the other blush all the time and who funds it adorable? 

While I would say it goes either way, I find it cute to imagine Zari blushing damn near all the time because of Dempsey and yes, he finds it so fucking adorable and yes, he would do it again. 

4) Who embarrasses the other in public with kisses and pet names? 

Oh, Dempsey hands down and disgustingly (affectionate) so LOL 

[cass-the-mess]

🌺 About Me 🌺 I'm Cass, I'm 24

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

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

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

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

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

🌺 Masterlist 🌺 Call of Duty 🌺

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌺 Masterlist 🌺 Baldur's Gate 3 🌺

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

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

TW: TBA

[jesuiscalmedammit]

Surprise || [Russell Adler x fem!Bell]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

[yunatheintrovert]

Stitch/Fem!Bell Soulmate AU idea: Shared Pain & Scars/Wounds

In a Soulmate AU where soulmates feel and share each other’s scars/wounds and pain, Stitch and Bell are soulmates. 

When she was a teenager, Bell loses her right eye in a sudden blur of pain and blood. The pain didn’t stop there and it went on and on with cuts and bruises over her arms. Broken bones and scars marred her body for days. 

When Stitch was working on producing Nova-6 for Perseus in 1981, suddenly he felt pain all over his body, just like all those years ago. But it didn’t stop there. It went into his head, tearing into his mind before it suddenly...stopped. It was only several months later did Stitch find the answer to his question in the form of his soulmate bleeding out by the cliffside in Solovetsky. He would not let her die, not now, not ever. After all, it was a cold, cruel comfort to a wicked man like him...to have someone share in his pain...to have someone understand. 

[sunfishsiestalah]

Knackered Knickers at Kuzmin's Khrushchyovka

Everyone from Perseus is way more than ready to spill Adler's blood for screwing their waifu comrade

[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.