a/n: I was going to let this rot and die in the drafts but I didn’t want to let the mini story go to waste soooo eat up <3
•Late-night ramen and lingering glances
You start hanging out at the garage more often. You don’t really belong to the racing scene, but Han never makes you feel out of place. One night, he asks if you want food — and instead of bringing you back takeout, he picks you up in his RX-7 and drives you through neon-lit Tokyo just for a tiny, hole-in-the-wall ramen spot.
He doesn’t say much. But when he watches you slurp your noodles, hiding a grin behind his hand?
That’s the first time you feel like maybe he’s not just being nice.
• Teaching you how to drift... sort of
You’re not a racer—not really, but one night Han catches you watching him a little too long during a tune-up session. Without a word, he tosses you the keys to one of the older cars in the garage.
“Let’s see what you got.”
“What?” You said, too slow to understand the implication.
“Garage car. She’s got bite. But she’ll be nice if you treat her right.”
“Wait. You want me to drive?”
“No,” he deadpans. “I want you to try. Let’s see if you’re more than just pretty looks and long stares.”
“I can drive,” you insist.
“Good,” Han replies, leaning back on the hood, arms folded. “Show me.”
You slide into the driver’s seat, heart pounding. The interior smells like dust and old vinyl. You adjust everything like you’ve seen in the movies.
Then stall the engine.
Once.
Twice.
Five times.
Okay, maybe I can’t drive,” you mutter to yourself. Watching how Han looked at you in amusement
Han strolls over and taps the window.
“Mind if I join?” he asks.
“To mock me properly?”
“I mock better up close.”
He slides into the passenger seat, one arm casually resting across the back of yours, and gestures toward the wheel.
“Alright, let’s fix whatever that was.”
“You mean my confidence?”
“That too.”
He reaches for the gearshift, brushing your hand. His fingers are rough, warm, steady.
“Clutch, gas. It’s like dancing,” he says. “You don’t step on your partner’s feet, you listen to the rhythm.”
“I’m more of a freestyle girl.”
“Clearly.”
You try again. The car jerks forward, protesting, but doesn’t stall.
“Hey!” you exclaim, triumphant.
“Don’t celebrate yet. That was beginner’s luck.”
“No faith?”
“I’ve got faith,” Han says, turning toward you with a teasing glint. “But also really good reflexes in case you crash.”
Han teaches you the way he drives — calm, fluid, like he’s got nowhere to be but enjoys getting there. You, on the other hand, learn the hard way. Curbs are hit. Cones are sacrificed.
“You trying to drift or parallel park a tank?”
“Is that tire smoke or your ego burning out?”
“You’re still terrible,” he says one night after a particularly wild turn. “But damn, you make it look fun.”
One night, you finally nail it — a clean, sharp drift that slices through the dockside corner like a knife. You hit the throttle just right, countersteer without overthinking. The tires screech, smoke curls, and when you stop, heart racing, you look over at him.
He’s quiet. For once.
“Speechless?” you ask, breathless, grinning.
“Shocked,” he admits, mouth twitching up. “Thought we’d be in the bay by now.”
“Told you I could drive.”
“Mmm. I’m starting to think you just like me close.”
“You wish.”
He leans in, that lazy grin softening just a touch. There's a pause — full of heat, the hum of the idling engine, the slow rise of something more.
“Y’know,” he says, voice low, “when I gave you those keys… I wasn’t just testing your driving.”
“Oh yeah?” you reply, arching a brow. “Then what were you testing?”
“Whether or not I’d have to keep pretending I wasn’t into you.”
Your breath hitches. He’s so close you can see the gold flecks in his eyes, the smallest curve of his lip.
You smile — smug, playful, yours.
“So how’d I do?”
He grins back, nodding toward the wheel.
“You passed. Now drive.”
• Sleeping in the car — together, unspoken
One night you stay late at the garage. Han’s reclined in the RX-7, and you're too tired to go home. He opens the passenger side, pats the seat like it’s always been yours.
Neither of you talk much — just sit in the silence while Tokyo hums outside. You fall asleep before you realize it. When you wake up, his jacket is over your legs, and he’s still awake, watching the stars through the windshield.
• Han shares his snacks, always
You never ask. He never offers. But his bag of chips? His Pocky? His peach gummies from the vending machine?
He always hands them to you first, wordlessly, like it’s automatic. Like you’re already a part of his rhythm.
Even when you’re arguing. Especially when you’re arguing.
• Tangled legs and parking garage conversations
You’ve started crashing in the RX-7 after late nights — both of you curled up together in the back seat or lying across the hood, legs tangled, listening to music
You talk about nothing. Everything. The quiet in the city. What you'd do if you left Tokyo. Whether drifting is freedom or just a distraction.
He never says "I love you." But he looks at you like the words are too small to fit what he feels.
• Protectiveness that doesn’t look like anger
Han doesn’t raise his voice. Ever. But the one time a drunk bystander gets too close to you, says something slick that lands wrong?
Han’s already in front of you, one hand lightly guiding you back, the other gripping his arm just a little too hard.
He doesn't say much — just leans in and murmurs something to the guy.
Later, when you ask what he said, Han just shrugs and says, “Told him not to get comfortable.”
• You patch him up
He comes back one night, knuckles bruised, a small cut on his cheekbone.
He brushes it off, of course. "Wasn’t a big deal." But he doesn’t stop you when you pull him into the bathroom and clean him up with cotton pads and ointment.
He watches you in the mirror. Quiet. Still.
“You always take care of people like this?” he asks softly.
You don’t answer — you just kiss the corner of his mouth and say, “Just you.”
• Shared routine
Han starts making you part of his rhythm without ever asking.
You start showing up around the same time. He plays the same playlist you two created while you help tidy up the garage. You hand him tools without needing to be asked. He knows your go-to snack and starts stocking it without saying anything.
Busy next week? Because I know a cutie who's interested in spending some time with you 👀
That's right, Francesco's second chapter is releasing on Valentine's Day! We'll see you all on February 14th for a lighthearted chapter of hijinks and sweetness and absolutely nothing going wrong 😊
ASK: ahhh i’m obsessed w ur adler headcanons!! pretty pretty plsss could we have more soft!adler headcanons? or maybe a few headcanons for how adler might react to realising he’s slowly falling for bell!reader before they discover the brainwash twist?? 🥺👉👈 either way just wanna express my appreciation for how you characterise him!! <3
Author's Note: Tehe back at it idk. This was an ask I got months ago but just had incredibly bad writer's and art block. Trying to get those creative juices flowing again! Thank you so much for the ask and the kind comments anon. I really really appreciate it. Hope you enjoy! <3 (your ask disappeared after i put it into Tumblr drafts??)
More Soft!Adler Headcanons:
In the morning before work, Russell wakes up a little earlier than you to spend some more time on his appearance. You see him shaving his few day old stubble and decide to help him out, taking the razor. He’d study your facial expression as you concentrate on going round each jagged edge of his scar, making sure to not cut him. His blue eyes tracing every little mark on your face, absolutely in awe of how beautiful you are even when you furrow your brows and he’d gently push a strand or two of hair out the way that had fallen over your eye. As you rinse the blade under the tap, he’d grab your chin and peck your lips, getting the taste of shaving foam in your mouth and you two would laugh about it.
I can imagine in Winter, Russell and his s/o ordering hot chocolate with some cream on top/coffee, walking and talking. When he notices your cream/foam moustache, he chuckles to himself but you pay it no mind, thinking it was his response to something you said. But he chuckles again and you question him. -> “Oh uh nothing. You just uh…got a little um...hold on.” He’d lean in and lick your lips before planting a kiss on them and leaning back to look at you with a smile, leaving you dumbfounded.
Witty jokes and comments that make you think how the hell did he come up with that one are definitely on the menu. Russell will sometimes randomly just burst into Russian or German mode and will try and teach you some words and jokes too. Mostly the swear words because everybody wants to know the swear words
Adler and his fellow operatives were chatting one day in public with their gear on as they were on their way back to a hotel for the night before their early morning flight but the sight of kids running up to him caught his eye. They asked him questions, the usual ones, the story behind the scar and what he does for a living. At first, he wasn’t exactly the warmest towards them but when one of the kids begged him to pick them up, he grumbled and gave in, watching them just take his sunglasses and the other asking if they could touch the scar, earning a smile from him. Him an his group sat down and spent some time kicking a ball around and taking the time out for the children before they had to head back. Adler gave them all fistbumps and bent down to plant a cap on one of their heads with a wink and a side smile -> “Keep it. I don’t need it, kid.”
Slowly falling for Bell!Reader Headcanons: Part 1
Russell Adler didn’t think it was possible to be honest. Him falling for another person. Always thought of himself as a lone wolf after his divorce. Never took any interest in dates or anything because he simply didn’t have the time and partly due to a fear of being hurt again that he refused to acknowledge
Yet he found himself weirdly drawn to you. Maybe it was a sick and twisted fantasy of his, the visage of him being a human, cracking with every fleeting touch. The true monster in him seeping out, revealing his true colours
When he picked you up and out of the SUV in Trabzon, he felt nothing. Perhaps some sense of accomplishment as he was one step closer to locating the man he’d been chasing for 13 years but nothing more. As the initial interrogations continued in a secure location and your balaclava was yanked off by his own hands, a part of him knew he’d get attached when he saw you, in your rawest form but he quickly pushed that thought away as fast as it appeared in his mind. But it’d creep up every now and then during the experimentation as he’d speak into the microphone and exhale the smoke through his nose as he stared at you through the glass, watching you carefully before dipping his head as he hears you let out a gut-wrenching scream and struggle in the chair, putting out his cigarette and calling it a day.
He’d catch a whiff of your perfume nearby to where he was working in the safehouse. The perfume on your wrists stayed behind on the desk after your leaned over to pass him something or rested your forearms on the desk. The subtle scent of your shampoo and body wash in the bathroom, lingering in the air. He’d inhale deeply and close his eyes, imagining you as his head resting on the back of his chair for a few moments before he stopped himself and his eyes snapped open, making sure nobody was nearby as if he was scared someone could read his thoughts.
A candle you’d left on for him as he worked late into the night once was never forgotten. Adler would relight it to remind himself of you when you were gone on a mission with the others, telling himself it’s just because it smells nice.
A Brick in the Wall: As Bell took photos of Kraus, Russell would glance over at her, watch you paying attention, adjusting the camera lens, sticking your tongue out as the camera shutter clicked and a small smile would creep onto his lips before he looked away and cleared his throat, giving you your next order. God, what was he thinking?
Some things however were just pure protective instinct. Like grabbing your forearm to pull you away from the railing as you stepped up onto to look over the edge of a balcony at night. He needed you alive for the mission of course, no other reason
Or when he’d tuck his extra magazines into your ammo packs and make sure all your straps and harness were tight enough. Or even holding his arm out and across your chest when he had to hit the brakes hard while driving with a gentle you okay? after a few beats of silence
Or when he’d bought some food and you were out of it after an MK-Ultra session during the early days and he’d give you a little extra without a word to keep your strength up, looking into your eyes briefly as you cried but the guilt was creeping up on him and he’d leave before you sobbed. He’d close the door just as you burst into tears, his hand on the doorknob behind him and he’d sigh deeply, his eyes shut, trying to compose himself before walking off to find Park. They’re just a red. He’d remind himself constantly. But just a kid too…
Desperate Measures: As Belikov let the two of you in and you took out the guards and changed into their uniforms, he couldn’t help but sneak a few glances. Before you walked up the stairs, he stopped you and checked you over, head to toe, the expression on his face neutral but his mind was in overdrive. Russell took a step closer and his hands found the bottom of your skirt and tugged on it, pulling it down so it revealed less. A single nod and his lips a thin line before he turned and walked off. He refused to admit he didn’t want anyone looking at you the way he did.
He finds himself a little self conscious. This isn’t like him..since when was Russell motherfuckin’ Adler worried about the way he was perceived by a red of all people? Putting more aftershave on himself, a spray of cologne to mask the smell of cigarettes that had found its way into his clothing after years of the bad habit. A quick check in the mirror to adjust his outfit and hair before pushing the bridge of his sunglasses up and into place
Safe to say, you took him by surprise. He was of course impressed by your combat and cryptography skills as well as endurance during MK-Ultra, thinking it was such a shame you were on the wrong side. Began thinking of what-ifs…
After one particularly gruelling session, you were screaming and refusing to take the pills that Park was giving you to help you sleep, saying they made you want to vomit and the anti-sickness was not doing anything but Park explained that she couldn’t do much about it. Russell heard this from the other side of the door as he walked past your room late at night, telling Sims to source a different medicine he knew of. The next day, he entered your room as you wailed again, thrashing against your cot and he adminstered a dose, barely speaking to you before leaving again but as you clutched his hand, he rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand before letting go. Your touch overwhelmed him.
When he’d see you hang out and play poker or some board games with the others as he was filing reports and chasing up contacts, a tiny frown would form on his face, he’d start picking at the skin on his lips as he watched them or he’d look down and dust his pants off or fiddle with a pen, anything to distract himself from the green-eyed monster
If he heard you singing a song in the other room, he’d put it on for you in the car without a word spoken, you just staring at Adler as if to say how did you know that?
On one chilly night, you fell asleep in the dark room and Adler stood there in the doorway, looking at you, your breathing steady, face rid of anguish and you looked at peace in the red light. Slowly, he made his way over and draped his jacket round your shoulders, thinking to himself it’s just what any decent person would do. Can’t have his tool catching a cold now…
During stakeouts, Russell would start telling you random facts about himself he’s never told another person, saying to himself you’ll be gone soon anyways, that you were an outsider so that’s why it was easier to talk to you.
This feeling he had only seemed to grow with each mission. Instead of letting the others help you out when injured, he’d grip your shoulder as soon as they got in, steering you towards the nearest stool before anyone had a chance to say anything and command you to sit, treating you like the dog you are while he fetched the supplies.
As the weeks passed, he’d take you to your room and patch you up there, wanting some one-on-one time with you, making casual conversation, half to distract you from the pain and half to suppress the thoughts going round in his mind about being so close to losing you
He made you laugh once or twice and couldn’t stop thinking about it. It sounded even better than when Woods or the other crew members made you laugh and it made him smile to which you pointed out but he stood up and left shortly after, his standard, stoic expression returning to his face
Adler would stay up on a few occasions to make sure you slept, scanning your face as the pills began to take effect, his arms folded as he stood, looming over you, his finger scratching at his arm even though it wasn’t itchy. It was just unease which he consistently pushed down but he noticed he was getting more fidgety when it came to you. Almost like the guilt was eating him from the inside out. He’d take off his watch, place his cigs on the side and settle into a chair, telling himself it’s just for a few minutes but once he did stay the whole night, leaving before the others woke up. Nobody ever knew
If you ever asked about your time together as friends and during Vietnam when you’d having trouble remembering, he’d keep it short and sweet, but every now and then he’d make up something that was what he wished it would have been like. Nothing too out there.
During mission briefings, he’d find himself laying his attention on you the most as he talked, wanting to know you were really listening to him and secretly asking for your input too and once the others had returned to what they were doing before, he’d pull you to the side, asking you if you were okay with the plan and if there’s anything you need to go over. I mean, you were the main star of course so it makes sense but his hand would reach for your upper arm and then retract. Boundaries, Adler…
One thing that killed him though was the fact that you only ever grabbed him out of fear, during MK-Ultra when you didn’t want him to leave, when in agony from a gunshot wound, or just as you dropped off to sleep after he injected your when you were being disobedient. Couldn’t admit he wanted you to grab onto him in desperation as he- Get a grip, Adler! When did he start thinking of you like that?
After Cuba, he felt nothing. No sense of accomplishment yet as he was one step further away from locating the man he’d been chasing for 13 years but now he was two steps closer to saying goodbye to you for good…
─ · · SUMMARY: You were a handler of operators out in the field and Russell Adlers was your best and yet the biggest pain in your side with his constant flirting and desire to get under your skin. Yet as soon as someone else tries to annoy you or heaven forbid- flirt with you, it gets shutdown right away.
─ · · TAGS: men being dicks, female pronouns, no use of (y/n), protective!Russell, jealous!Russell, mutual pining, enemies (strong annoyance) to lovers, confessions, pet names, suggestive themes, hurt/comfort.
─ · · A/N: I was going crazy looking at all the fan art. Don't think I will be coming fully back to COD like I was before, but I had to write something for this character. Hope you all enjoy!
─────── · ·
"Officer Adler!" you yell, bursting through the heavy oak doors and into the office space. Fellow agents, officers, and handlers all look towards you and then back at Adler frozen in time and space.
Adler takes a drag of his cigarette before waving his hand in a silent command for everyone to leave you both. Hands quickly pick up their belongings and feet scatter out before the doors enclose you both.
The man in question makes no further movement simply leaning against the corner of a desk, a smirk setting upon his features as his glasses slip down his face to watch as you near, hands gripping a manila folder.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he says in an even tone, observing the curves of your face that have fallen into a serious frown. "We have already gone over this before, agent. You cannot call me such, such-"
"Such what, honey?" He teases further, cigarette sitting between his lips as he leans closer and into your space. You take a half step back, pinching your brows together before letting out a breath. "The pet names, Adler. They have to stop, we are both professionals."
Adler hums out in contemplation, taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out in the nearest ashtray. He nods his head in direction to the folder in your hand. "No. Before this," you wave the folder around to further prove your point, "we are sorting this thing out. I need to hear you say you won't do it any longer. It causes way to many issues."
"Issues about what? If someone is bothering you, you'll let me know right?" Adlers face drops, hands forming into fists, his stare already demanding names.
"Yes of course! But it makes me appear less assertive in my role, Adler. I have other operators I have to account for since you left and I can't have the newer ones thinking they can disrespect me in any way!" you try and explain, a hand gripping your hair as you stress.
Adler stands, gently taking your elbow before his fingers trail up your arm and towards your hand and head where he eases your grip from your roots. Before he can go to fix your hair you shake his touch off with a huff. "This is what I mean, officer," you say, throwing the document on the now bare desk.
"Well then maybe you should drop your other agents, (last/name)," Russell counters, arms now crossed against his wide chest. A few buttons to his navy shirt undone as you do you best to not look at the skin showing underneath.
"See you would have been my only operator as you have demanded in the past but as soon as you left, you failed to see that I still need to put food on the table so what little choice did I have but to be given new recruits?" you retort, falling into the nearby swivel chair as you stare at the door.
Adler crouches down, blocking your view. His hand twitching to pick up your chin to see your eyes once more. "Hey, look sweeth-(last/name). I can't apologize for my reasons for leaving but I will apologize for leaving you with no other options."
You nod your head before meeting his eyes once more, "So no more petnames?"
"No promises," is all Adler can say before leaning over you to reach for the documents you threw earlier. You lean back into your chair, hands gripping the arms, "You know you could have just asked me to get those for you?"
"Yeah but I got them anyways." You roll your eyes, "Hey- none of that now," Adler shushes you before looking back down at the files. You watch as his large hands grip the corners of the page, careful not to bend them before flipping it to the other side, a series of photos close to falling out as he tips the folder towards you to stop them. "I'm not a child in need of reprimanding, save that for the field workers."
"Never said you were but seeing you leaning back in that chair while doing that plants some images in a man's head," Adler's familiar smirk haunts you once again in the daylight. "Fucking hell," you swear underneath your breath.
"So, why am I being shown these? I already completed this objective..." Adler closes the folder, placing it gently back on the desk.
"Yeah, thats the issue. You see, Adler, we needed more information on those guys. Not for you to shoot them and the information with them!" you yell, swearing that your voice rippled the coffee in a nearby cold cup.
"Well, I'm going to let you in on a little secret off the books."
"And what secret would that be out of your many?" You lean forwards, playing with a ring on your finger. Adler stares at the movement before turning his back to you.
"I already knew all that information years ago, just had to make sure nobody else got to it."
─────── · ·
You thought that after that whole fiasco with your officer Adler, thing would have cleared up since then but it seemed that life had thought differently.
You were in a board meeting with your fellow operators, their handlers, and council members. One of your officers, Roger was sitting beside you, a notebook shared between the two of you as you both passed notes back and forth on the meeting that was dragging on into your lunch break.
"Well if they are planning biological warfare we have to meet metal with metal! If we are acting as moderates or even submissive what the hell room does that leave the enemy to operate in! They need to be neutralized long before those chemicals get out of the port, fuck the rest of them!" A board member yells from the top of the table as you lean back gaining a headache from it all.
Roger places a hand on your shoulder, his head tilting down to your ear, "You holding up alright?" he asks politely, turning his head for you to whisper your answer. "Yeah, just need this meeting to be over or at least to be paused. We are getting nowhere with all this shouting and violence."
The officer nods to your answer. "Yes, we have been circling over the same-"
"Oi! Do you to have something to share? Or are you both gonna keep whispering sweet little nothing into each others ears? Should I tell Adlers' that your cheatin' on em'?" Another handler chimes in, sending a toothy-white smile in your direction.
The other men around the table laugh as you lean on the table, threatening to stand. Roger makes no sudden movement in his chair, face set in a glare directed to the senior member at the unprofessional comment. Sighing you pick up your notes and crack your neck before reading your own radiant smile, eyes holding daggers picturing to stab through his eye-sockets.
"That will not be necessary, Paul," you spit out his name, "Nor is any of this discussion. We have all made no process since eleven! If we display strength with the military we risk our agents already operating within the operation and civilians. If we sit back and let it happen, we also risk a potential nuclear war. Our best option, which none of you men have brought forward and is embarrassing for our field is that we don't ship ourselves alongside the weapon, that way we can determine who has it, where it is meant to go, and where we want it to go."
You are nearly out of breath by the end of your speech as you stand and begin to walk towards the doors, Roger's hot on your tail as nods his head before all the members on behalf of you both, leaving the room in silence.
As soon as the door closes behind you both, you lean against it. "At times, I wish I had a dick like the rest of them but then I remember it's what makes them this way," you explain before picking yourself back up and continuing down the hall.
Rogers laughs, his eyes crinkling as he bumps your shoulder. You look up, casting him a smile as well. "You have a way of saying things, sweetheart. Would leave to see more of that mouth outside of work," Rogers says causing you to stand still in the hall as people walk around you both.
Turning to face your agent, your smile has turned into a glare once more. "Get back to work, Rogers. I expect a full report from last week still that I have yet to receive. Your co-worker has already sent theirs in with misinformation, I hope to not see the same things on yours. And please remember this, I. am. not. your sweetheart."
Turning back on your heels you continue further down the hall, Rogers left with your words before a whistle has you nearly breaking a heel by how much you want to throw it in his face. Russell. fucking. Adler. Standing there with that smirk yet again as he leans up against the break rooms entrance.
He holds out a hand, shaking it in a silent ask to carry your belongings. You shove them into his hand while using your other to press against his chest and to move him out of your way.
He does not budge, simply looking down at your lingering touch with a softening smile. "I am not in the mood, Adler. Please let me through," you use an overly sweet tone, you can feel him tense from underneath you.
"Hey, though I do love that tone when seeing you in a good mood. I do love viewing your rage. Lay it on, whats on your mind?" Adler asks, hand now resting atop your own.
"Move first and we'll sit and talk," you counter to his nod. Adler drops your touch, arm moving to welcome you into the empty space as everyone had already cleared back for work.
Coffee in hand, sandwich in the other, you took to your seat. "I'm so sick of men constantly stepping all over me when I worked just as hard- no. Fucking harder for this position and I still get treated like a little girl in their fathers suit and it does not help when after three hours of men shoving their dicks on the table a younger one then gets the audacity to be asking to see my mouth while calling me Sweetheart," you complain, downing the rest of your coffee before slamming the cup against the saucer.
Adler appears even more tense then you, his hands grips into fists allowing the veins across his forearms to appear most prominent. "Give me a name."
"Pardon?" you ask, embarrassed that you had became so easily distracted.
"Give. me. a. name, please," Alder asks once more, his eye staring deeply into your own. "Hey, whats wrong, sharing is a mutual affair," you reach across the table to grasp one of his hands, surprised when he pulls away. He's never done that before...
"Nobody gets to say that shit to you, not when I'm here. I'm sorry that you had to hear that, sweetheart." And for some reason you don't feel disgust except an overwhelming feeling of comfort as the word dances through your ears. You try and fake annoyance but Adler only takes that as further fuel against whatever man had wronged you so.
"Theres no need to apologize, Adler. I already told Rogers off-" you should not have said that, already regretting your words and Adlers chair screeches against the tiled floors, the door being slammed behind him as he storms off to find Rogers.
─────── · ·
The next time you are working with Rogers, he does not even look at you unless you command him to. He does well to hide his face to the best of his ability but it is hard not to notice the black eye or scarring underneath his chin. Tisking to yourself, you tell the agent his next meeting point in the south Mediterranean sea before setting off on your next mission, to find Adler.
It did not take long as he was already waiting in your office. First aid it open and displayed across the documents on your desk. He did not hiss or move as he poured the anti-bacterial fluid over his wounds, his teeth gripping a bandage in wait as he had yet to acknowledge your presence.
"Alder," you scolded like a tired mother before taking the wraps from his teeth and standing between his legs, gently wrapping his hand before pressing a kiss to your work that had both of you chuckling.
"You didn't have to do that, you know. Could have gotten you suspended-"
"You really think they would suspend me, honey?" you blush, shaking your head and taking a step away yet Adler catches your elbow, standing, chests touching as he leans down to get a better look of your face.
"All I'm saying is that you have to take better care of yourself, officer," you retort, eyes quickly casting to his lips before holding his gaze.
Alder smiles, hand now cupping your cheek as you allow yourself to lean into his touch. "Are you sayin' you care about me, (last/name)?" he teases, eyes already knowing the answer by the way in which they crinkle, mirroring your own.
"I care for all of my operatives, Russell Adler."
"But am I really just an operator to you, sweetheart?" his words now nearly a whisper upon your lips that part in wait.
"Well there's only one way to find out-" and his lips were on yours. His hand now holding the back of your head, nudging it upwards as you curved into his touch, hands gripping his shirt and around to his waist. Russell's other hand moved to grip your waist, thumb rubbing circles into your side as you felt his smile upon your lips.
Pulling away, lips puffy and eyes starry as you panted for air, Adler barely gave you anytime to breathe before he was kissing you again. Any papers on your desk were thrown to the floor before Russell was picking you up by the back of your thighs and placing you on the desk, legs spreading to keep you both close.
Standing back to full height, Adler looked at you sprawled out before him, hands morning their way up from the ankles that kept him locked into to place, up to your calves and towards your thighs and lower torso. Your breath gasped as his hands teased at the skin between your waist and shirt, skin tingling, his touch lingering with shared desire.
"Kiss me again," you pleaded.
"Always, Sweetheart."
─────── · ·
─ · · A/N: If this is recieved well may make another one... 🤷
synopsis: henry creel’s final moments cause him to hallucinate something peaceful despite his demise.
pairing: henry creel x female! reader
warning! i know a lot of us are upset and grieving. only read if you can, this will be sad. i cried writing it, but i want henry to have had some comfort in his dying moments. also this may be inaccurate or a little weirdly written im sorry it’s kind of hard writing henry when vecna is there… hopefully it doesn’t disappoint. also not proofread.
henry creel, you’re so dear to us. we’re sorry you were let down. we’ll love you and defend you no matter what happens. remember, justice through strength and courage.
henry remembered. he experienced it all over again. the fear, the blood on his hands, the blood on his face. he was a little boy again, in his boy scout uniform. innocent. scared. it’s not long until he opens the suitcase the scary man was protecting, and alters him permanently. so much so that henry will never, ever be able to live again. never will he be happy. never will he be comforted. he looks down at his hand, and it’s like he felt the same pain he did at eight years old. god, he didn’t want to remember this. he didn’t want to have it, and even yet. even though henry faced his most traumatic memory, it still wasn’t enough. nothing ever would be, and he knew that.
and here he was, losing. in the end, henry couldn’t fight off the mindflayer. in all these years, these cursed years, henry creel couldn’t save himself. neither could anyone. failed by his family in 1959, and failed again in 1987. despite will byers’ words, and no matter how much henry wanted to listen to him- he couldn’t. the mindflayers control was far too strong, it always has been. and henry never had a chance at fighting it’s control off or beating it.
now, vecna’s body was impaled, but henry’s was nowhere near it. his consciousness was small, barely visible, barely even there. like it’s always been, but now… he knew he was going to die. and henry? the real, conscious henry that was trapped inside that scary, disgusting monster, the one who was always shut out and struggled- was happy. for once in his goddamn life, for once since high school. he didn’t want to fight it. he could finally be free.
and so, as joyce began to axe vecna, henry falters. he sees someone, someone so… familiar. warm. safe. henry blinks, eyes wide. that’s when he realizes, remembers.
“y/n,” henry breathed, eyebrows knitting together as his eyes watered more than they already were, his tears unstopping. his love. from high school, the girl he barely had any time with. the girl he tried to help, only to end up hurting her. that seemed like all henry was ever capable of doing. everything he touched, was doomed. “y/n,” henry repeated, scrambling to his feet as he stood up. she looked the exact same as she did all those years ago, but henry didn’t know that she was just a figment of his imagination. he genuinely believed this was her, like he’d been spared. he was still in his brown and beige suit, messy blonde hair, missing glasses, and a tear streaked face.
the world was slipping away, sound was folding in on itself and the light was only getting dimmer. but she was here- and she looked so damn beautiful. the pain was there, but it felt distant. as if it belonged to someone else, like everything always did.
y/n just stood there. she wasn’t far away, nor was she looming over him. you stand in front of him, close enough for henry to see all the small details of your face. the softness your eyes held as they met his, the same exact softness your eyes would have when henry was scared of not being able to control himself all those years ago. you never judged him. and he loved you for that. he loved you so beyond words, beyond anything he could ever explain, and he was only now remembering. perhaps, you could’ve been the key to saving him. maybe, just maybe none of this would’ve happened if you were there.
but, you and henry both knew that even you wouldn’t be enough to save him. not with brenner’s constant manipulation and purposely angering him, and his mother pushing him away when he needed her. henry remembered it all. a whimper slips from his lips at the memories, his legs growing weak as he falls onto his knees.
“i tried,” henry sobs, looking up at his former love, blissfully unaware of how his body changed. he was back to his high school self, in a long sleeved plaid shirt and trousers, his hair neatly fixed. “i really did, y/n” it comes out childlike, and it’s then y/n kneels down beside henry, her expression sorrowful. she looked at him like he was still a human, like he was still the boy she loved. the one she called weird, the one she’d grab milkshakes with and share straws with, the boy she’d always put her fist in the air with and go “justice is strength and courage”. he wasn’t some kind of mistake that needed mending, and y/n would never look at him that way. he was her heart once, and still was.
y/n just nods, her hand moving to cradle the back of henry’s head. “i know,” she says in that familiar soft voice she always used when comforting him. behind y/n, joyce’s silhouette could be seen, unwavering and hateful, and henry understands.
“you’re not them, henry,” y/n whispers. “you’re not the monster they made you into.” henry’s body is met with a warm embrace as y/n wraps her arms around him, who almost instantly reciprocates. as if it was by instinct. “you never were.”
but your warm touch wasn’t enough to save him.
“i love you, henry,” y/n quietly comforted, neither of the two of them heard those words in years. they never saw each other again after november sixth, and yet here he was imagining her. like she was all he needed.
“y-y/n,” henry breathes, his hands clutching onto her clothes tightly. he knew the final blow was coming. “i love you more- more than you know, i’m sorry,” henry began to word vomit, like it would save him and spare him more time with her. “i-i didn’t want to be like this.”
y/n’s frown deepens. “i know,” her hand cups his face with a familiar gentleness. “it’s okay, henry,”
“you’re going to be okay.”
the final blow comes, and there’s no fear. his pain falls into silence.
and finally, henry creel is in peace. freed of the thing consuming him for almost three decades, because she had stayed by his side and he had reached for the place he felt safest.
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