𝙲𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝙾𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚜

|ᴄɪɢᴀʀᴇᴛᴛᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋ| Russell Adler x Reader

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Over a smoke break, you and your boss have a quiet moment and then decide to get to know each other better and help each other out...

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(Author's note: I couldn't resist mentioning another character I'm pretty fond of from the vast universe of the Call of Duty game series.
If you've had the chance to play or watch Call of Duty Black Ops: Cold War, you'll be familiar with the complex character of Adler Russell. He's a real son of a bitch– sometimes I feel like I want to take kill him, but at the same time, there's something intriguingly charismatic and, dare I say, attractive about him.
For those unfamiliar with him, picture someone akin to Graves.)

West Berlin-1981

By now, that grimy stronghold had etched itself into your consciousness, its every crevice and shadow a familiar haunt, as though it were a part of your very being. It stood a decrepit testament to the sacrifices demanded by duty, nestled in the forgotten corners of civilization, offering only the cloak of secrecy and the embrace of solitude, as required by the clandestine directives of the US government. Within its weathered walls resided your team, a cadre of seven handpicked by your esteemed leader and CIA operative, Russell Adler.

Days had slipped by like sand through an hourglass, the silence of the higher-ups becoming deafening as they withheld new missions, their absence signaling the ominous presence of Perseus lurking in the shadows, reshaping the board. At the same time, you languished in idle anticipation, poised to pounce at the first sign of his misstep.

The weight of inactivity bore down heavily, each passing moment laden with the burden of uncertainty and the gnawing ache of impotence. Yet, amidst the stillness, you found solace in honing your skills and sharing knowledge with your comrades, a futile attempt to stave off the suffocating ennui that threatened to overwhelm you all. The confines of the warehouse, once a sanctuary, now felt oppressive, its walls closing in like the embrace of a suffocating serpent, suffused with the chaotic remnants of your collective endeavors.

With a heavy heart and weary limbs, you step out into the embrace of the evening, the cool breeze a gentle balm against your frayed nerves, as you reach into the recesses of your jacket pocket, seeking respite from the cacophony within.

"Y/N, will you be joining me for some company tonight?"

The voice, a familiar melody in the symphony of your days, draws your attention, and you lift your gaze to meet the sight of your boss. He leans casually against his car, the glow of a cigarette casting a halo around him, his eyes veiled behind tinted sunglasses, yet still penetrating, awaiting your response.

"It's been one of those days... I've been craving a cigarette all afternoon," you confess softly, the desire palpable in your voice as you clench the cigarette between your lips, fingers trembling slightly as you retrieve the lighter from your pocket, igniting the flame with a practiced flick.

Adler observes with a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes at your shared indulgence in this impromptu break. Yet, just as swiftly, his demeanor shifts back to the authoritative professionalism that defines him, his gaze unwavering as he addresses you again.

"Is it a need or merely a desire, Y/N? Not that it matters, of course..." His words carry a hint of teasing, tempered with a genuine concern that lingers beneath the surface.