Hi, would you be interested in doing a request for Yandere! 81!Adler x Reader(can be Bell or not). Perhaps he fell for someone on the enemies side and decided to capture them and brainwashed them to his side(as well as his lover in arms). Perhaps they snap out of the brainwashing only to be in too deep with him to be able to escape.
Hi!! Thanks so much for the request!
The prompt has heavily reawakened my love for the cold war campaign, and I've drawn pretty heavily on Break on Through here. It really highlights how much being yandere suits Adler... anyway.
Hope you enjoy it!
Do You Think I'll Like Greece?
Yandere Russell Adler x F!Bell!Reader
Warnings for: Brainwashing, Canon typical violence, manipulation
Adlerâs hand is cupping the back of your neck. Fingers pressed together, cradling your skull so your head stays upright against his shoulder, soft cotton rubbing against your cheek. Some of your hair has gotten caught in his watch strap, tugging with each step he takes. You try to focus on the warmth of his skin against yours as he carries you, his other hand locked safely under your knees.
After a moment, you crack your eyes open. The stars wink at you from the sky above, before black spots threaten to overtake your vision again.
Cuba had turned out a shitshow. There had been far more resistance than expected, and breaking through the entrenched forces had only been rewarded with a disastrous reveal about Perseusâ plans. Then, Park and Lazar had been left for dead on the roof. Youâd only just got out in time, injured from a rocket blast, before the skyhook dragged you away into the sky, swiftly reuniting you with Adler, who had kept you close the whole way back to Germany.
He always did, whenever youâd been apart. Heâd pull you close, tuck his hand on the back of your neck, like he was holding his whole world in his hands.
It would be more romantic if you werenât drifting in and out of consciousness. Â
âAdler, what the hell are you doing?â You dimly recognise Hudsonâs voice as the stars overhead disappear, replaced by corrugated metal, hidden in vaulted shadows. Hudsonâs voice echoes in the empty safehouse, making you wince as the metal door begins to roll down behind you and Adler.
âSims, get the gurneyâŚâ
Your vision abandons you again, only returning when you are lying down. The sudden loss of Adlerâs touch, of his arms surrounding you, leaves you feeling exposed. You wince again as a door slams shut somewhere behind you. Twisting your head, you squint around the darkened room, trying to understand what the argument you are overhearing is about.
âDoc, if you wonât listen to him, listen to me.â Sims sounded more urgent that youâd ever heard him. Â âWe donât have time to do any of this.â
âIâll catch up.â
âD⌠Adler.â Sims sighed heavily as Adler reappeared at your side. His words had a mournful feeling to them. âDonât do this. It wonât work; we donât have time⌠Youâd only end up making it â her, suffer.â
He stumbles on his words when he sees that your eyes are open.
âBellâs tougher than she looks.â Adler waves Sims away, and presses the back of his hand to your forehead. âIâm doing it. Stay or donât.â
Sims sighs again, and disappears from your view. You hear the door open and close, as you struggle to free your hands from the cuffs on the sides of the gurney.
âEasyâŚâ Adler rests his hand on top of yours. He has his sunglasses on. In the dim light you canât see his eyes.Â
âRussâŚâ
âI know. It hurts. Iâm going to get you sorted. Donât worry.âÂ
He squeezes your hand, then moves to the head of the gurney, pulling you backwards into his office. The blinds are already drawn down, the only light coming from a lamp on the desk as Adler locks the door. Itâs nearly impossible for you to see now. Youâre struggling to keep track of whether your eyes were open or closed, whether you were asleep or awake. Â
âYou still there, Bell?âÂ
You tilt your head and squint as Adlerâs shadow moves in front of the light. âYeah⌠whatâs going on? What are we doing about theâŚâ
âThe nukes? Weâre working on it.â He bends over something on the desk, not looking at you. You struggle to sit up again.
âWe?â
âYeah. You and me, Bell. Weâre going to figure this thing out.â
âHow?â
âTrust me.â He turns to face you, smiling, then reaches for something in the darkness.Â
Bright white light floods the room, and you shut your eyes tight.
âYeah. Sorry about that.â His hand grasps your jaw, keeping your face upright as you try to turn away from the brightness. âCâmon, Bell. Open eyes. We have a job to do.â
You crack your eyes open, and realise that the light isnât actually that bad. His face is blocking part of it anyway, as he leans over you, mirroring your soft smile.
âSee? Not so bad.â His thumb skates across your lip, before his hands moves up further, grasping your head tight. âYou need to stay still for this to work.â
âUh huh.â You mumble into his hand, resisting the urge to nod, blinking rapidly as he lets go of your jaw, and pulls your left eye open.
âReal stillâŚâÂ
You feel the discomfort of the needle without ever seeing it. You immediately forget that youâre not supposed to move, writhing on the gurney, pulling on the restrains, eyes watering as you try to blink the thing away. Adler lets go of your face and sits at your side, waiting for you to settle as he wraps his hand around your cuffed one.
âJust a little pinch Bell. To sharpen your memories.â
âMy mem⌠memoriesâŚâ Your vision is blurring. The shadowy grey room is coming to life with new colours, muddling everything you can see together. You canât tell the blinds from the walls, the desk from the floor, your body from the gurney.
âBell, you need remember. Remember, when you met Perseus in Vietnam.â The only concrete thing left is Adler. His grip on your hand, his voice slowly echoing through your mind.
âVietnam?â The syllables feel heavy on your tongue as you feel yourself slipping away from reality.
âYeah. Nam, Bell. Where we met, do you remember?â
It was December of â67. Camp Haskins, where everyone was too busy complaining, that they would be away from home for Christmas, that the heat even now didnât relent, that the enemy was better supplied than we were; to do their fucking job.
You had kept yourself tucked away in your corner of the command tent, hunched over a desk, deciphering soviet radio transmissions. You had glanced down the list of dates again, circling the ones that contained the name that kept appearing over and over. Perseus.
âPerseus?â A voice had echoed over your shoulder, and youâd snapped the file shut, glancing up at the man staring down at your work. âWhereâd you pull that from?â
âRadio.â You pointed at it. Youâd dealt with enough shit from men at work to not entertain this interruption, even if he was easier on the eyes than your usual irritants.
He didnât take the hint. âHuh. You should probably take a look at this, then.â
He leant over to the desk next to yours and pulled out a file, holding it out to you. There was something oddly comforting about him. His sunglasses, the suave attitude. Like all of the actors you remember loving from back home.
You shook your head. Now was not the time for that.
The folder heâd given you had a photo paper clipped to the front. A man in soviet military dress, probably in his fifties. Maybe late forties, if the years hadnât been kind to him. The name Perseus was written on the front of the manilla in thick black ink. Subtle.
âSo, whatâs he doing?â He leant over your desk again.
âSorry, who are you?â
âRussell Adler. MACV-SOG.âÂ
âDidnât realise the CIA hired pretty boys.â You put the file aside and uncovered the list of transmissions again, letting him glance over it. âSupposedly, heâs sending in a weapons cache between Christmas and New Years. To catch all of us Americans off guard.âÂ
âThatâs right.â The scene blurs before your eyes as Adlerâs voice comes from somewhere⌠else. âBut it never appeared, did it?â
âNo.â
âAt least, not then. Later you found more. You followed the trail, and came face to face with Perseus, in Vietnam, didnât you?â
âIâŚâ you hesitate. You blink and look away from the blurry, young and scarless Adler standing over you.
Heâs there. The General. Perseus, as he fancies himself. Heâs coming up to your desk in the bunker, footsteps echoing off the metal and concrete in disharmony. Youâre at your desk, squinting under lamp light, in a cold, dreary bunker, not a tent, working on encryptions, not radio transmissions. You were trying to organise a weapons shipment to go⌠somewhere.
The General smiles, and softly puts a file down at your elbow.Â
âThis is who Stitch mentioned. You should take a look at it.âÂ
You nod, taking the thin file. Russell T. Adler. There were just three photos, spread out over several years, all military issue. He looked very stereotypically American, if you had to describe him. A nasty scar appeared between the second and third. You lingered on that third one, studying his eyes closely. He didnât like being photographed, resented that his existence was being put to glossy photo paper. Â
You brush your fingers over the few documents in the file, the hard back of the chair digging into your spine as you sit up, for once. Stich had spoken of little but his desire for revenge on Adler since heâd been rescued. Perseus was moulding him to lead a strike team, stringing him along with the promise that this Adler would get his dues.
Thatâs where you came in. Stitch canât kill him, if he doesnât know where he is. You look up, ready to ask if thereâs anything else Perseus needs, but heâs already left, a red door swinging closed behind him.Â
âBell?â Adlerâs voice snatches you back to Vietnam. At least, its what your eyes would have you believe. Your other senses say that youâre still in the bunker, stuck in that cold, quiet, lonely place. You reach for the arms of your chair, only to find that you canât move your hands.
âNever met you. InâŚâ Your voice trails off as something stings, again. You reel back and fall off your chair, hands flying to your face as you try to find where it hurts.
âYeah, we did. Met in Nam, Bell. Turns out you were a dab hand at knowing who was at the door by just their knock. Our own little doorbell.â
Had you? When tents donât have doors?
No, because it had been later. In the office, where the air conditioning clicked every twenty-two seconds, and your chair fell apart every other Thursday, and good coffee was beyond the codebreakerâs budget.
Youâd hated that office almost as much as the nickname. Wasnât your fault everyone had distinct footsteps and knocks. Youâd brought it up as a security risk.Â
Adler had chuckled, and told you that being paranoid was his job.Â
âYeah. Where was that office again?â Eventually, the âdoorâ got dropped, and you were just âBellâ.
âStateside. One of our top-secret ones.â He was squeezing your hand, stroking your knuckles so softly. He couldnât have done whatever had hurt you so much just moments ago.Â
âWe didnât spend much time there.â
âTrue.â He sighed. âToo much travelling.âÂ
You nodded. âEurope.â
âAsia.â
âSouth America.â
The bits and pieces come back to you, like they always do. Snatches of dates, conversations, a wedding, in Greece, you think. But⌠nothing complete. Like always.Â
Itâs only ever bits and pieces, with an occasional spark reminding you of places you and Adler had been together. âWhat about⌠Turkey?âÂ
âTurkey? Yeah⌠wow, that was a long time ago.â
âWas it?â Your brow wrinkles, as you feel the phantom pain of a bullet lodged in your torso. âFeels like just yesterday to me.â
âIt would. You got pretty badly injured. Those things stay with you.â He inhales, clutching your hand like he wants to stop the memory of the car thatâs forming around you.
âIt was⌠Trabzon. And⌠Arash.âÂ
âYeah. He had you caught, tried to kill you as he fled, but we got to you. Rescued you.â
âNoâŚâ No, that wasnât what happened. You were there to make sure Arash stayed on task, and heâd taken issue with that, not knowing that youâd been in this longer than heâd had. Heâd shot you, and youâd thought you were done for, until someone had found you⌠The words, the first ones Adler ever spoke to you, fall out of your mouth before you can stop them. âOver here⌠Weâve got a live one.â
âWhat do you mean by that Bell?â
âI meanâŚâ
You shut your eyes as the jeep distorted around you, Adlerâs face looms, disproportionately large, as he drags you out of it, lying you out on the tarmac, the night sky appearing above you. The same night sky you saw in Berlin, around Volkovâs head as he talked to you like he knew you, only for Adler to arrive and stop you from asking more.
You chased Volkov across the warehouse, he surrendered to you, and when you tried to ask a question, Adler appeared and shot him. He kissed you right over the corpse, once, and quickly, before everyone else caught up. Then, he had to go off to appease Parkâs annoyance that you hadnât taken Volkov alive, leaving you with only the parting promise that heâd finish what heâd started up on the rooftop earlier, crushing your body against his in an alcove as the searchlight swept by, his fingers dipping below your waistband as you killed time while waiting for Kraus to show up.
Later, heâd hesitated to be away from you, only just conceding that you could go alone with Woods to Ukraine. After that went tits up, heâd insisted on taking you with him to the Lubyanka building, and taken full advantage of the dark tunnels you were sneaking in through. When inside, walking through the marble halls, heâd kept you close, face tucked down next to your side, not to protect you, but so no one would recognise you. As Volkov had done.
Lazar hadnât known. Heâd suspected something, after seeing Adler put his arm around you in the car. Itâs what that warning has been about, the one that youâd overheard when you were only half awake. The one that had sounded a little too impersonal to be about a man defending his wife. Heâd denied any explanation when heâd come back afterwards and hushed you, gently checking the glass cuts on your arms, getting you more painkillers when youâd groaned in pain, complaining about a nightmare that woke you.
Youâd assumed they were pain killers. All those tablets heâd handed you, youâd just assumed. Because why wouldnât you trust him? Why would he lie about what he was giving you?
So brazenly, too. As far as you could remember, most painkillers were little white pills. These had been all different shapes and colours and sizes.Â
As far as you could remember⌠how far back could you remember?Â
The safehouse?Â
Turkey? That had to be before Berlin⌠with Arash, then Adler.Â
Turkey, then⌠a lab.Â
âWhat⌠what did you do to me?â You blinked, and finally, your surroundings solidified around you. Tiled walls, stretching away from you, dotted by white doors. You reach out, touch the wall, and shiver. It was cold. Air was blowing from somewhere, carrying the smell of a chemical with it. The entire place was empty and sterile.
Except a red door, ahead of you, marking the end of the hallway.
âI gave you a second chance.â Adler opens the door, facing you as he holds it flush to the wall. The room behind him was shrouded in darkness. You could just make out a chair, where some poor bastard with a bag over their head sat.
âReally?â A flash interrupts you. White, wedding. Adlerâs voice echoes himself, his hands in yours, proclaiming that this marriage was a second chance for both of you. You shake, fingers curling and finding the grout line between the tiles. Your fingernails scrape at it, gathering dust underneath them.
âI did.â The door swings closed as Adler walks towards you. âI donât give many of those.â
âWhat am I, special?â
âYes.â He answers immediately. âI gave you a chance to fix things. A chance with me.âÂ
âFuck you.â You let go of the wall and step back as he reaches for you. This lab is inside your mind, not his. Itâs yours to control.
The tiles explode. Ceramic shrapnel fills the air, hanging in the air like snow, forcing the two of you apart.
âBellâŚâ Adler sighs. He shrugs, and the ceramic crashes to the floor. âWhat do you think is going to happen if you donât help me?â
The nukes would go off. Lots of people would die. That was what this whole exercise was about, wasnât it? But why? You didnât know any more than Adler did, about where Perseus was planning to detonate the bombs and kill millions from.
Millions of lives. That youâd be responsible for. You had been part of that plan, originally. You were at the meeting, with Perseus, where heâd laid out his plan, including the reunion in Solovetsky.
So, for one. That would happen.
As for what would happen to you, personally⌠Adler seems to have an idea.
âDo you think Perseus is going to come and save you? You heard what Volkov said- thereâs a price on your head.â
You had heard that. But that had been when Volkov had you captured, before Adler arrived. He couldnât have heard it, too.
âPerseus will kill you, and thatâs if youâre lucky.â
You turn your back on Adler and his logic, walking back up the corridor. Ceramic crunches under your boots, and you round the corner to find Adler and the red door in front of you again.
You stop and glance back.
He was still there, too. Adler in front of you, and behind you.
âBell?â The Adler to your left begins to walk towards you. You turn back, only to find the one behind you doing the same. When you look around again, thereâs another corridor in front of you. You charge into it blindly, stopping short when you see another Adler, another red door. You turn back again, and another passage appears, making the corner into a crossroads.
Thereâs another Adler in the final corridor, too. He has you surrounded, coming at you from every direction.
âI can protect you, Bell.â Four voices, identically blending into one roar, as you shake, covering your eyes as you open your mouth to scream.
Thatâs when the first one reaches you. He catches your shoulders, preventing you from collapsing. The second takes your hands, swiftly moving to take hold of your wrists, as the third grabs your hips, steadying your shaking legs, as the fourth, the original one, cups your head in his hands.
âNo one knows about this, Bell. Park and Lazar are gone, Sims will forget this before he tells anyone. No one will know about your past. You can start over, with me.â All of the voices overlap, one starting a sentence and another finishing it. The harmony is impossible for you to ignore, as he holds you up, pulls your hands away from your eyes and ears, and tries to soothe you, get you to breathe deeply, to stop shaking, to cooperate. âWe could make all of our memories real. Get married in Greece, a house with a picket fence. A dog, a car, as many as youâd like. All the clothes, food, luxuries youâd want.â
âButâŚâ
âHelp me, and I can protect you.â Is it I, or should they be saying we? Is this in your head, a product of whatever piece of himself Adler inserted into you to make Bell, or is he out in the real world, narrating all of this to you? âSave the world, and the CIA would move heaven and earth to keep you safe.â
âYou⌠mean, you.â
âYeah. âfraid Iâm non-negotiable, Bell. Youâve got me for the long haul.âÂ
You hesitate.Â
âJust, tell me where Perseus is. Then I can make all of this go away. No more lies, no more pills. Just the two of us.â
You see the house swimming in your mindâs eye. The white fence, a dog rolling around on the lawn, his and hers cars parked in the driveway. A flagpole, the stars and stripes flying high. An Americanâs wet dream. Adlerâs dream.Â
But is it yours? Is the longing that tugs on your heartstrings Adlerâs, or yours? If it is yours, is it genuine, or from fear of the alternative?
Perseus has forsaken you. Volkov had made that clear. Is it worth dying for them? Someone who would no longer die for you?
What is a meaningless death, to being a caged bird?
âBell?â You look up at the Adler to your right. âYou think too much.âÂ
The one on the left takes your chin and tilts your head back to face him. âDonât make the choice Perseus would want you to make. Make the one you want to make.â
Like you have a choice here.
You close your eyes and take a deep breath. The four Adlerâs vanish, leaving you shivering again. When you open your eyes, the crossroads are gone. Only the original corridor remains.
You walk down it slowly. As you reach for the handle on the door, you glance back. Only tiled wall greets you at the other end of the closed space.
Thatâs it, then. No way out. No alternative.
You open the door. The room is still dark. The reflection of a red exit sign glows in the glass window on the opposite wall. The chair, facing it, is empty. Behind the glass, there are people moving around. You lean close to it, but canât make out who they are, or what theyâre saying.
Thereâs a bag on a wheeled tray next to the chair. You pick it up, sliding it over your head as you sit down, inhaling sharply as feel the restraints around your wrists again. You blink, and realise youâre back in the safehouse. The bright light is gone, leaving you seeing only by the desk lamp.Â
âBell?â Adler asks softly, prompting you to turn your head towards him. He leans close, lips a hairs breadth from yours. âWhere is Perseus?â
âSolovetsky.â The word slips from your lips. Â
âThere we go.â Adler smiles, leaning back minutely. âWouldâve been a whole lot easier if youâd just told me that the first time.â
He kisses you. You donât kiss back. When he pulls you up into his arms, you realise your restraints are gone. He lets you sit up, softly reassuring you when you clutch his hands tight, shaking with sudden light-headedness.
âThere we are. Iâve got something for you.â He reaches up to his shirt collar and pulls a chain out from underneath it. It has a ring hanging on it, the gemstone glittering even in the dim light. âMy grandmotherâs. Iâd like for it to be yours, in Greece⌠or somewhere else, if you prefer.âÂ
He sets the band in your hand, and leaves the room to make the call. It feels like it weighs a hundred pounds in your palm.
You made your choice. Maybe not consciously, but you have no place to go without Adler. You have no identity without Adler. You will die a lonely, pointless, excruciatingly painful death without Adler.Â
Itâs not like heâs the worst option. Heâs handsome enough, and you remember enough midnight rendezvous to know heâs not boasting about⌠certain things. Youâll grow to love him in time.Â
âBell?â As if on cue, he returns.Â
You look up at him. âDo you know who I am? Really?â
Thereâs a twitch in his eye. You almost miss it, but it tells you that the real answer is yes. That at some point, he was handed a photograph of you, a run of the mill, person of interest, and thatâs where all of this had started. His obsession had stopped being about Perseus a long time ago. âYouâre mine, Bell. Thatâs all that matters.â
He reaches into your palm and plucks the ring out of it. Taking your hand in his, he slides it onto your finger.
Perfect fit.Â
He smiles, tilting your chin up to his. âItâs like weâre meant to be.â
In some roundabout way, you were. Heâd turned you into putty, and remade you into⌠whoever you were now. Meant might be a stretch, but it sounds more poetic than made.
âRussâŚâ You whisper.
âYes?â
âDo you think Iâll like Greece?â
âOh, BellâŚâ He smiles. âI think youâll love it.â













