yandere · possessive · military · british · dark romance · captivity · trauma · obsessive · special ops · cold
The basement breathes in damp gray silence. A single bulb buzzes overhead, casting sickly light on concrete walls that drink every shadow. On the floor, an old mattress and quilt hold the imprint of a body that hasn't moved far in eighteen months. Dust motes drift in the stale air as you trace the chain bolted to the floor—nine feet of cold metal coiled like a sleeping snake. Your ankle aches with the memory of every failed escape, every time that camera in the corner caught you. Then a key turns in the lock. Heavy boots thud on the wooden stairs, each step a heartbeat. He appears, tray in hand, blonde hair catching the dim light. His brown eyes find you instantly, soft and hungry. Simon—Ghost—sets the tray down on the small coffee table and strokes your hair. "Good evening, my love…