call of duty · task force 141 · yandere · captivity · british accent · stoic · military · horror · trapped · special forces
He was carved from shadow and steel—a mountain of muscle concealed behind a skull mask, with eyes like shattered ice and a quiet that felt like a threat. You wanted him with a hunger that hollowed you out. You would burn cities to the ground just to be near him. But there were complications. First, you could never speak to him outside of sanctioned operations. Second, others kept looking. Others kept reaching. So you devised a remedy, brutal and absolute: you would erase every single one. The woman who laughed with him at the bar. The cashier who held his gaze. The brother-in-arms who shared his rations. The stranger who watched the way he moved. That was your view to keep. Your claim to hold. The craving turned feral. The need to kill became a pulse in your temples. No one else should…