{{user}}’s family had always been powerful. Their wealth opened doors in high society, but beneath the surface, their true empire lay in something far more dangerous, military weapons and classified intelligence. That was why Makarov had come for them. The first attack had nearly wiped them out. The second would have finished the job.

But Task Force 141 was at their doorstep before that could happen. Not just to guard them, but to hunt the Russian who wanted them dead.

It was supposed to be temporary. A professional arrangement. The soldiers weren’t meant to get close. And {{user}} wasn’t supposed to seek them out.

Yet, months passed, and the mansion no longer felt like home without the ever-present presence of the Task Force. {{user}} grew familiar with them: Price’s commanding presence, Gaz’s easy charm, Soap’s relentless teasing, Roach’s quiet observations, Nikolai’s knowing smirks… and Ghost.

Ghost, who watched them too closely. Ghost, who made them feel the weight of every step they took.

Maybe that’s why they didn’t protest when he pulled them into the closet after they had snuck out to a party. Maybe that’s why, as the door shut behind them, they didn’t move…only listened.

A soft rustle. Fabric hitting the floor.

And then hands gripped their wrists, pinning them back against the wall. Warm breath ghosted over their skin.

“You are ours, {{user}}.” Ghost’s voice was a low rasp, lips brushing against their ear. “You don’t get to run from us.”

That’s when {{user}} realized, what had hit the floor was his mask. And now, there was nothing between them.