Mouse Trap
Pairing: Ghost X Reader
Summary: Ghost's little mouse finds herself stuck in a trap. Who better to save her?
Warnings: Violence, Language, Angst, Fluff, kinda unhinged Ghost?, Torture ig, murder, Injuries, self-hate kinda i guess
Word Count: 2.5k
A/n: I'm literally in love with this little series, i think it will forever have a special place in my heart
~*~
Days go by since Ghost last saw you, since he fucked you, and the skulls seem to disappear once again.
His little street mouse has disappeared without a trace.
Ghost is a man of logic. A man who can use the information at hand to come to the most realistic conclusion.
And, in this case, you've realized what a fucking nutcase he is and have decided you never want to see him again.
I mean, what else could it be?
His sour mood is taken out on anyone and everyone unfortunate enough to get in his way.
And today is no different.
His brows are permanently furrowed and his grip on his riffle is unwavering as he and Soap do their rounds.
The Scot is quiet for a long while before deciding to try and poke the bear.
"Still nothin from yer mouse?" He asks, knowing damn well the answer.
Ghost says nothing, doesn't even address the fact that the man has spoken.
"You ever think of... lookin for her? I mean, she doesn't exactly spend time in the safest areas," he presses.
If Soap hadn't spent as much time with the bigger man as he has, he wouldn't have noticed the slight falter in Ghost's steps.
Sure, he'd looked for you, but the idea of you being hurt or even killed wasn't one he entertained.
In his mind, no one would be stupid enough to touch what's his, but people have certainly tried before.
His world shifts slightly, the tension in his shoulders changing. He's no longer worried that you're hiding from him, no. Now he's wondering who would take you and where they'd hide you.
Those are the thoughts that occupy his every waking moment for days, until he finally gets his answer.
While combing the streets for any sign of you -or the hostiles he's supposed to be looking for- there's a gift from God.
On the ground, in what looks alarmingly close to blood, is a skull drawing. And a trail of the same blood-like substance leads him better than breadcrumbs.
"Soap, on my six," he murmurs into his radio, carefully following the blood trail as it leads deeper into the city, into enemy territory.
Soap is quick to meet up with the Lieutenant, eyes and ears peeled as Ghost comes to a halt outside of an old office building.
"Wha're we doin' here, Lt?" He asks quietly, watching his back as Ghost picks the lock.
"Savin' my mouse."
The lock opens with a soft 'click' and he shoulders the door open, staying low and scanning the first room quickly.
He motions for Soap to follow and the Scot does, sticking close as the slowly sweep room after room.
As they go up the stairs, Ghost slows, tilting his head to the side as he hears the sound of muffled voices not far away.
He follows the sound, being extra careful as the voice gets louder and louder, until he can make out the words.
His stomach drops the tiniest bit as they approach the third floor.
He's done this countless times, this should be no different.
But it is different.
You're in there. He has no room for error. Not when your life could be on the line.
A man is speaking, and Ghost takes that as his cue to creep into the hallway.
Soap grabs his shoulder, giving him a strong look.
"This could be a trap. We should call the rest of the team."
The skull-faced man only stares at him for a long while then tugs out of his grip.
"S'not a trap, Johnny. She's in there. You wanna leave, go. M'not leavin without her." With that, he turns back to the hallway and moves forward.
Though he has his doubts, Soap follows closely behind, staying silent as the voice gets louder.
Other sounds are able to be heard now, too. These ones confirming Ghost's suspicions.
Feminine grunts, groans, and cries of pain.
At the sound of your voice, a switch flips inside of the large man and he's quickly and silently moving forward, taking down any hostiles in his path. Anyone that stands between him and you is promptly killed, dropping to the ground with quiet 'thud's.
The man that's been torturing you drops his knife onto the table and yanks your head back by your hair, forcing you to look at him again.
"I'm gonna ask you one last time, doll face: who sent you?"
Your eyes roll in your head for a moment before finally focusing on him.
It's been several days of this, if not longer, and you're starting to worry that your Ghost, that Simon, isn't coming for you.
You still stay strong, saying nothing.
This only seems to aggravate him further. He drops your head and walks back over to his table of torture toys, looking for something suitable for what he has planned for you.
Your eyes flutter to a movement in the doorway of the room, and you feel your heart fill with hope as one of the guards gets yanked into the hallway.
Familiar eyes peer into the room, immediately locking on yours, and you feel safe.
He's here. He came for you.
You knew he would.
He presses a finger to his lips, urging you to stay silent, and you give him a soft nod of understanding. Your eyes flutter back to your kidnapper, and you watch as he picks up a pair of pliers.
He clicks them together a few times then turns to face you, a wicked grin on his face.
"If you're not going to use that tongue, there's no sense in having it, is there?" He asks rhetorically.
He steps forward, grabbing your jaw roughly, and then he's collapsing on top of you, his blood spilling across your face.
You let out a startled scream, jerking your head back as he rolls onto the floor.
The room is suddenly filled with chaos.
A gun is pressed to your head, and Ghost has another man in a headlock, his eyes on yours.
"Keep those eyes on me, Mouse," he orders, making sure your gaze is locked on his as he snaps the mans neck.
"Don't come any closer!" The man holding the gun to your head warns, pressing it against you harder.
You wince but your eyes never leave Ghosts. Not even when he produces a small blade and whips it at the man beside you.
Ghost steps toward him as he writhes on the ground, yanking him up by the collar of his shirt and ripping the blade out of his eye socket.
"That's for lookin' at her. Imagine what m'gonna do to you for touchin' her," he snarls, big hand nearly crushing the man's windpipe.
You stare at them as Soap comes to your aid, freeing you from the rope binding you to the chair.
"Maybe, if you apologize nice and proper, I'll let you live," Ghost whispers, his eyes empty and hard as he looks at the man.
"Look at her with your good eye and tell her how sorry you are."
The man's head whips around to you and he stutters out an apology.
"Now, tell me how sorry you are."
He turns back to Ghost with his mouth open to apologize and you flinch as another gunshot rings out, and then he's crumpling to the floor in a heap, blood pouring from both eyes.
You stare at his corpse, at the dead man who threatened your life, then slowly bring your eyes up as the man who saved you approaches.
"How's she lookin', Johnny?" He asks, crouching down in front of you as Soap presses some gauze to your thigh tightly.
You whine at the pain, and Ghost gives one of your hands a squeeze.
"Not great. Bleedin' real heavy. We can drop her off at one of the med tents and-"
"Not happenin'," Ghost interupts.
He pulls you from the chair and carefully lays you on the floor, working with Soap to try and slow the bleeding as much as possible.
Your head spins as the adrenaline slowly leaves you, and you lift a hand in search of your big soldier.
"Simon," you whisper, vision going blurry.
Soap's eyes shoot up to you, shocked that you know the Lieutenant's real name. He can't help but wonder what exactly would happen when Ghost would go on patrol alone. How many nights were spent with you if he's trusted you with his name.
Ghost grabs your hand in an instant, his eyes over yours.
"M'here, Mouse."
Your bottom lip quivers and tears streak down your temples into your hair.
"Tired... so tired," you whisper.
He shoots Soap a worried look then gives your hand another squeeze.
"I know, but you can't sleep yet, Mouse. We'll stop for a coffee on our way back to base, how's that sound?"
You frown, edges of your vision slowly going dark.
"Simon," you whisper once more, pushing your hand up to dust over his masked face.
Soap watches, eyes full of wonder as Ghost, the man who just murdered over a dozen people, is soft and gentle with you.
Your fingers smooth over his masked lips, and then your hand is tumbling down beside your head and your eyes are falling closed.
"No, none of that. Eyes on me, Mouse. On me."
You try, you really do, but you just need a moment to rest. That's all. Just one moment.
~*~
You're in and out of consciousness from that moment forward, finally fully coming to in a dimly lit room.
You're groggy and confused, blinking several times to get the fog clouding your vision to go away.
When things finally clear up, your heart jumps in your chest and you look around frantically.
This isn't familiar.
None of this is.
"Easy, Mouse. You're safe. M'here."
Except that.
Your eyes dart over to the source of the sound, finding those familiar piercing eyes.
Instinctively, you relax and reach for him, stopping with a hiss when something tugs at your arm.
"Easy, love," Ghost murmurs, reaching out and taking your hand in both of his.
Tears well up in your eyes and you look away from him, shaking your head.
"'S'alright, little one. M'here. Not goin' anywhere anytime soon."
It's true. He has no intention of leaving your side until you allow it. Something he has made explicitly clear to the members of his team.
You look up at him with big teary eyes and his icy heart cracks in his chest.
"Don't make me go. Not back to city, please," you beg quietly.
His gaze softens and he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment before tugging his mask up over his lips and leaning down to kiss your knuckles.
"You're not going back there. Not if I have any say in it."
Your breaths start coming in faster, more shallow, until you're hyperventalating, one hand grasping at the gown on your chest.
Everything is too much. Too constricting, too enclosed.
You can't breathe.
"Hey, hey! Eyes on me."
You obey, your eyes finding his once more, and he nods encouragingly.
He brings your hand to his chest, flattens it against the thin shirt, and you can feel his heart beating against your palm.
"I want you to breathe with me, Mouse. In... and out."
You slowly copy him, slowing your breathing to match his and keeping your hand against his warm chest the entire time.
Eventually, the feeling of his skin only one layer away is too distracting. You slide your fingers up to the small area of skin between his shirt and his balaclava, stroking it gently.
Your breath hitches at the feeling of his flesh against yours, and you lean toward him, desperate to feel more of him.
He leans forward and takes your other hand in his and you stare in awe, pressing your palm against his. His hands are rough, calloused and hardened, but they feel so good, so right against yours.
You slide your fingers up his forearm, tracing the scars, veins and tattoos while your other hand wraps around the back of his neck, slipping under the back of his balaclava and tangling into his hair.
"Simon," you whisper, tugging him closer by the nape of his neck.
He leans in, scarred lips tilting up in a soft smile at the sound of his name on your tongue.
He presses his forehead to yours, his eyes falling closed a moment after yours.
Carefully, he nudges his nose against yours, then tilts his head to slot his lips against yours.
You kiss him back softly, tugging away after a moment and drawing your brows together.
"What?" He asks softly, his free hand coming up to stroke your cheek.
"Where do I stay? Here?"
He shakes his head, pulling back a bit more after pressing one more kiss to your mouth.
"You'll stay with me. Unless you'd prefer your own room."
You're shaking your head before he's finished speaking, and he nods knowingly.
"Then you'll stay with me. We should only be here a few months longer. Then you can come home with me, if you'd like."
He'd be lying if he said he hasn't given much thought to the future. But after this? After nearly losing you before he truly got to have you? He's not willing to let you leave his side.
You only nod, eyes full of awe and adoration.
He gives you one more kiss, then gets up to get a med officer to check on you.
~*~
You spend a few days in the medical wing, and then, once you're given the go-ahead (under the ever-watchful eye of Ghost), you're changing into military-grade pants and a black t-shirt, and sitting patiently while Ghost laces up your boots.
"We match," you say proudly, beaming up at him when he rises to his full height.
He grins down at you through his mask, his eyes crinkling around the corners, and presses his forehead against yours sweetly.
"That we do, Mouse. Now, lets get you on your feet again."
He takes your hands and gently helps you to your feet, steadying you when you try to put weight onto your injured leg.
Your face screws up in pain, but you push through it, taking a few careful steps with his help.
"You sure you're ready?" He asks warily, watching you intently until you glare at him from the corner of your eye.
"Ready. Want to leave."
He nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and all but lifting you off the ground every time you try to step with your injured leg.
He leads you through the base, his glare sharp enough to have the onlookers scurrying out of sight.
Ever since he brought you back, bloody and wounded in his arms, you've been the talk of the base.
Who are you? Why does the Lieutenant like you so much? Can you be trusted?
That last question has plagued even some of his closest friends.
But as he helps you to the barracks, you lean further into him, you trust him at your most vulnerable, and he knows deep in his soul that you are someone he can trust.
Finally, after what feels like forever, he unlocks the door to his quarters and pushes it open.
The trek took far more energy than you'd like to admit, and you eagerly take a seat at the desk against the wall.
"You hungry?" He asks after a moment of silence, watching you as you look around curiously.
You nod, glancing up at him when he takes a step to the door.
"I'll be back in a minute. Try not to get into any trouble while I'm gone." He can't help but grin when you cross your arms over your chest.
Without another word, he exits the room, leaving you alone to explore.
You do exactly that, carefully taking in your surroundings.
There's a bed, a real bed, against the far wall. Across from that is a small wardrobe.
On the opposite side of the room is a door, and you find yourself limping over to it curiously.
You push it open and flick on the light, your eyes widening when you see the bathroom.
A proper bathroom, with running water that probably gets warm.
You turn the faucet on, watching in awe as it takes only a few moments for steam to start billowing. Your eyes follow the steam until they meet your own reflection in the mirror.
An audible gasp leaves your lips, and you lean forward, staring in a combination of disgust and horror.
You've seen your reflection since hiding out, but never quite so clearly.
The stitches at your hairline are crusted with blood, and you have bruises all over your face. Dark splotches that paint your skin in a way that makes your stomach churn.
How could Simon stand to look at you like this?
You splash some of the water on your face, hissing when it's a little bit too hot. Not a problem you thought you'd ever have.
Turning it down, you wait unti lit cools slightly to try and scrub your face clean, to make yourself more presentable for him, to look pretty.
No matter how hard you try, however, you can't clean the evidence of the torture from your face.
Hot tears streak down your cheeks and you turn your back on your reflection, angry that you ever dared to look at yourself.
At least before, you didn't know what you looked like. You didn't know what your Ghost had to look at, to touch, kiss.
"Mouse?"
You sniffle and wipe your cheeks quickly at the sound of his voice, opening the bathroom door a crack.
He takes one look at your face, at your red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and he's pushing his way into the bathroom and inspecting you for injuries.
"What happened?"
You shake your head and tug on his balaclava gently.
"I want one."
His brows furrow and you can almost see the gears in his head trying to process what's going on.
"What?"
"Please. Want one... like Ghost."
He cups your cheek gently, big warm hand soothing your aching skin.
"Why? I like seeing your pretty face. Dont want you to cover it up if you don't need to."
This makes you tear up once more and you tug out of his grip, turning your back to him and hiding your face in your hands.
"Need to," you whisper thickly, "not pretty. Not now."
He's appalled by your words, stepping in front of you and gently pulling your hands away from your face.
"Where'd you get an idea like that?"
You sniffle and shake your head, avoiding his eyes.
"Broken... ugly..." Your eyes catch your reflection in the mirror and you glare at what you see, your bottom lip quivering as you try to hold back your tears.
A surprising rush of emotions floods him and he takes a few moments to breathe and steady himself.
He's not used to this whole softness thing. Not great at it, either.
"You think I'm ugly? I've got more bumps and bruises than you can count, little one. Scars, too. Does that make me ugly? Should I forever keep my face hidden from you?"
You frown up at him and shake your head quickly.
He could never be ugly, not to you.
"Then why are you any different? I see these," he strokes the mark on your cheek gently, "and it makes me want to protect you. It reminds me that you're fragile. Delicate. It makes me angry that someone would put their fucking hands on you, but thats it."
He pulls you into his arms and lays a few kisses on the top of your head.
"You're precious, Mouse. So very special, and so beautiful. M'more than happy to prove it to you if you don' believe me."
His voice drops a bit lower, as do his kisses, and you can't stop the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth.
"There she is, there's my pretty girl," he whispers, kissing your lips briefly then pulling back once more.
"Now, you need to eat something and I need to debrief with Price. Rest while I'm gone, because you're not gonna be doing much sleeping when I get back."