mum i threw up (ghost/fem!reader)
i originally posted this on ao3 but considering i FINALLY have a tumblr account now, i thought i'd post it here too <3 (also this wasnt beta read i am SO sorry)
ok because I headcanon these boys to death, this is what I think would happen if you're like the momma bear of the group (just like how I imagine John is the dadda bear of the group) and like Ghost got sick and threw up in the middle of the night. (but like shes not really the mom, and there totally is romance plots with them) (idfk man I just came up with this shit cuz “mom i threw up 🧍” is funny)
Whilst the rest of the task force was out on a mission, you and Ghost had been left behind to handle some stuff at the base. It was a little past midnight when you were woken up by the sound of knocking on your door and your name being muttered from the other side.
“[name]?” It was your trusty lieutenant's voice calling out for you. You groaned and threw your feet over the side of your bed, slipping on some slippers you had been gifted this Christmas. “Yeah, Simon?” You said as you walked over and opened the door.
On the other side, standing in all his glory, was Simon “Ghost” Riley. He was the second member of 141 you had met when you joined them all those years ago. You two, surprisingly, had become very close at that time. Well, closer than you were with the others.
Simon stood there awkwardly, looking a bit uncomfortable. “I.. Uh… I threw up.” You could just slightly make out his embarrassed facial expression with the dim light of the hallway. Simon Riley, the toughest man you know, is standing in front of you at midnight, telling you he got sick. What was this, one of the fanfics you read back in high school?
You tilted your head and lightly smiled up at him. “Oh, honey... Do you still feel sick?” You gently asked as you lifted your hand to rub his bicep. His shoulders slumped and he lightly nodded. “...yeah.” Oh, wasn’t he just so dear? Forget big, strong man, you’ve got a boy who needs to be cared for on your hands!
Simon continued to stand in front of you, still looking a bit uncomfortable. Which, you had immediately guessed, meant he still felt sick. Guess it’ll be a long night for you two. “Alright bud, let's go back to the bathroom and wait it out, yeah?” You stepped out in front of him, sliding past to grab his lower arm and drag him back to his bathroom. He, honestly you now realized was a bit out of it, followed cooperatively.
Luckly his room wasn’t too far from yours, so you got there quickly. His room was characteristically clean, the only thing not tidy was his bed. His sickness must’ve kept him up all night. You noted early that he did look pretty tired.
You both hastily made it to his bathroom, where he assumed his position (curled up in a ball next to the bathtub). You sat on the bathtub's side (imagine one of those bathtubs where it's like a tub but also a shower, and it has those flat sides) and gently ran your hands through his hair. He sighed, appreciating the comfort.
Despite the hair fluffing comfort, however, Simon still looked tense. A bit frightened, even. His breath was labored and heavy like he was holding back everything to not risk puking again. Whilst you stared, something in your head clicked.
“Simon, are you afraid of throwing up?”
He immediately stiffened, a sign that he was exposed. To him, it was a weakness. A big, strong man afraid of throwing up? How distasteful. “... Ay, suppose I am.” You could practically feel the tension rolling off of him.
To you though, this was normal. Expected, even. “I get that,” you said as you ran your hand down his back. “I get it,” you gently repeated. He paused his labored breaths for a moment and turned his head towards you. “Ya’ do?” He murmured, visibly surprised.
“Of course I do! I used to be mighty afraid of it when I was younger,” you mused at the memory. Whenever you were sick, you always did everything in your power to not throw up. Sitting up with thousands of pillows behind your back, nearly overdosing on Tums (you think that's a thing), you tried it. Throwing up was NOT a fun activity.
Simon grunted in agreement. “But you’re not afraid anymore, huh? It passed when you got older?” He questioned as you ducked his head back down, making sure his eyes were out of view. You quickly shook your head, lightly smiling as you watched this grown man pout.
“Well, not anymore. I came to the conclusion that it’s pretty good to throw up when you're sick,” you stated as you slid down onto the floor to sit next to him. “It gets rid of all the yucky stuff in your system,” you leaned your head against his shoulder.
Beats went by as the room filled with comfortable silence. He, after DEFINITELY fighting with some stuff in his head, gently leaned his head onto yours. “I do cry when I get sick, though. If that makes you feel any better,” you stated.
You could feel his body lightly vibrate with laughter. “I... I don’t cry. Not for things like getting sick,” he replied. If you picked at it for long enough, you could almost hear a sort of longing in his voice. You nodded your head against his, “It’s pretty hard to cry about the little stuff nowadays, huh?” You joked.
“‘Suppose so,” he mumbled. Silence fell upon you two again, the occasional rumbling of his stomach interrupting it. “What.. else do you cry about?” It came out as almost a whisper, curiosity taking over him.
It honestly wasn’t a question you got asked often, so you had to think about it. Sure, you cry about silly things like books or fanfiction, but you could tell this wasn’t a question for that. “Well, I cry when I hear death tolls from other task forces,” you said as you pulled your knees to your chest.
Simon gently pulled his head back from yours to look at you. “Crying over people you don’t even know? You really care that much?” He questioned, still eyeing you with an expression of confused curiosity. “Sure do,” you replied, thinking about the countless times you cried for people you knew wouldn’t cry for you.
Simon sat there for a moment, contemplating what to say next. “When… When I killed for the first time, I cried like a baby,” he stated, moving to fidget with his shower curtain. You tipped your head towards him and gave him a sad smile. “Yeah, that's a good reason to let the waterworks roll,” you said.
Simon continued to avert his eyes, not wanting to make the intimate move of making eye contact with you again. “Did you cry when you first killed someone?” With that, you let out a spiteful laugh.
“‘Course, I did. I’ve cried over the people I killed countless times, no matter how bad I knew they were!” You quickly shook your head. It's not something you're proud of, but hey, it had to be said. Simon nodded his head in agreement.
“But I don’t cry because I’m mourning them, I cry because I know at some point they were someone's baby. And now, because of me, someone has to go tell a mother that her precious baby won't be coming home.” Shit, now you were the one averting eye contact.
No longer were the labored breaths of a sickly Simon present in this little bathroom, only the sound of your own heartbeat could be heard in your ears. You could feel his eyes on you, burning a hole through you just so he could see more into your soul. “..’ don’t believe I’ve ever thought of it that way before,” he murmured.
You nodded your head, “Welcome to my world,” you muttered. You could hear a soft scoff come from Simon, his arm coming around you to pull you into his lap. He pushed his head into the crook of your neck and chuckled. “You're damn good at distracting a guy from pukin’, y’know that?”
You smiled and leaned into his touch. “I’m taking it you feel better then?” You asked as he stood up, you still in his arms. “Don’t feel like I’m gonna puke anytime soon,” he said as he carried you out and into his room. It’s still the same as it was when you first entered it, but now the light of dawn was slowly flooding in through his window. Christ, how long had you been in there?
He gently dropped you down onto his bed and followed, throwing the covers over the two of you. As the tiredness finally began to hit you, you put up no protest as he big-spooned you. His big arm wrapped around your waist and pulled, making sure you were pressed right into him. His body heat would most likely make you sweat tonight, the hot bastard.
“G’night, lovey,” he murmured into the top of your head as he took in the sweet comfort of having such a loving person in bed with him.
“G’night, Simon,” you mumbled as the warm hands of sleep pulled you into a deep slumber.
