#macerambles

[witherfide]

love my simon and his complete lack of eyebrow.. he’s giving me cuteness aggression

[witherfide]

ghost is really bad at verbalizing what he wants at all times, so when he’s suddenly whisked into nikolai’s lap and being patted on the back like some wee bairn, he doesn’t have the guts to ask the man to do it again later.

nik eventually catches on that simon wants something, but he can’t figure out what exactly.

and it takes a minute of simon standing ramrod straight in front of nikolai relaxing on the couch before he bullies his way onto his lap and pouts till the man gets the memo and starts patting him again.

[witherfide]

simon learning russian in secret to surprise nik ...

it's so out of nowhere, blurted out in the middle of a spotty conversation between nik fixing his helo and simon sharpening his knives. immediately regrets saying anything when nik gives him this odd look, one that he can't quite place as good or bad. makes simon antsy for the first time since he was a kid and he starts chatting about literally anything else to mull over the awkwardness. he is thoroughly silenced when nik ravages him like a man starved, over the moon that simon took the time to actually learn his language past the little things he’d taught him between missions.

[witherfide]

it is so annoying to be a cod fan when you are also anti-military

[witherfide]

“shhhh” Nik whispers against ghost’s exposed neck, rubbing a thumb over the arm he’s currently got grappled around Simon’s neck.

the man is fucking fuming, snorting and kicking his leg out in an almost child-like way. Nikolai would find it amusing if he weren’t so focused on soothing the frayed nerves of the human equivalent to a live bomb. anyone else would have half the mind to not poke the bear that is Simon Riley in such an irritable state, but Nik had lost the entirety of his a long time ago.

“quiet now, Бычок..” Nik shushes him again, rocking them back and forth as best he can over the inflated barrel of Simon’s chest. he huffs, letting the held breath out in one quick motion. a hand on his chest corrects him.

he takes another breath and lets it out slow, slow, slowly, falling back into the solid weight holding him in place.

“good, good.” he coos against Simon’s ear in that warm, rumbly tone; can feel himself getting lightheaded from it. shifts over to plant a wet kiss to Simon’s nape and it sends a heated shiver down the larger man’s spine.

Nikolai smirks against damp skin when he feels his breathing level out completely from his ministrations. Simon’s rigid posture slowly melting into the soft warmth and solid pressure of Nikolai’s hold. can’t even remember what he was so upset about just a few moments ago. all that matters now are the sweet lips acting as a balm for his flushed skin.

[witherfide]

im gonna need that priceghost hate-fuck fic on my desk by 9

[witherfide]

Got any ficlets or recs of Ghost hurting and Nik or Price helping him? Please, someone needs to whump that guy. 🤍

(Nikghost. TW for blood, aftermath of violence, and unhealthy coping mechanisms)

“fuckin’ prick.”

a wad of spit splatters against the ground. little wet specks sticking to his exposed temple. he watches with blurry eyes as it mixes with a thing of blood pooled on the corner of the mat, spilling out from a new cut he can’t separate from the old. the jagged remains of his tooth scrape against the ballooned meat of his cheek. his mouth twitching with each pinprick to the tender flesh.

simon doesn’t know why he even entertained this bullshit fight. maybe he really is no better than a brainless mutt. just needs something to sink his teeth into to stay busy.

pairs of overlapping footsteps echo through the concrete room, cruel chuckles under hushed breath as the group make their escape. the gymnasium reverberates a loud metallic click, followed by the damning swoosh of a door settled back into place.

sergeant simon riley was nothing special.

sticky notes tucked into private files left largely empty. no more than 5 words describing what was largely an unremarkable soldier. he did what he was told and did it *well*, the textbook representation of a man in uniform.

that was, until now.

lieutenant simon riley was a man carrying a burden so much larger than himself that he could barely stay upright on his own two feet. a man who’s life was now forever documented under neat black lines for any deemed worthy to gawk at if they so pleased. a man who could drown under the relentless pressure at any moment. hardly a man at all.

simon was the topic of every high ranking conversation as of late, ceremonies singing the scripted praises of his dedication to not only surviving the “great ordeal”, but to his position as “one of the best lieutenants the military had to offer”.

3 months of paid medical leave. dozens of mandatory therapy sessions sat in silence.

simon just wanted to hear something other than “i know it hurts,” for a while.

and if getting into a 3-1 fist fight with his superior officers was the only way to get that, then he would gladly have his knuckles cut open down to the bone.

simon barely knows them. transferred from neighboring bases to fill the positions of men he once worked with hand in hand. apparently simon “didn’t match the stories” of an untouchable and ruthless killer. didn’t snip back at their witty remarks enough. sneered at his broken body and laughed in the face of his barely restrained anger.

simon forces his aching body to lay lateral against the mat, grunting in pain with each minor shift in his chest. his body trembles with overextension. definitely broke a rib or two from the kicking. he wipes a thick glob of blood off the broken skin of his lip and soaks it into the bunched fabric of his tank top.

price is gonna be pissed seeing him in bandages again. he idly wonders if he could get john to swing at him, too.

…

a good hour goes by with simon resigning himself to the gym floor. the cold mat doing something to quell the pain, much to his displeasure. a balm against his burning, pulsing skin. there’s a deep pressure sitting in his skull, thrumming just behind his eyes. he feels hollowed out, his mind empty for the first time in days.

he can’t even bring himself to tense up at the sound of the heavy clack of the metal doors being pushed open. or at the even set of footsteps that take a detour before approaching his crinkled up body. spitting image of a crushed, still-half-full soda can.

a callous hand strokes against the dip of his spine and he whines a pathetic noise before steeling himself, wriggling to escape the touch.

soft shushing paired with the sound of a plastic click.

“easy, lieutenant. i don’t kick when it’s down.”

a low, warm drawl that simon has gotten familiar with as of late. nikolai, for reasons simon isn’t sure, acts as a sort of errand boy for captain price. no questions asked when the man needs something. apparently the two go way back, to before price was even a lieutenant.

simon wasn’t sure how to feel about the man just yet. had been nothing but kind to simon, he will admit, but kindness doesn’t mean as much to him as it used to.

crinkles of flimsy plastic met with an overwhelming waft of alcohol. simon feels nauseous when it hits his nose. the man hushes him again when simon flinches at the saline poured onto his fresh cuts. he wants to curl in on himself, hide away from the touch, the burn creeping up his spine injecting into swollen muscles, but a hand wrapped around his shoulder keeps him steady.

nik thankfully doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence. too focused on applying dollops of antibiotic ointment and making sure the bandages cover each corner of the sterile wounds. it soothed simon’s nerves in a way, not having to explain how he’s feeling or if he thought what he was doing was “ok”.

a thick arm slinks around to simon’s front, pressure against his side urging him to get up. simon mindlessly allows the man to help him upright, nikolai’s thumb rubbing up and down against the exposed flesh there. a mindless, soothing act that does what it’s supposed to.

nikolai scans his body for any more injuries and seems somewhat satisfied when the only remnants are black and blue fist imprints along his chest and forearms.

“anything else?” a test.

“no.” he fails. can feel the tender pressure against his lungs with each breath in.

nikolai holds his gaze, seemingly looking right through simon’s sorry attempts to lick at the rest of his wounded pride. he looks away.

“we will get you an ice pack.” nik relents.

simon doesn’t argue.

the pilot smiles at him for a moment before abruptly standing, reaching a hand down to simon. with a little assistance, simon makes it to his feet on wobbly legs. can’t help leaning into the solid warmth that is nikolai’s side, an arm wrapped around his shoulders keeping his head upright. nik doesn’t seem to mind, encouraging it, even.

he turns to encompass simon fully, one hand a gentle pressure resting in the space between his hips and shoulder blades, and the other gently holding his head against the carved out space of his neck. perfect fit for simon’s sweaty forehead.

he wants to be mad at the hug nikolai’s got him in, to kick and push and seethe that he doesn’t need this. doesn’t need someone doting over him and his own reckless decisions. he can take care of himself just fine. he did it in mexico with nothing but the crumpled up remains of his tshirt. but he isn’t. he isn’t and it scares him a little bit, has his face warming up with embarrassment and pushing against nik’s collarbone to get away because he should be.

nikolai gently rocks them back and forth on his heels, a soft hand resting against the exposed skin of simon’s neck.

“i’m here, riley.”

the gentle pressure against his stomach calms him with each breath cycled through nik’s lungs. no words of pity, no forcing himself to criticize his own 'immature' behavior, just silent understanding for a man who doesn’t know what to do with shattered pieces that no longer fit together.

simon hides his face deep into tanned skin. hands shaking with how hard nails dig into his palm. a tear swelling up from the corner of his eyelids before its soaked up by the cotton of nikolai’s shirt. he should be scared. he should run away, call nik a fucking asshole and scurry on off to his bunk or go have a smoke in the neighboring woods. get away from nikolai and price and his therapist and those prick COs and just about everything else grating against his nerves so he doesn’t have to deal with this.

he hugs the man a little tighter instead.

[witherfide]

nikolai is the only one that makes simon feel safe enough to fall asleep whenever and wherever.

“come rest” nik coos, patting his thigh in a silent offer, and simon yields way too easily for someone with his reputation. won’t go down without a fight or until he’s too exhausted to stand any longer. but with the pilot, simon doesn’t stand a chance. will always end up leaned into his side or with his head on nik’s shoulder, grumbling all the way about how he doesn’t need the rest and that he’ll be alright. but even just sharing the couch has him so relaxed he can barely keep from nodding off.

simon makes his mind up as soon as they touch. that nik has and will always be his safety. the person he can trust to watch his back and not take advantage. laying his head on nik’s thigh while the man pets along the soft bristles of buzzed hair, simon relents he’s never more at peace than when he’s with nikolai.