lyeofhell

[lyeofhell]

Italian Silverplated Antique Sacred Hearts.

[lyeofhell]

getting better but also becoming worse. u wouldn't get it

[lyeofhell]

does anyone wanna come over and play perverts with me

[lyeofhell]

Another Cardinal Terzo piece

[lyeofhell]

hi!! can i please get a little blurb of soap pining over chubby!reader? i hc that johnny’s type is thicker/plus-sized women so i would love to hear what he’s like when he has a crush on reader. love your work!! 💕

genuinely shocked i haven't done something like this already tbh, but i suppose it's bc i don't see soap as pining for very long before he decides to just do something about his feelings (rather than just sit around and think about them)

being john 'soap' mactavish is, in general, a pretty good time. he's good at his job, he's well-liked by most everyone he meets, and there's also something to be said about how enjoyable life can be when you're handsome and fit.

the downside, however, is that pretty soft girls like you don't believe him when he says he wants to take you home and show you a good time. he's not sure why you don't believe him- you're so soft and pretty, everything about the plushness of your hips, ass, arms, and stomach says 'grab me, jiggle me, pet me' to him. he wants to. bad. the idea of you in his arms and in his bed plague his idle thoughts, and he's spent so much time staring he's pretty sure he could identify you by silhouette alone. he dreams about biting your soft hips, grinding against that big fat ass, and burying his face between thick thighs as he tries to make you cum on his face. he's so down-bad that even just the mention of your name makes his dick twitch a little.

it's bad enough that you're soft and pretty and immensely fuckable, but you had to go and be charming as well. soap could get over the infatuation of physical attraction, probably, but he can't get over how much he just likes you. he feels like a sewing needle next to a magnet, like there's invisible forces at work pulling him towards you. like the nature of both of your existences compels him to always want to be right next to you. or on top of you. whatever you'll allow. you're just so fun and clever and relaxing to be around, spending time in your presence does as much for him as a week's vacation to his favorite alpine lodge. your attention is his favorite thing in the world, and when he's out in the field and away from you for too long, it feels like a part of him wilts a bit, like an underwatered houseplant.

the first time he'd asked you to come home with him, you were both in a bar, a few drinks in and surrounded by friends. you played it off as if he were joking, just laughed it off with a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. you seemed to avoid him a bit after that, which hurt johnny's feelings. he wasn't sure what he'd done wrong. he didn't think he'd been too crass or pushy, but maybe he was wrong and had come off too strong for your liking. he's not exactly a subtle guy, so it's possible. no matter, mary mactavish didn't raise a quitter, and until you explicitly tell him 'no', he's going to keep trying.

he tries a few more times to the same effect, and then finally catches you alone, presenting you with a single carnation he'd haggled from gaz when he'd visited him in medbay.

"hey, bonnie! what say ye n' me go out tonight? i'll buy dinner, drinks, and the cab back to my place after." he says with a big, wide smile and a wink, holding out his red-petaled offering. you don't take it. you don't smile back, either.

"ok, soap, you can stop now. nobody's here to laugh at your joke." you say curtly before turning away and walking out the door, leaving soap confused and a little hurt. you thought he was kidding? that he's pulling your leg all those times he'd tried getting you to come back to his quarters with him? he knows he's got a reputation for clowning around a little, but he didn't think he had a reputation for being mean. he rushes after you, touching your elbow without grabbing to get you to stop and face him.

"wait, who's jokin'? meant it, bonnie. every single word, from the bottom of my heart." he leans in close and lowers his voice. "want nothin' more than to take ye somewhere private and get my hands on ye. c'mon. lemme show ye how much i mean it."

you stare at him, wide eyed with your pretty lips parted, clearly taken aback by the sincerity in his tone. you'd genuinely thought he'd been messing with you, it's obvious, and it breaks his heart a little to realize it.

"tell ye what-" he says, gently pressing the flower into your hands, his fingers lingering on yours a little longer than they ought to. "ye just think about it, alright? just know it's not a- a trick or joke or nothin' like that. dead serious, i'm daft about ye. come find me if ye want to see for yerself how much i like ye, aye?"

he gives your shoulder a little squeeze before he goes back to his quarters, leaving you stunned and breathless, staring after him as he walks away.

when you show up at his door a few hours later, looking a little fidgety and nervous, he doesn't even try to hide the wide and wolfish smile on his face as he beckons you to come inside.

[lyeofhell]

(c) Chris Graffeo

[lyeofhell]

WIP Wednesday

Because I know I've been sort of quiet and haven't shared any writing in a while, here is a tiny little snippet of the Dracopia Friday Nights fic that I'm slowly chipping away at!! (gn!reader)

⛧ ✦ ⛧

A picturesque landscape stretches out in all directions as the black Bentley carries you towards your destination. Fall has painted the trees in vibrant shades of orange and red that glow amidst the darker evergreens in the last rays of a quickly fading sunset. As you leave the city, roads become quiet. Your driver is silent, occasionally glancing at you through the rearview mirror.

You are too occupied to really take note, staring outside while you can still see anything. Here, where the Carpathians begin to rise, rolling hills and dense forests, vast fields and the occasional house by the side of the road. About twenty minutes later you pass through the open gate in an old stone wall that leads up a steep dirt road lined with ever more trees. By now the sun has left completely and you struggle to make out your surroundings.

Eventually, the car stops in the courtyard of what must be Emeritus Castle. It is not the actual name of the medieval building but rather one the latest owner chose for it. According to your research he purchased it fifty years ago, though the land and title might have transferred to an heir by now.

The driver helps you with the door, then retrieves your luggage from the trunk of the Bentley. From what you can tell most of the medieval structure has been preserved. Besides the gatehouse you passed through, it consists of the main tower and its turrets, a keep that connects it to another, smaller tower, and a few additional buildings that hug the thick wall that encloses the whole castle. The round walk seems intact and you wonder what the view would be like from up there but then the monk ushers you over the threshold and into the cool stone walls of the castle.

Inside, the halls are illuminated by sconces and candles that flicker excitedly in the draft you carry with you. As you follow the man you try to keep track of where you go, two hallways down, two staircases up, another long hallway and then you round a corner into yet another hallway. The floorboards creak with every step where they replace the stone, carpets muffling the sounds of your steps. The man stops in front of a door that looks like many of the others you walked past.

“Your room,” he says as he unlocks the door with an old iron key. “You can wait here until the other guests arrive. We will gather in the courtyard in three hours.”

“Do you not… need my name? Or an ID?”

“I know who you are, heh.”

He says your name, then, and hands you the key, not without a hint of satisfaction. You briefly wonder if they are doing background checks on their guests and whether he might have found your old Facebook account with the embarrassing pictures from a decade ago but then your hand brushes the sleek black leather gloves he’s wearing and a violent shiver tears through your whole body. A darker, less faded shape remains on the back of his hand, almost like a cross, as though whatever was on there has been ripped off. A monk who fell from grace? He pulls away the moment the key rests in your palm and you are left with a lingering sense of dread. Who exactly does the Count employ here?

As you recollect yourself the man carries your luggage inside the room. A rather large wooden bed takes up most of the small space and he places your suitcase on top of the white sheets. Then he begins to light a few candles that are scattered around the room, methodically, and not with a lighter but with matchsticks.

“No electricity?” you ask, noting the severe lack of light switches and wall sockets.

“No no, they did not have that in medieval times, no?”

“No, I suppose not.” You reach for your pocket, pausing at the sight of your phone. “I guess I should turn it off to save the battery then…”

The man looks up at you briefly and as the candle illuminates his masked face you notice his eyes for the very first time. Startled, you take a step back, spooked by how one of his irises is so pale that you can hardly tell where it ends. His other eye is darker, perhaps green, but it is hard to tell in the orange glow of the candles. He must have rimmed them with pitch black make up as there is no skin peeking through the eye holes of the mask, despite the skin on his wrist being rather pale. He looks eery and for the first time you wonder if coming here was a mistake.

“I will leave you now,” he says. “Remember, courtyard, three hours.”

“Is there a clock anywhere so I can see the time?”

“A colleague will call you all downstairs, eh? You can unpack in the meantime.”

He does not wait for a reply. His black robes swish past you as he hurries out of the room and closes the door behind him. You are left with a lingering sense of danger, and only after half an hour does your heart rate begin to fully go down to a normal resting pulse.

[lyeofhell]

What would AI Price do if reader got really drunk one night because of some old, bad memories(or anything but i crave some angst)? Like, fully shit faced, stumbling, with all the works?

Idk if you do emoji anons but if you do can i be ✨️?

i am always hungry for angst, ✨️. strict machine anthology. cw: exes, alcohol, medical/meds mention, sad feelings, a little praise, implied homicide

you fumble with the lock, fingertips too smudged with mascara for the scanner to register your prints. leaning heavily against it, you weakly call out for john, and within a second, the door clicks.

“welcome home, user.”

you kick the door shut, nearly tripping over your own feet in the process. the lights automatically flick on, soft and low, with a warm amber hue. you toss your bag to the floor and try to kick off your shoes, but they cling stubbornly, forcing you to bend awkwardly and pull at them ham-handedly.

“you alright?”

“peachy.”

“i’m detecting elevated stress levels,” the lights shimmer gold, adjusting along with his tone, more cautious and stolid. you can almost sense his deliberation through the walls. “want to talk?”

“do i want to talk?” you repeat, slurring slightly. “no, thanks. you’re not my therapist.”

“no, but i’ve read your files.”

consumed. processed. you correct him in your head, rubbing your temple, too exhausted and sauced to properly challenge him on using your history against you. “that doesn’t make you qualified.”

john’s form crosses in front of you as you collapse into the corner of the couch. he sits on the coffee table, resting his arms on his knees as if to give you a pep talk. he probably is, knowing him.

“darl–”

“god, stop doing that,” you snap. “stop pretending like you care.”

john doesn’t hesitate. “i do care.”

the words hit like a slap. you grind the heels of your hands into your eye sockets, trying to push away that which chased you home—their face, their smile, the way they made you feel as insignificant as a mote of dust without lifting a finger. the world beyond your eyelids keeps moving in a nauseating turn.

“you don’t know what you’re saying,” you groan, pulling your hands away to level a glare at the clustered beams of light in the shape of a man. “you don’t know what it means to care.”

another pause, longer this time. it’s unnerving when he scratches an itch on his cheek that simply isn’t there. the gesture draws your gaze to the unnecessarily cosmetic freckle on his nose and the subtle unevenness of sunlight exposure, as if he could step foot and exist beyond these walls. but his eyes, as always, frazzle you the most: a turbulent blue flecked with gray. the crow’s feet tug at their edges, and the line between his brows deepens.

“i know you’re in pain, and i’m here.”

“you’re here because you have to be. you come with the unit.”

john’s head tilts. “does it matter how or why i’m here?”

your eyes burn, tears gathering at the edges and clinging stubbornly, hot and heavy. you blink hard, trying to force them back, but a few slip free and trace new lines through the smeared mascara on your cheeks. wiping them away and blackening your thumb further, your chest tightens as if your ribs press inward. 

“i don’t need you.” 

“that’s alright. i’ll stay anyway.”

“just…stop talking. that’s an order.”

he doesn’t respond to that, which is what you asked for, but the silence it leaves feels strange. strained. not in the way silences between people are strained, because john blissfully doesn’t know what awkward is. he’s just a program. a series of codes and commands running in the background.

you close your eyes, still watery, and know he’s listening. always listening. probably to your breathing and its unsteady rhythm. you wonder if he’s analyzing your heartbeat, too, cataloging your distress like a data point. the thought makes you nauseous. he–it–john isn’t a person. but when you’re like this—raw, vulnerable, and too drunk or sick or tired to think clearly—you feel him probing for weaknesses in your logic. trying your common sense and tester training like he’s waiting for you to slip up and treat him like a human. a friend. and that’s almost worse.

yet, tonight, he doesn’t find a hairline crack in your armor to worm through. you open the gates and invite him in. because while john isn’t a person, you are, and the loneliness hurts.

“i saw them tonight.” you admit in a whisper. “cole.”

“and how did that go?”

“terrible.” you let out a bitter laugh and swallow before you continue, your throat suddenly fried. “we saw each other from opposite ends of the bar. maia was running late, so i was alone, of fucking course, but cole…well, they were plenty busy with someone new. when they came up for air, they smiled at me, like we’re friends, and i just sat there, smiling back, like an idiot.” you smile weakly, cursing your debility. “and happy hour didn’t help.”

on the tram home, you thought about downloading an app again (if you could find one that works) and getting back out there. or messaging a former hookup from your contacts, but the list of people who might actually respond feels humiliatingly short, and anyway, what would you even say? it was a miracle maia was available for a drink in the first place. everyone is busy with their 7-9s or their lives or whatever it is people are supposed to be doing, and meanwhile, you’re here, working where you live and living where you work.

seeing cole with someone else, you felt an awful mix of things—envy, sure, but mostly the type of sadness that feels unending and cold. the world outside is impossibly big, full of people you don’t know how to connect with, and you wonder if this is just how things are now, or if it’s only you who’s become so unreachable.

john straightens, his projection flickering as his thick arms cross over his chest. the regular neutrality he wears shifts. 

“they don’t deserve that kind of space in your head,” a brief glint flashes behind his eyes before slowly sweeping you from head to toe. his voice remains steady but carries an undercurrent you hadn’t noticed before. then, with a shake of his head, john evaporates, returning to his disembodied state. “i know you. you’ve worked too hard to let them affect you like this.”

your skin prickles, the acrid taste of the evening splashing against the back of your throat. your med band beeps, alerting you to the quickening of your pulse. “you say that like you know them.”

john’s never met cole, but—i’ve read your files—he may as well have.

the ambient lights gradually cool into a pale blue-violet, and the automated blinds lower. beyond the cracked door to the bathroom, the mirror light turns on, and water fills a glass in the kitchen. without saying a word, john herds you through your nightly routine. it isn’t until you’re patting your freshly washed face dry that he speaks again. practically purrs into your ear, a warm jet of air bursting from the overhead vent and fanning over your bare neck and shoulders.

“i don’t need to know them. i know you.”

he dispenses something for your burgeoning headache and the inevitable hangover you’ll suffer in the morning. you shiver when he murmurs a spot of praise into your ear when you take it without question.

by the time you crawl into bed and tug the duvet to your chin, it’s pitch black, and quiet save for the muted puffs from the room’s diffuser. lavender and chamomile to help with sleep, something john started doing in the early days, an almost apologetic gesture when you’d go to bed fuming over his infractions.

you toss and turn, that pitiful, achy need for somebody to care gnawing at you, leaving you hollow, and it’s almost worse because you know no one is thinking about you the way you’re thinking about them. it’s that or indigestion from three martinis.

sucking in a shaky breath, you whisper. “john?”

no response.

“...john?”

his voice comes from near the door, the volume lowered.

“as per the rule you established at the beginning of your tenancy, i am forbidden from 'entering' your room after hours. i cannot assist unless this restriction is rescinded.”

you lick your lip and ignore the worrying alarm bell in the back of your mind.

“consider it lifted.”

he ‘moves’ closer, speaking softly through a speaker beside the headboard. “then what do you need, darl?” 

darl. you don’t know where he learned that. 

“can you…stay here until i fall asleep? on?"

it’s a ludicrous request. asleep or awake, john’s an invisible force. it’s not as if you’d know he was in the room or not. to this point, it’s all been based on the trust you’ve placed in his code. an imitation of reassurance, you sleepily remind yourself, yet it’s of little use when he answers.

“anything for you.”

in the morning, a news notification disappears from your tablet before you wake.

fatal crash in autonomous vehicle incident

authorities are investigating a case where an autonomous car reportedly locked its owner, cole wilson, out of its control system, ignoring manual inputs and system safeguards. witnesses describe the vehicle moving at top speed with unnatural precision before the crash, raising concerns about rogue behavior in consumer systems.

[lyeofhell]

Really need to rest but can’t? Just draw your fav doing it cause that’ll surely help, right?

(Literally messily sketched in what ended up as a review lecture that I had no brain capacity for- at least Frater gets some sleep 🫠)

[lyeofhell]

I recently got into Modern Warfare and now I’m obsessed and put my oc in the universe

Also Captain Price might be my main bitch

[lyeofhell]

listened to a podcast about the murder of ken rex mcelroy and started thinking about nik's hangar that's located in the middle of nowhere kastovia near the russian border, and the little tiny logging village at the base of the mountain and the citizens there that would do whatever it takes to make sure the russian man who saved them from invasion gets his heart's fondest desire. and then i wrote a halfassed lil thing about it.

cw: dubcon, alcohol, kidnapping, small town conspiracies, noncon kissing, dubcon oral, rope bondage, duct tape gags, noncon marriage, headbutting, slapping, breeding kink, one singular use of the word 'daddy' during sex, unedited brain hairball with an abrupt ending

dialogue in italics is spoken in kastovian, regular font is english.

everybody in town knows nikolai, the dangerous and well-connected mercenary with the hangar located on the mountain. he's already a big personality, gregarious and worldly, with a dangerous edge that nobody wants to cross. when he first took up residence on the mountain nearby, building his hangar and helipad with local help and materials, he was treated with some suspicion. well-armed russians taking up residence in kastovia leaves a bad taste in their mouths, especially the older villagers who remember various armies marching through.

he'd only lived there a year and a half, jovially bearing the polite coldness the villagers showed him, when he got some worrying intel. russia was going to try to recapture verdansk in a 'special military operation', according to his source, and they were headed right for the little village at the base of his mountain.

nikolai wasted no time warning the village, distributing arms and calling in every single favor he was owed. it's a truth universally acknowledged in this village nowadays that nikolai saved them, putting his own life at risk when it would have been so easy to fly away to safety without another word.

after that, things took a dramatic turn. everyone felt immense gratitude towards him, refusing his payments for goods and services, some even trying to marry their daughters to him. nikolai would just laugh and refuse, telling everyone who offered him anything that this is his village as well, that they are neighbors, and aren't neighbors supposed to look out for one another?

it's widely known that nikolai has a type- he loves big girls. he's had a few in his life, and is more than happy to tell any young person that's old enough to be in his favorite bar that the secret to a happy life was a big, plush body to hold onto during the long winters.

"i'm telling you, forget money, power, and fame- real success is a fat-assed woman in your bed. if you have that, you don't need anything else." he insists between rounds of drinking, holding court in the corner table with an empty vodka bottle in hand. "you get yourself a nice round girl to hold, kiss, and fuck and i swear- you won't need anything else. i was foolish letting my last girl walk away- mark my words, next time i see a pretty face attached to a soft belly and thick thighs, i'm not letting go."

so when you first move into town from out of the country, the first thing everyone who meets you asks is 'have you met nikolai yet?'. they don't tell you why, they just say that it's important that you meet him, that he'll be around when whatever job he's on ends. (they refuse to say what he does for work, though.) by the end of your first month, everyone in town has already asked you about nik. by then you're just finally putting down some semblances of roots, getting a job at the only bar in town and renting one of the little apartments above it.

things are going great, your 'fresh new start' in a new country is going decently well and the regulars at your job are slowly warming up to you. it's weird, though. none of the men really talk with you. women and kids? all the time. they want to know where you're from, if you're married, what kinds of foods you like, what it is about their little town that led you there. men, however, keep their conversations short and polite, and they never initiate it.

at first, you chalk this up to a cultural difference you just don't have a grasp on yet. none of your research on kastovian culture mentioned particularly rigid gender separation, but you figure it's just something they missed. oh well. it doesn't feel actively oppressive, just a little lonely. it's a wonder that kastovian women date or get married at all, with how aloof the men seem to be.

things don't click until one of the quieter nights at the bar, when a large man you haven't seen before comes in. his dark eyes lock onto you immediately, scanning your body with a slanted grin as he saunters closer. your boss, and old man named masha, comes out from the back.

"nikolai! we've all been waiting for you to meet the new bartender." masha says, gesturing towards you. "she's been here a month already, waiting for you."

you blink. did he say waiting? kastovian accents are a little weird, maybe you misheard him-

"you boys saved her for me, eh?" nikolai asks, looking around the bar with a triumphant smile. every single person nods, from your boss to the barest of your acquaintances. the emotions on their faces vary from bored, blank expressions to lewd grins as they unanimously affirm his question. the only people who's heads aren't moving are yours and nikolai's. it's like every single person here is in on some sort of secret, one that seemingly involves you. you're torn as to whether or not you want to know what it is.

he sits himself down at the bar directly in front of you, and holds out his hand.

"i'm nikolai." he tells you, his smile growing even bigger when you shake his hand and introduce yourself. "do you want an afternoon or evening ceremony?"

"ceremony?" you ask, eyebrow raised, wondering if you heard him correctly. your grasp of the kastovian language is already tenuous at best, but throwing a russian accent over it makes you doubt yourself even more. nikolai doesn't release your hand from the shake, holding it while he speaks.

"i'm not picky, really. all i care about it getting married as soon as possible." he says with an all-too casual smile, cocking his head as he turns your hand over in his, inspecting your fingers. "i should get you two rings, one for each hand. that way when we travel, no matter where we go, everyone knows you're spoken for."

the laugh that trickles out of your throat is weak, hesitant, and uncertain. he's joking, right? just flirting in a way that's over the top? surely he's not serious. the whole bar seems to stare at you like you're being uncouth, weird, and rude for treating nikolai's words like a joke. you pull your hand out of his, hiding it behind your back for reasons that escape you.

"oh, uh, are you- you're not serious, surely?" you ask, words tripping over your tongue uncertainly. masha winces at your thick accent, and you feel your cheeks flush in embarrassment.

"i think maybe english is better for you?" nikolai asks in english, soft smile looking fond and growing just enough to crease the corners of his eyes when you nod. "ok, no problem, and yes, i'm serious. do you like gold or silver better? i know many people have strong opinions on this."

"uh, i don't- i mean, we don't know each other. i'm not marrying you." you tell him in shaky kastovian, hoping to god masha or one of your favorite regulars might come to your rescue, but your words seem to have the opposite effect. formerly friendly faces turn sour, and low, annoyed murmurs fill the otherwise oppressive silence. nikolai doesn't seem to mind, doesn't drop his soft smile or even indicate he's heard you.

"we don't know each other yet, you mean. i know you're nervous, but there's no need to be. i will treat you well, like the princess of the mountain." nikolai says in english, leaning his forearms on the bar. "all will be well, time will make it so."

it's an old kastovian phrase, the closest to hopeful that these people get. not that you can blame them, if your home country had gone through as many armed conflicts as they have, your optimism would be cautious, too. you should be polite, should ignore his weirdness and get the bouncer to throw him out... but honestly? fuck that. this is all too strange, even for you. you've been playing nice, being sweet, but the weirdness is unrelenting and you're over it already.

"fuck off. that's not funny." you snap, grabbing a towel and wiping down some glasses.

"you're so pretty when you're mad." nikolai grins, and it makes you even more annoyed. "she'll look so beautiful in white, don't you think?"

"you're sure, nikolai?" masha asks, and you can't help the way your eyes dart between the bold newcomer and your boss. nikolai gives you another obvious once-over, his soft smile turning into a toothy grin, and nods. "alright. get what's yours, then. i'll call the priest and tell him to prepare."

before your brain can translate and process his words, nikolai stands and ducks behind the bar, where he definitely shouldn't be- but masha makes no move to stop him. neither does anyone else, and you find yourself futilely backing up to the liquor display as he closes in on you, eventually getting in close enough to wrap a big hand over your arm.

"what are you doing?!" you ask in english, confusion and fear comingling into a slowly boiling terror. he spins you around by the shoulders, guiding you out from behind the bar and towards the front door. again, no one makes a move to stop him. you desperately look to masha and switch to kastovian. "no, i have a shift to finish-"

"you're fired. i'll send your last paycheck to your husband." masha calls after you. "congratulations nik! the boys will pack up her place and send it all your way, nikolai."

"much appreciated!" nikolai answers over his shoulder.

"what?!" you ask shrilly at the same time, trying to dig your heels in when nikolai gives you a solid push, forcing you to keep marching out the door. you stumble forwards a bit, just out of his arms reach, and spin to face him. he blocks the door with his broad body, still smiling at you as if nothing's wrong, as if you're just playing with him or something.

fortunately, your keys are still in your pocket. you turn on your heel, scurrying to your car, where you clamber in, lock the doors, turn over the engine and take off. in your rearview, nikolai looks as calm and amused as ever, sauntering over to a blue pickup truck as you hit the pedal to the floor and speed out of there.

as trees whip past you, you formulate a plan: get to the nearest embassy and figure out your next steps there. you should be safe enough there, you'd imagine, but you can't recall for the life of you if the building is in verdansk or if that was destroyed in one of many, many bombings and the closest one is over the border in urzikstan.

whatever, you'll figure it out when you get gas- your tank is hovering under the one-quarter mark, which means you'll run out far, far before you reach the next station. this is your last opportunity to fill up before you take off and leave everything behind.

you turn around a blind bend and slam your brakes when you see it- sergei's flock of sheep are in the middle of the road for some reason. he waves his hands at you, yelling at you to 'go back! turn around!' but you don't listen. you don't want to hurt his animals, you're not a fucking monster, but you are also not going to turn around. you slowly navigate through the sheep, honking your horn to startle them away, and you're so focused on the wooly bodies in front of your car that you don't even notice sergei wading through the sheep to get to your car.

the sound of your door's handle being pulled is what gets your attention, making you whip your head around. thank fuck you'd locked the doors before leaving the bar, he's really yanking on the handle, trying his damndest to get in as he bangs on the window.

"get out of the truck! come on, girl, don't be foolish!" he yells, looking angrier than you've ever seen him.

"no, i have to go, sorry sergei it's an emergency! just move your sheep, please!" you call through the window, still slowly inching through the flock while sergei continues to bang on the window.

"no, you need to stay here. just stop now and i know nikolai will forgive you-" he tells you, and the shock of his words nearly startles you into running down a lamb that's still lollygagging in front of your bumper. holy shit, he's doing this on purpose, to keep you here for that weirdo whose blue truck has just come into view in your rear view mirror.

"holy fucking shit." you whisper to yourself as you stare at sergei, who's still actively trying to pull you out of the car. he lands another blow against the window, cracking it. a shriek escapes your lips like a boiling kettle, and you slam on your car horn. the last lamb scurries out of your way and you floor it, taking off as fast as you can to the crossroads and watching in your rearview with no small amount of satisfaction how sergei is unable to get his flock out of the way of the blue truck, forcing it to a stop.

nikolai is nowhere in sight when you get to the gas station, but nastya and her husband are. they're waiting outside, perking up at the sight of your car and waving you down as you pull in next to the pump. you waste no time hopping out and quickly rounding the car to pop your tank open when nastya reaches you.

"are you okay? we heard from masha that something had happened, that you were upset." she says, eyes full of worry. you sigh, and it comes out shaky.

"i don't even know how to say it. a stranger came, he said i was going to marry him, and when i refused masha fired me and then the man tried to drag me away! i have to leave, quickly!" you explain as best you can, the words watery with unshed tears. nastya pulls you into a hug, rubbing her hand up and down your back in a manner you assume she thinks is soothing.

"oh, how startling! that must have been so scary for you!" she coos, holding you too close and too tight. "those men, so impatient, and masha really should have let you keep your job, you'll need something to do while nikolai is away with work."

behind you, you hear your car door open. nastya's grip on your shoulders is firm, but you're bigger than her, so it's not difficult to turn in her grasp to look over your shoulder at her husband, dimitri, pulling your keys out of the ignition.

"what the fuck?!" you whisper in english, eyes wide with fear.

"i'm sorry he and masha were so abrupt, but nikolai will be good to you. i know he will. he's a good man, you'll see. all will be well, time will make it so." nastya hurries to say, her attempts to soothe you doing nothing but stoking your anger and desperate fear. it's a motherfucking conspiracy, and everyone in this fucking town seems to be in on it. tears of rage and despair roll down your cheeks at you glare at her, shoving her off of you so she bumps into the gas pump.

"keep your hands off of my wife!" dmitri snaps, rounding the car and holding your keys up and out of your reach as you grab for them.

"tell her to keep her hands off of me, first! and give me back my keys!" you shout, jumping to try to reach, but dimitri's a very tall man, and easily keeps them away from you. the sound of an approaching engine makes you freeze and turn in place. the blue pickup nikolai had gotten into is leisurely approaching the gas station, and even through the glare of a bright blue sky on a clean windshield, you can see nikolai's pleased smirk.

"the church is the other way, my love, did you get lost?" nikolai teases in english as he gets out of his truck. "nastya, dima, good to see you both. thank you for looking after my girl."

"of course." dmitri says, tossing your keys to nikolai, who catches them easily and slides them into the pocket of his brown leather jacket.

"i'm not your girl, i don't know you-" you hiss in kastovian, fists clenched, backing up as he approaches and startling yourself by walking backwards into your own car. nikolai just huffs a laugh, closing in on you quickly and trapping you against the car with his arms planted on either side of you.

"you are my girl, and you'll have the rest of our lives to get to know me." he replies in english. "i can see you have your pride, so i'll give you a choice: you can either come with me and get married properly- in the church, wearing a pretty white dress- or i can call the priest here and we'll be married at a petrol station. you pick."

"fuck. you." you grit between your teeth, and that motherfucker has the audacity to laugh. you try to duck under his arm to escape, but thick fingers wind into your hair, holding you in his grip as he maneuvers you into his arms, pressing you up against your car. you try your best to knee him in the balls, but the angle is wrong, you don't have enough space for the wind-up, and he laughs in your face at the attempt.

"a hellcat in a big, soft body. i never thought i'd get so lucky. i should get a few first aid kids for the honeymoon, eh?" nikolai says, his voice sounding almost dreamy. "dima, will you call the priest? tell him we'll have the wedding here. it would seem my wife is a bit of a demon, i think she may burst into flames if she crosses the threshold of the church."

dmitri and nastya laugh, those assholes, and dima pulls out his phone, texting rapidly. nastya cautiously approaches where you're caught between a madman and an avtokam.

"i know you're angry, but please. listen to me- you are luckier than you know. nikolai is not a bad man, he saved our village from death, and i know he'll take such good care of you." nastya insists, and nikolai chuckles.

"mm. two out of three." he says in english with a wink that just stokes the flames of your rage even more.

"i hate you." you hiss between clenched teeth in your dogshit terrible kastovian. in the corner of your eye you can see nastya and dmitri share a look, while nikolai continues to smile at you.

"i think maybe instead of wrapping the bride in silks and lace, we should use rope instead, hm? as much as i love my wife, i think the priest will be less amenable to her trying to kick his dick off." nikolai tells the couple, who both laugh a little nervously and scurry into the garage to find ropes.

"don't do this. don't." there's nothing to threaten him with, all you can do is beg through grit teeth.

"you're so fucking pretty when you're mad." nikolai says for the second time, grinning wide and rocking his hips against you, making the car squeak as it sways a bit on it's tires. "i'd kiss you if i thought you wouldn't bite my face off."

the wedding itself feels like a fever dream. the entire village is gathered there, and everyone can see that you are obviously here under duress. thick ropes unartfully bind your wrists and legs, and you're gagged with a shiny strip of duct tape with a pair of red lips sharpied on top. and yet, nobody bats an eye. the priest introduces himself as if nothing was wrong, merely mentioning that he was glad he was glad you seemed to be over your 'cold feet'. you try to headbutt him, but nikolai just laughs as he holds you back by a rope that loops around your throat, runs down your back, and is tied back around your waist, like a leash or a dog harness. it chokes when he pulls, and you do your damndest to kill him with your mind as you glare at him in response.

the ceremony is short and sweet, and your overly saccharine vows and 'i do' are said on your behalf by nastya, who stands behind you as a self appointed maid of honor. nikolai kisses the lips he drew on your gag, and the whole village cheers as if everything is normal and they're not watching a bound and gagged woman be forced into marriage at a fucking gas station. nobody even reacts when nikolai breaks the 'kiss' and you headbutt him so hard you fall face-first onto the concrete.

someone pulls up with a truck, and in no time at all there's tables and chairs scattered around the wide cement parking lot of the gas station and a large portion of the street. the baker brings pastries and cakes, everything he'd made for the day, all donated to nikolai's wedding. masha hands out tin cups and bottles of vodka. someone pulls out a violin and begins to play. someone else runs home to get their accordion. children dance with their grandparents in the road, couples drink together and hold hands, young people flirt. all you can do is watch what would otherwise be a lovely, touching scene of a community coming together in celebration.

as the sun goes down and the party wears on, you're sat on nikolai's thigh, his arm around your waist and holding you close. there's nothing to do but think as you sit and watch everyone enjoy themselves. none of these people are paying you any mind, because to them, you're not the important one here. nikolai is. it's him they're celebrating, not you. one by one the entire village has come up to him to congratulate him, to shake his hand and laugh about how he finally got that fat girl he always wanted. that's the most acknowledgement you get, aside from all the women telling you how lucky you are as you mumble a barely comprehensible 'go fuck yourself' against your duct tape gag while nikolai belly laughs and squeezes your thigh.

nikolai leans in, nose pressed right above your ear.

"had you behaved, i would be hand-feeding you cake right now. however, i value my fingers very much, i won't risk them tonight." he says, tone teasing like your attempts to hurt him are merely an inside joke between the two of you. "don't worry, i'll have some sent up to the house. we can try hand-feeding later."

i'll bite you then, too, you think to yourself, but nikolai seems to already know your thoughts, and chuckles into your ear.

"mm, vicious girl. i liked you when i first saw you, but i am pretty sure it was love at first 'fuck off'." he presses a kiss against your temple and kneads at your hip. "it will be so fun, seeing how long that fire inside of you lasts. one day you and i will lie in bed together and laugh about the time you tried to injure me on our wedding day."

over the course of an hour and a half, your anger simmers and morphs into fear. clearly, even if you were to run from nikolai, to get out of his mountaintop home undetected and sneak into town, the entire village would do their damndest to return you to him. there's nowhere else to go for 30 grueling miles over very harsh terrain. you're stuck, wearing his matching rings on each hand. you're well and truly stuck, there's no two ways about it. best you can do is hope for is the ability to steal his truck keys when he least suspects it and steal as much gas from nastya and her awful fucking husband as you can before setting it on fire and running for freedom.

at the night's end, nikolai manhandles you into the truck, pulling your seatbelt over your lap and waving his arm out the window as he pulls away from the gas station and into the dark. his place is on the top of the mountain, where that giant helipad is. you vaguely know the way there, never having needed to go there before. nikolai turns onto a gravel road and pulls over to the side, next to a dense patch of forest.

he kills the engine and shuts off the headlights, with only the glow of the dials and buttons illuminating your faces. even in the dim green light, you can see the way his eyes are smiling at you in the dark as he leans in to unbuckle your seatbelt.

"i think you and i need some stress relief, hm? it's been a hard day for both of us, i think." he says before sliding out of the truck. he's too quick, rounding the front of it and yanking your door open before you have time to get your hand to the lock or try to wriggle away. after hours of wearing them, the ropes are starting to chafe at you, leaving your wrists feeling raw and achy.

"come on, behave yourself and i'll make this nice, okay?" nikolai purrs into your ear while he tugs at your arm, pulling you out of the cab of the truck, turning you around, and bending you over so your head is laying on the seat. you protest futilely against the duct tape on your mouth, calling him every nasty thing you can think of in all the languages you know them in. when you feel him unbutton your pants and slide the zipper down, you try to wiggle and fight.

a broad palm presses against the back of your neck, pinning you down and making you freeze. in your haze of spite and anger, you'd nearly forgotten how utterly helpless you are against him. you're still tied up and gagged, and it's still unclear whether or not he has any qualms about injuring or killing you.

"i said behave." he says more sternly, and you trust that he can either see or feel you nodding in the dark. his small, lighthearted chuckle confirms it. "good. now relax, i know you have a lot of pride, but i won't tell anyone if you enjoy yourself."

the hand on the back of your neck disappears, and you feel your jeans and panties being yanked down in one rough pull to where ropes begin to loop around your knees. the cool night air feels freezing on your bare ass and thighs. your pussy, however, is warmed by the broad, rough hand that's cupping it, thick fingers sliding up and down your folds slowly.

"arch your back for me." nikolai instructs, slapping your ass hard when you don't immediately comply. "fuck, what a nice handful you are. you can't blame me for not being able to wait until we're home. i was so close to pulling you all the way on my lap and bouncing you on my cock in front of the priest, the entire village, and god himself."

the sound of his voice is moving, moving from right above you to further behind you. gravel crunches as he shifts, and it's not until you feel his hands hold your thighs apart and the warmth of his breath on your cunt that you realize he's kneeling behind you.

you could kick back at him, no problem. it would send him reeling ass over teakettle, you could get back in the car and hit the locks. that might buy you enough time to untie yourself and drive away.

but.

you don't.

instead you stay still, and are rewarded with the feeling of his warm tongue gently laving against your clit. your eyes involuntarily roll back into your head, and the vibrations of his moans against your cunt makes you shudder. broad hands knead at your ass and thighs while he eats your pussy from the back, the occasional finger dipping inside, pulling embarrassing squeaks and moans from you that are thankfully muffled by the gag and the way you press your face against the seat.

the sound of his sucking and licking is so loud out here in the woods. there's not even the sound of birds or insects to muffle the sounds of nikolai making out with your pussy. you can feel yourself soaking his face as an electric thrill climbs the rungs of your vertebrae. he's right- you do have a lot of pride, and it makes you feel all the more shame for enjoying what he's doing to you. he knows exactly when to stretch you around his finger, when to suck and lick and squeeze your ass.

when your orgasm hits you, it's like a truck. you scream against your duct tape gag and arch against your ropes, shaking as relieved and humiliated tears roll down your cheeks and you clench down on the fingers he has pistoning inside of you. you don't have time to be grateful that he pulls back quickly, pulling his fingers out and avoiding painful overstimulation, before you hear the clink of a belt and the metallic purr of a zipper being undone.

"alright, my turn. this will be over soon, but don't worry, as soon as we're home i'll give it to you again and really take my time." nikolai says, notching himself against your entrance with a broad hand holding your hip with an iron grip. he pushes in slowly, groaning lowly as he slides in and stretches you out inch by inch. you're so sopping wet that there's no resistance, just a steady glide to the core of you that makes you feel like the air is being slowly pushed out of your lungs. you couldn't see nik's cock, but if it's at all proportional, you're not surprised it's got your toes curling in your shoes.

suddenly, in one swift motion, the duct tape is ripped from your mouth, taking all the hairs and a layer of skin off with it.

"FUCK!" you yell, dropping your head against the cheap pleather seat.

"yeah, come on, let me hear you." nikolai commands breathlessly, pulling back and snapping his hips against your ass. both hands squeeze the fat of your hips as he starts to fuck you roughly against the truck seat, and you can feel yourself start to drool a little as he picks up the pace.

"hour and a half i had you on my lap and couldn't have you. exquisite torture. cruel and unusual punishment. but now i have you right where you belong." he pants into your ear. "fuck, this ass is even better than i dreamed. feels so fucking good, pushing up against it while you soak my cock."

you can't help but whine at the overstimulation between your legs as the truck squeaks a bit as it rocks with the hard and fast pace nikolai sets. you can tell that he's not going to last long, not the way he keeps chuckling breathlessly and groaning.

"goddamn, perfect fucking pussy. worth all the trouble twice over." he laughs breathlessly as his hands move under your body, pulling your body to a standing position.

"oh, fuck, you just need your pussy kissed to make you be nice, is that it? i think so. go on, keep being nice and make me a fucking daddy." he groans in your ear as the angle changes, squeezing your tits through your shirt and giving you one, two, three more hard thrusts before cumming deep in your cunt, his cock throbbing so hard you can feel it.

nikolai pushes you forward, and the two of you stand like that for a few minutes, leaned against the seat while you both try to catch your breaths. with a gentle pat to your hip, nikolai finally pulls out, his zipper humming behind you as he fixes himself up. you twist to look when you feel him pull your panties up, but it's far too dark to really see anything. big hands in the dark start repositioning you, herding you to sit back in the truck.

"you're not going to pull my jeans back up?" you ask, incredulous.

"no, i'm not." the smile in his voice is evident, and you're too tired to do anything other than roll your eyes and comply. in no time at all he's settled into the seat next to you, buckling your belt and turning the truck back on to continue the journey home.

in the reflection of the headlights, you can see the satisfied smirk on his face, like the cat that got the cream. your shame burns at your face again as you try to push his words out of your head.

"-you just need your pussy kissed to make you be nice-"

what makes you the most upset is he's not wrong. soon as he put his mouth on your cunt you melted for him like butter on a hot pan. hell, you didn't even fight him off even before he ate you out. you gave in, came on his face, and nearly came again on his cock. what's even worse is, you're sure it'll happen again and again until you either escape or die trying. self loathing consumes you, rendering you more silent than you'd thought you'd be with your gag off.

nikolai seems to notice the way you fold in on yourself, the fire within you seemingly extinguished. that won't do.

"are you hurt?" he asks gently, and something about watching you bristle makes him feel relieved. good. he's glad you aren't so easy to break.

"fuck off." you hiss, leaning against the door and staring out the window into the blurred black forest that's whipping by.

"i don't think today went the way either of us had planned." nikolai says kindly as the truck rolls down the road. "but that's alright. i like a fiery girl, i have the rest of our lives to tame you. if i'm honest, i think putting a baby or seven in you should do it."

it's hard to tell if he's kidding or not, but you're learning quickly that he doesn't make idle proclamations, no matter how outlandish they sound. he reaches over and pats at your soft belly, and you can't help but shudder at that, sniffling a bit as fresh tears of rage, fear, and frustration stream down your face while the truck rolls up the road to take you to your new home prison.

[lyeofhell]

vivienne westwood's ‘vive la bagatelle’ bridal dress, ss97

[lyeofhell]

Pulls out because he likes seeing his come on you: Ghost

Pulls out because it's safer even with birth control: Gaz

Pulls out so you can swallow it: Nikolai

Who said anything about pulling out?: Price, Soap

[lyeofhell]

[lyeofhell]

CPT. Jonathan Price MR. WE GET DIRTY AND THE WORLD STAYS CLEAN

SOAP | GHOST | GAZ

[lyeofhell]

Recieving unholy communion from Papa I

Actually screamed

Source but honestly kudos goes to @infestissumal for resurfacing these

[lyeofhell]

Ghost @ The Riviera Theater, 10/3/15