#Joseph somewhere at his Compound: “I wonder how things are going with those two.” The Voice: “Do you want to know?”😂😂

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WIP Wednesday | Tagged by @g0dspeeed <3 | Tagging @josephseedismyfather @adelaidedrubman @thesingularityseries @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @euryalex @detectivelokis @nightbloodbix @aceghosts @madparadoxum @trench-rot @josephslittledeputy @theelderhazelnut @purplehairsecretlair @neonneurons @dumbassdep @shegetsburned @clicheantagonist @poisonedtruth @vampireninjabunnies-blog @cassietrn @wrathfulrook @voidika @harmonyowl @v0idbuggy @strangefable @schoute @jacobsneed @strafethesesinners and anyone with something to share ❤️

This midweek you're getting more of Jacob x Mercedes, the snippet is on the longer side (but like I don't want to leave you all on a cliffy like with the last "last line tag post") and things are definitely picking up, folks. Beware it gets NSFW towards the end. :D

"Bambi?", Mercedes shot a dark look at the now closed door of Jacob's office, "Bambi.", she shook her head and let out a bitter laugh. You truly have no idea, Jacob Seed. The last couple of minutes were a true testament of her ability to stay in character and not come out swinging the second he had started barking orders at her like she was one of his unfortunate subordinates or worse, an animal he was trying to tame. "Bambi.", she repeated again and bit her lip as she went around the desk and sat down in his chair. You're so lucky I didn't shove my fist so far up your clueless ass you would have seen stars. Intrusive thoughts about inflicting different level of violence upon his person had popped up in her mind anytime Jacob had opened his mouth to speak during their confrontation about her leaving the region. She had no idea why he seemed to enjoy pushing her around so much, but he was in for quite the rude awakening if he expected her to just run back to Joseph and abandon the task and chance at helping the opposing Militia. "The enemy of my enemy shall be my friend.", she whispered as she scanned over the plans laid out in front of her carefully, memorizing anything that could be of assistance at doing damage to the Project. One name repeated over and over in the notes, almost bordering obsession and she suspected the man was just the one she needed to find. "Eli. Eli. I feel like we can help each other." I will be the snake in your brother's garden. The wolf roaming among your sheep, Jacob. Not Bambi.

Mercedes hoped the Deputy that was brave enough to make a run for it would manage to escape despite Jacob's strong confiction he wouldn't. In ways she felt guilty for dragging the man and his colleagues into the mess. After going over anything available on top of the desk, she moved onto its drawers. Locked. Of course. She kept an eye on the door as she reached into her hair and pulled out one of the bobby pins from her braid, getting to work on lockpicking the top drawer. Her gaze narrowed in confusion the second she pulled it open and was greeted by emptiness aside from a small wooden box. She picked it up with curiousity and opened the lid, scanning over the letters engraved on the inside, "Only you? A music box out of everything, Jacob?" Mercedes returned the box back in its place and shut the drawer, double checking it's locked again before moving onto the rest. The discovery was more like what she had expected to come across: files of Hope County residents, most marked as "failure" with a red stamp. She quickly flipped through the folders without pulling any out, knowing there were way too many to go over when she had no idea when Jacob or any of his men would return to check on her. After locking all drawers again and making sure nothing was out of place, she leaned back in the chair with a sign, "Slow progress. Oh, how I hate you."

[one radio call with Joseph later; where he insists she must stay in the Whitetails and be his eyes.]

Hours passed without anyone appearing or even passing by the office door, the building remained quiet as the light outside began to dim. She was starting to wonder if Jacob hadn't decided to not return to the Vet Center at all, hoping she would take the hint and leave after his less than warm welcome. Mercedes lost count how many times she spun around in his chair as she contemplated her life choices and imagining where she would have been at that moment had she not gone after Joseph Seed at all. Probably at some unjustifiably expensive restaurant with a target, hanging onto my every word.Fuck, sure can use some food by now… Another spin paired with regrets and boredom had her staring at the peeling paint on the wall behind her and when she turned again instead of finding the office vacant, angry blue eyes met hers. Sneaking up on me, are we? "You're still here.", Jacob stated the obvious as he stopped in her earlier position at the desk, their roles reversed, no matter how temporary. A smile broke across her face, Mercy coming out to play, "No place I would rather be." Many places I'd rather be, in fact.Anywhere with a more enjoyable company preferably.A bath would be nice, too, doesn't even have to be fancy.

"You called my brother.", he muttered in annoyance as he wiped his brow, smudging blood across his skin and making Mercedes realize his hands were stained crimson. Are you badly injured, Deputy? Is it my fault? "You should have left hours ago. I have to warn you, I don't take lightly to anyone disregarding my authority. Let alone to you making yourself at home in my chair, spinning around in it like a child." So did many control obsessed men before you, honey. Then they realized I do as I please. Most found themselves beneath me or chasing after me, begging for mercy at the end. Ironic, I know. "I answer to Joseph, not you. The sooner you accept that, the less times your blood pressure would rise.", she said, not letting her smile waiver even for a breath as she got up and rounded the desk to stand in front of him. Mercedes licked her thumb and brought it to his forehead, cleaning off the blood when she added, "You have to watch your heart at your age." "What do you think you're doing exactly?", his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist before it could retreat, "And you did not just dare to call me old." She tried to pull her arm free, but Jacob's grip only tightened as a result, "A joke, Jacob, I assume you know what that is. As for what I was doing… you had something on your face, so you're welcome." A strange expression came over his features when he replied, "I didn't expect to have it in you to crack a joke, Mercedes." One of her shoulders quirked up, "Not like you have spent any time trying to talk to me since we've met. How would you know what I'm like?"

All she got from him was silence. The air grew heavy with tension as his eyes ran over her face, hand still gripping hers, his body rigid. Minutes that felt like forever rolled by, and she did her best to keep her breathing steady as goosebumps covered her exposed flesh. She wondered if she would end up slammed into a wall and what would follow. His look tells me that he'd either kiss me senseless or choke the life out of me. Neither outcome very high on my list, thank you. Her back didn't meet the wall behind her, instead he swiftly pulled at her hand and dragged her out of the room without a single word. Jacob took quick, long strides over the hallways, forcing her to jog in order to keep up with him, her flats slipping on the worn-out tiles. His men watched, heads bowed down, trying their hardest to appear disinterested in what their boss was doing. "Jacob?", she uttered out in confusion, refusing to let go of Mercy's sweet and naive persona. In reality she suspected that at some point in the quiet moments back in his office, he had realized she wouldn't be leaving on her own accord, and was set on personally throwing her out, having decided he's done dealing with her. In seconds, he was at the front entrance of the Center, pushing the doors open and heading with determination past all the rolls of cages towards a white pick-up truck marked with a familiar cross. Yes, sending me packing, alright. When they reached the vehicle, Jacob finally let go of her wrist as he went to grab her bag from the car she had driven there. Her eyes shifted between her forearm, where the outline of his fingers was now imprinted in crimson, and the sun setting against the darkening sky. The loud slamming of the car's trunk brought her attention back to him and she watched him toss her luggage in the back of the truck and round the front without a single look in her direction.

"Get in, Mercedes.", he ordered as he threw his door open and climbed in. Mercedes reluctantly walked over to the passenger's side and bent down to speak through the open window just as a wolf howl sounded somewhere in the distance, making her tense up, "I told you that I'm not leaving. Joseph-" His cold eyes finally veered at her, "I said, get in. Or do I have to come out and make you?" Are we sure John is the one with anger issues? All she could do was sigh in defeat as her fingers found the handle of the door and swung it open. She hauled her body inside as her mind struggled to accept the fact she had failed, that coercing him into letting her stay had proven to be an impossible task after all. The minute she was buckled in, he started the truck, keeping his gaze glued to the road as he drove away from St. Francis. "I don't need you driving me.", she said softly, already dreading the idea that she would be stuck in the same tiny space with him, having to tolerate his glowering all the way back to Joseph's Compound. Even she had her limits. His head swiveled sharply, blue eyes meeting hers, when he gritted out, "Do you want to sleep in one of the cages back at the center, sweetheart… or are you going to shut your mouth and stop complaining before I change my mind about letting you stay?" Mercedes blinked in shock, certain she had heard him wrong. "Stay?", she said slowly. His hands gripped the steering wheel, knuckles turning white, the blood that covered them was all dried up by then, "Yes. You called my brother. You have him to thank for that." She bit her lip, looking out of the window as the truck went over a small bridge, the river below it dark and unwelcoming, yet still promising her freedom.

"Where are you taking me, though?", she asked, wrapping her hands around herself, wondering if she had missed an opportunity to jump to safety especially after his cage comment. His surly demeanor foretold of nothing but trouble. She was certain Jacob wasn't going to grace her with an answer, then he suddenly broke the silence, saying simply, "A cabin. Should be empty." Without giving her a chance to reply, he reached out and turned on the radio, muttering, "No more chit-chat, keep quiet. We're not suddenly friends because Joseph managed to convince me to tolerate your presence here." Mercedes nodded absently and leaned back in her seat, watching the dark road ahead. After a while he spoke up again, "Look at that. You're actually listening for once." From the corner of her eye she could see his lips twist into a small smile and she wondered if he expected her to respond, or he was testing her, hoping she'd give him another excuse to lash out at her. Eventually, he parked the truck in front of a small unlit cabin that would have been completely hard to spot if it wasn't for the headlights that casted light upon it.

She opened the passenger side door, shivering against the change of temperature the moment she exited the vehicle. She quickly grabbed her bag just as Jacob called out, "Where do you think you're going?" "Thank you for the ride, Jacob. Have yourself a good night.", she retorted, not bothering to turn around and entertain another argument that would keep him from driving off. She followed the path to the front door of the house as she heard his door slam shut, then footsteps stalking her way. Fucking hell. You're really asking to be kicked in the balls now. "Mercedes.", he grunted out. "What?", a hand wrapped around her upper arm, pulling her to a stop. His tone told her that irritated Jacob was making a return, "I said the house should be empty, would be smart if you don't go storming it before I've had time to make sure it's actually safe to enter." "I don't need your help.", Mercedes shook off his hold and continued down the walkway. "Do you even know how to use a gun, sweetheart? Any basic combat? Hell, can you even throw a punch properly?", he chided, his usage of the term of endearment dripping with sarcasm. "No, and no. But we could always test the punching part out if you insist, then tell me how I've done afterwards. I know you love training people.", she was tired of his constant belittling and let the last part slip without worrying too much about how unlike Mercy it was. Yes to all three, actually. And don't expect me to worry about your pretty face. But she knew it was better if the Seeds believed she was helpless, naive, too oblivious to be up to anything, let alone be planning their demise right under their noses. It was a target's most common mistake: underestimating her, it's how she always remained hidden in plain sight, and by the time they would realize the critical lapse of judgment, she was always long gone.

"Babysitting.", Jacob muttered under his breath as he pulled out a gun from his leg holster and pushed the front door open, "Wait here. I mean it." The lights inside the house turned on one by one, illuminating the outside with a faint glow. "Cabin's clear.", he declared as he stepped out on the porch. "Goodnight then.", Mercedes went around him, dropping her bag on the floor as she slammed the door shut in his face and leaned against it. A knock sounded immediately from the other side, his voice muffled when he announced, "I'm not leaving." "What?", came out as a squeak, and she hated how for once the reaction was actually real: she fully had expected him to be gone before she had even crossed over the threshold. "The Militia has eyes everywhere, so by now, they would know of your arrival. If you don't want to wake up tied to a chair in some make-shift interrogation room, you'd let me in." "What are you, a vampire?", she said quietly, frowning at the idea he was still there and supposedly was planning to spend the night under the same roof as her. "What did you say? Kinda hard to hear you with, you know, a door between us, sweetheart.", he was back to sounding amused, and when he got nothing out of her, he knocked again but way louder, making her jump, "Joseph's orders, Mercedes. Open the damn door, if you don't want me gaining entry in a less pleasant way." She cracked open the door slowly, sending him a look of distrust, "He said nothing of that sort to me." "Well, he did, to me. Called me in the middle of hunting down my runner. Said I've been mistreating you. Scolded me like I'm a child, not his older brother.", he scoffed, his face bearing an arcane expression when he added, "Want to know what else he said?" She fought back a smile at the idea Jacob had been knocked down a peg, no matter by whom. "No." He pushed past her inside, "Might be for the best, actually." Talk about foreboding.

With a huff she headed down the hallway after him and found herself standing in a small living room. The freamed pictures of a young couple reminded her the cabin was someone's treasured home that the Project had forcibly taken away, and judging by the lack of dust, it hadn't happened very long ago either. Jacob didn't bat an eye at the sight, sitting down on the couch with an arm thrown over the back of it as he continued, "The fact of the matter is, Joseph decided it would be smart to have someone keeping an eye out for you during your stay. Said I should personally see you settled in." She knew that having someone around to keep tabs on her and make sure she wouldn't run into the Militia was certainly bound to make her task of finding a way to run into them more difficult. "I thought you didn't want to 'babysit'?", she narrowed her eyes, remaining standing in the doorway. "Trust me, I don't. Don't go believing this would turn into a regular thing, I'm staying here only for tonight. So don't get any ideas." I will be sobbing into my pillow every night, Jacob. What shall this damsel do without a petulant ginger to protect her… More silence filled the room until he said, "You know, for someone that always tries to make conversation with anyone, you sure are awfully quiet out of a sudden." "You made it very clear I'm unwelcome here and that you dislike me. From day one, if I may add. I've made my peace with it, so enjoy the silence. Isn't that what you wanted after all?", she replied and grabbed her bag from the hallway, dropping it in the bedroom. She could foresee him complaining about the possible sleep arrangements, but if he had a problem with the couch, he could always sleep outside as alternative.

The lack of blood and no noticeable signs of struggle around the house gave her hope that maybe the two people that used to live there had made it out unscathed, she wanted to wholeheartedly believe that was the case. Mercedes kept to herself and made it her mission to ignore her moody chaperone as she washed her hands in the kitchen. She scrubbed at the bloody fingerprints he had left on her skin, wanting to get rid of the reminder she had no idea what had happened with the Deputy. She knew she potentially had a way to get an answer, but she refused to risk arousing suspicion by asking his captor about it. "Know how to start a fire?", Jacob chirped from the living room, still lounging back on the couch. "No." Yes. "Want me to teach you?", his cordial tone wasn't something she was used to. "Why are you acting all nice to me out of a sudden?" "What would you rather I do then, Mercedes? Figured the night would pass by easier that way.", she could feel his stare on her as she kept her back to him, opening and closing cupboards until she found a glass to pour herself some water into. "You don't have to sleep here. If you're worried I will tell Joseph… don't and just be on your way already." "I'm staying. You still didn't answer my question. Do you want me to teach you?" She moved onto the fridge next, finding it almost empty as expected, "Nothing edible in the fridge, Jacob. If you don't want ketchup for dinner, that is." "Check the pantry, most folks around here are preppers one way or another.", he explained, coming from behind her and opening the door to the small pantry himself before she even had a chance to, "Here."

He pulled out a couple of cans, leaving them on the counter as she took a generous sip of water, wishing it was alcohol instead. Sure as hell would make my charming companion seem more tolerable. "And if they had nothing stashed away, what was the plan then?" He raised an eyebrow, "Catch us some dinner." "I'm a vegetarian." It was another lie, but she had no desire to watch him play caveman, not if she was to keep her appetite after the things she had witnessed at St. Francis. "Are you now?" "You have a problem with that, too?" Jacob shrugged, "It's nature. We all have a spot on the food chain." "Whatever you say." "You don't agree?" Mercedes waved a hand in his direction, "I just have no energy for all this." When he went to open one of the cans, she moved over to where he was standing and grabbed it before saying, "Are you not even going to wash up first?" He looked down as if realizing for the first time the actual state of his hands. "Sorry.", he muttered and moved to the sink. The quiet apology took her by surprise, but she didn't let that show when she asked, "You hadn't even realized your hands were bloody?" "When you do this every day, it becomes a habit, a part of you, you stop paying attention because it doesn't look unnatural.", he uttered out over the running water, "We all have a role to play." "What's that supposed to mean, Jacob?", she certainly didn't like his clipped tone.

After methodically drying off his hands in silence, Jacob turned with another dark stare, pointed her way, "I cull the herd. Get my hands dirty for the Project. You play dress-up as my sister's double to keep my brother company." "I'm doing no such thing." "No?", he smirked, "You have no idea about my brother's plan for you, do you?" She had her suspicions, but the fact he was close to voicing his and had such a reaction piqued her interest. "What are you talking about?", she blinked in confusion, letting worry seep into the question. He shook his head, deciding against saying anything else as he opened the can and dumped the contents into a pan she had pulled out, "Doesn't matter. We all have our roles, sweetheart, it just takes time to realize what they are. You, too, would, eventually." In a couple of minutes, Mercedes found herself sitting across from Jacob at the small kitchen table that accentuated his towering presence even more. She stared down at her bowl, feeling disappointment at the fact that in less than a few hours, she would have been in Hope County for 388 days, and she was nowhere close to seeing an end to her mission. Jacob was right about her having a role to play, but he was dead wrong about who she played. He finished his meal first, getting up quietly and heading off into the hallway after dropping his plate in the sink. A part of her hoped he would just up and leave, not matter if it disobeyed Joseph's orders.

Done with her own dinner, she took a seat in an armchair next to the couch, and to her dismay, he returned shortly, carrying a couple of pieces of firewood inside. He kneeled down in front of the fireplace, mumbling, "So, have you changed your mind about me teaching you how to start a fire, yet?" "No." "Why?" "Because." Because your friendliness is forced. Because you're only being nice after getting scolded by Joseph and being offered some cryptic revelation about me. Because I'd rather keep my distance for so many reasons. He shook his head at her nonanswer, patting the empty space on the carpet next to him, "Come on, Mercedes." "No, thank you." "You'd certainly regret declining that lesson in the winter months… if you even make it that long in the Whitetails, that is.", he said, not bothering to mask the jab. "You're the survival expert, right? So do it yourself." "You owe me for destroying my poster. Humor me, and I will overlook the transgression." She shook her head, "I did no such thing, I told you already. I'm staring to wonder if there ever was one in your office or you're making it up so you have something to hold over my head." His eyes narrowed, "You're lying. We both know there was one." "Am not." "Come over, already. We can argue the whole night or get the cabin warmed up."

Mercedes got up with a sigh, shuffling over to him before she knelt down, and grumbled, "I still don't understand why you insist on it. If you expect I'd be praising your efforts to play nice to Joseph… that won't be happening." He ignored her words, slipping into explaining the basics she knew by heart, "First, you check the damper if you don't want all the smoke coming into the house." She nodded along with enthusiasm, urging him to continue, "Two pieces of firewood.", he picked them up from the floor and placed them on the grate of the fireplace before crumpling some newspaper, "Tinder. Then kindling on top. Some more firewood. And then…" Jacob reached inside his shirt's pocket, taking out a matchbox and passing it over to her, "…you light it." His fingers brushed against hers, and she tried to ignore his intense stare as she removed a match and struck it, wasting no time in starting the fire. His 'lesson' being officially over meant he would finally leave her in peace. Or one can only hope. "There. Done.", she muttered, and turned to face him, "I'm off to bed. Goodnight." as the words left her, his hand grabbed her cheek, the pure shock stopping her from getting up. "What are you doing?", she asked in a shaky voice, telling herself it was acting, and his touch wasn't actually throwing her off-kilter. "Something I definitely shouldn't be doing.", he gritted out before clashing his mouth to hers.

Alarm bells sounded in her head. This is beyond disastrous. Push him away. You're signing your death warrant. His fingers slipped into her hair, tangling in the curls and holding her close as his tongue parted her lips, and he let out an animalistic groan the second it met with her own. The scent of the burning embers in the fire mixed with his own fragrance, completely overwhelming her senses and causing the desire that had taken over her system the second his mouth had covered hers to deepen. Mercedes finally gathered the willpower to push at his chest and break the kiss, whispering, "We can't-", she shook her head to stress her point, not sure who she was reminding of the whole thing being a bad idea. Her body certainly had missed the memo, if she was to judge by the arousal that was pooling between her legs. "There are rules, Jacob. Especially-" "I won't tell if you don't.", Jacob said as if it was that simple, surprisingly looking almost as shaken up as she was. "You're lying. Did he put you up to this? To what…test me? Or are you having a laugh at my expense, seeing if I'm easy to tempt, then unleash John on me as payback?" "No.", he uttered out sharply, "It's nothing like that. And trust me, Joseph has nothing to do with this. We both know he would never suggest-" "Swear it." She had gone so long pretending to be someone she's not, feeling under constant surveillance at the Compound, having to follow Joseph's rules and act like she was smitten by his holier-than-thou persona. She craved a small win, to take something for herself, to get even an hour back into her old life. None of that seems feasible… so an orgasm wouldn't be bad, either. What a better "fuck you" to the Father than… fucking his brother?

Amusement flashed across his features, but it didn't get rid of the lust swimming in his blue depths or the frown he wore at her accusations, "I swear it. Are you going to make me do a pinky promise, sweetheart?" "Very funny. What if I do?", she reached out her pinkie as a joke, expecting he wouldn't entertain the idea, instead he wrapped his around it without even batting an eye. "There. Do you believe me now?" Mercedes had met many liars, she herself had become one for living, so she knew how to read people and what to look for, her eyes were trained to notice even the smallest tell in her opponents. In that moment, she couldn't see any signs Jacob was lying, and deep down she just didn't care. She nodded, and it was all the motivation he needed to pull her in for a second kiss, arms grabbing her waist and hoisting her onto his lap. His mouth glided over her cheek and down her neck, beard scratching her skin as he pushed the dress strap out of the way to nip at her shoulder. "Jacob", she hummed his name, and he got up. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his midriff as he strode in the direction of the bedroom, kicking the door open. Before she could blink, he deposited her on the bed, and she leaned back on her elbows, watching him as he hungrily stared down at the spot where her dress had ridden up and exposed her thigh.

"If we're gonna do this…", he paused, head swiveling in search for something, "I probably need to turn off the lights." Mercedes sent him a determined look, "No. I want to be able to see you. See us." We're not fucking in the dark, for fuck's sake. "I'm telling you, you don't." "I absolutely do." "Mercedes.", he held out his hand, palm running over the scars on his forearm, "You see this… they don't stop at my hands." "Clothes off, Jacob. Now." Her tone shifted as the Mercy act slipped completely, and if he noticed, he chose to ignore it. His blue eyes narrowed in uncertainty, making her nod, then repeat, "Clothes off. Want me to do it for you?" "Yes." Mercedes rose up on her knees, fingers taking hold of his camo shirt and stripping it off his body. She grabbed the hem of his short sleeved shirt next and lifted it up over his head, unveiling series of scars and burns across his skin. "Told you.", Jacob replied with a frown. "Come here. All I see is a survivor. Do you think these are going to stop me from wanting you?", she placed a kiss above his heart before her fingers locked at his neck, pulling him down on top of her. For a second, she was staring past the defenses of the man that barked orders at everyone and tried his hardest to keep the world at arm's length, and it made her heart ache. "You gonna get me out of this dress?", she asked, cradling him between her thighs as he finally snapped out of his stupor.

His hands reached around, looking for a way to undo the dress as his lips found hers for another feverish kiss and he let out a growl in frustration, moving back to whisper, "I can't find the damn zipper." "It's there. It's small-" "Do you love this dress?", he asked impatiently. "I can unzip it myself, just-", she stopped, blinking in confusion at the strange question, "Wait, what-" "Do you?" "Not really. No." Hate it actually, and the fact it seems to be your brother's favorite. "Good. Turn around." "Jacob?" "Do you trust me, sweetheart?" Not as far as I can throw you. Probably even less. "I guess?" "Turn around." She complied and swirled, staying on her knees with her back to him, and the next thing she felt was something cold touching her skin before he ordered sternly, "Keep still." Her brain registered what it was: the blunt end of a knife, inches apart from her spine. What the fuck. Then the tightness of the bodice gave way, as he cut the dress open all the way and sheathed the knife. "All done.", he stated in a calm tone, like he hadn't just brandished a weapon in bed after being too annoyed to look for a zipper. "I can't believe you pulled out a knife." "Got the job done, didn't it?"

His fingers moved the straps off her shoulders, the garment pooling on the bed and leaving her down to her underwear. She spun around to find him staring at her intently, blue eyes running over her body as if searching for something. An unreadable expression came over his face before he guessed, "You haven't been in John's chair, yet." I will be gone the second Joseph decides the time for me to confess has come. Shockingly enough, I draw the line at body mutilation. I'd prefer to avoid having to explain why I have sins engraved into my skin to whoever would be my next target. "No." His gaze darkened, "Just what I suspected." "What do you mean?" Instead of offering her an explanation, he gave her another cryptic response, "Doesn't matter." "Jacob." He shook his head and crashed his lips into hers in an attempt to stop her quest for answers, fingers unclasping her bra as hers got to work on undoing his jeans and pushed them down his legs. Mercedes lied back on the bed, gaze following his movements with anticipation as he took off his boots and pants, then joined her before any doubt or her common sense could creep in. His mouth traced a path from her abdomen up towards her breasts, lips closing around her nipple before he bit down on it gently. Her back arched when he moved onto the other one, showing it the same amount of attention as she tried to hold in her moans.

"I want to hear you. Every sound.", Jacob lifted his eyes to hers while his hand strayed over to one of the bedside drawers. He opened it and rummaged inside in a haste, huffing when he came up empty. "What are you looking for?" You pull someone's used toy out, I swear I'm hitting you in the face with it. "Condoms.", he stated matter-of-factly, opening the drawer above the one he had checked, "There you are." He dropped the wrapper on the bed, eyes roaming over her body, staring at her like she was his dinner. Calloused fingers slipped beneath the waistband of her panties and into her heat, exploring the same way her tongue began mapping out her mouth. "So wet for me, sweetheart." He pumped in and out of her slowly, his thumb brushing over her clit briefly, denying her actual release. It didn't take long for Mercedes to become fed up with his game, with his lips twisted into an arrogant smirk at how she was writhing beneath him. You're enjoying this too much. And I enjoy making people pay even more, Jacob. Keep acting this way and you'd find out. "I need more. I need you inside me.", she couldn't recognize her own voice as his hand retreated out of her underwear, leaving her body longing for his touch, to be filled again. "I'm more than happy to oblige.", Jacob retorted and moved away to discard his boxers, then dragged her panties down her legs, tossing them over shoulder. Her body trembled in anticipation and her gaze remained glued to his hands as they rolled the condom over his length, her stare inevitably making him choke out, "You keep looking at me like that, I can't promise I will be holding myself back."

She couldn't help the laugh that escaped her at the irony she was the one that had to hold back. In words and actions. He frowned at the sound and crawled over her, a cold sensation spreading over her skin when the dog tags he wore around his neck made contact with it, "Don't laugh, I'm absolutely serious here." His hands parted her thighs while he went in for another kiss, guiding his tip to her entrance and barely making it in as he whispered, "I might regret offering this, but… last chance to back down, Mercedes." A bit late for that now, ain't it? Or does "just the tip" not count in your cult? Their mouths met again just as she grabbed his hip and pushed him all the way inside, letting out a content sigh at the feeling. The part of Mercedes that always managed to be the voice of reason reminded her in last ditch effort how stupid the decision was, how reckless, then it went completely silent the second he began to move. He kissed her like he couldn't get enough, hands braced on each side of her face, every thrust appearing more intense and desperate than the previous. "Faster. Don't hold back on me. Fuck me like you meant it.", she hummed against his lips and he complied, hand holding onto her waist as his strokes picked up and his thumb found her clit, driving her over the edge with just a few flicks. She half-expected him to follow her, but he shook his head, "We're nowhere near done here, sweetheart." His eyes met hers as his hand took hold of her leg and rested it on his shoulder, finding a new deeper angle, the lingering aftershocks of her climax only intensifying his movements.

"What did you call me today, hm? Old?", he asked in a low tone, emphasising the word with a hard thrust and smirking at the moan that it elicited from her. Touchy, aren't we? Still not over one innocent joke. Though, fuck, I'm starting to think I should nag you more often, if this is how it ends for me… "That an yes, Mercedes?", Jacob challenged, slowing his rhythm down and kissing her calf, "Then there were all the times you undermined my authority… Maybe I should teach you that actions have consequences." His expression told her he was reveling in the idea he was completely in charge of her own body, still believing her to be this meek creature he could play around with as long as he pleased. Time to give you a taste of your own medicine. A smirk broke free on her face as she rolled them over until she came on top and straddled him. Her hands found her destroyed dress, and quickly unlaced the ribbon that adorned the front of its bodice, the subtle sound seeming louder in the silence that surrounded them. Amusement flashed across his features, hinting he still believed she was playing around. His eyes darkened the moment she grasped both of his hands and swiftly tied the ribbon around his wrists, securing the ends into an intricate knot at the wooden bedpost. The tension in the air grew as they gazed at each other, anticipation for what was to come licking at her spine and by the way he twitched inside her, he seemed to be feeling the same.

The whole time he stared at her with a strange expression, voice full of wonder when he asked, "Who are you and what did you do with 'Mercy'?", he spat out the nickname with disdain. Mercedes ran her fingers over his chest, tracing the rougher parts of his skin before leaning down to whisper in his ear, "What did you call me today?", she paused, still mimicking Mercy's gentle tone despite copying his words, "Bambi?", then the real her peeked through when she added, "I'm more of a wolf, Jacob. About time we met." He tested the retraints, and a growl escaped him when they didn't budge. Not my first rodeo. You're not going anywhere. She cupped his cheek, lowering her mouth to his as she started to move at her own pace, the new position threatening to send over the edge before she wanted. In the back of her mind she delighted in the idea how scandalized Joseph would be if he saw them at that moment, if his "God" graced him with the unfortunate vision of her breaking such a precious rule to him. "I knew there was something more to you. That "Mercy" was only skin deep. I could feel it anytime I looked at you.", Jacob said in between kisses, his breathing getting labored now that she had taken charge of their movements. Her teeth bit down on his bottom lip, the sharp tang of his blood hitting her tongue, "Did you? And here I thought you didn't like me." "I didn't like you.", he choked out, "I still don't.", and it was the least convincing lie she had ever heard in her life. Giving me second hand embarrassment here, Jacob. "Should I stop then? Because you see, I'm getting mixed signals here.", her lips moved onto his neck and she sucked on the skin, marking him, "You're telling me one thing, your body another… who's lying?"

She couldn't help but wonder what his Chosen would think of her signature on his throat, especially after the way he had dragged her out of St. Francis. "No.", he said, clutching onto whatever semblance of control he had remaining. "No, what? Did I break you? Form a sentence for me." "Don't stop." A very un-Mercy-like smirk broke free, "Ah, that's what I thought." Her hips rotated again and again, bringing both of them closer to release until he muttered, "I won't last much longer, Mercedes." "I come first, only then you do, too, understood?", he raised an eyebrow at her stern tone but nodded, "Good." Mercedes straightened her back, her hand gliding to where they were joined, fingers rubbing her clit while the other caressed her breast. His eyes drank her in and she could tell he was enjoying the show, yet his face remained scrunched up with concentration as he held back his own release, set on proving a point. On proving himself to her. A second climax hit her, ripping out a moan out of her, and it was all the encouragement he needed to let go, too, as her walls clenched around him. "Fucking excellent.", he said, still out of breath, the genuine shock in his words and his sated expression causing her to beam with pride. It was the first real smile to grace her face since joining the Project, one that reached the dimples in her cheeks, making them pop. The fact that he mirrored her grin didn't help matters at all. If I didn't know better, I'd worry I'm in trouble.

#Mercedes always makes me cackle with the lines she sneaks in while I'm writing her POVs... #i'm forever laughing at the punch and *the toy* bit; PLS Mer 😂 #Joseph somewhere at his Compound: “I wonder how things are going with those two.” The Voice: “Do you want to know?”😂😂 #Nobody tell him!! it might take him out and save Calahan work #then there's them gaslighting each other about anything and everything #can y'all tell how much Jacob hated the white dress and was like: “an excuse to destroy it? YES PLEASE”... #it's ironic and hilarious as fuck that he ends up getting laid before John ever does in his own story 😂😂 #oc: mercedes “mercy” sibley #ship: the deceiver and the wolf #jacob seed x mercedes sibley #jacob x mercedes #jacob seed x oc #wip: in hope of tomorrow #wip wednesday #wip whenever #snippet #wip stuff #wip snippet #snippets #characters #ocs #fc5 ocs #far cry 5 oc #ship dynamics #my ships #my ocs #character dialogue #oc character

[jackiesarch]

come undone.

my half of a trade with the wonderful @red-nightskies! thank you so much for letting me write your sweet anna — it was a blast getting to know her!

word count: 3.7k

warnings: minor character death, canon typical violence, some language

summary: there’s whispers among the resistance that staci pratt is being held at the grandview hotel. anna reid thinks she knows who she can trust to help her free him.

This is the last safe moment: Anna stepping over the fresh corpse of a bat wielding Peggy, her chest heaving with exertion. Getting to the top floor of the Grandview Hotel unseen and unheard had been surprisingly easy. Even now, as she stands in front of the closed door of Room 306, she can’t help but be impressed by her own handiwork.

The oak panel in front of her is intimidating. She isn’t sure why. She’s checked every other room in this building, has moved through the halls and the staircases with such brutal efficiency that she should be pleased to be standing here, staring at what is undoubtedly the easiest part of this entire operation. But she isn’t. If anything, Anna finds she’s uneasy.

It feels too simple.

The Peggies have never made anything particularly easy for her. Sure, she can take down an outpost in her sleep these days or clear a roadblock in the blink of an eye, but Eden’s Gate rarely ever provides easy access to their special targets — to their leverage.

It’s part of why she’d gone to the Whitetails when the quiet whispers about Staci’s location had turned into real leads. Could she take down the guards and liberate her friend on her own? Maybe. Would she feel a hell of a lot better with an army waiting in the wings? Absolutely.

She stares at the door to the room again, her stomach twisting at what she might find behind it. Staci’s alive — that much she knows, that much a group of Eli’s scouts had been able to confirm. He’s alive, but who is he? Anna knows firsthand what Jacob does to people, knows the frantic, red-bathed horrors he puts people through to break them. Staci’s alive, but he may not be the man that flew them to Joseph’s compound all those weeks ago. It’s a thought that terrifies her.

He’ll be alright, Anna. It’s what Eli had said as he outlined the plan in the Wolf’s Den. A simple extraction mission: in-and-out, with backup waiting in the wings.

If he’s anythin’ like you, he’ll be alright. We’ll fix him up.

Slowly, Anna reaches for the doorknob, Eli’s words playing on repeat in her head. He’s right — Staci’s not beyond saving, not yet. They can fix him. Make him whole again.

She doesn’t trust easy, but she does trust Eli.

The cold metal of the handle makes her shiver as she twists it. There’s a click as the latch releases, and suddenly the door opens, creaking on its hinges as it swings into the room. All at once, she’s hit with the sickly, metallic smell of blood. It’s no wonder — the first things she notices are the smears of it on the wall, on the floor, on the discarded rags that litter the room.

The second thing she notices is Staci. He’s strapped to a chair in the middle of the room, bound by his wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of it. His head hangs heavy, chin resting against his chest like it might take all the strength left in his body to lift it in her direction. He doesn’t.

“Staci?” Anna says quietly, clearing the room with a quick glance. “Staci, it’s me.”

He doesn’t answer. Anna can only barely make out that he’s still breathing, and the movement is one that both comforts and scares her. She takes cautious steps into the room, reaching for the radio on her hip as she does.

“Eli—it’s me. I found him,” she says, finger gripping the transmit button on the radio so hard her whole hand shakes. “He’s alive. I’m getting him out. Send the Whitetails in to secure the lower floors. Anna out.”

If there’s a response, Anna doesn’t hear it. She finds herself standing in front of Staci without realizing she took the steps there, finds herself leaning down and grabbing his shoulder to shake him without consciously telling herself to do it.

“Hey,” she whispers, her grip on his shoulder tightening. Anna shakes him again, a little harder, in a desperate attempt to rouse him. “Staci, hey—“

Staci jolts so fast it makes her stumble backwards, heart suddenly thundering in her rib cage. His head flies up, his eyes wide and bloodshot, and Anna watches him gasp in a breath that it looks like he’s desperate for.

“Anna?” he croaks, eyes flitting back and forth between her in front of him and the room around them. “That really you?”

It takes a half-second longer for her to recover than she’d like. Anna scurries forward, slender fingers grasping at the restraints keeping him in place.

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s me. I’m getting you out of here.”

The bindings are tight, but she manages. First she frees his wrists, angry red marks dug into them with how tightly the straps had been pulled. His ankles come next, and Staci kicks his feet out a little before, with Anna’s help, he tries to stand. It’s not surprising that he’s weak, stumbling as he brings himself to full height. How long have they had him tied up there? How long has he been forced to sit?

She’s about to reach for her radio again, ready to tell Eli she’s on her way back to the Wolf’s Den, when the vague feeling of uneasiness from before returns with a vengeance. Anna looks around the room, frown pinching her face.

Something is wrong. The hotel feels too quiet, too safe. Why can’t she hear the Whitetails filtering in to secure the building?

And then it happens.

It feels like a slow-motion shot in an action movie. Staci opens his mouth to say something to her just as the only intact window in the room explodes, showering them with shards of broken glass. Half a second later, he crumples to the floor.

Anna’s breath leaves her lungs in a short, sharp burst. She knows better than to scream if they’re under attack, knows better than to draw all the attention to their position. Still, watching him go down like that, she has to say something.

“Staci?” Anna says, her voice unsteady as she stares down at his limp form. “Staci!”

He doesn’t respond. A pool of red forms under his skull and spreads out in a circle, inching towards her faster and faster like spilled paint on a dirty canvas.

Anna whirls around, eyes snapping in every direction as she reaches for her weapon. There’s no one in the room with them, no one in the hall, and no one down on the balcony below the window when she cranes her neck out to check. Off in the distance, she can swear she sees a glint of metal — a hunter? A Peggie with a sniper rifle? By the time she blinks, though, it’s gone, and Anna ducks her head back into the room, turns herself back towards where Staci lays. She takes a half-step forward, drawn to him as if he isn’t well beyond saving.

Then pain blossoms in her shoulder so suddenly she thinks she might be sick.

Anna stumbles back, her hand flying up to grasp at the place where sharp bursts of agony are starting to spider down into her chest, her arm, the very tips of her fingers. Liquid warmth spreads over her skin, and when she looks down, Anna finds her hand coated in her own blood. It seeps out of a ragged hole in her shoulder, and it finally registers with her that she’s been shot. Someone, somewhere in the mountains, has fired two precise shots off into Room 306 of the Grandview Hotel: one to hit Pratt, and the other meant for her.

The shock of the wound hits her all at once, sapping the strength from her muscles and forcing her to sink to her knees in the middle of the room. Anna just barely manages to brace herself as she hits the floor, her good shoulder sliding along the hardwood as she collapses onto her side.

Her thoughts are scattered, but the few cohesive ones left desperately trying to connect in a way that doesn’t quite add up. Who shot them? Why? It feels too convenient to be a well-timed accident, too ridiculous to be a case of mistaken identity.

Muffled footsteps in the hallway shatter her focus just as she’s about to consider the very obvious possibility that this is Jacob’s handiwork. Anna stills her ragged breathing as best she can and tries to listen as whoever is in the hall grows closer.

It’s hard to make out specifics with the doorway to her back. Forcing past the steady ache in her shoulder, Anna trains her ears and tries to catch the disjointed pieces of conversation.

“They’re both down,” she hears. It’s a man’s voice, a familiar one, and with her back to the doorway she struggles to remember his name. Briggs? “Pratt‘s dead. Deputy Reid...”

Briggs trails off suddenly. There’s a hissing, scratching noise — the sound of a radio transmission? — but Anna isn’t able to make out the response.

Help me!, she wants to scream. Help us! Her mouth opens to get Briggs’ attention, but nothing comes out. It’s as if the pain has stolen away her voice — her last chance at salvation.

“Right. We’re headin’ back,” Briggs says into his radio. There’s a pause, and Anna desperately tries to work out how to get his attention. “Tell Eli it’s done.”

The floorboards creak again. Footsteps sounds against the hardwood outside the room and fade away slowly, until all Anna can hear are the far away sounds of someone taking the stairs down to the second floor. There’s a distant shout; she can’t make out the words, not with the ringing in her ears, but it sounds like someone gearing up to leave the hotel.

Tell Eli it’s done.

Understanding hits her hard, like she’s been broadsided by an armoured truck. This hadn’t been Jacob and his lackeys at all. This wasn’t a well-planned take down by Eden’s Gate, wasn’t a terrible misunderstanding. Eli and the Whitetails had planned this.

She’s been betrayed.

Thoughts ping around Anna’s head. An in-and-out mission. Rescue Pratt. Escape unnoticed. A simple extraction job. How many times has she done something exactly like this? How many times has she liberated a captive Whitetail whose name and face she didn’t recognize?

How many chances have they had before this moment to take her out? Why wait this long?

The answer to her own question isn’t far out of reach. In fact, he’s sprawled out on the floor across from her.

Staci.

Better to kill two birds with one stone. Why waste time on a second covert mission when they could take down two of Jacob Seed’s most dangerous, involuntary weapons at once? It only makes tactical sense, she thinks. They were being proactive. Smart.

Vile. Heartless.

She doesn’t mean to look at Staci. She doesn’t mean for her gaze to linger on his cold, expressionless face, but it does, and she finds she can’t tear herself away. Anna more dead people than she has ever dreamed of, has watched the light leave so many pairs of eyes that she can no longer keep an accurate count. It’s the nature of the situation in Hope County — or at least, that’s what she tells herself to get by.

But this man was her friend. He was her friend, and he was kind, and now he’s dead; and it’s her fault. It’s the only thing Anna can think as she lays there, memorizing every line and every freckle of Staci’s face. She trusted Eli, trusted Tammy and Wheaty and all the other Whitetails.

She played servant when it was convenient for them, and Staci is dead because of it.

For a moment — a burning, bitter moment — she’s young again. There’s no electricity in the hotel, but that doesn’t stop the coloured glare of neon lights from registering in Anna’s mind.

She’s at the Grandview, she knows she’s at the Grandview. Every muscle in her body screams it to her as she tries to claw herself closer to Staci on the dirty floor. You’re here, she tells herself. You’re here, this is happening now, this isn’t then.

Her name is Anna Reid. She’s thirty years old. She’s been shot in the shoulder, and she’s bleeding out on the floor of the Grandview Hotel in Hope County, Montana.

Memories swirl in her head like funnel clouds. This is the Grandview Hotel, and she is dying here, but it doesn’t stop the images of the rundown gas station and its flashing neon sign from filling her mind.

Her name is Anna Reid. She’s nineteen years old. Her best friend has been shot, and she’s bleeding out on the concrete outside of a Shell station.

Anna squeezes her eyes shut against the onslaught of things she has tried so hard to forget. The images feel like they’re burned on the back of her eyelids, like she can’t escape them no matter how hard she tries to flee.

“No,” she gasps out, eyes flying open again. She’s met with Staci’s face, with the clean, dark circle on the centre of his forehead. “No, Claire—Staci, Staci, not Claire—”

A choked sob tears its way out of her chest. Her wounded shoulder has turned her arm to dead weight, and she can’t pull herself across the floor any further with just one hand; even the few inches she’s managed have turned her fingernails bloody and broken.

“I’m sorry,” Anna whispers, tears staining her cheeks. “Oh, fuck, I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t know who she’s apologizing to. Claire? Staci? Herself? All she knows is that the words come without her help, unbidden and spilling out of her like the blood spills from her shoulder.

My name is Anna Reid, she tells herself. I’m thirty. This is the Grandview Hotel in Hope County. I’m sorry.

It becomes a mantra, four sentences that she repeats over and over keep herself present. Anna forces herself to keep her eyes open, even if it means watching Staci’s body grow colder and colder — if she doesn’t, she thinks she might lose herself to the nightmare festering in her head.

Anna Reid. Thirty years old. Grandview Hotel. Anna. Thirty. Grandview.

Hours pass like that — or maybe it’s minutes, maybe seconds. Anna doesn’t know. All she knows is that the edges of her vision are starting to darken, that the blood pooling on the hardwood and soaking into discarded rags is no longer just Staci’s, but hers too.

Her shoulder feels dead. Heavy, too, as if the simple burden of having it attached to her might be what finally pulls her under, and part of her begs it to. She’s bone tired — the kind where every tiny movement feels like it’s being torn out of her, the kind where blinking is a burden and her battered body screams at her to rest. She’s tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of being hunted. She just wants this to be over and done with.

And then she hears the noise.

Creak.

For a moment, she thinks she’s imagined it. After all, she hadn’t raised hell getting inside the hotel — in fact, the plan had gone off without a hitch, quickly and quietly. The only ones who should know that she’s bleeding out on the cold floor of a dirty room are the people that put her there: the Whitetails.

Creak.

The noise comes a second time, louder, and this time Anna knows she hasn’t dreamed it up. Someone is outside of the room. One of Eli’s strays, come to finish her off? A friend-turned-foe with a pistol gripped tight and mercy on their mind?

Worse still, one of Jacob’s Chosen?

Whoever they are, they’re watching her. Anna can feel the stare on her back, burning the proverbial hole through her bloodstained clothes. The door is open, she knows, because she’s the one that left it that way.

The silence is deafening as Anna waits for them to make their move. She should be scared, she thinks. She should be paralyzed with the fear of imprisonment, of death, of whatever else might happen to her when the terror waiting in the doorway finally finds her.

Instead, she just feels numb. Nothing.

Agonizingly slowly, the steps grow closer, louder, until Anna can see the outline of a single steel-toe boot in the corner of her failing vision. They’re familiar, somehow, as if she’s seen those same boots before.

Where? Who?

The wearer takes another slow, measured step, until suddenly they’re consuming the whole frame of her vision. Until Staci’s body is nothing but an obscure, blurry background that her tired brain desperately tries to block out.

Anna can’t help it. Her focus drifts to the combat boots, to the old, cracked leather that’s stained dark with mud and darker still with something worse.

Some desperate part of her thinks she should move, thinks she should try to wrangle speech from the bottom of her dry throat. She doesn’t.

He speaks, and she and all she can do is listen.

“Wolves finally getcha, Dep?”

The boots were a clue, but there’s no mistaking the voice. It’s the strangest mix of rough and soft, an instant contradiction that matches the rest of him. And hasn’t he always been that way? Twisting her mind into something brutal and sharp with a song while he whispers praises into what feels like her soul? Withholding food with one hand while the other touches her with surprising gentleness?

If Jacob himself has come for her, then she’s finally facing the end.

The numbness is still there, choking the fear she knows she should feel as he nudges her in the ribs with the toe of his boot to see if she’s still alive. Anna barely reacts. She’s dizzy and heavy with blood loss, and even if she wanted to — well, she isn’t quite sure she could make her body do anything more than it is in this moment.

Jacob moves her around on the filthy floor like it’s easy. A push on the shoulder to get her onto her back, a steel-toe nudge to her good arm to get better access to her wounded upper half. It’s as if she’s a marionette being manipulated by its puppeteer, she thinks hazily.

No, not a marionette — the movement’s not quite that gentle. It’s as if she’s a rag doll in the hands of an over-eager child.

Suddenly, without warning, a bolt of white-hot pain streaks down her wounded arm, shoulder to fingertips. Anna has been hurt before — constantly, even, since she came to Hope County — but none of it compares to the burning, stabbing sensation she feels when Jacob crouches at her side, peeling the strap of her bloody tank top away and pressing his fingers against her bullet wound. She barely suppresses a shattered scream. The noise comes out as a high-pitched, broken whine instead, and for a minute, she’s almost positive she sees a flash of something sympathetic cross his face.

Anna thinks she should be furious with him. She thinks she should kick and scream and fight with all the strength she has left, should give him hell for making her suffering even worse.

Instead, she’s grateful.

Something about the pain splinters the blanket of numbness she’s felt since the moment the sniper’s bullets made impact. For the first time since she hit the ground, she feels.

“What’d I tell you, huh?” Jacob mutters, leaning back on the balls of his feet. Anna watches him wipe her blood on the ragged knee of his jeans. “Eli and his people. Cowards.”

Another pain stabs its way through her, but this time it doesn’t come from her injured shoulder. This time she feels it deep in her chest, a pang of betrayal that makes her hurt in an entirely new and unexpected way.

Cowards. A few months ago, she would’ve scoffed at that. A few months ago, she had scoffed at that. Now, she’s not so sure Jacob’s wrong.

There’s a shifting noise, the sound of crunching joints and slipping fabric, and the next thing Anna knows Jacob’s face is filling the frame of her vision. She strains her eyes, forcing herself to focus on him.

He watches her curiously. The steely blue gaze she’s used to is the somehow both the same as always and entirely different. It’s strange, Anna thinks — there’s a softness in the depths of his eyes. A fondness, even. This man, capable of such dangerous and depraved things, has looked at her and begin melting.

She doesn’t quite know what to do with that.

The blood loss makes it harder and harder to focus. Before she knows it, she’s following the lines of his face, tracing the roughness of scar tissue before her vision swims again.

Jacob is an enigma. He’s a cipher, a secret code she hasn’t been able to break. One moment, he’s twisting her consciousness and using it against her to make her a weapon, and the next? Well, the next moment, the cracks start to show themselves like ice before it crumbles.

Pain launches her out of her thoughts. Her tired body is being jostled, being scooped up like she weighs almost nothing, and it takes a few seconds for Anna to realize Jacob is carrying her. He’s warm, tempting to lean into, and so she does — her head sinks to the side, right against his chest.

“They’re not your friends, sweetheart,” Jacob rumbles, the sound coming more from inside him than it does from his mouth. “Makin’ you play servant girl? Leavin’ you to bleed out once you serve your purpose? Don’t sound like friends to me.”

She doesn’t have the strength to argue with him. All Anna can do is blink, eyes thick and heavy and desperate to shut so she can rest. Between flashes of her eyelids, she sees stairs, sees the tacky decoration in the hotel’s front lobby, sees the shape of Jacob’s truck in the distance.

“I’ll fix you up, honey. Get you back on your feet. Show you who your real friends are,” he muses, more to himself than to anyone else.

Her vision swims again, and this time she doesn’t have the strength to fight it. Anna feels herself go limp, sinking further into his arms, and welcomes the dark curl of unconsciousness into her mind.

“Thank you.”

The words are all she manages before she teeters off the edge into a heavy, consuming sleep.

#anna reid #far cry 5 #fc5 #fc5 fic #jacob seed #staci pratt #friends ocs #my writing

[outranks]

“We’re in public, you know.” Joseph/Dep 👀👀

ayy I finished a smut 👀👀👀I hope this is at least a little like what you wanted!!❤️❤️❤️❤️

–

The sun is shining, the air is cool under the trees, but the days are still warm even as the leaves turn to shades of red and gold and the nights grow longer in the early autumn. Rook thinks that Hope County must have been beautiful once, but places like this always hide something darker right beneath the surface. Or maybe that’s just the cult. 

She looks at Joseph, wondering if he brought the storm to the county or if it was always brewing. 

“Something on your mind?” Joseph asks, setting up the picnic spot for them. It’s an attempt at normalcy that Rook is more than a little welcome for. Sure, maybe the two of them have been part of the problems plaguing the county, but she’s willing to put that aside for the day, and he’s laying down a soft, checkered blanket over the fallen leaves so he seems to be willing to forget the rest of the world for a few hours too. 

“Maybe,” she says, looking out at the compound around them. They’re near enough to the church that they’ll still be under the watch of Joseph’s guards, but far enough into the treeline that they can simply pretend it’s only them in the world and no one else. It’s a perfect autumn day and Rook is just happy to get out of the house for the first time in weeks. As it turns out, the Resistance had a lot of very strong feelings about the realisation that their one and only Junior Deputy– their go-to for any and all errands– had defected to the cult.

And, more specifically, to Joseph.

“Of course,” he says, like he already knows what she’s thinking. Which always seems a little possible. He picks up the basket of food from where he had kept it by the base of the tree while he was setting up, and places it on the blanket before leading Rook over so they can sit down together. It’s all so domestic that she can almost pretend not to see the look in his eyes as she takes the space beside him.

“Did you make all the food yourself?” Rook reaches for the sweetest thing she can see in the basket, which is a slice of pie that no power on Earth, including Joseph, can stop her from eating first.

Joseph hums with what sounds like only mild interest, mixed with a vague agreement, and pulls her right onto his lap before she can so much as grab any food. He even takes care to make sure she’s positioned so that her legs are spread over his, with her back resting against his chest. “I did,” he says finally, when she’s right where he wants her.

“Well,” Rook squirms a little, getting comfortable where’s she’s been moved to and getting the distinct impression that the food is going to have to wait. “It does look delicious,” she says because she really would like to eat it, though she can already feel Joseph getting hard against her. Which maybe isn’t a bad idea either. “We’re in public, you know.” She looks around, spotting at least two Peggie guards off in the distance, just far enough away that she’s pretty sure they’re not going to see anything. “Joseph—”

He slides a hand under the hem of her dress, carefully pulling her underwear to the side. “If you’d like me to stop,” he says, pressing his own legs open a little to force her own wider so that he can slide two of his fingers right against her entrance. “I was thinking about having you in the church the other day, but there were too many people around.”

“And there aren’t now?” Rook feels like she should be protesting at least a little, but in spite of that she rolls her hips at the first touch of his thumb against her clit. In truth, she doesn’t care that much at all about the few Peggies hanging around the area or if any of them can see what the two of them are doing. There’s a part of her that wants to show off— show that it’s her who can have the Father like this and it’s her who he wants. It’s a desire and a possessiveness that she’s never really felt with anyone before and she wonders if it’s always been there, buried somewhere inside of her, just waiting for the right person to make her want.

“Joseph,” she breathes, feeling the first press of his fingers inside of her, sliding in with ease.

“The way you feel…” he says, going slow and taking his time between her legs, while at the same time reaching for the sleeves of her dress, pushing them down and off of her shoulders. “God showed me that one day I would have someone by my side who was worthy of that position.” He places a kiss to her throat as he gently cups one of her breasts and rolls her nipple between his fingers while he continues to fuck her open. “Someone who would be everything I need and who would need me in return.” 

He pulls his fingers out, wiping them on the inside of her thigh, and shifts her up just so he can pull his zipper down. “Up,” he says. “Just a little.”

Rook feels like she’s in a daze as she presses up on her knees, barely enough to allow Joseph to position his cock at her entrance, and slowly pull her back down onto him. He fills her like no one else ever could and the slide if him against her walls makes her shiver with need. The stretch of him feels wonderful, and she has to bite her lip to keep from crying out when he hits deep inside of her because she’s afraid if alerting any of the Peggies.

Though surely they must have noticed by now. If any one of them were to look over, there wouldn’t even be much hiding with her dress no longer covering anything above her waist.

“There you go,” he says, pushing his hand back under her dress and touching her where she’s stretched around his cock. “I never thought–” he sounds breathless for a moment, his fingers so gentle as they trace back up to her clit, playing her in a rhythm that feels wonderfully in sync with the way he’s rocking her on top of him. Each movement creating the nicest feeling of him dragging against her walls. “I never truly believed that you would be mine.”

Rook squeezes her eyes shut as she sucks in a shuddering breath, turning her head to pull him into a kiss. She never thought he would be hers either, until she realised she couldn’t stay away from him any longer. After everything, all the violence and bloodshed, he was the only one who told her she could put down her weapons and things would still be alright. He promised her a future and in it she saw him and a home and more love than she could have ever imagined.

She clenches around him with a soft moan that she tries to hold back, but it escapes her anyway. The sound seems to echo in the otherwise quiet of the compound. 

“I want to hear you,” Joseph says, so soft that it would be missed if he weren’t whispering in her ear.

“They’ll hear us.”

“I don’t care.”

Rook gasps, grinding down to take in as much as she can, wanting everything that he’s willing to give her. “Please.” She presses one hand flat to the ground, giving herself some leverage to go faster and take things harder. There’s sweat on her skin that’s quickly cooled by the air, but it doesn’t help her feel any less like she’s too hot under Joseph’s hands or the eyes of anyone who may look over and see what they’re doing. “Please.”

Joseph groans, soft and low, increasing the speed of his fingers on her clit, more determined now than he was before. “Yes,” he says, though it comes out rough as he gets closer to the edge. His muscles are tensing and his rhythm is broken, but in spite of how much he must want to take what he can for himself, his focus never leaves her. “Let me hear you.”

This time, Rook cries out. 

She’s shaking, nearly mindless with want, and her breath seems to get caught in her throat on every inhale. It feels like not enough and far too much, but she doesn’t know what to do about either. And Joseph keeps touching her through it, as it all builds and builds until she’s shaking apart on his cock, and he continues to rock up into her. At some point, Rook falls forward, pressing both of her hands flat to the picnic blanket, and using that to brace herself as she takes and takes everything she can, riding out her orgasm to the feeling of Joseph heavy inside of her. 

He pulls her back up, bringing her into a kiss that matches the roughness of his new rhythm, giving only a few hard snaps of his hips until he stills with a groan that Rook swallows down. She’s sensitive, and tired, but she clenches around him and tries to be as good for him as he always is for her. And even though the angle isn’t great, she can see the way his face goes slack in pleasure for just a moment, and feel the way his fingers press against her skin. There’s a selfish sort of pride in knowing this is all for her– because of her– and Rook can’t help but to smile as she presses another kiss to his lips. 

“Did you prepare an entire picnic just to get me out here for this?” she asks, while Joseph is slowly coming back to himself. “Because you didn’t have to bribe me with food.”

Joseph’s eyes snap open and slide over to her, a curious look on his face. “Is that what you’ve been thinking about?”

“No, I just started to wonder.”

“This wasn’t exactly my original plan,” he says with a sigh. “This just sort of–”

“Happened?”

“You make me want things…”

Rook grins, pleased in a way she doesn’t know if she’ll ever be able to explain. She’d be happy for whatever she could get with Joseph, and yet he continues to give her everything as if it’s all so easy. “You make me want things, too.” And, not for the first time, she really believes that with him she’s going to get all of those things that she wants. 

#joseph seed #joseph seed x female deputy #nsftumblr #anonymous #my writing

[jacobseedvaas35]

Freeing Hope County

Jacob Seed X Female Character

Word Count: 1473

The war in Hope County , seemed like it was going to come to an end. The chaotic Deputy that arrived in this County, ruined almost everything that belonged to Eden's Gate but she had only caused one region a headache. Whitetail Mountains. She was yet to step a foot into Henbane River and Holland Valley but it seemed like, everything that was important for Eden's Gate, were all in Jacob Seed's region and that's where she started.

Liberated all the outposts. Saved a lot of good people that were captured and blew up every single Wolf Beacon in Whitetail Mountains.

Jacob Seed had enough. His brother and cult leader, Joseph Seed, made it very clear to his siblings that he wanted the Deputy alive. He believed that eventually the Deputy was going to see the light and join Eden's Gate but Jacob thought otherwise.

The Deputy was naive. The people around her, made her think she was some sort of hero but she wasn't. She was a coward and needed to be put in her spot.

Jacob planned for weeks, trying to figure out how he could change her from a hero to an enemy to the Resistance. But then, he knew what he exactly had to do and it involved killing someone he wanted dead along time ago.

Eli Palmer.

It was a perfect plan. Eli was the Whitetail Militia leader and was one of the main Resistance leaders too. Killing Eli was going to bring the Resistance down and break many of their hearts but when they found out that it was their beloved Deputy that killing him, they would all turn on her and put her back in her spot. Remind her that she was a weak person and was never a real hero. She was going to see the real face of the Resistance and how quick they could turn on one of their own. The Deputy would either run away from Hope County or join Eden's Gate like Joseph Seed said she would.

Jacob had the Deputy locked in her cage for almost two weeks now. He put her through many trials, waiting to see some sort of sign that she was ready for her final trial. The real trial that was going to see Eli Palmer killed. However it didn't take long for that sign.

A few days later, the Deputy was ready and Jacob sprung into action immediately. He stood on the opposite side of the cage, looking down at the Deputy while turning the small knob on his music box. He slowly opened the lid and watched the Deputy fall onto the ground.

He stood in the corner, watching as the Deputy began her final trial. She ran through so many places, killing lots of Whitetail Militia soldiers and when she finally entered the last place, without knowing she shot Eli Palmer right in the head.

That's when Jacob showed up. Smiling a wicked smile and telling her how it was "Only ever you". Now it was time for the very last fight between them. Jacob was willing to die for his brother Joseph Seed and he was happy for it to happen right now.

He walked out off the Wolf's Den and waited for the Deputy to resurface. A few minute later, she did and the battle between Jacob Seed and the Deputy has begun. "Only you" was playing in the background as the Deputy ran around, destroying all the Beacons. Jacob's voice haunting her every step of the way.

The last beacon was destroyed and the outside world went from dark and foggy to sunny and clear. Jacob waited for Deputy on top of one of the rock mountains, watching her as she killed Peggies and his judges while she made her way to the top of the mountain as well.

She held the gun at him and with no second thought, she shot him in the chest. With that pain and all that blood that flowed out, Jacob made his way down the Rocky Mountain and walked towards a rock. The Deputy followed him every inch of the way and stood in front of Jacob, as he sat down on the rock. Her gun was pointed at Jacob's head, ready to shot him one last time but decided to let him say his final words.

"You had no fucking idea" Jacob said and was cut off from the sound of a gun going off.

He looked at the Deputy and watched her slowly fall onto her knees. She looked at Jacob and then fell face forward onto the ground. A gun wound was visible on the back of her head. He looked around and saw a young girl standing near another rock, with a gun in her hand.

The girl slowly made her way to Jacob and examined his wound. She then looked back at Jacob and smiled. That was enough for him to know that she was a friendly person.

She helped Jacob off the rock and supported him as she escorted him to her car, that was waiting close by. Without wasting anymore time, the girl slammed on the accelerator and drove away from the scene.

-

No one had seen or heard from Jacob for almost five weeks. The cult had located the Deputy's body near the Wolf's Den and with Joseph's say, they had buried her body at one of the Hope County's cemetery's.

The Resistance surrendered to Eden's Gate after losing two of their strongest soldiers. Eli Palmer and the Deputy were what was keeping the Resistance strong and now that they both were dead, they were weak and had no plan on how to stop Eden's Gate. Instead they all joined the cult.

As for the cult, they searched everywhere from Jacob Seed but couldn't find him. They became worried. They knew he had been shot and wondered if he had gone somewhere to hide, so that his brothers didn't have to see him die. No matter the circumstances, the cult continued to search for Jacob and they weren't planning on giving up until they found him.

Where was Jacob Seed?

He was in one of the underground bunkers, with the girl that had saved him from the Deputy. She had taken care of him and helped him get back onto his feet.

There were days when she was worried that Jacob wasn't going to make it but with her help, the wound on his chest started healing and the bullet was taken out off him. Luckily the bullet hadn't hit him in anywhere dangerous and instead was in a blank spot, where there wasn't any organs or anything that would cause any serious problems.

Three weeks after he had been shot, Jacob made a full recovery and was finally able to walk around the bunker. Now that it was the fifth week, Jacob was back to doing push ups and sit ups.

The girl that had helped him was 25 year old Ava Jones. She had witnessed every single thing that the Deputy had done in Whitetail Mountains and saw Jacob enough times to have formed some sort of crush on him. She watched the final battle and made the decision that she was going to end this war herself. She had crawled out off her little hole and killed the Deputy before she had killed Jacob.

In those five weeks, Jacob and Ava got along very well and not too long after, the two of them begun a very cute but sexual relationship. At the beginning she though Jacob was using her for sex but all that doubt was pushed away when he got on one knee and proposed to her.

After the sixth week, Jacob and Ava decided it was time to stop hiding and get back out into the real world. They left their little bunker, hand in hand and with so much love for each other. They jumped into a car and made their way to Joseph's compound.

Seeing their big brother alive was a miracle for John and Joseph. They hugged him tightly and even shedded some tears. Jacob introduced his fiancé and explained to them that she was the one that saved his life. Joseph and John welcomed her into their family and thanked her for everything she had done to keep Jacob alive.

Jacob got his region back under his full leadership and returned back to the Veterans Centre with his fiancé. "This is a new beginning for us Ava. I'm going to protect you from everything and everyone. I love you".

The war was officially over. The Seed's were all alive and the Resistance was defeated. Hope County was back to normal and families were able to live happily and freely. Eden's Gate, after all, wasn't too bad.

#jacob seed #far cry 5 #jacob seed x female deputy #jacob seed x oc #headcanon #fc 5 #edens gate

[404botnotfound]

Deliverance [1]

Careful when you’re swimming in the holy water.

SERIES: Far Cry 5 WORD COUNT: 4,931 SHIP: Quinn/John Seed CHARACTERS: quinn leonis, john seed

She hates Hope County.

Quinn Decides on it firmly, right then and there, that she hates Hope County. If someone asked her why, they’d probably think her answer should be something along the lines of, “well, it’s controlled by a bunch of fanatical psychopaths,” or, “the resident superstars in the local cult are kind of assholes,” or even, “ow, let the fuck go of my arm, you prick,” but it wasn’t.

No, the final nail in the coffin for Quinn’s patience with Hope County wasn’t the doomsday cult, nor the family that ran it who all had nasty reputations for freaking the shit out of the sane half of the population, or the current state of her physical health.

It was the fucking weather.

It was mid-September, for fuck’s sake. Northern Montana had no business being this fucking hot in mid-September.

Or was it late September? Fuck, she didn’t know at this point—she’d lost too many Goddamn days with the eldest Seed to even know how much time had passed since this whole clusterfuck had started--and there was no way in hell she planned on asking the owner of the hand clamped tight on her upper arm whether or not the thunderstorm that had rolled through last night was typical for the area at this time of year.

Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a filthy mouth, kitten?

She snorts out a humorless laugh as Jacob’s voice filters through her tangled knot of frustrated thoughts, wishing she could point him to her current situation and stare at him, infuriated, like: See this? This is why I swear so fucking much, asshole.

But that’d require her either returning to him or him coming to her and neither thought was very comforting in the slightest, sending shivers up her spine. She’d escaped from the Whitetails mostly unscathed, far weaker and wearier than she had been when she’d initially set foot on the County’s soil but whole and alive, and she didn’t want to risk whatever obvious mind fuckery he was toying with sinking its claws further into her. It was bad enough that even as she shivered at the thought of Jacob, a whisper of come home hissed through the back of her mind.

Only three weeks and she didn’t have to struggle to see how fucked it was that there was a piece of her being pulled back in the direction she’d fled from a little over two days ago.

The hand around her arm tightens with enough sting to rip her out of her thoughts and she’s shoved forward, forced to twist her body quickly as she falls forward to keep herself from biting it in front of half a dozen captured civilians and resistance members, a dozen cultists, and God himself since her hands were bound behind her.

And now her shoulder aches. Great. Awesome.

“Boy, you guys sure know how to treat a lady.” She snaps, lamenting that her current state--exhausted, hungry, and in pain—left her without a whole lot of verbal bite to work with. As she’s struggling to wiggle her way up and out of the mud the same hand clamps around her arm again and yanks her upright, then slams her back against a really jagged, really uncomfortable stone surface. Add a migraine to her list of grievances with the Seed family. “Son of a bitch.”

“Shut your mouth, sinner!” The cultist—what had Jess called them? Peggies?--barks back at her, throwing a stern point at her like she was a particularly misbehaved child. God fucking damn but she was well on her way to thoroughly despising religion and the pompous assholes it churned out like clockwork.

Jacob hadn’t seemed particularly religious, nor had he struck her as very arrogant; the arrogance seemed more like a smokescreen, with him. She might’ve just been pissing in the wind, though, since he’d kept her dehydrated and starved and subjected to training sessions that mainly pissed her off and gave her headaches; she hadn’t exactly been in top form, and her observational skills were more than likely impaired.

She still was. It had been three days since the ambush that had seen her and Jess separated and put them both on the run in opposite directions, Jess being driven somewhere up north and Quinn forced south.

She’d thought it strange that the hunters that had been dogging her steps relentlessly in that timeframe, keeping her from sleeping more than a few hours at a time if she was lucky or giving her hardly any time to inhale whatever poor excuses for meals she could scrounge up or find, had suddenly stopped their pursuit.

It made a bit more sense now that she knew she had bounced dividing lines right into John Seed’s territory. Apparently the brothers’ followers didn’t play well with each other.

She spares a few seconds with closed eyes trying to will back the budding migraine behind them and wondering whether that contention extended to the siblings themselves or if it was just limited to their cronies, thoughts interrupted by a car door slamming nearby. The two men bound on either side of her both jump at the sound; one of them begins to shake and quietly plead for it to not be him, no, why him, why him.

Now her thoughts drift onto whether or not the brothers got off on this little power trip of theirs or if they really were just that off their rockers, putting these people through so much shit that they were terrified at just the sight of one of them.

Between the screen of Peggies standing along the line of captives she couldn’t even see who had exited the vehicle, but it was hard not to guess. C’mon, she thinks to herself, make it two for two. Lady Luck hadn’t exactly been kind to her since they’d first landed that helicopter in Joseph Seed’s compound and proceeded to rip hell loose all over the County, so she might as well send her from the clutches of one of the Siblings right into another’s.

Ugh, whatever. “Hey,” she says, shifting forward and struggling to ignore the pounding that had settled firmly within her skull, trying to get the attention of the cultist that had thrown her down, “hey, dipshit!”

The man next to her hisses for her to shut the fuck up. She ignores him, attention only wavering when the waning sun briefly peeks through the overcast clouds and shines off something sitting atop someone’s head over by the car.

“D’you want a fuckin’ bullet?” The cultist demands, stomping towards her as though it might threaten her into silence.

She was too fucking done with all this shit to be threatened—it was making her reckless, and she files away this fact for later self-pity when her current plan inevitably gets her shot, beaten, or otherwise harmed. “Actually, I was gonna ask for the time. Y’see, I’ve got an appointment to keep and I--”

He backhands her. Her head snaps to the side with the blow and with her head already a jumbled, aching mess her vision swims from it.

“Ow.” Jaw working and eyes blinking the blurriness from her vision she has to fight to keep her voice as neutral and unaffected as possible. It has the desired effect—the guy looks even more pissed off at the lack of fright and subservience he’d probably expected her to fall into after receiving such abuse. “Listen, I’ve got something I need to tell you. To pass on to your boss.”

He stares at her and doesn’t move.

“It’s important. You know, Resistance secrets and whatnot.” She tries, ignoring the sudden affronted balking of the men next to her.

Finally, the man slings his rifle over his back and crouches down in front of her, staring at her expectantly. She sits up just a bit taller, but he’s still…

“Little bit closer?”

He looks irritated, but he shifts forward just enough for her to—

The cultist rears back with a howl of pain when her forehead slams into his nose with a satisfying crack, stumbling and very nearly losing his footing in the slick mud underneath; it made her migraine that much worse, but she grins wickedly at the flood of red that immediately streams from his now broken nose.

She’s lost her Goddamned mind from the stress and abuse and exhaustion, must have. Whether it was from some Molotov cocktail of those issues or the terrifying absurdity of the tangle she’s unwittingly gotten herself stuck in or even the overpowering rage at the bullshit these monsters were putting people through, she was snapping.

“You little bitch—" He lunges for her and all she can do is laugh wildly at the stuffy, undignified way his words leave his mouth.

Someone jumps between her and the aggrieved man. “Woah, woah, woah! Hey, easy. Easy.” The voice of the one that intervened is aristocratic and smooth and amused as hell. Score one for Quinn. She didn’t have a lot of ticks in her win column, so she’ll take what she can get.

The cultist doesn’t by any means calm down, stopped only by the hand on his chest and two of his fellows holding him back by the arms; Quinn resists the urge to childishly stick her tongue out at the bastard.

Then her—gag—savior turns slowly to face her sideways, one hand still planted on the cultist’s chest and the other lifted at his side, elbow bent and fingers curled just shy of a point in her direction. Slicked back, dark hair, a full beard, aviators perched atop his head. She definitely recognized him from the Church, and since she’d already met Jacob and knew for a fact this wasn’t Joseph, she’s now confident that she’s face-to-face with John Seed.

He’s missing the long duster he’d been wearing the night the proverbial shit had hit the fan, and she decides with absolutely nothing upon which to base it that he must’ve been wearing it that night to keep from stealing his brother’s ridiculously shirtless thunder, ‘cause the blue silk shirt, waistcoat, and dark-wash jeans he was currently wearing cut one hell of a figure.

Yep, definitely losing her mind.

Unfortunately with the way her vision kept doubling on her from the splitting pain in her head, she can’t really linger on appreciating the sight. Probably a good thing in hindsight because ogling one of the men causing mass amounts of grief in the County wasn’t terribly kosher.

Blinking, she lifts her eyes to meet his and finds herself frustrated to note that they were really pretty. A bright, striking blue, even from a handful of feet away.

He’s smiling at her like he knows where her mind had wandered, and she narrows her eyes in response, telling herself it has nothing to do with the fact his form keeps multiplying into indistinct blurs in between blinks. He looks at the cultist she’d attacked, gives the man a few pats on the chest, then steps away from him as he’s gently steered away by his fellows.

“ ‘But I say to you people who are listening to me, love your enemies.’ “ He says, striding toward her with assured, languid steps. “ ‘Do good to those who hate you.’ “

His eyes wander over the other people bound as she as he speaks, but she gets the distinct feeling that his recitation was meant exclusively for her; she was, after all, the only one who’d dared to attack one of their captors. Understandably. She can’t blame them.

She lets out an exaggerated groan, closing her eyes not only because the pounding in her head seems to intensify with every step he takes towards her. Indicative of whatever future relationship they were about to begin, probably. “You mind bringing the guy with the gun back? The bullet sounds a hell of a lot better than being preached to.”

“For the time being I’ll ignore your blatant disrespect for the word of God and the Father,” he says to her, crouching down before her like the cultist had before. Difference being that he knew better than to get close enough for her to strike out. Even with her legs. Damn. “This is a pleasant surprise, Agent Leonis. I’d dare to say the only other person in this County more desirable than you right now is your friend, the Deputy.”

He put some kind of emphasis on that word—desirable—and she knows in her gut it’s for a reason other than the obvious, but her head hurts too much for her to think on it for long. She lets out a snort of a laugh “Interesting word choice considering all your people seem pretty intent on riddling us with bullet holes on first sight, unless you desire us dead.” He had used her title, so she doesn’t have to guess that Jacob had already shared whatever intel he’d gotten from Burke with John and she doesn’t ask.

“Dead? Of course not. We want to show you the way through the gates of Eden. We want to save you.” John replies, and in her current state Quinn is finding that in spite of the handsome face that fond little smile on it is quickly getting on her nerves.

“Sorry, preacher man, but I’m not interested.” She’s beginning to regret using her head to attack that cultist; it’s getting harder to keep her words from slurring from the dizziness clouding her thoughts. Was it the migraine or was it the weeks of constant strain and abuse? It was probably some fucked up mix of all the above.

“That’s a shame.” He says, not sounding like he cared overmuch about her opinion on the subject. His tone was thick with a kind of faux compassion that she’s heard far too many times in her life from people that thought her bad mouth and physicality and headstrong attitude were traits that any self-respecting woman should have muted by her age.

Fingers suddenly brush across her cheek, pushing strands of muddied hair away from her face, and she flinches back. A sharp glare of warning settles on John, telling him to back the fuck off, and it’s a warning that he fails to heed.

“We all need to be saved from our sins. We need to accept them and allow ourselves to atone for them. To atone for the ones we will commit. Sin is pervasive, and none of us are ever truly free of it—consequence of being human.” He says.

“Fuck’s sake—the only sin I’m gonna commit in the near future is planting my foot up your ass if you don’t knock the choirboy shit off.”

He lets out a huff of air that’s too soft and quiet to be a laugh; it was pitying, almost. He was sad for her, and she feels a bud of petulant anger rise within her just as it had when Jacob had insisted he would teach her to behave. His fingers snap over his shoulder and he gestures around her at the other hostages. “Get them loaded up.” He says, watching as the bound men and women were led into a pair of waiting, nondescript vans at gunpoint.

She doesn’t like the look in his eyes when his focus returns to her. It’s open and accepting and could almost be mistaken for kind, but there’s an intense undercurrent to it that she can’t identify, something she feels rippling over her skin like she was standing next to an open flame rather than sees outright. “My brother did warn me of your Pride, my dear. Don’t worry, we’ll absolve you of it in due time. It may take some...coaxing given how sharp that tongue of yours is, but you’ll see the truth. One way or another.”

One of the Peggies finally reaches out to grab her and drag her up from the ground, and she grimaces at the twinge of pain from an already forming bruise. “Joy.” She says, sounding anything but cheery about it.

As she’s loaded into the van along with the other captives, she wonders if she should’ve stayed back up in the mountains with Jacob.

The sun has fully set by the time the van stops at its destination and as though to spite her the temperature quickly drops even within the confines of the van; she was beginning to sorely regret abandoning the jacket she’d nicked from a ransacked store up in the mountains due to the heat earlier. Her open-sided tank top was doing little to ward off the rising chill, and as she sits in the unmoving van waiting for something to happen she sits forward to keep her back and shoulders off the cooling sides of the vehicle.

She can hear voices outside and footsteps, but no one comes to open the back of the van and snatch her and the other captives out of it. Her eyes narrow at the doors.

“How the fuck are you so calm right now?” One of the men across from her asks. She spares him a glance, notes the dirtied, pale skin on his face and scruffy hair tucked under a ball cap and barely concealed fear in his words.

If he was looking for a way to keep from freaking out, he was gonna be disappointed. “Lots of practice and a hereditary predisposition,” she answers before turning her full attention to him. “Why? I get that the Cult’s scary and all, but there’s bound to be a chance we can cut and run. They’re not military.”

Well—maybe not. Her brow furrows as she thinks back on her time in the Whitetails. How far did Jacob’s brainwashing psycho-bullshit go, as far as discipline went? And had he applied that ‘training’ to everyone in the Cult, or just those in his own region?

“Seriously? You haven’t heard the kind of shit John does?” Is his response, and she frowns.

She’d seen the video Stevie had looked over while on the flight over, and she was well aware of the bastardized ‘baptizing’ the man performed, but aside from cold murder she can’t claim to have any knowledge of his methods.

The outright fear of the others in the van was pretty telling, however.

A woman a few seats down the line on her side of the van leans into the conversation. “She’s the FBI Agent that was with the Deputy, Sheriff, and Marshal that night. She hasn’t been around long enough.”

“And she’s here with us? Shit.”

Any dry comment she could have said is halted by the doors of the van finally opening, allowing a fresh chill from the outside in. Eager to not be manhandled again, Quinn ignores the gun that’s immediately pushed into her face and without prompting leaves the van, hopping to the ground and standing straight to stare the man with the rifle in her face dead in the eye.

I’m not afraid of you, her eyes say, and whether or not he got that message she could see his fingers flexing around the gun. As their staring contest continues she feels another Cultist unbind her, but before she can think to attempt an attack or escape her wrists are instead pulled to her front and rebound.

Her gaze lingers, icy, as a motion in her periphery directs her forward and she moves before someone else can grab and drag her away.

They’ve been brought to the foothills of the mountains at the edge of a lake or a river, the path she was being led down well-traveled by vehicles if the grooves in the dirt were anything to go by. There are banners strung up in the trees around, pure white and gently flowing in the night breeze. Stacks of green barrels sit off to the side and she can smell the Bliss on the air even before the tell-tale sparkles begin to tint the edges of her vision.

Ahead of her the rest of the captives from the other van were being led into the water as John spouted off some kind of sermon from the book held open in his hands, and she watches as they’re all dunked under the water. They come up blinking and gasping, eyes wide and dazed; she gets the distinct feeling that it has nothing to do with simply being held underwater.

The Cultists stop her before she reaches the water, but the rest of the captives she’d traveled with continue on—all coming out of this fucked up baptism compliant and quiet.

Only when the rest of them are finished, led quietly back to the vans past her, is she brought forward. John snaps his book shut and hands it off to a waiting Peggie, looking at her with an easy smile and reaching his hands out for her.

She’s not fond of the thought that she’s being handed off, here, nor is she happy with the one that follows: why was she special enough to warrant John himself performing the rite?

“The Atonement is a process, Agent, and this is your first step towards it,” he says, either still under the impression that she was happy to be here or not caring. When they stand waist-deep in the water—with her fighting back shivers—he stops and turns her to face him. “Here you will be cleansed of the filth and the dirt the world has been heaping on you from birth, and only then will you be ready to bare your sins and free yourself from them.”

She blinks slowly at him, unimpressed.

“Are you ready?” He asks her, sounding slightly less upbeat than before.

“Sure, if it’ll make you happy,” she replies.

His eyes flash at the irreverent response, his hands moving from her shoulders to fist in the front of her shirt; she sucks in a breath and then holds it as she’s tipped backwards. Water rushes over her and stings her eyes.

By the time he finally pulls her back up she’s left blinking and gasping for air, staring up at the night sky above. It was clear of the clouds that had overcast the land earlier in the day, leaving it open and bright with a near-full moon and millions upon millions of stars.

Quinn’s not sure she’s ever seen so many stars in her life, in fact.

There are a lot of them. A lot. Way more than the light pollution back east had ever allowed to show; it was an amazing, awe-inspiring sight, all of them blinking and twinkling through Earth’s atmosphere like diamonds that she wonders if she can reach out and touch.

She’d try if her hands weren’t bound. Still, it was brilliant. Almost enough to make someone reconsider a disbelief in the presence of God.

No, wait—she blinks again, finally seeing the shimmering behind her eyes that told her she’d figured out where, exactly she’d been smelling the Bliss from.

Inhaling sharply as awareness of her surroundings returns to her and the shock of chilly night air hits her now thoroughly soaked clothes and skin, she feels herself begin to shiver violently, no longer able to fight them back.

John’s hands are on her shoulders again, holding her upright as she swayed on suddenly unsteady legs. His touch was firm but gentle, and warm. She decides she likes it even as she chastises herself for it.

“Ah, there it is. The wide-eyed wonder of clarity,” His voice, smooth like honey and so, so nice to her Bliss-addled senses, speaks to her from somewhere in her periphery. Should she look at him? She decides not to—the stars were nicer. “Are you ready to confess? To say yes and atone?”

Her tongue feels heavy in her mouth and it takes her a moment of struggling to string some unfortunately unintelligent words together. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I’m just stoned off my ass.”

There’s a single laugh disguised behind a cough from a handful of feet away, but otherwise silence surrounds her after the semi-lucid response. She counts out one heartbeat. Two. Three—

Her world tilts abruptly, dizzyingly, as he shoves her down with more force than the first time; she barely has enough time and reaction speed to cut off her breathing before she inhales any of the water and makes her whole being Blissed out situation even worse.

Not that it does much. It’s becoming apparent that even physical proximity to the drug was enough to screw with your head.

Black begins to creep around the edges of her sight before he hauls her upright again, and once more she’s left gasping and blinking the water and blurriness from her eyes. She looks at him this time, breathing heavily, taking in the sight of his barely restrained frustration and wondering what had happened to the kind, gentle demeanor he’d projected only moments before. She’ll think about it when she’s not drugged to high hell.

Jesus, his eyes were blue. “Your eyes are pretty.” She says breathlessly before her brain can catch up with her mouth.

The stark observation actually catches him off guard, his expression wiped clean of anything but startled bafflement, and she lets out a short, airy laugh at the sight. She’s not sure why it’s so funny, but it is.

When a smile breaks across his face she finds herself mimicking it, thinking to herself: This is my enemy. This is a man that was kidnapping and torturing the residents of Hope County. She should not be smiling at him. “The Cleansing is meant to wash away your sins, Agent, not give you the opportunity to feed mine.”

“I dunno about sins,” she coos in response, a voice in the back of her incredibly foggy head that sounded suspiciously like her perpetually vexed father telling her to shut up and stop poking the bear, “but d’you mind dipping me one more time? I haven’t danced in ages and I’m starting to feel like I’m back at my high school prom.”

He stares at her.

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up. “Just with a shittier dance partner that’s also kind of a prick.”

That same edge appears in his eyes, sharper and deadlier and ooh but it actually sends a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold air down her spine. It looks like he’s actually considering it, and she thinks that whether or not he’d actually bring her back up again was a complete toss-up.

His jaw clenches.

Too much poking. She’d spent weeks prodding at the eldest Seed brother while in his caring hands and she hadn’t had any success in provoking something useful for her to latch onto and pry open, but John was proving to be far more mercurial even within the short span she’s known him.

She was beginning to wonder if the natural analytical chops she’s prided herself on were enough to even start unpacking this guy—and she had been confident enough in those skills to have been gunning for the BAU.

Suddenly he leans closer, the intensity of whatever roiling fire underneath his skin that much more visible with his face only inches from hers. She sucks in a startled breath, her wide eyes blinking and transfixed by his.

One of his hands settles along her jaw, thumb brushing the underside of her throat in a caress that’s both intimate and threatening. “You hide your sin behind your wit, and as amusing as I’m sure you find it, I promise you: I will pull that curtain aside and you will confess to me every sin that blackens your spirit.”

A shaky breath leaves her at the feeling of his fingers on the sensitive skin of her neck, unable to come up with some kind of dry quip in response to his words and for once thankful for it. She’s sure by this point that she’s already pushing her luck, and the thought is occurring to her that Jacob wasn’t, in fact, the most dangerous member of the Seed family.

He’s pacified by her silence, leaning away and moving around to her side. His hand on her shoulder slips around her back to the other shoulder, guiding her forward on shaky legs out of the chilly river water; the one that had been on her jaw drifts down to settle flat along the hollow of her throat instead and the warmth that radiates over her cold skin from his touch gives her another phantom shiver.

“God brought you to us for a reason,” He says as he leads her towards one of the vans flanked by two of the cultists, open doors revealing the other captives sitting inside, all soaking wet like her, “and I’m taking it upon myself to help you realize that purpose.”

Isn’t presuming to know the intent of God a sin, pretty boy?

She says nothing as she’s loaded into the van, fighting against the haze of Bliss to fume at the fact that two of four Seed siblings had now deigned to patronize to her like a wayward lamb. She was no lamb, damnit, and her last name proved that. Leonis. Lion.

She would have to save her roaring for later, because between the Bliss and the acute exhaustion she was feeling she finds herself asleep quickly, somewhere on the way to wherever they were all being taken.

#v: far cry 5 #c: quinn leonis #ch: john seed #sh: say yes #f: deliverance

[zainclaw]

the worst I could be; part one

weak

Jacob wakes with a start, gasping for air as his hands clutch at the bedding beneath him. His eyes are burning, lungs hurting, as if he's still running through the cloud of smoke. His ears are ringing with the sound left by the grenade, throwing his whole world off balance. His heart is racing, eyes wide as he takes in his surroundings.

It doesn't take long to realize where he is, and where he's not. It never does.

He slumps back on the bed, chest still heaving. He can feel the shirt sticking to his skin, sweat beading all over his scalp, and he kicks at the blankets to get some relief. He swallows, throat feeling tight and sore. And not because he's been exposed to teargas, but because he's been screaming. His eyes are burning because he's been crying, cheeks still wet.

Shame sets in, and Jacob grits his teeth inside his mouth as he drapes an arm over his face in a pointless attempt to hide from it.

There are nights when he can't sleep at all, when he'll toss and turn for hours until the soft mattress doesn't feel comfortable anymore. He drives himself crazy those nights, eventually getting up to do something productive rather than waste away hours in bed. Usually he takes to cleaning his weapons, or going for a walk around the compound. Checking in on the prisoners, his judges. Sometimes he's able to catch a few hours rest before sunrise, sometimes not.

But regardless of the lack of sleep on those nights, leaving his body weak and heavy come morning, he still prefers it over the nightmares.

Some of them are the same, identical to the memories they're drawn from, while others just use bits and pieces of reality. Sometimes he's falling, gun and parachute on his back, reliving the fear of getting separated from his squad every goddamn time he jumped out of an airplane. Sometimes he's wandering through the endless desert, wolves howling all too close. Sometimes he's cowering in a corner, Old Man Seed standing over him with a belt in hand.

Sometimes it's just Miller's face frozen in fear and disbelief.

Fire. There's always fire; biting his skin. More often than not he wakes up patting his arms as if to put the flames out. Sometimes there's an itch under his skin, and he wakes up clawing at his forearms with bitten down fingernails. Drawing blood, just wanting the pain to stop. He has to take a cold shower for the feeling to go away, and even that brings back memories.

His men know. Of course they do.

Back when they first took this place, making it their base of operations in the mountains, it only took a couple days before Jacob jolted awake one night to find two of his guys leaning over him in bed.

Just like the nurses back at the hospital, who'd heard his screams cut through the night and only wanted to help, they'd tried to wake him. Tried to relieve him from his horrors. And all they got in return was a punch to the face, or somewhere lower if they were lucky.

Jacob never blamed them for wanting him out of there, nor the people at the homeless shelter where he ended up after. He was a broken man, still howling in pain even after his ugly wounds had healed. He was a burden—a danger, some might argue. In a lot ways he felt like a ticking bomb.

Trauma, a doctor's voice whispers at the back of his head. It's trauma, and you need to deal with it.

No, Jacob wants to scream back. Just let me forget.

Since that first incident, when he'd given one of his own guards a black eye, no one comes running to wake him up from his bad dreams anymore. Jacob doesn't want to guess what the men are thinking, what they tell the new recruits.

Pratt knows, too. A couple days after the deputy got moved into the house, Jacob had woken up one morning with the familiar soreness in his throat, and he'd felt Pratt's eyes on him all during breakfast. He'd ignored it, escaping into the woods to hunt down the first thing that came across his path. Pratt never talked about it, of course. He wouldn't dare to, and that's how Jacob likes it.

Once his erratic breathing has calmed down some, his heart slowing down to a steadier beat, Jacob sits up with a grunt. His bare feet touch the cool floor, elbows resting on his knees as he holds his head in his hands. The shirt is still sticking to his back, so he takes it off. Throws it on the bed next to him before getting up, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

The nights are warm, even up here in the mountains, but he still puts on some pants before heading out on the balcony. His rifle is leaning against the wall next to the double doors, always ready. Jacob lets his fingers slide along the long barrel as he walks past, the familiarity of it reassuring.

Safe, he tells himself, a mantra inside his head. Safe. I am safe.

It's why he'd picked the old veteran center, why he'd picked the third floor for himself. He'd wanted sight, he'd wanted security, he'd wanted control. The upper floor is the perfect sniper spot towards the front of the building, while the tall mountains make it difficult to ambush from the back. The surrounding stone fences are tall, guards patrolling around the clock. And there are no better guard dogs than his judges.

Jacob leans forward, resting his sleeves on the railing. The fresh air is nice, clearing his head a little. He looks down at the yard below, some of his men talking in hushed voices down on the porch while switching shifts, but other than that it's quiet. During the day the place is a lot more lively, people laughing and hollering as they play cards, arrange fist fights, or tell each other stories over a hot meal. Typical military shit.

He looks further, looks out over the valley in the distance. It's too foggy to see much, but it's enough to know that somewhere down there, not too far away, are his brothers. It's enough to easen some of the anxiety still raging within him, enough to breathe a little easier.

When he and Miller were lost in that desert, walking for days and days, Jacob had thought about his brothers a lot. He'd struggled to remember their faces, even as young as they were last time he'd seen them. The guys in his squad all had pictures in their wallets—wives, pregnant girlfriends, kids, parents, big family photos.

Jacob didn't have anything.

He had nothing to remember his brothers by, other than his own fading memories. And he'd held on to them with everything he had, refusing to forget baby John's chubby cheeks or Joseph's long, messy hair. Despite all the years apart, he never considered anyone but his two brothers his family. Not the friends he made in juvie, or in the army. He'd held on to that bleak picture of his baby brothers he hadn't seen for years, and it's what kept him going. What kept him alive.

There are photos now. Joseph had made sure of that. None of which Jacob would keep in his wallet, but it still means something. That they exist. That they have something worth calling a family photo.

A longing erupts in his chest, and Jacob swallows around the lingering discomfort in his throat. He pushes himself off the railing, heading back inside his dark room. Rounding the table, he catches a glimpse of his reflection on a shiny surface, and quickly looks away.

While Joseph and John had gotten their mother's hair, Jacob got their father's. As a kid he used to think it was unfair, and as he got older he'd started hating it. Because the older he got, the more he looked like their old man. He knows exactly what he'd look like now, if he let his hair grow out.

So he doesn't. He kept his head shaved all through his time in the military, and is still determined on not letting it grow back out fully. But despite his efforts, he still sees his father whenever he looks into a mirror. Sometimes he wonders if Joseph does, too. He prays John doesn't remember the man.

Jacob picks up the hand radio from the table.

Joseph is probably sleeping. He never had problems with it, even as a kid. It was little John who used to tug at Jacob's sleeve at night, asking to sleep in Jacob's bed whenever he got scared. And even after reuniting as adults, getting to know one another all over again, Jacob knows John still struggles with it. Knows that there is a big possibility of him being awake right now, with the radio within hearing distance.

Jacob lifts the radio to his chin, lips parting as his thumb presses down on the button. There's a blip of static, then silence. John's name is on the tip of his tongue, but nothing comes out.

What is he supposed to say? What is he supposed to tell John in the dead of night? That he misses him? That he's worried about him, even now? That he had a bad dream?

He's supposed to be strong one. The one supposed to look after his brothers, and not the other way around. John expects his big brother to be strong, to not cry in his sleep like a scared little child.

Weak, hisses a voice that sounds an awful lot like his father's at the back of his mind. After a whole life, he still remembers what the man sounded like. Remembers how his breath used to stink of alcohol whenever we got right up in your face. Weak. You are weak.

Jacob releases the button.

He puts the radio back down with too much force, gripping the edge of the table with both hands. He clenches his teeth together, feeling the burn behind his eyes, and he hates it. He snarls, frustrated, and slams a fist on the table before stepping away.

He will not be weak. He will be strong. He has to be. For John. For Joseph. It's all that mattered then, and it's all that matters now.

He'll deal with this moment of weakness alone, just like he always has. He'll sit with his rifle in the dark and wait for dawn to come.

#jacob seed #far cry 5 #john seed #joseph seed #far cry fic #my writing #the worst i could be #pls lemme know if my theme is ok for reading