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stacispratt · 3 years

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glorious fire

big thank u to @coffeebucko without whomst this fic would not exist <3 thank u for chatting with me about stacijacob & also putting your eyeballs on the first draft of this thing!! without further ado here’s jacob asking how staci would kill him as foreplay

also posted on ao3!

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“When you fantasize about escaping,” Jacob says, as he looks up from his Chosens' reports to rest his eyes on Pratt's rigid form, “how do you do it?”

Pratt, sitting on Jacob's bed, in the middle of scribbling notes on his clipboard, only locks up stares at him. His eyes are wide, knuckles white, like he can’t believe Jacob is even asking— he thinks it’s a loyalty test. It’s as plain as day on his face. He stays quiet, manages to slip the pen into the top of the clipboard despite shaky hands. He's thinking up the perfect response, the perfect string of words to please Jacob, to make him secure in Pratt's loyalty. His fear.

That's not what he's looking for. Jacob’s not fucking stupid. No man in his right mind would think Pratt is loyal to him or Eden's Gate.

Silence sinks between them. The air sucks out of the room like a thunderstorm is about to break out, localized to just Jacob's bedroom, until Pratt looks like he might start to hyperventilate.

But Jacob Seed doesn’t repeat himself. He doesn’t ask again.

Instead, he sighs long and deep, and leans back in his chair. Looks back down to his records, though he doesn't read them. “When we were kids—Joseph, John, and me—we had some foster parents who worked us like dogs on their farm. Wouldn’t let us in the house, made us sleep in the barn." He taps his pen. "Beat us, too. Was doin’ my best to take the brunt of it, but one day I saw some bruises on John, even though he was just a damn baby.” Jacob pauses, glances over to Pratt, gauges his reaction. He's blank as stone, though there's something twitching in the corner of his mouth. Jacob hums once and sets his papers down. “So I burned the fucking barn down.”

He fixes his eyes decidedly on Pratt now, gaze hard and focused. Pratt's watching him back, like maybe he understands. Like maybe he knows better who Jacob is. What makes him tick, that— that what makes Jacob tick makes him tick, too.

“So, Peaches,” he says. “What barn are you burning?”

Pratt swallows so loud it clicks. Then he says, “I'd kill you while I shave your throat,” and Jacob smiles. He's not looking at Jacob anymore, he's staring at the floor— maybe the bloodstain on the unfinished concrete from when Jacob gave him the cut that now traces down the line of his cheek. His hands stay behind his back obediently, but his shoulders flex like maybe he's fiddling with his fingers. Weak, but Jacob can let it slide, so long as Pratt keeps outlining his escape plan. "And after– after you bleed out I'd disguise myself as a Chosen and escape."

Pratt's eyes fuzz out as he recalls his escape plan. It's not his realistic one, not a real plan. Jacob has seen him eye the weekly truck deliveries, sneak glances at the rotating guard schedule. Good. He's not stupid enough to tell Jacob his real plan. Just his favorite fantasy.

Jacob brings his hand to his face and rubs his mouth. "After. After I bleed out." He doesn't take his eyes off Pratt as his eyes rise from the floor to Jacob's face— first his finger perched on his lips, then to his eyes. He looks frightened, but not in the way he was at first. He doesn't look frightened of Jacob himself. More like he's frightened of his own thoughts, his own desires.

The thought has delight curling in Jacob's stomach.

"Yes," Pratt husks. "Yes, I have things to… to say."

An honest to God smile pulls up the corner of his mouth. Jacob is careful to cover it with his hand. "Like what?"

After a moment, Pratt says, "I guess you'll have to find out," his muscles tense like he's ready to bolt.

Jacob's smile widens into a grin. He fucking laughs. "Guess I will, Peaches," he croons, as he taps his finger to his lips, just once. "When you get the guts to dig in the knife, I guess I will." He hesitates, smile fading, then prompts, "Show me how you'd do it."

Pratt's jaw closes so tightly the muscle visibly flexes. Controlling himself, his gut reaction, but right after he does, he pries his mouth open and chokes out, "How I'd—?"

"Kill me," Jacob finishes for him, as he stands and comes around his desk. His arms fall to his sides, while Pratt's come up to his chest defensively. Jacob only hums and tugs his desk's metal chair into the center of the room. Over the old blood stain. "Come here."

He waits until Pratt steps forward to sit, then unsheathes his hunting knife from its holster on his thigh and offers it over his shoulder without looking.

Pratt hesitates for a heartbeat, then all at once swipes the knife from Jacob and presses it near instantly to his throat. Not hard, though— he'll need to press harder to kill Jacob.

But he never will.

Of course he won't. Jacob knows Pratt, and he won't. He'll never kill Jacob. He doesn't have it in him.

That's why he's never done it before when shaving Jacob. That's why he didn't do it in front of the Deputy. That's why he won't do it now. That's why it's only something Pratt thinks about late at night, lying on the dirt in a cage outside, when nightmares keep him awake.

Pratt takes a shuddering breath. Jacob tips his chin up in offering. He pulls the knife in toward him, and there's just enough bite to tell Jacob that Pratt actually managed to nick him. Warmth trickles down through the stubble on his throat and settles in the dip of his collarbone.

Jacob clucks. "Not a bad spot, if you'd actually make the slice." He grabs hold of Pratt's wrist and yanks the blade up his throat— hard enough that he can feel the skin go red and irritated, with blood vessels burst just under his first layer of skin. Pratt's hand trembles under his, flutters around the knife handle. "But you won't have any time to whine and cry at me if you get my artery. You'd have to cut…" he trails off for a moment while he guides Pratt's hand through the killing motion, glides the knife oh-so-gently across his vulnerable throat. "Just here if you want time to watch the light leave my eyes, Peaches."

Pratt's breath hitches audibly. Jacob adds, "Would even leave me the air to give you a little conversation, if you like." When there's no response, Jacob drops his hand to his lap and prompts, "Your turn, Pratt. Make the fucking cut."

Pratt still doesn't speak. Jacob insists, "Escape. Don't you want to? Don't you want to crawl to the Whitetails, beg and plead them to help you now that you've killed the Big Bad Wolf?"

The knife rocks against his throat as Pratt readjusts his grip. There's more pressure against his skin for just a moment, almost enough to make him bleed again, and then Pratt lifts the blade away from him, drops it to the floor, and steps back.

Jacob lets Pratt feel the silence for a few heartbeats. Then he stands, retrieves his knife, and straightens his back to look at Pratt. He doesn't smile this time, just steps forward to Pratt's figure, still as stone, and gently pinches his jaw between his thumb and first two fingers.

He doesn't speak until Pratt's damp eyes rise to meet his.

"You understand, don't you?" he murmurs. "You're a smart boy." Pratt nods, jerky as if he's controlled by broken machinery. Jacob strokes his jaw with the tip of his pointer finger. "Good. You're mine. And nobody else in this county— no Whitetail, no Hope County Cougar, no piece of their Resistance— is ever going to take care of you the way I do."

They breathe together for a few moments. Pratt's eyes have fallen shut, though tears still glisten at the corners and along his lashes. Jacob thinks absently how he wants to make Pratt cry until there's no more tears left in him— until there's no horror left worse than anything he's already felt.

"There's nothing for you out there," Jacob says. Promises. Reassures. "There's only me."

Pratt doesn't say a word, but Jacob hears him all the same:

Only you.

Jacob lingers. Strokes his thumb over Pratt's lip.

Pratt opens his eyes at the sensation, stares up with those wide brown eyes— Jacob exhales softly and sinks down to press their lips together. Slides his thumb out of the way just in time, drags the corner of Pratt's mouth down as he slots their lips together. Pratt's breath shakes out of him. Jacob swallows it up.

"Staci," he murmurs, and clenches his hands on Pratt's hip and the back of his neck when he shudders in response. Jacob holds him steady, no longer kissing him, though their lips still brush. He doesn't move. He waits for Pratt.

Who takes one more halted, shivery breath, then steps abruptly back from Jacob. He dips his head to escape Jacob's hold on his neck, then just stands there, three feet from him. Jacob hums. Runs his hand over his beard and rubs his knuckle into his chin. "Staci," he repeats, and it instantly draws Pratt's eyes to his— Jacob's never used his first name until now, and it's having just the effect Jacob hoped it would. He holds his gaze and doesn't move closer. Lets Pratt keep his distance. "We're all we can rely on. That's why we cull the herd. That's why we need to train them."

Pratt stares at him. Jacob can see the cogs turning in his mind. Can see him grinding up the we, trying to process it. Make it digestible.

"Together," Jacob adds, without looking away. After a moment, he steps forward, pats Pratt's cheek, then steps to the door and twists the handle. "Bring me a report on the Bliss supplies by ten. See you tonight, Peaches."

Alone in Jacob's bedroom, Staci brushes his middle finger over the developing scar on his right cheek. He follows it down to his mouth, and presses his first knuckle to his lips.

Staci, Jacob says in his mind, Together.

#stacijacob #fc5 #staci pratt #jacob seed #my fic #had tons of fun writing this ngl i missed them so so much

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stacispratt · 3 years

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staci as a dom for the nsfw ask thing perhaps 😳😳😳👉🏼👈🏼

BRRRR top fucking TIER lou... 😳

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"Christ, Peaches," Jacob spits, and his hand shoots up nearly against his will to clutch Staci's hair in his fist-- it's getting long now, nearly enough that Jacob could wrap a chunk of it around his fist and get a real good grip on him.

As it is, all he can do is cling to Staci's curls and moan like a bitch while Staci rearranges his guts.

"Fuck, you look so good like this," Staci pants, chest flushed pink with the effort of fucking Jacob-- still nothing compared to the bright red Jacob's face and chest have gone, though. "Would give fuckin' anything for the Whitetails to see you like this under me."

"Shut the fuck up," Jacob snaps, even while something hot and hungry curls in his stomach.

send me an nsfw headcanon and i'll write a 5 sentence ficlet about it

#staci fucking jacob <3333333333 #stacijacob #fc5 #my fic #nsfr #ask #coffeebucko

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stacispratt · 3 years

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"Why do you have a gun?" for STACIJACOB...

for STACIJACOB... for U.... ily thank u for sending a prompt iwy (i wuv you)

"Why do you have a gun?"

Jacob turns around, calm as anything, and regards Staci, levelling a gun at his chest, without alarm. He smiles flatly. Staci's hands tremble around the handle of his handgun, the barrel wavering, his chest heaving. Jacob tips his head and brings his eyes back up to Staci's.

"Now," he croons, "why do you have a gun, Peaches?"

"I'm going to kill you," Staci says. And shifts his finger on the trigger.

Jacob laughs. "That so?" he asks, smirk still perched on his lips. He meanders closer to Staci, until the barrel presses to his chest, nudged just under his sternum. "Going to kill me." He pauses to inhale, looks down his nose at Staci. "Then pull the trigger."

Staci's face hardens, his arms brace, and Jacob cocks his head with the same smile. "Yeah. Didn't think so."

Staci growls and scrunches his eyebrows up, then steps away with a scoff. "Fuck. Fuck!" Jacob smiles softly and follows after Staci, just a step behind him.

"You know why you can't kill me?" Jacob asks, unruffled. "'Cause you know you don't belong with the Resistance anymore. You don't want to. You know that you fit in here better. With us." He licks his lips and watches Staci's fingers clutch his gun tighter. "With me."

Staci keens like he's in physical pain. "You fucking— you broke me. I don't belong anywhere anymore."

After a moment, Jacob sets both hands on Staci's waist. "Aw, that's not true," he murmurs, as he wraps Staci up in his arms, one palm braced over his pec, the other pressed to his tummy. "I told you, Stace," he says, as he slides his hand over Staci's collarbones, then down his arm, and carefully, carefully pries the gun out of his locked-up hands. "You belong right here. Right with me."

#stacijacob #staci pratt #jacob seed #my fic #oorah22 #ask

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stacispratt · 3 years

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"I cant sleep" prompt?👀

ok i kinda lost the point of the prompt but just know that jacob IS sleep deprived he’ll just NEVER tell anybody that he hasn’t slept in 2 days. also i hope stacijake is okay i can’t help myself and also i love you taylor and i didn’t read this so deepest apologies for everything and ily

anyways, no cult au stacijacob!

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When Staci stomps down the stairs of John's huge fucking ranch, Jacob Seed is sat at the ridiculously large dining table in a ratty Army tee and flannel pajama pants. He's eating a bowl of Lucky Charms— Lucky Charms, of all things. A spoon dangles mid-air in his right hand, and his left elbow is propped up on the tabletop, holding open a book one-handed. Brave New World.

Staci opens his mouth dumbly, stuck at the foot of the stairs, and Jacob says, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Uh, Wes had me over for a sleepover," Staci replies, and finally wills his feet to move. He walks right past the dining table and into the kitchen.

"I know he had you over for the night," Jacob says, like Staci has tried to tell him grass is green, or that the sky is blue. "What are you doing downstairs? It's three in the damn morning."

Staci glances over his shoulder, with a glass held under the faucet. When he finds Jacob staring at him, he swallows and looks away just as fast. "I can't sleep. What are you doing?"

Jacob doesn't respond, though his full attention is on Staci, book dogeared and set down. Staci takes his glass of water and sits across from him, and even though he keeps his eyes on the dark wood of the dining table, he can feel Jacob's eyes on him. Staci's only met him once. Kind of. At the Sheriff's department, back when John and Wes had just met. John was the defense attorney for some case Wes had been involved with—a sorority girl, with Daddy's money—and Jacob had showed up at the department looking for John. Apparently it wasn't urgent, because Staci had dipped into the men's room after him, and—

Well.

"Can't sleep either," Jacob says after a long moment, has Staci flashing his eyes up to him, spooked out of his thoughts. He looks Staci over for a few moments, then reaches into the pocket of his pajamas. "You mind if I smoke?" he mutters, cigarette already perched between his lips.

It's not really Staci's call, with it being John's house, but he says, "No, go ahead," anyway. Jacob hums his thanks and lights his cigarette with a flick of his thumb against his lighter.

Staci watches the flame flicker for a moment, then occupies himself with his glass of water as Jacob lifts his thumb and looks over his cigarette to Staci, eyelashes low, and exhales smoke.

Staci keeps his eyes down, then meets Jacob's eyes. They study each other. Jacob has dark circles under his eyes— worse than they'd be if it was just a night of sleeplessness. The bags under his eyes are puffy, though, in a way they weren't the last time Staci saw him, as though his sleep has been especially bad recently.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, and tells Jacob, "You look like shit, Seed."

Jacob pulls his cigarette from his mouth and laughs. "So sweet to me, Peaches," he chuckles, and takes another drag after he does. "Never been handsome, I know."

"You're plenty handsome," Staci says, without thinking, then clamps his mouth shut. He clears his throat and sips his water again. "You have troubles sleeping?" he asks.

Jacob hums and pushes his bowl of cereal aside belatedly. "Yeah," he says, and then nothing else.

Staci runs the tip of his finger around the edge of his glass and sighs. "Well," he says lightly. "I can keep you company tonight."

"Is that so?" Jacob rumbles, a grin spread over his face.

"Yeah," Staci says, glances up through his eyelashes, and does his level best to suppress the stupid smirk that's fighting its way to his lips. "Gotta keep my eye you, old man."

#staci pratt #jacob seed #stacijacob #fc5 #my fic #oorah22 #ask

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stacispratt · 2 years

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Jacob as a dom with Staci calling him sir for the nsfw thing ;)

oooh not a flavor i typically write with stacijacob!!! i hope u like <3

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“C’mon, Peaches,” Jacob purrs into his ear, “if you want somethin’, you gotta ask nicely... be good. Ask me right.”

Staci grits his teeth against the resistance that builds in his throat and presses his face into Jacob’s pillow-- no matter how weak Jacob is for Staci, no matter what rules he’ll break to fuck him, there’s nothing Staci can truly deny him. Jacob might like him, but there’s no exceptions to his absolute rule over the Whitetails.

“Please, sir,” Staci grits, his neck hot, “fuck me.”

send me an nsfw headcanon and i'll write a 5 sentence ficlet about it

#dubcon //#just in case!! staci wants this but. u know.#stacijacob #fc5 #my fic #nsfr #ask #anon

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stacispratt · 3 years

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stacijacob for the ship thing >:))

i would do anything for them i will bite people who say it’s a bad ship i fucking love stacijacob aehgkehg holy grail. dynamics and intrigue off the charts baby. they make me so unwell i go crazy stupid & froth at the mouth when i read fic for them. everybody cheer for the unhealthiest ship that makes me go wild!!!!!!!!!!!!

like you can read much healthier dynamics for them in a no cult au but also why would you do that. fucked up dynamics in a no cult au also for the win

#also should've circled aesthetically cos cult staci? muah #thank u for asking them EKGHEKG i'm always ready to go crazie for them <3 #fc5 #stacijacob

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stacispratt · 3 years

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“you obviously can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, so let me do it for you” for staci x jacob

“why are you angry at me?” for wes x john

thank u so much for asking aaah!!!! :DDD i had hella fun writing these and i hope u enjoy them!!! <333 every time i write stacijacob i essentially write the same fic lol rip but the johnwes is from wes’s main canon after he almost dies in an attempt to escape hope county w the other deputies!!! both are under the cut!!

“You obviously can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, so let me do it for you.”

"Jacob. Come here."

"Shut up, Pratt," Jacob grits out, his hand buried in his hair, fist clenched, as he flips through the paperwork on his desk. "Just be quiet and go back to sleep, like a good boy," he snipes. He glances over and flutters his fingers at Staci, sitting on the edge of Jacob's bed. Their bed. "Sleep."

Staci levels him a dry look, despite the fact that Jacob has already looked away. "Nice try, but you can't just go back to a last name basis with me because you're frustrated, Seed," he snaps. Jacob raises his head again and glowers at Staci.

"Watch it," Jacob snarls. "You're still my subordinate, no matter how bold you get."

Staci clamps his mouth shut. Jacob's chest swells for a moment, then slumps. He sets his elbow on his desk with a thunk and goes back to leafing through a folder— prisoner reports, looks like.

"Go back to sleep," Jacob mutters again. After a moment's pause, he tacks onto the end, "Staci."

It's the only apology Staci will get out of him. It's not enough, it shouldn't be enough, but it is.

Staci takes a deep breath, crosses the room, and carefully kneels at Jacob's side. He sets his hand on Jacob's knee, gingerly, and strokes his thumb over his kneecap. "No, I'm not going to sleep without you," he murmurs. Jacob sighs and glances down to Staci once more, eyes soft. He smiles, just slightly, and sets his hand on Staci's head. Strokes his hair slowly, from the crown of his head to the base of his neck. Staci smirks up at him, mirth alight in his eyes. "You obviously can't be trusted to take care of yourself."

Jacob opens his mouth, probably to protest again, and Staci finishes, "So let me do it for you. Yeah?"

Jacob watches him, and Staci watches him back. Watches his blue eyes, just as pretty as ever, despite being bloodshot, and weighed down by dark circles. Staci kisses his knee, and Jacob lets his eyes fall shut. Drops his shoulders, and his guard along with it.

"Alright," he murmurs, soft in the way he only is with Staci. "Just for tonight."

"Just for tonight," Staci promises, and thinks it's probably the sweetest lie he's ever told.

“Why are you angry at me?”

"Why are you angry at me?" John snaps, whirling to follow Wes, storming out of room in the medbay, a nice, even, two days before his doctor's recommendations. "I had nothing to do with your little half-cocked helicopter escape attempt out of here! You were abandoning me, if you'd remember!"

"Nothing to do with it?" Wes snarls as he stops dead. He spins on his heel to face John, chest heavy, eyes shiny with tears and fury. "I wouldn't have been stuck in this fucking hellhole of a county if not for you and your fucking family!" He lurches a step toward John, stabs his finger into John's chest. "I wouldn't have gotten into the first helicopter crash, let alone this one, if not for you, John fucking Seed!"

John feels his cheeks flush with anger. He opens his mouth to shout back— to remind Wes that the only reason he survived his genius escape attempt is because John swooped in to pry him out of the damn mangled helicopter, but he stops short.

He stops short, because Wes has gone pale, face drawn, eyes distant. "Woah," John says, all the anger drained out of him immediately. He reaches for Wes, sets his hands on his shoulders to steady him. "Take it easy. The doctor said you need to take it easy for a few weeks until your concussion—"

"Get your hands off me," Wes hisses, as he lists harder into John's support. "I– I fucking hate you."

"I'm the only reason you're alive," John grits out, then adds under his breath, "I love you, you bastard."

When Wes is finally steady on his feet and breathing normally, he drops his face into John's neck. "I love you," he breathes. "And I… I'm furious at you."

John sighs. Wes shudders in his arms. "Be as angry as you like," he murmurs. "I'm glad you're alive." And he's in John's arms.

Where he belongs.

#fc5 #stacijacob #john/wes #my fic #staci pratt #jacob seed #john seed #oc: wesley beltran #scungilliwoman #ask

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