#john seed x f!deputy

[seedofjoseph]

JUST SAY YES

It took me all evening to draw those ropes, so I gave up on the ones that should've kept her thighs spread.

I have improved since I had Jacob hog-tie my self-insert though: link.

[paradlselost]

BOLD AND BRAVE

john seed x fem!deputy

smut warning. no explicit consent given. choking. hair pulling. biting. fingering. some oral (f receiving). p in v.

4.8k words.

Soft sounds echoed off the wooden walls of the secluded cabin, walls that had heard far too much, that would sooner be chopped to pieces and shoved through a chipper than be allowed to spill the secrets it held. John Seed was a holy man, and cleanliness was close to godliness, so he made sure never to leave things unkempt. Nothing ever had a trace of him, even his glasses back at the ranch were cleaned of fingerprints every night. Call it germophobia, call it paranoia, whatever plagued his thoughts when he was alone in the comfort of his pressed silk sheets didn’t seem to leave him now either.

Though more pressing matters seemed to be on at the forefront as he pressed her head down against the pillow, the small grunts that usually escaped his lips at this point didn’t bother trying, he was too busy in his mind. He shouldn’t be doing this, he knew that fornication wasn’t allowed, and as a Herald, he had to make an example for others, though that had never stopped him before. Now only contempt nipped at the back of his neck where unrequited love bites had been left. Sure, he could be upset at how Joseph wouldn’t be happy if he found out his little brother went against the cult rules, but that didn’t seem to be it either.

He stopped himself suddenly, not even bothering to let himself finish. It was a shocking act for even him. John Seed, silver tongue of the cult who always took what he wanted not even caring for his satisfaction? Well, it certainly seemed to shock the woman under him, who turned to look at him through her eyelashes.

“Why’d you stop?” Her voice called up to him, a whine in her tone that made his stomach churn. He looked at her with disgust in his sharp blue eyes, a look she had not been accustomed to from him. “What’s your problem?”

She sat up now, pulling a loose sheet over her exposed body as she tilted her head at him. She was a beauty, really, she was, but that didn’t seem to be enough for him tonight. Sure, John felt a little bad for how he constantly treated her, but her own beauty didn’t do it for him anymore. He needed something he felt he couldn’t outrightly take, he would seem far too pathetic if he chased after what he really wanted, so he settled for a shotty substitute.

“Did you cut your hair?”

She gave him a quizzical look, raising an eyebrow. Maybe it was a compliment? He noticed something other than the quickest way to rip her shirt off this time. “I did, do you like it?”

“How many times have I told you not to change the way you look, Holly?”

His words were sharp as he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his jeans with a glare in her direction, it seemed neither of them would be able to finish tonight. She scrunched her nose up at his words. It wasn’t rare for him to be an asshole to her, in fact, it was becoming a much more common occurrence with the recent resistance pushback against the cult, but she still didn’t appreciate his tone.

“I don’t know why you’ve been so adamant about it lately. I wanted to try something new, what do you care?”

She scoffed as she stood up, letting the sheet fall off her body as she grabbed her shirt and underwear, pulling them on. John reached out and roughly grabbed her wrist, making her turn to look at him. He had never put a hand on her without them both being in the middle of John getting his rocks off in her bed or against her wall or vanity, and his sudden touch startled her.

Good, that’s what he wanted to see. The Pepper girl seemed to forget her place constantly, John was a Herald, she was just someone attractive he could see from time to time to release pent-up frustrations.

“You don't look like her anymore. Your hair frames your face differently now.”

Holly scoffed at him, pulling her wrist away from his reach. She never really cared about being more than a fling to him, she liked the distraction it gave her from the newfound loneliness she felt in this cottage and maybe sometimes she did wish he wouldn’t see someone else when he slept with her, that he wouldn’t moan someone else’s name when he fucked her, but she ultimately knew it would go nowhere with him. John Seed was a man obsessed with someone she couldn’t be.

“Who, the Deputy? Well, news flash, I’m not her.”

“I know you’re not, but it's not a crime for me to pretend, and you changing up your hair doesn’t fucking help the vision.”

“The vision.” She scoffed, crossing her arms at him. Her tone was one of mocking, like he was stupid for even dreaming she could fill the role of the one person he couldn’t have. No, because if it wasn’t her hair today then it would be her legs tomorrow, that they weren’t as toned as the Deputy’s, or that her eyes weren’t the right shade. It was constantly ‘Deputy this, Deputy that.’ But Holly Pepper wasn’t enough. “I think you should leave.”

“I’m gone.”

She didn’t have to convince him to rebutton his silk blue shirt or throw on his belt with the large ‘EG’ buckle on it. She didn’t need to persuade him to tie his boots and walk out her front door, into the cool Montana night, he simply left. Trekking down the dirt trail and getting into his car, he slammed the door shut and took off through the wooded back paths. He absolutely despised driving on anything other than the clearly marked main roads, especially when it was dark. He made special exceptions for the nights he went to visit Holly, but being that he didn’t finish, his anger was only elevated.

A truck passed, headlights shining into his windshield and honking as he swerved out of the way to avoid being hit, grumbling curses under his breath that he certainly would have to atone for later, but he would happily do it when he was back in the comfort of his warm, lavish ranch. The truck was the only other car on the road, and through his headlights, he could tell he was going the wrong way. Another curse, this time to himself, no way was he allowing himself to get lost in the middle of fucking nowhere redneck woods. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he pulled over to the nearest building he could find, a clinic. Silently, he hoped someone in there didn’t particularly hate him and would give him directions.

He pulled over with a huff, looking around his car for a map, and without seeing one, opened the door and got out, slamming it behind him. The evening air was cool, and unlike when he had left the Pepper residence, he was able to now take a breath and calm himself down. Though he doubted too many people were around at this time of night, he still wasn’t a fan of making a spectacle of himself when just trying to get directions. Gravel crunched underneath his boots as he made his way to the door, hand stopping just short of the handle as he heard a voice.

“I wouldn’t bother trying to get service right now.”

He didn’t need to turn to know who was speaking to him, he could feel the air still around him at the sound of her voice, the one person he hadn’t expected to see, not after he had falsely assumed he put the fear of god into her, not after he carved the sin out of her chest and forced her to display it for everyone who came across her. Her own personal scarlet letter, though this one being born of the crimson her blood was.

“Hello, Wrath. What are you doing here at this hour?”

He kept his tone friendly and light as he stepped over to the wall beside her, tilting his head down at her. She leaned against the brick, a cigarette hanging loosely from her lips as she watched him. He put on a facade, his silver tongue making a comeback as he spoke to her, though he knew well that she wouldn’t fall for his words. The best he could hope for was for her to relax slightly, to let him speak without drawing a weapon, and, at the lack of Peggies surrounding their ever-so-holy leader, she seemed to do just that.

“Just saw Nick and Kim off. Despite you and your peggies constant terror, it seems some good finally came to the Rye household.”

“Ah, so Kim delivered fine then?”

“Mmhm.”

“I should send a present, something for the little tyke.”

“Yeah right.” He earned a little laugh from her, even if it was sarcastic, he couldn’t help the small smirk that etched onto his features at her voice. Yes, John Seed was a man obsessed with someone he couldn’t have. “Kim told me you tried to convince everyone the baby was actually yours and not Nick’s.”

“I was just having some fun, they shouldn’t have taken it so seriously. Besides, that was months ago.” He shook his head, leaning back against the wall beside her, his goal of going to ask for directions now gone as he was in her presence. Despite his nature, she consumed his every waking moment. Every thought of his belonged to her, every word he spoke had her name etched onto it. He was pathetic.

“I’m sure it just added to the list of things you’ve done to fuck with them.” The Deputy rolled her eyes, amber ash falling from the head of the cigarette and onto the ground below them. He liked watching her supple lips part to welcome the taste of nicotine into her mouth.

“I’m a Herald, Deputy, everything I do is for the good of others.”

“Mm, remember the time you told me you’ve never lied to me?”

“Yes? What about it?”

“There's a lie right there.”

He smirked slightly, watching her with his deep blue eyes, and shook his head. He couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered in his chest at this moment. There was no chase, no cat and mouse game, just the two of them standing underneath the moonlight, with no one but god as their witness. “Well, what if I believe it's true?”

“Then you’re a liar and you’re delusional.” She hummed, looking back at him. There was a silence for a moment as she offered him her cigarette, a certain intimacy in his lips touching the filter where hers had before. He felt like a schoolboy again, though this time without the threat of his parents looming over him.

The crickets chirped around them as they took turns with the cigarette, it seemed to be a peaceful night. After a moment or two, she let him have the last of what was left in the bud and stepped forward towards her truck. Curiously, he stamped the cigarette out and followed after her.

“Where are you going?” He asked, sounding almost pathetic, like a puppy kicked away from the door his owner was walking out of. He craved this normalcy with her more than he thought he would, though part of him yearned to get back to the cat-and-mouse games.

“The Spread Eagle, probably. Gonna chase down the nicotine high with some of Mary May’s whiskey.” She shrugged as she opened the door to her truck, moving her AR-C aside and disturbing the indents of where Boomer always slept during long rides through the county.

He watched her body as she bent over to move her gun from the seat, how her hips swayed slightly. He bit his bottom lip slightly, his blue eyes never leaving her figure. Part of him yearned for his life before he reunited with Joseph. Maybe he wasn’t truly happy then, and maybe the Deputy incited withdrawals from him that he thought he had gotten over years ago, but alcohol sounded great right now.

“You seem so quick to leave my company. You’re always like this, I open my arms to you, let you into my bunker, and offer you atonement, but you’re always itching to leave. Do I make you uncomfortable?” He tilted his head as she stood up, turning to face the Herald once more.

He didn’t bother hiding the fact he had been staring at her ass for the better half of a minute, nor did her care about subduing his tone that was increasingly growing more and more lustful as he stepped closer to her. He wanted to feel her under his touch, to smell the gunpowder and blood that lingered on her. This time, it would really be the Deputy, he wouldn’t have to pretend.

“Let me into your bunker? Last time I checked you had your Peggies shoot me with bliss bullets and strap me to a chair there. You don’t exactly have a warm and welcoming nature, Seed.” She replied, crossing her arms slightly. He knew she was quickly losing her patience with him when she referred to him only by his last name.

“I just want you to reach atonement, Deputy. I want you to be better, for yourself, for the father.” His voice dropped to a whisper as he stepped closer to her, so close he could lean into her ear to speak. She grimaced slightly at the mention of the Father - Joseph.

“You don’t need to call him that, he’s your brother. And you shouldn’t speak to me about atonement, who gave you those marks on the back of your neck?”

He blinked a few times at her words, reaching his hand back to feel the indents that had been left. He hissed softly, of course, Holly had left marks without his say-so. She seemed to enjoy doing what he told her not to. Not to change her appearance so he could imagine it was the woman in front of him he was fucking, not to leave marks that he would have to explain to his followers - or worse, his brothers. But did she listen? No.

“Not you.”

Now it was the Deputy’s turn to be confused, her eyes fluttering up to meet his dark blue ones. She cocked her head to the side slightly, just enough to really examine him. He seemed confident in his words, but of course it wasn’t her, what was he trying to get out of this? “Yeah, obviously? Are you feeling okay, Seed?”

Again with the last name, it was starting to get on his nerves. He wanted nothing more than to grab her at this moment, to press her against the peeling upholstery of the old truck she drove around, to make her scream his name for everyone to hear - for her to call him not by a shared surname, but by his name. And suddenly he understood Adam and Eve, with a snake tempting him so sweetly, he’d be a fool not to take a bite of the apple, wouldn’t he?

“Why can’t you just say Yes, Deputy? Why do you have to make this so difficult? Why do you have to make me stoop into the sin you so freely roll around in?” He cocked his head to the side slightly, taking a step closer to her. His leg slid between hers as she pressed herself back against the side of the seat.

But she didn’t tell him no this time, she didn’t shove him off or slap him. He heard the breath that caught in her throat, he saw the way her eyes fluttered between his and the skin of his chest exposed by the undone buttons of his silk shirt. Sloth, written over his chest, crossed out. How would the scarred skin feel under her touch? How would the ink of the countless tattoos on his body be complimented by the scratches she would leave on him?

“You don’t need the ego boost, the day I say yes to a monster like you is the day my dignity dies.” Oh the Deputy, always a fighter. He would help her with that, gladly, a burial inside the truck for only John and God himself to witness. A small smirk played on his face as his hands trailed over her hips, a ghost of a touch but enough to ignite a fire in her eyes.

He wouldn’t need her to say yes, she would be screaming it by the time he was done. He would drag orgasm and orgasm out of her till her atonement was spelled in the arousal that would coat the truck's upholstery. He would make a saint out of her yet, make the only words that fall from her lips holy and pure till they were alone. She would never have to worry about the bullets that grazed her skin or the wounds that marked her flesh, he would wash away her sins.

So many dirty thoughts from the Herald, but he couldn’t control himself now. His hands belonged to the devil as they trailed up from her hips, one caressing her neck - which he would make sure to have covered with as many marks as he could by the time he was done with her - and the other slipping beneath her shirt. He tilted his head down at her, smug yet coy as his fingertips brushed the wire band of her bra, yet another barrier between the two.

Her eyes weren’t on him, though. They studied elsewhere, fixed on the door to the clinic and the road. What would others say if they saw the two together? Sharky and Adelaide had to have been just joking when they said she should get with the youngest Seed brother - that it would save the resistance’s ass. She bit her inner cheek, doubting that that would be the truth. John Seed was a sadistic monster who reveled in other's pain and suffering, but something about his touch made her want to melt.

“There’s nothing but me to look at, Deputy. For right now, you’re mine.”

If John was a man obsessed with someone he couldn’t have, the Deputy was cut from the same cloth. She couldn’t have him, not really, even if she accepted his atonement, even if he cut the sin from her body - John Seed would always be obsessed with an idea of her, she was his greatest conquest because she never said yes to him, and if she stopped fighting he would lose interest.

But tonight, under nothing but the moonlight and the roof of her truck? Tonight, she could have him.

So she didn’t protest when he stepped into her more, when he pushed her back against the worn seat and kissed her neck with the fervor of a man starved. She said nothing because her breathing spoke for her, the way it picked up and became laced with soft whimpers as he grazed his teeth over an old scar. Yes, he relished in her pain, he couldn’t help but smile at her burning in the cleansing fire of his love.

His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling it back to expose her neck. He sat up over top of her, a small smirk playing on his face as he looked down at her. She looked so pathetic under him, her neck colored in flushed pink and dark red, a product of him. He trailed a hand down over the forming hickeys, pressing his fingertips against the sides of her neck. Not enough to choke her, but enough for her to part her pretty lips to breathe through her mouth.

The Herald reveled in the power he had over her, her life balancing in the palm of his hand. It would be far too easy to kill her now, to make up for the anger he felt every time a silo was blown up or an outpost was overtaken. How easy everything would be if she gave her life force over to him, cutting the head off the snake that was the resistance.

But it was far more fun to keep her alive, to toy with her like a cat would a mouse, to shed her of her shirt and unclasp her bra and run his tongue against her sensitive, budding nipple. To relish in the sounds of her soft whines that overtook her breathing, to feel her fingers tangle in his slicked-back raven hair.

“Fuck.”

An understatement, her words breathy and sweet, as if she was reciting a prayer meant only for his ears. His blue eyes fluttered to look up at her, enjoying the way she looked down at him, lust building on her features. She would atone for him, but not with her words.

He trailed down her body, lips catching on every old scar and bullet wound, every imperfection left on her beautiful body. She would be cleansed of all of these when he was done with her, she would be born anew with him right by her side. His fingers caught on the waistband of her jeans, dirtied with blood and grass stains on the knees, not proper attire for her baptism, so he shed those from her as well.

Left in only her underwear, shivering against the cold that seeped into the truck, she looked down at him with a frown, grazing over the silk of his blue shirt. He was overdressed, though he made no moves to match her. With his head in line with her pelvis, he grasped the fingers that worked on his buttons, giving her a pointed look which she matched with a soft whine.

“Deputy.”

“John - c'mon, it's not fair…”

“I’ll decide what's fair and what’s not. When I want it to come off, it will. For now, hands off.”

A sigh left her lips but she complied with him, letting go of the buttons he wore and instead focusing on him as he moved lower, as his fingers trailed over the growing wetness seeping through her underwear. She recoiled slightly, feeling the cold of his fingers through the warm fabric, and was met only by a soft tsk from John.

He watched her, studied every reaction as he slipped off the last remaining article of clothing that blocked him from getting a full view of her. She was something out of an oil painting, crafted by God specifically for him. How had he gotten so lucky that she was his rival? How had they both gotten to this point, surely from the tensions built every time he would kidnap her, when he would clean her chest with a sponge to prepare for the marking he hadn’t gotten around to doing quite yet.

Grazing over her folds, catching her clit in his grasp, he relished in the sounds that the truck filled with. Soft gasps giving way to needy moans as he gathered her slick and coated his fingers in it. His eyes hungry as he peered up at her through his eyelashes, tongue swiping over her once and then twice before spitting. Her fingers tangled in his hair harshly as he pushed a finger inside before it was quickly joined by a second, humming when greeted by how tight her walls were.

“Funny, I expected you to have more experience.” He grinned, his perfect snake in the garden, reaping what she had sown. John had earned every hitch of her breath, every noise that fell from her lips belonged to him. Patience is a virtue, after all.

“Kinda ha-h… hard to get some privacy when you’re the resista- fuck!”

He couldn’t help but smirk as she was interrupted by the curling of his fingers, brushing against a certain bundle of nerves as he stretched her out in preparation for his cock. He hummed in response, teasing her. How sweet it was to have the big bad Deputy be putty in his hands. John absolutely adored the fact that he was her only in a long time, it stroked his ego lovingly.

When he was satisfied with the moans that fell from her lips and how she could hardly focus on anything other than the sensations he was providing her, he pulled out. Chuckling at a needy moan she gave him at the feeling of emptiness, he licked the coating of her slick from his fingers, tsking and looking down at her.

“Patience, Deputy. Be a good girl.” Once his fingers were properly cleaned and the taste of her arousal was set on his tongue nicely, he unbuckled his pants and allowed them to pool at his ankles, his lips fluttering over her exposed neck while he worked on pulling his shirt off.

Perfect tattoos decorated his body like the ceiling of a temple, each one telling a different story. John Seed was a man who had his life mapped out on each limb, allowing for her to trace all of him, to know all of him. He pulled away from her neck, bullying his two fingers past her lips and having her suck on them, tasting herself.

He focused on the way she sucked, how soft moans escaped her, and how her eyes fluttered closed, content to have this soft moment. God, he wanted to ruin it for her. He did not pull away yet, not as he ran the head of his hardened cock over her folds, precum mingling with her own fluids. When he did pull his fingers away from her, he made sure she watched as he lubed himself up with her saliva.

He could’ve come at the sharp gasp elicited from her as he pushed inside, inch by inch till he bottomed out and she was left in a state of bliss. He groaned softly at how perfect she was, how her walls were practically made for him, dragging every noise from his lips. The Deputy never thought she’d see the day when John Seed was moaning for anyone - especially not her. She considered herself lucky that the Herald was coming undone simply by the feeling of her.

Though, her smugness faded as he began to move. Shallow thrusts at first that were quickly replaced by deep, rhythmic movements. His mouth latched onto her neck once more, his teeth dragging over her soft skin in an effort to leave his bite markings against her pretty flesh. Her nails drug against his back, sharp, stinging scrapes that complimented the dark ink of his tattoos well. He never let others mark him as she had, but she was special - he would be proud to show off what she left on him.

Her legs wrapped against his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper inside her. She was practically screaming in his ear, the truck shaking with his movements. Thrust after thrust, he abused her G-spot well, toes curling and legs trembling in his wake. She pistoned her hips up to meet his, arching her back and letting him latch onto her breasts now.

“You gonna cum f’me?” He groaned out, blue eyes focused on how she shook, how her walls clenched around him at his words. She was close, teetering on the edge, and he wasn’t far behind her. Her nods weren’t good enough, neither were the little noises she attempted to choke out between her moans. No, he wanted to hear her speak. “Use your words.”

“Yes! Fuck - yes please-” Manners and all, he grinned at her response. He had gotten her to say it, just as he knew he would. That allusive ‘yes’ he had been waiting far too long to hear. He really couldn’t help himself now as a tattooed hand moved from her hips to rub her swollen clit.

Thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier, if this was heaven the Deputy was more than happy to atone for it. Her legs spasmed slightly, walls clenching around him as white toyed at her eyes, orgasm crashing down against him. It didn’t take much longer for him to follow suit, his own cum mixing with hers, white beading at the base of his cock as he pressed himself inside her, having her take him all.

She whined softly, panting and looking up at him with those pretty eyes of hers. His breath was heavy, fingers running through her hair as they both caught their breath, inevitable guilt creeping up in the Deputy’s chest. John Seed was the enemy, he was a monster, and she had just let him fuck her into the best orgasm of her life. Stupid, stupid.

But John, he seemed far too proud of himself. He didn’t need her to say anything anymore, he didn’t need the taped confession for his older brother. No, now he had this, her atonement that coated his softening cock. He would always have this over her, how she screamed yes for him, and she seemed to realize that.

“You know - that ‘yes’ doesn’t count.”

“Oh? Should I make you say it again?”

[evilvvithin]

silent despair

pairing : john seed x reader (i wrote it as f!deputy!reader but it turned out to be gn too) warnings : blood and injury | implied sex but not detailed | love hate | possessiveness word count: 2,497 summary: What would happen if John was the one to survive the collapse? ➤ AO3 link | masterlist

In the first moments of coming back to your senses, the mix of strong cologne and smoke hit your nose. The air seemed heavy, almost hard to breathe and you felt like suffocating. Taking a deep breath, a sharp pain shot through your ribs and made you yelp out in surprise.  "Finally," a familiar voice filled the silence and ringed inside your aching head.  Stars danced at the edges of your vision as you tried to sit up. As if a restless swarm of bees was inside your skull, causing it to vibrate uncomfortably. Arms and legs numb you had to look down at your limbs to make sure they were really moving when you told them to. They weren't. Your hands handcuffed to the metal leg of the bunk bed, you tried to wrestle against them with no luck. "Still eager to fight despite your situation, I see. Some things about you never change, deputy."

You felt venom in his voice, anger, hidden behind his kind and peaceful mask he called a face. He smiled widely as he walked towards you, squatting down to your level. 

"Where-"

"Shhh sh sh."

His eyes piercing through you, fingers trailing the handcuffs, the stupid smile on his face. The time stopped and your eyes gazed down to his shirt which used to be blue. Just like his eyes. Now it was almost completely covered in dried blood. Pushing away the thoughts of kicking your knee into his stomach for tying you up, you wondered what had happened, looking around the room you were in for any clues.

He noticed how you calmed down, how your eyes jumped across his chest and the walls behind him. Looking for his bunker key at his now bruised chest. Pulling out another key from his pocket, he freed your hands but grabbed your wrists immediately, squeezing them painfully. You hissed in reaction, but got the message - don't do anything stupid. You didn’t even plan to. You just wanted to know what happened as your own memory was failing you due to its fogginess. Checking your ribs for any wounds or source of the pain you felt after waking up, a loud explosion deafened you and the whole room started to vibrate, dust falling down from the ceiling. There was your answer to what happened. The pictures of mushroom cloud, fire and death blinked through your head. All the screaming, pain… your friends… 

"The collapse," John looked up, the same smile on his face still. "Joseph was right, you know? He knew the whole time… my brother…" 

The mask of the baptist started to fade away - he didn't have to pretend anymore. The smile slowly disappeared as his whole expression hardened, jaws clenched. His eyes glowing with rage, but there was something else.

Sadness. Softness.

Cursing through gritted teeth, he grabbed you by the edge of your shirt and forced you up against the wall, hand squeezing your throat right after.

"You killed them. If only you listened to them! We could’ve been - “ 

The pressure built up in your head from the lack of air and vision started to blur, yet you didn't try to fight his hand.

"Doesn’t matter. Tell me one reason I shouldn't do the same to you!" 

His voice was calm but still sounded like a yell to you. You started to half laugh half cough, making his eyebrows furrow even more in fury. He was killing you with his gaze, not his hands. In his mind his hands squeezed your throat hard. Knuckles on his hand white, he’d release the grasp so you could catch a single breath just to cut your wind pipe again.

Oh, he would do so many things to you. 

"Why didn't you? Before?" You coughed. "You had so many chances."

He sighed and let go of you by throwing you further into the wall, though not so aggressively as before to kick air out of your lungs. You knew he had the reply, knew why he didn't kill you when he had the chance. But he wouldn't admit it. 

Would you? Would you admit why you didn’t kill him when you had so many chances?

John knew well you chose to hunt his siblings down rather than him. Playing cat and mouse, but both of you were the cat.  Lots of unfulfilled threats that led only to one thing - the collapse. You being stuck with him in a bunker underground. 

The longer you tried to keep standing against the wall, the more your muscles burned. The desire to lay down, close your eyes again and forget about everything again was overwhelming but you were determined to not show any kind of weakness. Your coughing and laughing filled the room. Have you lost your mind? Are you really gonna be down here with John? It wasn’t like you could change it. 

You didn’t want to. 

The shirt started to stick to your skin where you felt the sharp pain before. Your fingers felt the wetness when touching it and you didn't have to look down to know what it was. 

"Come."

Following John to the table across the room, you were sure your legs would fail you any step you took. He was watching you - was it a concerned look you saw on his face? Your blurry vision playing tricks on you? 

He was in fact concerned, watching every step of yours ready to grab your arm for support whenever you were about to fall. He didn't want you to know, he didn't want you to see his soft side. Not yet. He liked to believe he had none except for his brothers - he was lying to himself the whole life. He always had a soft side, buried deep inside him. Abandoned by his choice. Softness had no place in the life he lived before Eden’s Gate. No place in Eden’s Gate. It was a weakness and he locked everything making him weak deep inside. 

Till you showed up and made him weak. Vulnerable. He hated you for it, but at the same time admired you. You were untamed, wild fire that could make him both weak and strong and he realized rather quickly that capturing you like the others would not help him get stronger, no. You required a different approach. Approach that he thought he would never be able to do - to have feelings for someone, to feel vulnerable. 

The mutual feelings of you two, the connection of your souls and leadership - that’s what he visioned in his dreams. How perfect you two would be for Eden’s gate. At first, it seemed like a great plan, but the further John tried to make you join him, the more he started to care about you. Did he care about you more than about the project? No, he would never… He doubted himself in that question. Nevertheless he’d make everything work in the end. And he did, without even trying to. 

Grabbing bandages out of the emergency box, he waited for you to raise your shirt enough to expose the cut. Starting at your ribcage going down your belly, it wasn't deep but it was bleeding a lot.

"Just do it quick." 

Swallowing your pride, you let him circle you, touch you, wrapping the bandage all around your torso. Feeling his warm touch on your bare skin, you never realized how soft his hands could be. You believed all they could inflict was pain and torture.

"Want it harder?" 

The stupid smile on his face.

"Fuck you, John."

~~~

"You'll get us both killed!" John hissed  and caught your hand that tried to steal the bunker key from his neck. He started to wear it with him at all times since you found the spot where he hid it. And he was way more alert during sleeping than you thought. 

Saving your life and you still tried to get away from him, still fought him. Still… after all the days you two spent in close proximity. Or was it weeks? He liked it at times though. It spiced things a bit here under the ground, but he'd still rather receive obedience from you. Just like his followers in Hope County… but you weren't one of them. The knuckles whitened on his hand and you squinted as his grip became painful. The harder he held your wrist, the more you squeezed the key in your hand being as stubborn as you were usually, refusing to let go of it.

"Go then, do as you want." 

You almost lost balance and fell down at his chest when he released your hand. The tone of his voice was vile but the sparkle of hope that shined in your eye overcame everything else. You looked down at the key and hope was quickly replaced with a darker feeling - reality. John scoffed and murmured something to himself as the key landed back on his chest. 

You didn't want to die. Not today at least.

~~~

Warm breeze locked the naked skin of your upper body. The blanket must've slid down while you were sleeping. 

A breeze of fresh air… in a bunker? 

John's fingertips trailed up and down your arm softly, thinking he was gentle enough to not wake you up. His movements were slow, lazy. Your heartbeat raised a little and you hoped it wouldn't reveal you were awake. Your back turned to him, you laid still and your breath was shallow. His breath was warm against your skin. He seemed to be murmuring something to himself but you couldn't make a single word out. He was humming some kind of melody. 

All kinds of scenarios rushed through your head when he pulled the edge of your shirt down your shoulder. Pretend to be asleep no matter what? Then you'd be allowing whatever he planned on doing. Jump up and slap the soul out of him? Maybe, but you wouldn't know what he wanted to do… and mainly, why. 

Did you want him to stop? 

Did you want him to know you were awake?

The adrenaline rushed through your body as your mind was filling up with certain scenarios, making you change position in an attempt to hide it. John's hand retrieved and his murmuring stopped. You felt his gaze boring into the side of your head. Leaning closer to your face, his hot breath tickled your ear. If you turned around, you could taste his lips easily. Before you could do something you might regret later, the weight on the bed behind you disappeared as John walked away, silent like a cat. 

You were left alone with your cheek and ear burning, the gentle touch of his fingers still printed on your skin. It's been so long since you experienced any kind of intimacy, kindness in general. Past few months were nothing but an exhausting fight for your life and the lives of the other members of resistance. The few joyful moments that occurred? You were too tired to appreciate and enjoy them fully. Cursing yourself you didn't do anything when John was creeping above you, you played with the scenarios in your head for as long as sleep didn't take your consciousness away. 

~~~

"What did you do to Hudson?!" Blood was coming out of your mouth from John's punch, but the rage you felt numbed all possible pain. "You bastard!"

Him and his typical maniac smile. 

Everytime you two met before the collapse and fought each other, he had this smile on his face whenever you could've ended him. Laughing. Not really fighting you back. Almost like he wanted to die… or he didn't care if he did at least. Or he knew you couldn't kill him. He knew it and laughed at the absurd power he had over you. You hated him for it, you hated him because he was right.

"Hudson's gone now anyway, isn't she? What's all this about, then?"

Clenching your fists around the edge of his coat, half choking him with the fabric cutting into his throat, you stopped in your rage for long enough to think about what he said. You hated to admit it but he was right. 

He seemed to always be right.

Things that happened before the collapse? They were all meaningless now. What really mattered was this bunker, you, him and the danger levels outside. Were you truly angry about what he did to Hudson or did you just want a reason to start a fight with him? Did he want to start a fight when he told you, out of nowhere? 

Taunting, teasing, getting expected reactions from others just to remind himself he has power over them. Power to manipulate through emotions. Maybe he truly believed he was emotionless and nothing bothered him except his family - he lied to himself the whole time. He cared too much about you. He could've had you at any time before. Yet he didn't take you, no. He didn't want to take you, he wanted you to need him. To desire him. Give up to him. 

John grabbed your wrists to make you let go of his coat, his face unchanged. The smile… he won. He had all the reasons to smile - you were here with him, craving him, needing to feel the warmth of his body. The burst of emotions. There was no need to say it out loud. Letting your arms go limp in his hands, you leaned closer to his face. 

"Fuck you, John." 

Raising one of his eyebrows, the smile only grew bigger. 

"That's exactly what I was thinking," he let your hands go and pulled you closer by the back of your neck. 

You let yourself fall into the kiss - like a boat going down the river you didn't try to go against the stream at all. You still hated him but what you felt for him was growing stronger. Something you could not define with simple words. The iron taste of your blood filled your mouth and your tongue found his. The taste was somewhat hypnotizing, driving you further into the kiss. 

The satisfied grunt from John didn't surprise you a bit. You had an idea he'd like the taste of blood. That it'd turn him on. Violence in general. You heard the stories about Hudson and other Falls End people that managed to escape his bunker. You were there yourself after all, you spent more time with him than you'd like to imagine. 

It was all your choice - to let him live every time, let him get close to you. Let yourself fall for him. Let your lust win.

As the clothes on you both fell down to the ground piece by piece, you weren't bothered by the chilling air. You were on fire, you both were. Fire that needed to be put down and only one way of doing so. Everything about it was rough. Maybe you were still trying to kill each other but then decided not to, over and over again. 

Hate and anger being overcome by love and lust and it made you want to get lost in the moment forever. Get lost in John.

Your fingertips copied the edges of his scars, his skin still rough on touch from all the bruises that didn’t heal yet. The moans resonating within the thick concrete walls sounded like they were miles away from you - silenced by you replaying all your past choices that led you to this moment. 

Your nails clawed into one of his fresh scars causing John to whimper in both pain and pleasure. You didn’t do it on purpose. He knew. He felt the same joy, the same pleasure as you causing him to twitch and grasp onto you uncontrollably. It was like an out of body experience - like a bottle being constantly filled with water for years before finally overflowing and exploding. Exploding and being free. 

You both were finally naked in front of each other - no more lying about your feelings, no more hiding of your thoughts. No secrets. 

Bruises forming on the soft skin of your neck where John buried his head into, the sweat of your bodies becoming one. The jolts of pleasure shooting through your body, heavy panting, trembling. 

"I haven't forgiven you, John."

"I know."

[chyrstis]

Lighting the Fuse 4/?

This definitely has been long overdue and then some. To the point that I've been thinking off and on about it for the two-ish years in the interim, and made it my mission once May hit this year to actually try and update it. ...And setting that goal actually seemed to work.

This seems a bit rough in places still, but I hope you all enjoy, and goal #2 now is updating again before the year ends! *crosses fingers*

Pairing: F!Dep x Sharky Boshaw, F!Dep x John Seed (be forwarned, the slow burn is in full effect here for all parties involved, and isn’t stopping anytime soon) Rating: T Warnings: Canon-typical violence (and Hana running around like the 80's action hero she likes to be pretend to be) Word Count: 6K 

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / ???

___

When events are put into motion giving her a shot at an impossible task - capturing John Seed - the deputy jumps at the chance.

There’s only one problem.

She’s not the only one dying to get him, and keeping him alive when even his own people seem to want him dead isn’t looking to be an easy feat either.

______________

The fire hadn’t stopped. It’d spread, and a hell of a lot faster than Hana had hoped as she and Sharky kept running from building to building through the trailer park.

They hadn’t found Jerome yet, or any of the others. Sharky had passed off his radio to her as a means of getting in touch, but she’d caught two words from Jerome before it’d gone straight to static, and she’d upped her speed afterwards, looping around the lot that was at once too big and too small, curling in on itself as they ran in circles over and over.

They’d also gone through a few rounds of one-sided Marco Polo, mostly with Sharky yelling out Jerome’s name between shotgun blasts with no one other than the pissed off Peggies coming to retaliate, and on the fourth non-response she’d started yelling too.

“Jerome!” She cupped a hand to her face as they moved, and called out for him again, her voice straining, “Jerome!”

A hint of black in the distance caught her eye. That, and the bright flash that came from the muzzle of a shotgun, one that Jerome loaded and promptly unloaded into the nearest obstacle’s face.

It didn’t matter that there was a group of Peggies currently trying to tango with the man. She’d taken all but three steps towards him only to watch as he took the rest out one by one.

“Man,” Sharky murmured to her left before letting a whistle out. “I mean, I knew the dude was a total badass, but that? That’s fucking badass.”

Hana really couldn’t dispute it. Not when she still hadn’t moved past the first thought that struck while watching Jerome clean house in the distance: Damn.

But the stray shot that had her grabbing Sharky’s hoodie again to yank him out of the way snapped her out of it fast.

“Hon, focus. We’ve got to keep our eye on the prize, remember?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah, that’s right.” He scrunched his face up, zeroing in on the man in question in the distance, and nodded. “Got that shit locked down tighter than tight, Dep.”

The trick was getting to him, though, as they cut through cover she tried to pick off a few of the others closing in on Jerome. No real easy feat as they had to keep mobile and fought to keep up, but even she was impressed with the distance they were able to cover as their party of two closed in on the Peggies attempting to flush Jerome out.

Focused on Jerome - who’d taken cover with another resistance member behind an abandoned car to dodge a lobbed molotov - they couldn’t hear her boots thudding against the dirt, or her quickened breaths. Not a single sound of it as she raised her gun up and brought the butt of it down as hard as she could muster.

The blow sent him straight to the ground, sprawling out as the other two Peggies scattered away, but quick as she got her gun back in front of her, she didn’t need it. The two hit the dirt in no time flat, and she whirled her head towards Sharky with an appreciative whistle.

With the path now clear, she skirted the nearby flames and skidded to place next to one thankfully unsinged Pastor.

- And the barrel of his shotgun.

“Whoa, wait, wait, wait-!” she yelled as she threw her hands up.

He started, but quickly lowered his gun. “Deputy. You might want to change your approach.”

“No shit. I’m-uh, definitely rethinking things. Either way, it’s good to see you. Is Grace here too?”

Jerome glanced over the cover, but didn’t move to stand up. If anything, he caught sight of Sharky continuing to blast away nearby, and stayed put. “She’s nearby. She spotted you before we were able to get any closer, and kept you in her sight for as long as possible.”

The green sight cutting through the air flashed through her mind. “Jesus. I was wondering why that sniper didn’t pop my head like a melon. Glad to know she's close, though.”

“Any word from the others?”

“I was about to ask you the same,” she said, teeth starting to worry at her lip. “Gave up my walkie to them, and told them all to hide and wait for word on our channel, but…”

“Pastor. Got movement on a group of Peggies heading south.“

Hana's eyes shot to the walkie at Jerome’s side, and he held it up. “Is it a large group? Any wounded with them?”

“Some. They’re off from the others, a few helping them get further into the woods.”

Hana glanced out towards the brush, looking back to Jerome. “Away from the river?”

“Deputy, wait-“

Jerome’s voice faded out behind her as she sprinted, eyes forward right on the trees as she dove right in.

Every inch of the forest loomed ahead, the path growing dark. The gunfire had died down in the time it took for her to disappear into the brush, but it didn’t take long for voices to call out in the distance again. 

If they were cut off, they were screwed. If they lead the Peggies straight to the others they were screwed. Hell, every which way they were looking to be screwed, and she sped up as she grabbed for the radio Sharky had given her.

“Jerome,” she yelled, “don’t wait on me! Get everyone out before we’re pinned, because they’re coming in fast! I’ll get the others and once we’re clear we can double on back to-“

A figure in a long, dark coat stepped out ahead and she nearly wiped out as her boots skidded to a halt on the dirt. Hana scanned him over quickly, and a grin spread across her face before she could stop it. “…Ben? You son of a-“

That’s when she saw the weapon, raised and fixed on her. And the figure holding it wasn’t a match for Ben at all.

“…bitch,” she finished.

Two others emerged from the bushes, Peggies from the look of them, and both also armed. As she looked them over, she couldn’t pull any familiar details from them, none that matched any of the people they’d helped out earlier.

But the fourth? That, was Ben.

The brand-like cross on his face was unmistakable as he slowly approached from the treeline, the rifle she’d given him earlier in hand and the white cloth still wrapped around his arm.

Her hand went to the handle of her gun, jumping to it as soon as her mistake had sunk in, but hadn’t drawn it. Not yet.

“Ben, buddy,” she began, scowling, “I don’t know what you’re fucking playing at here, but I’d really appreciate it if you could level with me and fast.“

“Weapons on the ground,” The woman to Ben’s right snapped, her own cross tattoo carved onto her face.

“Easy,” Hana replied, but didn’t take her hand away. “Thought I was responding to a call for help. But if I’d known this was fucking Joe playing some sort of long game-“

“He’s not.”

That had her eyebrows rising. “No? So, you’re telling me these aren’t Peggies?”

They looked like Peggies. Were just as much them as Ben was and appeared to be, with nothing standing out to separate them from him. Only his word, as he slowly nodded.

Hana felt a bead of a sweat slide down the side of her forehead as her eyes skipped from person to person. “Well, you want to tell me why we aren’t getting the hell out of dodge then?”

“We are, but first -“ he held out his hand, “your weapon, deputy.”

“Ben, you don’t want to do this-”

“Your weapon.”

The cocking of a gun somewhere in the brush nearby was the final push. She pulled her red revolver out only to quickly toss it down by his feet. Her hands went up after.

Keeping his eyes on her, Ben crouched down to take the gun and aim it at her. One shot, one pull of the trigger, and she’d be gone.

Every muscle tensed, damn near quaking as she kept her hands up and her eyes on him. Could she get away? Move left, right, forward, back - fuck, anywhere? Just to move. To get out of the way, to do something.

But that debate stopped the minute Ben glanced back to those at his sides. Silent even now, whatever message he'd intended to send came through on their wavelength, one of the others beginning to step back and away from them. The woman followed, her weapon never wavering for a second, but eventually the trees grew too thick to see them through, and they faded from sight completely.

Soon only Ben was left. The gun was still locked onto her, the red metal glinting in what little light caught off of it and she didn’t dare take her eyes off of it.

At least she didn’t until he lowered it.

Hands up by her head still, she kept them there as she stared, knowing she’d have better luck reading a solid marble block than him, but as the silence stretched on she let them slowly drop. Let both rest by her sides, and kept them there even as her fingers twitched.

She hadn’t been able to read him well before. Even now she was fumbling to put a name to what exactly was crossing his face at this very moment, but when he bowed his head, it finally seemed to click.

“Thank you.”

The trees parted for him soon after, swallowing him up.

---

They were gone. All had vanished without a trace back into the woods where they had come from. 

With Peggies soon to be swarming the area, they didn’t have time to weed them out or track them as they rushed to get out themselves, using the trees as cover. Hell, she’d barely touched down in the back of one of the trucks before ducking to avoid any stray bullets. 

But the entire ride back she kicked herself. Over and over as her head swam and the faces of the group came back to her. Those with fear in their eyes, desperate, and those with weapons held high and aimed on her, with Ben right at the forefront. 

So when they finally got back to town, she didn’t waste any time. Her feet hit the ground, taking her towards the Spread Eagle, her stomach churning with every step. 

It’d taken some doing, but Hana maneuvered her way through the group out front to the back, and the minute she reached one of the empty stools, she all but threw herself onto it. Normally a bar stool was nowhere near comfortable, but here she was - stone cold sober and not even wanting to leave it for a second. 

“That’s for you."

A bottle of Everclear hit the counter with a solid thud as Mary May placed it in front of her, and Hana couldn’t help but let out a sigh of contentment at seeing it.

“Hell, watching you walk through that door in one piece’s earned you half of the entire fucking thing if you want it.”

A glass hit Hana’s hand and she cracked the bottle open in record time. “God, yes.”

“Good. Now could someone catch me up on what the fuck is going on?”

Mary May’s eyes jumped between the two, lingering first on her then Jerome, but quickly focused on her again.

Hana smacked her lips before she started filling the shot glass to the brim. “ You, uh, want the long or the short version?”

“The version that’ll explain wherever the hell you went for now, because after the disappearing act they pulled none of us thought we’d ever see you again.”

“I pissed John off again, no surprise,” Hana replied, her response half muffled by her drink. The shot burned, and after trying not to wheeze her way through it, she poured another. “Had who knows how many white vans carrying extra Peggies on the road waiting for me, and when I tried to stop one I thought had hostages in it, I uh-didn’t exactly win that fight.”

“…A set up.” Mary May swore under her breath. “He’s turned them all into a fucking setup.”

“It’s looking that way. But there was a Peggie. Ex-Peggie,” Hana said as Mary May’s eyebrows flew up. “He told me he wanted to help and-“

“And you actually believed him?”

“No. Not at first, but he-his word turned out to be solid. Seemed he wanted out, and didn’t seem interested in handing me over or hurting me all that much either.”

Hana paused. Pressed the cold glass against her neck, then the side of her head. Her eyes slipped closed as she focused in on it, and wished she’d had a bathtub full of ice instead.

“…So when he said that there were a hell of a lot of other Peggies wanting the same thing, we got them out. Went straight for Silver Lake’s Trailer Park, and the Pastor did the rest.”

“Fuck.” Mary May sighed and looked at Jerome. “Ex-Peggies?”

He nodded. “It hasn’t been the first time, and it won’t be the last. They’re scared. They were at the beginning, and many still are now. Not everyone joined Eden’s Gate willingly, and some are starting to find their own ways to leave.”

“Scared? Is that right?” Mary replied, her voice rising, “But they still made their own damn choice instead of pushing back. Helped them to bury the fucking knife in our backs and hand the county over to them!”

“I understand, but-“

“But nothing! Look, we’re having enough trouble keeping our own people safe without having to worry about them being grabbed out of their homes, and off of the goddamn roads. John’s got more vehicles out than ever, each of those goddamn vans working to capture us - and nevermind he damn near got her!”

Hana nearly choked on her drink when Mary May jabbed a finger at her.

“He had her in that van on the way to his fucking bunker, and where would we be then, huh? Where would she be?”

Jerome let his eyes slide closed. “I remember being led out into the street. From the church, down those steps, only to be placed on my knees as one of the People of Eden’s Gate held out Joseph’s Word. Spoke it to me.”

“Jerome-“

“And I remember clearly when further down the street in our home, she came. Sweeping through them with holy fire.” Slowly turning towards Hana, the gaze he leveled at her left her frozen in place. “I did not know her. Neither of us did, but once we saw her, we knew what she could be. And what she could be capable of. Without her, we would be worse off by far, and they know this. Both John and Joseph. If any of those people were still loyal to the Project, why would they willingly bring her back?”

Mary May frowned. “They clearly got something out of it.”

“Their own people, yes, but where is the deputy now?”

Glancing between the two, Hana didn’t move a muscle. Just watched, waiting.

“Right here. Here with us,” Jerome said, turning back towards Mary May. “There are defectors within Eden’s Gate. They did this, they brought her back.”

The look in Mary May’s eyes hardened. Held fast for a good long minute as she crossed her arms. “And?”

“And all they wanted in return was a way out. No more, no less."

Her lips settled into a thin line, pressed hard into each other as she kept her eyes on him. Holding the other's stare, they held their ground - so still, that after a few minutes, Hana decided that nothing short of the roof falling in would break the stalemate. But after what seemed like an eternity, Mary May sighed, the breath coming out in a huff as she reached for the stack of glasses sitting next to her. “…Fine. I’ll give you that, but I ain’t giving them anything else.”

That’s when Mary May finally looked her way again, and her expression softened as she reached out to rest a hand on Hana’s arm. “And as for you, you take as long as you need back here, got it?”

She nodded, and before she could get a single word out, Mary May was gone.

Trading a look with Jerome, Hana held the bottle out to him, and he took it. Filling up another glass, he topped hers off with a heavy pour, and she mentally added that to tally of things he’d never stop surprising her with.

“She’s right,” he eventually said, halfway through his drink. “You should rest while you can.”

This time the shot didn’t burn as much, but the cough she couldn’t quite muffle. “Pastor, I mean this with kindness, but fuck that.”

“Or slow down. Try it. We need you, but you’re human. Flesh and blood like the rest of us, and difficult as it is to believe, we all need a moment to rest. Take it.”

Hana opened her mouth again, but paused. Let it close for a beat before putting what was left of the Everclear into it. “One night. One.”

At the sight of her raised index finger, Jerome chuckled. “If that’s all you can spare, it’ll have to do.”

The two made their way out towards the front of the bar after that, mingling with the others. The mood now was nowhere near the kind she remembered on the night they brought the tankers in - tension and worry hanging in the air as she traded words with more than a few getting ready to head onto the next round of watch.

Someone passed her a beer, her thanks fading into the background noise of the bar, and she rubbed at the side of her face, and kept walking. Moved in a straight line towards the doors as the other voices faded out and she pushed forward.

The cold air hit her skin the minute she shoved the door open. She’d been warm before, her body temperature peaking due to the shots in the back, but no longer had it to cling to out here. Breathing in deep, her skin prickled as she held it, goosebumps rising fast before letting it all out in a long exhale.

That's when it kicked in again. The urge to move, her feet taking her along that path just past the Eagle down as far as she could reach. Past the house, down towards the fields, maybe. Out and far, far as her feet could carry her.

- At least that was her original plan, until she was swept off the ground, sputtering as the bottle flew out of her hand and the world whirled around her.

“Whoo-hoo, Deputy!” Hurk laughed, giving her a bear hug tight enough to cut her air supply off. “We were hoping and wishing and betting you’d be fine, and you’re looking finer than fine! You’re-“

“Suffocating! “ Hana patted his back, wheezing, “Hurk can you just - can you loosen that up hon?”

The spinning stopped even as her vision kept on dancing, and Sharky popped up in the edges of it, running up close to them as she felt Hurk move - whether to give him a fist bump or a high-five she couldn’t tell.

“Dude, you’ve got a choke hold on her that’d put any amigo out after a round! You might wanna loosen that up.”

“Oh! Oh shit, lemme fix that!“

Hurk set her down and the vice lifted, air whooshing back into her lungs quick enough to leave her a little lightheaded even without the alcohol’s help. She nearly stumbled over her own two feet, but once she was righted with Hurk’s help, he settled for giving her arm a friendly bump instead.

“It’s just real good to see you after losing you like that the other day, and I didn’t mean to choke you like that, Dep. Especially since it looks someone might’ve got in a head start on that too.”

“What do you…?” Aiming a strange look at him, his words didn’t click at first, but the memory of hands clamping down on her windpipe hit like a truck right after. “Jesus, uh- okay, so maybe someone tried to put the squeeze in on me earlier, but it’s - it was nothing.”

“Yeah, no, you see that right there?” Hurk tapped Sharky’s shoulder as both peered over at her. “That is a solid two-hander.”

Hana shook her head at him before turning towards Sharky, but he wasn’t grinning at her anymore. No, he was looking at her closely now, eyes tracing along that point below her chin, and her throat grew tight.

“Damn, H.” He whistled under his breath. “That’s no fucking joke.”

He was leaning solidly into her space now. Leaning far enough in for her to have to rock back to keep any distance between them, with the inches dwindling by the second.

“Shark, buddy. Seriously, I’m fine-ow!”

Something touched her neck, falling between a poke and a jab, and at her yelp, Sharky jumped back and held his hands up. “Aw geez, Dep! Sorry! Sorry, I was just-I mean it looked real sore, and I might’ve been gauging it to see if it needs patching or something, and-uh, wanted to see if it-“

“If it hurts?” she asked, holding a hand to the dully throbbing spot. “Well good news, hon! It hurts!”

She gave him a solid poke in the side. “Ow!”

Watching him rub furiously at the spot, she waited, then poked him again, and again. On the next Sharky caught her hands, his grip pretty dawn tight even as he kept on trying to dodge her.

“Ow, Dep! I get it! I get it!”

When she slowed down, he gave a quick huff of relief, and Hana shook her head. Lost all and any track of where she’d mentally been not even five minutes ago, and had to take a second to get it all back.

But when it sank its claws back in, she knew it. Felt that weight bring her right back down to earth, and lightly tugged her hands away from Sharky.

“Anyway, don’t think I’m not happy to see you guys. That’s not even close to true, not one bit, but -“ She paused, taking a moment to fish the discarded beer bottle off of the ground, studying the label. “I think I’m fucking toast, man. I might have to call a raincheck on any and all parties and afterparties going on right now.”

“Well shit, I uh...“ Hana glanced up as Sharky faltered, disappointment setting in, but a smile slipped in soon after. “Sure thing, shorty. You wanna sit down, kick back and take five or twenty, we got you. ‘Sides, we always pregame shit like this, so if you wanna get in on it later we’ll get you caught up.”

She’d started chewing on her lip again, and let it go. “Promise?”

“Hell yeah! Won’t even touch the high-proof, top shelf-type shit ‘til then.” He moved to slap her shoulder, but jerked to a stop and slapped Hurk’s instead. “Right, Hurky?”

“Ow!” Rubbing at the spot, Hurk glowered at him for a beat, but recovered fast. “That’s a tall order, cuz, but if we wanna wait, I guess we can work on a few party favors for the Peggies instead. Always wanted to try rigging one of those edible arrangements-type baskets, but we’d have to crash my mama’s house first for a decent melon baller.“

“Dude, just stuff ‘em full of cherry bombs, what do you wanna waste any of that for?”

“’Cause a fruit basket’s gotta have some fruit, and you can’t get any of those nice little round shapes without one,” Hurk replied, scratching his chin as he thought it over. “I know she’s got one in near-mint condition over yonder, just gotta get up there and see if we can score a couple of cantaloupes on the way too-“

Listening to the two, watching as Sharky stepped up to mime the arc of something being launched, Hana paused for a moment - watching his hands move as he mimed the arc of something being launched - before slipping away.

Sneaking off after being reunited again so soon was borderline shitty at best, but if she stuck around now she’d never be able to talk herself into leaving. The longer she stuck around the worse her company was bound to get, and as her thoughts started to fuzz around the edges, nothing would be better for it and the others than to just get somewhere as wide open and quiet as possible.

She’d been moving down the way and out before, but one glance upward towards the stars made up her mind for her.

Taking the path behind the autoshop, she found the one ladder sure enough, and took to climbing. Hoisting herself up one rung at a time, she just wanted to see the sky. To get a moment to look up past the clouds and see -

She froze at the top. Directly across from her posted right by the heavy machine gun was a familiar face. One she’d missed, but had seen flashes of throughout the day.

Grace’s eyes widened a hair as she focused on her, rifle slung on her back, and Hana immediately backpedaled. “Shit. Grace, I’m sorry. I didn’t I’d - let me get out of your way.”

“You bring two?”

Hana stopped with one foot already on the lower rung of the ladder, and swayed as she nearly dropped the lone beer clutched in her grip.

Tilting her head, Grace gestured towards the spot next to her. "Could also use more eyes up here."

"...You sure? Might just end up picking up my slack more than anything else."

"Better up here than down there."

Hana turned towards the houses again. Towards the path she'd wandered out once before, bottle in hand and memories fuzzy, and shrugged off the feeling settling in the pit of her stomach.

“Think you’re right about that. Just one problem, though.” She held up the beer up before extending it towards Grace. “Only came up here with one, and I owe you at least two for what you did earlier.”

It was nearly pitch black out, but she still caught it. The small smile that crossed Grace’s face and didn’t leave it. “It’ll do.”

---

The next day they all set out to regroup - to get back at some of the vans while also gathering supplies, and the first thing Hana does once she’s able to drag herself down from her perch with Grace is get an idea of where they’d been striking.

Reports mentioned Peggies picking off their people both to the east and the south - the van over by Sunrise a lucky shot in the dark for John’s people - while others had struck on the outskirts of the valley. Fall’s End was still the largest fortified free zone for their people to be in, but the roads weren’t theirs. Not yet.

So she had to work fast, at least now before they had a chance to throw them off further. She was still a target. Had lucked out somehow even after getting fucked over before, but didn’t even think about laying low now. It was her fault it’d gotten worse to begin with, and her mess to deal with.

With the guys on interference, gift baskets and all, it took some of the heat off, and as soon as a new report came in - another white van proving to be an ambush - she was back on the road rushing off to intercept it.

Burning rubber, she ran them down, making sure no one hit them alone, and held her breath with every screech of the tires and every thrown open door on the back of their vans. Every stop was a roll of the dice, and after a day of playing touch and go, she and a few others jerry-rigged their own van, piling in to tail the Peggies back to one of their drop off points.

The path wound north through the hills, taking them in a direction that this time she was able to follow. Peering over the driver’s seat from her spot in the back, she watched the construction yard come into view. Paths almost haphazardly circled the place, running rings around the building square in its center, as the dirt paths merged into the road leading onto the grounds.

An ATV roared past them, nearly clipping them on the way in, and judging from the trucks parked outside it was active as ever. Whatever they had been moving out before - supplies, people, weapons - they’d have a shot at now, and a quick radio call on their end helped make it clear that they wouldn’t have to deal with it alone for long.

Ducking back down, Hana passed some extra shells to Kat, and traded a quick look with Grace as she fiddled with her gear to get her rifle into place.

Grace had already been looking her way, skeptical for damn good reason, and seconds away from telling her to stay put. It would’ve been a rough order to follow if she had, one Hana would’ve been doomed to break, but Grace remained silent as the wheels slowed to a stop, her mouth set in a hard line.

There wasn’t much she could say in this moment to ease the pressure, but as the countdown in her head wound down to zero, Hana flashed her a wink. Then jumped to join the others in busting out of the back of the van.

Chaos erupted, the Peggies by the doors falling back only to go for their weapons as their group got into position. Hana threw herself behind a nearby pile of logs, and stayed down as a spray of bullets sent pieces of wood and bark flying. She’d lost sight of the others fast. Kat she’d figured would want to get in close and personal, her shotgun doing most of the talking for her, while Grace was nothing short of a ghost.

One blink and Hana lost sight of the red heart on the back of Grace’s uniform, but not even a moment later she spotted that light again. Faint and familiar, Grace's laser sight glinted briefly on the back of one of the Peggies before they fell, her shots almost too quick for Hana to keep up with.

More wood pelted her as she adjusted her position, and as a Peggie came up from the other side, she fired. Tried to aim best as she could, while holding her position. 

"Five minutes out, we’ll be there in five!” the walkie by her side crackled, as words come through.

Five. Fuck.

“Deputy!”

Hana whipped her head towards the voice, trying to pick out the person speaking to her, and caught the Resistance member waving at her - Bryan, or was it Ryan? They hadn’t had a lot of time for intros in the van, but his ‘drop the bass’ shirt was tough to forget.

“We’ll cover you!” His cover wasn’t much better than hers, and he pointed towards the only main building in the yard. 

He started firing, and the rain of wood chips above her slowed, then stopped. Chancing a quick peek out between what was left of the pile, Hana broke into a run before she could second-guess it.

And though there wasn’t much point, she started counting again. Ran straight through those numbers and across the dirt road as one became five, became fifteen, became thirty. Eventually the numbers blended right into the noise erupting around them, and as she reached the building in the center of the yard, she fought to get to that room tucked away inside of it. That small place that she’d make damn sure no one else was ever trapped in again.

Throwing herself into cover just past the entrance, Hana stopped to catch her breath as movement close by drew her attention to the floor. Right to the grenade rolling to a stop right by her feet.

Every hair on her shot straight up. Scrambling to move, she damn near slipped and fell as she fought to get away, and dove right back out. 

Profanity zipping through her head on overdrive, it all skidded to a halt as the force hit. Flowing out, it was a wave of heat that set her nerves alight as she collided with a nearby crate. Vision swimming, she blinked and coughed, praying it’d settle only to get dragged up.

An arm looped around her neck, and she clamped down on it with her fingers as the pressure ramped up to cut off her air flow. She slammed herself back against the person holding her. Once, then twice, as a snarl slipped out, and the grip loosened, giving her just enough leeway to get away and - crack.

That close she couldn’t help but flinch as the shot took the Peggie down; her ears ringing slightly as she righted herself. But when she flashed a thumbs up in appreciation, across the way from her wasn’t Grace. Hell, it wasn’t even one of their people. It was -

A Peggie. The woman lowered her gun, and when Hana didn’t budge, she broke into a run, clearing out fast. Another Peggie stayed with her, keeping close behind as they disappeared into the trees.

Was that - were there more of them? One of Ben's?

A solid slap to her arm shook her out of it a moment later, one of the other Resistance members pulling her back to the present, but the questions lingered. Stayed in the back of her mind even as they cleared out the last few holdouts and finally broke into that back room. 

Three people were huddled together on the other side of the door, all blindfolded, but unharmed. Relieved, she threw out as quick a greeting as she could manage before removing them and cut the zipties around their wrists after. 

On Grace’s final all-clear of the area, they didn’t linger. They got the hell out fast, leaving Kat and the others to break down the rest of the yard and the gear the Peggies had been stashing there. But back at Fall’s End, she was back at square one again. Idle enough for the itch to move to set in, and for her mind to wander back to the questions running through it on repeat.

How many defectors were there? How many had there always been?

They had no real clue at this point, just word on the few that Jerome knew had reached out for help. But sometimes that was all you needed. A few people on the same wavelength, with a serious desire to raise hell.

And judging from what she’d seen over the last day or so, the few were starting to look like so much more than that.

The cigarette burned down between her lips as Hana stared down the street, and felt her heel start tapping against the floor. Posted at one of the rooftop watch stations, her eyes followed the few people that passed on by, and by the time she’d picked up on the voice coming through her radio, she’d graduated to the kind of tapping that would’ve had her mother placing a hand on her knee to still it.

“-ty? Deputy, are you there?”

Jerome. Her leg came to a quick stop. “Hey, Pastor. Everything okay?”

“Where are you right now, still nearby?”

“Yeah, I’m practically a stone’s throw from you, if you’re wondering. Why?”

“Do you remember what we spoke about earlier? About you, and those that brought you back?

She took one last draw on the cigarette, her grip tight on it. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Come on down to the church. They want to meet.”

[chubbysciencenerd]

Runaway Pet Fem!reader x JacobSeed

dubcon, pet dynamic, dirty talk (slight), orgasm denial, slight Stockholm syndrome towards the end idfk and if you don't like it then simply don't read it.

(NOT PROOF READ BEEN REAL BUSY LATELY BUT I HAVE SO MANY INEADS FOR STORIES IN A GOOGLE DOC DW)

You have remained captured by Jacob at his compound for just under 3 weeks now, he would bring over your radio and hold it just out of reach forcing you to listen to your friends asking you for help thinking that you're hiding as if this was all too much, you wanted them to know that wasn't the case but you couldn't. Until today, you woke up in the stupid cage he kept you in, it was inside the veterans center and inside he office at the foot of his bed. You felt like he was keeping you like a damn pet. You look and right at the front of your cage you see your radio and a piece of paper, you quickly grab both, the paper had writing on it. Don’t say anything I wouldn’t like pup, I'm listening. You immediately talk into the radio after reading the note. “Hello?..” Sharky answers almost immediately, “Deputy! Where the hell have you been?” You tear up a little as you smile knowing he was okay, “I'm being kept at Jacobs compound, Is everyone alright?” Sharky barley let you finish speaking before he responded. “Jacob Seed? Everyones okay, I can get everyone together! We can come get you, we need you bro.. Johns going… A little Crazy.” You chuckle softly, as if John wasn't crazy already. “No no, no one is to even try to come get me. It wont end well. Sharky Listen carefully, you need to tell Hudson that she's in charge now and I need you and everyone else to help her and treat her with the same respect you treat me with okay? Just until I’m out of here.” It was quiet for a minute before Sharky finally responded. “Broskie are you sure?” You smile softly responding with a simple “Positive” Jacob enters the room and gives you a soft yet wicked smirk. You look up at him nervously as you speak into the radio one last time, “Sharky, I have to go. Tell everyone to stay strong.” 

Jacob squats in front of the cage and holds his hand out, “Times up pup.” You hand him the radio hesitantly, he grabs your wrist tightly grabbing the radio with his free hand. “You smell like shit pup, I'm going to let you take a shower but there's no saying what I'll do if you disobey me. Got it?” You nod shakily, fuck.. This was probably your only chance for a while. He lets go and you snatch your hand back into the cage as he starts to unlock your cage which was more like a damn kennel for a dog, he steps to the side as you nervously crawl out standing with weak legs. He had a good feeling you couldn't run even if you wanted to. He walks over to the fridge in his office and grabs an apple and a water bottle from it and hands it to you. “For strength.” You7 take them hastily, taking a bite of the apple first and opening the water bottle drinking only about half of it, you were too smart to chug it all away. It was so nice to not eat and drink out of a bowl like a damn judge. You continue to eat the apple as he goes to a box he had brought in a couple of days ago. He pulled out 2 little travel size bottles of soap, body wash and shampoo. He sets them on the dresser before pulling out fresh clothes from the box for the deputy. After grabbing the bottles and setting them on the clothes he walks over setting the pile on the top of your cage as he lets you finish your apple. Soon enough you were practically eating the core before he rips it from you, “Did you know.. Apple seeds contain cyanide?” He chuckles before throwing away the core. “It would take around 200 apple seeds to kill someone. Just a little fact” You finish the water before grabbing the f/resh clothes and bottles. He grabs your arm roughly and starts walking you out of his office and to the nearest bathroom with a shower. “No fooling around. Let me know when you're in the shower.”

He closes the door staying inside the bathroom with you, the man was decent enough to turn around so you can strip and enter the shower. You are quick to remove your clothes and get in the shower, You mutter out a soft “Im in..” before turning on the water. Jacob turned to look at the shower to make sure you didn't try anything stupid. “Why do you have to be in here?” You ask awkwardly before putting some of the body wash on a rag that was in there. As you start to wash yourself you felt, Free.. Even though you weren't, not yet. Instead of answering he hums softly. You continue your shower and almost timed perfectly as you are rinsing the shampoo out of your hair you hear yelling and gunfire outside. “Don’t leave this room.” He growls rushing out of the bathroom grabbing his guns on the way out to see what the hell was going on. You turn off the water and quickly get dressed and start to slip your way through the veterans center and out the back without being noticed. Or so you think. You find some stuff stacked near the wall and use it to hop the fence in the back. And as soon as you hit the ground you start running like your life depends on it, once you look back you see Jacob running after you. Fuck! How did he see me? Im so fucking dead.. When you glance back a second time you see he's gaining on you, right as you start to look back there was a loose tree root that you trip over. As you try to get up you feel his weight crushing you back into the forest floor. His knee digs into your back and you hear his heavy panting as he leans over to whisper in your ear. “Pets who run away deserve a punishment.” 

As he finished speaking he moved his knees to be on either side of you, pinning you down before grabbing the waist of the shorts he gave you and ripping them down to your knees followed by the cheap panties. His rough and calloused hands grab your hips harshly before pulling your ass up and in the air. Soft pleas and whimpers escape your lips, “I wont do it again, Please!” You try everything but he doesn't give up. Your heart sinks to your stomach as you hear him fumbling with his belt and jeans and before you know it his thick head is pushing against your entrance. “If you ever think about running away again, remember this day.”  He whispers in your ear before harshly biting your neck drawing blood as he rams his full length into you harshly pulling out and quickly thrusting back in, absolutely rutting against you like a starved animal. He pounds away at your aching core as he pulls his teeth from your neck and licking along the bite soothing it before biting almost harder on the other side of you neck, you yelp in a mixture of pain and pleasure. You felt like he was splitting you open with every thrust of his cock, it was so thick and lengthy you wanted to hate it but.. You couldn't. He grabs your hair and harshly yanks your head back before growling in your ear, “I want to hear you pup.” A mixture of whimpers and moans start spilling out of your lips and he starts going back to kissing and sucking on your neck now only leaving small almost teaseful bites. He sees your hand snake between your legs and he quickly stops after one specifically hard thrust. He grabs both of your arms roughly and brings them behind your back holding them there. “Bad pets don't get to cum”

He starts rutting into you again groans escaping his own lips as he feels his limit coming, “Im gonna fucking breed you, marking you isnt enough.” He chuckles with a low voice before leaning over you and whispering in your ear again. “I'm gonna fill you up to the damn brim so you can have my pups.” You feel him smile against your neck before biting it harshly again causing blood to trickle down your neck as his hips stutter before coming to a stop, you felt so full and almost like he truly owned you now. He draws out of you painfully slowly and you gasp as  the emptiness, you felt like a part of you was missing. You look back and see Jacob tucking himself back into his pants before helping you up carefully holding you against him so he can pull your panties and shorts back up, He didn't need his soldiers to see what was his. You look at him with lost eyes trying to understand why you felt like this with one of the goddamn seed brothers. He chuckles at the priceless look on your face before picking you up bridal style. “You okay pup? I know that was rough but like I said, bad pets need to be punished.” You look up at him with a quivering lip as you rest your head against his shoulder, just because you were bad didnt mean he was the worst fucking guy he was still going to provide a little aftercare, that shit is important especially if he wants you to trust him. He starts to walk with you back to the veterans center as he softly hums Only You. Jacob had kept you in his office for a reason, He wanted you, and now.. He claimed you. You avoid the gazes of soldiers as he carries you back inside. 

He sets you on his bed before leaving, he comes back with a wet and warm washcloth, “Take off your shorts..” You look at him and weakly take off your shorts, he starts on your inner thighs wiping off whatever mess there was before sliding your panties to the side and cleaning up the main mess, his seed was leaking out of you and it made his cock stiffen in his pants causing him to growl under his breath. You weren't in the right state for anything more at the moment, He continues to clean you up before placing your panties back, for such a rough man right now his touch was soft, gentle and slow.. He was being weirdly comforting.. You wanted to hate it but still, you couldn't help but absolutely love it. It was the man you didn't love but he was destined to change that. “What do you need right now pup?” He asks, his voice weirdly soft. You can get yourself to speak still honestly in a bit of shock, He sighs laying on his bed next to you. Before your mind can even react your body starts to cuddle with him, hitching your leg up over his and your arm laying over his stomach as you rest your head softly on his chest. He softly strokes your hair crying to comfort you after that intense scene. He wanted you to love him, not hate him. With you being exhausted the last things you hear before drifting off to sleep are, “I'll make you love me pup.”

Im begging for criticism on my writing, please let me know what would make it better for you guys. Love you all and thanks so much for reading!

[spookyspecterino]

MASTERLIST

❤️ NSFW/18+ | 🧡 Mature Teens | 💛 SFW | My AO3

A Quiet Place: Day One

Eric x Reader

💛 "Focus on Me" | GN!Reader

You and Eric share a first kiss

💛 "Try To Live, For Me" | GN!Reader

You meet Eric on the boat. Getting attached is dangerous.

💛 "Together at the End of the World" | GN!Reader

You're stuck in the subway with Eric the day the asteroids hit.

Starfield - Sam Coe/Delgado

Starfield Masterlist

Bullet Train - Tangerine

Bullet Train Masterlist

Far Cry 5

Jacob Seed

❤️ "Out Hunting" | F! Reader

Jacob goes hunting, only to be followed by the deputy. Things don't go as planned, which might not be such a bad thing.

John Seed

🧡 "Unconditional" | GN! Reader

John is caught off-guard by a surprise visit from the deputy and they confess something he wasn't expecting. Will this be a turning point for him?

Stranger Things - Eddie Munson

❤️ "Distracted" | F! Reader

While in class, you and Eddie get to talking. Which quickly becomes something else when certain things come out...

❤️ "I'm With You Till the End" | F! Reader

When Eddie's trailer shows up on the morning news and cops come to your door asking if you've seen him, you panic and go looking for him.

Marvel - Stephen Strange

🧡 "Annoying" | GN! Reader

During an argument you let slip that you may have once had a crush on Stephen Strange, but Stephen doesn't reject you and some interesting things are revealed...

💛 "Is it Worth That?" | GN! Reader

When Stephen Strange tracks you down for practicing forbidden magic you are forced to make a crucial choice.

Encanto - Bruno Madrigal

💛 HeadCanons & A Few Short Blurbs | F! Reader

HeadCanons about Bruno's feelings for you. Blurbs are short stories about Bruno asking you out on a date and Bruno and you getting ready for Julieta's wedding.

💛 "Think About This, Before It's Too Late" | F! Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

When you've loved Bruno from afar for so long and he's never reciprocated, you think it's finally time to move on. But moving on isn't working and you're faced with a choice.

💛 "I'd Like a Vision, Please" | F! Reader

You go to Bruno for a vision, but what he shows you isn't what you expected. Trying to question The Seer only gets you more tangled up.

[pikapeppa]

Writer's game: first sentences!

Thanks to dearest @kittynomsdeplume for the tag! Tagging forward to @iamcayc @ranaspkillnarieth @johaerys-writes @elveny @fogsblue @cthu-boo @mwasaw @little-lightning-lavellan @crackinglamb and anyone else who sees this and would like to play -- feel free to tag back so I can peek at your writing! 👀

Rules: post the first sentence of your last ten fics. If you haven't written ten fics, share as many first-sentences as you have.

I always enjoy doing this one -- it's fun to see if your first lines follow any specific patterns!

************

Becoming Whole (Aloy x Kotallo, Horizon: Forbidden West)

He woke to the sound of howling.

2. Even The Hardiest Desert Blooms Have To Get Wet Sometimes (Aloy x Drakka, Horizon: Forbidden West)

It was close to midday when Drakka spotted the signature blue headlight of a tamed Charger on the approach.

3. Finding Something In Common (Aloy x Drakka x Nil, Horizon: Forbidden West)

Nil chuckled. “You’re ruthless when you’re riled up, aren’t you?” he crooned.

4. Inevitable (Lucy x David, Cyberpunk: Edgerunners)

Never trust a soul in Night City.

5. The Wisdom In A Bowl Of Pudding (Tamaris Lavellan x Felassan, Dragon Age)

“This way, hah’ren,” Felassan said. He glanced over his shoulder, but Solas wasn’t there.

6. I Wanna Do Bad Things With You (Deputy x John Seed, Far Cry 5)

If there was anything John Seed knew, it was that God had a plan.

7. What You'd Do For The One You Love (Geralt of Rivia x f!Reader, The Witcher 3)

Later, you’ll think back to that moment.

8. Pleasurable Pastimes (Nare Lavellan x Solas, Dragon Age)

Nare is standing. She is standing, supporting her own weight on her own two feet, but with Solas kissing her, she forgets that the ground is even there.

9. Sensate (Fuu x Jin x Mugen, Samurai Champloo)

He watches her as they travel, and it is exhausting.

10. Just Hold On, We're Going Home (Fuu x Jin x Mugen, Samurai Champloo)

Fuu’s life was pretty good these days.

And as a bonus, from my new WIP that's not yet posted:

Coming In Like A Western Wind (Aloy x Avad, Horizon: Forbidden West)

Avad had always been a dreamer.

Hope you guys enjoyed! Excited to see what everyone else's first lines are like! 🥰

[derelictlovefool]

Could I request a John Seed x f!reader, deputy or not whichever, where reader tries to get John out of the cult bs before stuff gets too bad/violent? Fluffy smut maybe? 🌸

Hi anon! Thank you for the request but I don't write fem!readers as other amazing writers already have that well and truly covered. I like to focus on gender neutral and male readers! If you're okay with me doing this with a gender neutral reader instead i'd be happy to write it! 😊💕

[felassanis]

John Seed x F!Deputy: Sinner and Sinner

As John is shot down from his plane. He makes his escape into Hope County’s woods; The Deputy hot on his trail. But even as the Deputy finds herself with John right where she wants him...she hesitates...

Warnings: Mature content. Depictions of Violence. Swearing. Nothing too NSFW

Read on AO3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/40426464

John didn’t have Jacob’s skills when it came to navigating the dense forests of Hope County. Especially at night. To him, every tree looked the same, no rock discerning in its shape, no bush unique in its growth. He might as well have been a headless chicken running deeper in the shrubbery. But he had little choice than to throw himself into the unknown. For the Deputy was hot on his trail.

He thought she must be a fucking bloodhound sent from hell. Sniffing out his blood which seeped like wine from his damaged side after she had shot him out of his plane. He’d sharply turn bends and zig-zag between the trees. Dodge over small hills and race through bushes, tearing his clothes even more than they were. Just to escape her fiery gaze if nothing else, which surged a strange fear into his heart like nothing he had felt before.

Yet every time he dared turn to look over his shoulder she was there. Dogging him. The devil on his shoulder. 

His breathing was coming rapidly now. By no means was he an unfit man. But the Deputy seemed to be tapping into his energy. Gaining speed while he only lagged like a wounded deer. He cursed under his breath, trying to scramble up a steep hill on his hands. Fingers curling around a root that stuck out from the earth. Pulling himself up…

Then the branch gave away. Sending him falling on his back.

The Deputy doesn’t give him a second to sit up. Throwing herself on top of him John just barely catches her wrist before her knife can come down on his neck.

“Just fucking!-” She seethes, snarling as she pushes all of her weight down on him. The tip of her switchblade coming close enough that John feels the cold steel when he swallowed.

They’re snarling at each other. Like wolves snapping for the other’s throat as they writhe against the dirt. John no longer sees the women he had trapped in his bunker, no…that seemed like so long ago now when compared to the snarling beast sat above him. As if both gender and humanity had been stripped away paving the way only for a cornered animal desperate to clamp shut the snapping maws of her predator forever.

The knife tugs lower to the point blood draws. John squirms wildly. Struck in panic at the sheer strength of this woman. She wasn’t weak, but as John grinded his teeth and struggled against her, it was like something else was fueling her. 

John wondered naively for a split second, if it might’ve even been God’s strength. If perhaps God was aiding her against him. Until strangely, her strength wanes all of a sudden.

He takes the opportunity to snatch her wrist away from his throat. Taking the risk and hissing as the knife cuts a small, shallow line across his pulse. Throwing her off him, the two struggle for the knife. Rising to their feet, John throws his weight into her and slams her against a tree repeatedly with his shoulder. Until finally the knife comes free from her fingers. And she rips herself away from him.

He becomes giddy then at the switch of power. That throbbing that spilled into his urges came back in full fruition as he rounded on the Deputy. And the power comes crumbling down like wet paper as her  knife is now replaced with a handgun. Aimed and loaded.

“Ah,” John’s lips spread into a gleeful smile. “Now, now, Deputy. In what world is this a fair fight?”

“Shut the fuck up, John,” She shakes the gun at him. “Just shut the fuck up,”

She’s a sight like this, John won’t deny himself the mere fact. Blonde hair trussed and tousled, the edges clinging to her sweat-slicked skin as grass stains and tears dog her clothes. The sounds of her ragged breath so tantalising he’s almost tempted to press himself against her to hear them better. Even on the brink of ruining him she’s beautiful. Impossibly and sinfully beautiful.

John watches as her finger is pressed against the trigger. A hair’s breadth from launching him into oblivion. Yet somehow, she can’t find the strength nor the conviction to act on it. Instead she stares at him angrily, chest heaving as the cut on her cheek bleeds down towards her jawline. 

He holds himself back from springing into action. Wary that one wrong breath will fade whatever hesitation had suddenly clung to her heart. But also…curious. Curious as to why she stops now, when the end to this cat and mouse hangs in the balance of one shot. It’s what she’s always wanted, isn’t it? To end their little game. To convince herself that she is right. So why the hesitation now?

His smile then falters the longer they stew in uncertain silence. Wondering where this was going as he held her knife tightly. Was this some sort of ploy of hers to get his guard down. It wouldn’t work if it was, he knows better now than to underestimate this creature. All their scuffles had ended in the same fashion, they came to blows only for one of them to get away. Lick their wounds until the next round. At least, that is how they normally ended.

The air is different this time. It hangs like rolling thunder above their heads. which one of them will get struck however… John can’t seem to predict.

The deputy lets out a groan, holding the gun up higher as if its weight was starting to get to her. It’s then he notices that she’s shaking.

“Why is this so fucking difficult!?”

John blinks. “Come again, Deputy?”

She lowers the gun ever slightly, much to his surprise. Staring at him like he might hold all the answers but he won’t sit still long enough for her to decipher it. 

“What is it about you? Why you?” 

John ponders not the question, but his own traitorous heart for skipping at the way she asks. 

But the question is not for him, no. It seems she speaks of her own bewilderment to herself. Berating her own lack of action.

“Perhaps it’s because you know Joseph is right. Deep down in that black heart of yours,” John offers an answer. “You hesitate now because you’re unsure,”

She shakes her head. “No, your sick cunt of a brother isn’t right. I’m under no illusion that he is, or ever will be,” The gun raises a bit higher. Defying him. “I didn’t hesitate with Faith. And I definitely didn’t hesitate with Jacob,”

John steels himself against the names of his brother and sister. Trying to ignore the burning anger at her even having the audacity to utter their names to him. 

“It’s you. It’s just fucking you. I can’t…”

The genuine conflict on her face is alarming. He can't tell if she is about to round the gun on herself, or put the mystery to rest by planting a bullet between his eyes.

“Well, I certainly won’t complain at your inability…” John takes one long stride towards her, wasting no more time. One hand grabbed at the back of her head roughly, the other pressed her knife to her throat. Mimicking the way she had him earlier, twisting the point ever slightly against her pulse. “When it certainly makes it easier for me,”

It would be so easy, he thinks to himself. End her here and now and suffer Joseph’s consequences later. She’s caused so much strife in this land, this one lone woman. Created so much rampant sin in a County that had been better off without her. Even as he feels her handgun push into his waist, ever so slightly twisting into his still bleeding wound, he relents. The knife would be lodged into her throat long before she had the chance to pull the trigger.

To his annoyance, her face is impassive and flat. Unbothered by the knife pressed against her throat. Almost as if she had predicted he would do that. 

“You can’t do it either,” 

Something roils beneath John’s skin at her accusation. “Oh? Can’t I?” 

“No. You’ve had so many fucking opportunties, John. You had me tied down for God’s sake and you still drew it out,” 

She raises her chin like she’s won the argument. Giving John a perfect view of her neck. She swallows against the knife, her throat bobbing against the tip in a nearly explicit fashion. John absentmindedly licks his lips at the sight.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself, Wrath” He says, Truly in awe if this was the hill she was willing to die on. Quite literally. 

The grin that tore across his face when he says her exposeful little nickname was terrifying. Eyes dipping to the collar of her shirt, their angle allowed him the faintest glimpse of the sharp ‘W’ he had tattooed across her chest. Poking through the unbuttoned shirt.

He looks up into her eyes. “I believed you needed to be absolved. I truly believed the gates of Eden could be opened to you, if only I could get you to say yes. But you’ve proven yourself to be beyond atonement,”

“I think I proved that the day I killed your siblings,”

He grips her hair tightly, winding his fingers through the blonde curls enough to pull at her scalp, causing her to hiss in pain. She was intentionally winding him up, goading him, taunting him. Did she seek death, or was she truly and wholeheartedly sure he would not kill her like a dog no matter how much she pushed him?

“Indeed. Yet I take no joy in killing you, Deputy. But it must be done. You cling to your sin of wrath like your life depends on it. My family will never heal so long as you are around. So long as you keep inflicting pain and misery into the hearts of the faithful,” He tells her, keeping his gaze fixed on her eyes. 

“I don’t think you ever convinced yourself I would atone, John,” 

A wind whips through the trees, sending goosebumps down his flesh. He doesn’t say anything, searching her eyes for…something. 

She takes in his silence, biting the inside of her cheek before she continues. “Do you remember when you baptised me? You held me under. Again and again till I thought you were going to drown me. You wanted me to suffer for the same reasons I want you to suffer,”

He tilts his head. Waiting for her to finish, a sense of dread claiming his body

“You feel something for me. And you can’t fucking stand it,”

John’s mind stutters. Quickly grasping for a response, or the inhibitors to make himself burst out laughing to shrug off her accusation. It was such a ridiculous thing to say and yet there is no humour to be found in her words. Only the truth.

He feels a sudden need to crawl out of own skin.

“You think a sinner like you is worthy of love? My love?” He seethes, pushing the hateful words out through a wall of clenched teeth. “You think I could ever care for the likes of you? How adorable, Deputy,”

“I don’t need to think about it. I know,”

“You know nothing about me,”

“Then kill me. Prove me the fuck wrong,” 

It’s then she leans in, readily resting her throat against the blade as a willing sacrifice. So readily John inches away at first. 

It would take but one little push, one little push to watch the light fade from her stoney gaze.

John sucks in a sharp breath, clearly audible. And she smiles in triumph. A sickly sweet smile he wanted to carve off her face right then and there. In fact, he should have, that smile was a sin in itself. He should have driven that knife straight into her pretty little neck and be done with it. But his muscles tenses, hands growing wet with sweat and he couldn’t. He couldn’t move.

“I should put you down like the mad-dog you are,” She starts. Voice but a whisper. “It would be a mercy honestly. Because when I’m done with Joseph, and I will get to Joseph, I have no clue how you’re gonna be with no one holding your goddamn leash,” 

His own voice betrays him, coming out as a hushed whisper instead of the ferocity he wanted muster so he could push her away.

But it was like whatever had be said next had to be hidden. Kept even from God himself.

“But you can’t…” He confirms. Watching as her eyes search his face, her mouth opening and closing around failed words.

The air around them is heavy, intimate. He feels like he’s suffocating against her silence. He needed to hear it from her. See her lips wraps around the confession. 

And then the sound of her gun crashing to the floor seals it.

“Like I said…I want you to suffer for the same reason you want me to suffer,”

They stew in thick silence for a moment. Both of them taking it all in. John feels his heart racing to the point he’s certain she can hear it. 

Not so long ago they were fighting. Trying to kill each other. Or had they been? Was it just an excuse to engage with her? Explore the depths of her emotions, even if that emotion was anger, just for the excuse of knowing her. John feels like he’s been dangling on the leash of his own longing; his need growing teeth ever since he first laid eyes on her. They were enemies but by God they were so much more. Possibility burning like the wick of a candle where one of them could blow it out in an instant. Delve into the dark like this had never happened. And yet neither one could so much as breathe around the flame…

All his life he’s known one thing; pain. It had been conditioned into him since his earliest memory. He'd never known comfort, or know hands that didn't want to harm him. So what she stoked in him…it was unfamiliar. It was terrifying. It was something that could ruin him, and he knew that he’d let it. He’d let a sinner into a part of his heart he believed had died a long time ago. And he hated himself for it. 

From the point she had first stoked his longing, he had wanted to make her pay for it. Punish her for undoing all the years of hardening. Force her to scream and flinch at his own inability at keeping her out of his thoughts. For she inhabited them like a demon plaguing his mind. Festering with explicit ideas of what they could be if only…

John would never be free of her until she lay dead. And a small part of him had hoped Jacob or Faith would accomplish it. So he would not have to. 

He wanted her gone as much as he obsessed over their little game of cat and mouse. Swallowing every second of her presence that he could. He wanted her to writhe and wail as much as he wanted her screaming and panting beneath him. The feeling of her skin against his, willingly. 

“Say something for fuck’s sake,” She begs, and at this point he realises she’s leaned her head forward and toward him. Till their foreheads almost touch. The ghost of her breath haunting his lips, pulling gospel of his feelings for her from his throat…

The knife was long gone. His grip on her hair now rested on the side of her neck, his thumb grazing across the patch of skin he had held the knife up to. 

She was on fire, her pulse vibrating beneath his gentle touch for she was as much as mess as he was. Her breathing ragged and harsh and he didn't know if she was terrified or stumbling under his touch.

"John…"

John doesn’t speak. For he does not need to. What little distance had remained between them is absolved by the crash of his lips against hers. 

Their kiss is a slow attempt of gentleness between two people who have never known the word. For the first time in his life John handles a person with care; cupping her face with hands that have killed and tortured. And yet she brings her own to hold them in place, disregarding their history and pressing them against her bruised and cut face like they could heal her. 

Charlie tilted her head to the side to brush her lips against his with more fervour. More feeling. Then one hand comes to graze the 'Sloth' scar across his chest, and he gasps against her mouth. Her cold fingers grazed across sensitive strips of flesh, charting every ragged cut and haphazard tear. Navigating with such careful trails that he licks at her bottom lip. Getting her to open her mouth for him to explore her with his tongue. Eliciting the most wonderful moan from her that he swallows eagerly.

She is warm, so unbelievably warm as she pressed herself against him. Chest to chest their hearts hammer like a symphony as he laps at her lips. Drinking her with the fervour of a man starved of affection. John hadn't realised, he hadn't wanted to realise, how whole the feeling of her touch made him. 

There had never been unity within him. He was an abhorrent amalgamation of violent urges and aggression unspent. But with Charlie…it is like he is drowning in sunlight. 

Her hand trails upwards. Fingers dancing flames into his skin. Then they curl around his necklace…

And pull. 

John snaps his eyes open to Charlie pushing him away and onto his back, eliciting a shout as his waist burns in agony from the sudden impact.

She looms over him, the key to his bunker swinging from her palm like Joseph's cross. A mix of grief and anger stricken on her features.

"Get out of here, John," She urges him. 

"You-" he goes to stand up. Fully intent on throttling her, before her boot hammers home on his chest. Keeping him pinned on his back.

"No, I mean it. Get out of here, please for the love of fucking God just get out of Hope,"

John shakes his head. "You know I can't do that,"

"Yes you can. And you have to-"

"Or you'll kill me?" 

Her lips press into a thin line. "I am getting Hudson. And then I'm going after Joseph. There is no other way this is going to end…but you…it can be different for you,"

John's face contorts in ugly fury as he withholds the urge to wipe his still wet lips with the back of his hand. How could she use this between them to steal his key? Manipulate him into thinking this was something real, that this had not been some sinful fantasy he made up in his head. How could she make him feel like this for the first time and stomp on his heart?

And why, for the love of fucking God, did he just want her to keep kissing him. To talk about this. To solve this.

“You can’t kill Joseph, God won’t let you,” He grunts, trying to remove her foot off him.

She scoffs, “God will have to get in fucking line if he thinks he can stop me,”

“Charlie-” She visibly flinches at her name. John quells the hurt that reaction made him feel, and wraps his hand around her ankle. “Even if I went along with your insanity. You think your little friends in the resistance will just let me walk free?” He barks out a laugh at the thought of walking amongst such sinners.

“I’ll talk to them-”

“You can’t reason with fucking animals!”

“Your cult are the animals, John! The things the peggies have done. What you’ve done!-”

“You’re a fucking hypocrite,” He sneers, digging his nails into the skin of her ankle. Drawing bloody crescents. He had honestly thought her better than this. Amidst her clusterfuck of sins, he thought blatant hypocrisy was at least absent. “You’re prepared to let me go, so that I can..what? Atone for what I’ve done by your morals? Why wasn’t this deal offered to Jacob? To Faith? Why were they cut down but I am granted an ultimatum?”

She rips her foot away from him. Quickly grabbing her handgun from off the ground, once again separating them by the end of a barrel.

"Because…"

"Tell me!" He's yelling now. The effect of his voice revolving into the valley, startling her. Why should he be the exception? What was so special about him that his siblings were cut down but he can walk?

“Just get out of here, John. And don’t show your face here again,”

"Charlie, wait!"

Lifting himself to his feet John finds himself rooted to the spot as her back is turned to him. The key to the bunker swinging like a noose in her palm as she steps further into the woods.

John sees flashes of how this could end. Of him running up behind her, strangling her until her legs stopped seizing. Grab her gun and shoot her in the head, be done with it once and for all. But those violent thoughts seem to fade against memories of their kiss, still fresh in his mind. The feel of her pulse beneath his hand, her curls between his fingers, her hot breath fanning across his skin…

Instead, the wind brushes against him. Making him all too aware of his still wet lips. And John turns his back on Charlie.

[consumedkings-archive]

WITCHING HOUR, a sequel.

chapter one: genesis

word count: 5.8k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, religious blasphemy, cults amok, massively canon divergent (if you’re here then like...you know), body horror and horror in general, brainwashing, manipulation, you know the drill. john is himself, and thus: deserving of a warning. in this chapter specifically, brief mention, in passing, of mass suicide.

notes: hi friends! yes, i'm aware that this is a week early. i apologize. i wanted to get this chapter out while i had the thoughts in my head; not a lot of exciting stuff happens, most of it is just... setting things up for where we're going and where we're going to be, but i hope that you enjoy it nonetheless! thank you, of course, to my beta reader @starcrier​; this chapter was in a lot rougher shape before she got to it. if you have the chance, please check out her writing--she is just absolutely incredible! 

and thank you to everyone who did me the GREAT blessing of reviewing and supporting ancient names. i really can't believe i'm out here!! with people interested in what i have to say about this fucking nutso canon-divergent universe i am building! gosh i just hope y’all enjoy it. fun stuffs to come.

summary: —to fall like a wounded animal into a place that was meant for revelations.

there are many injustices that john seed will tolerate. the betrayal, and subsequent departure, of his wife and child is not one of them.

or: elliot honeysett just wants to live her life in quiet seclusion, and there's no way in hell that's happening.

“This is a very old story.”

It was cold, and dark, and the night stayed cloudy and moonless. As Helmi picked up the gun clasped between the two corpses, she glanced furtively in the brunette’s direction. Her gaze was impossible to read, the severe lines of her face accented only by the dim, flickering light of the neon sign; Kajsa had always looked like this, though, sharp like broken glass was, reflecting only and not taking anything in. Protected.

Helmi lifted her gaze back to the dead pair at her feet, up to the neon sign that blinked The Spread Eagle, and then down and stopping at the words written in dried blood on the paneling.

WRATH, DO YOU WANT TO BLOOM IN ME?

“You and me,” Kajsa murmured, and now it was her turn to watch. “Them. Eden’s Gate, and the Mother. All of it has happened before and will happen again.” She sighed, as though it troubled her, the dark arch of her brows pulling together to knit at the center of her forehead. With the only source of the light being the bar’s sign, her skin was an eerie, pallid red-and-blue, darting and worming across her expression. “We’ll turn this world into winter, Hel. The two of us.”

Helmi watched her for a long moment. “Kajsa—”

“Douse them.” She stuck her hands into the pockets of her sweater, turning and stepping over the two other dead bodies they had dragged from where they had been propped up against the wall. “I want this place in ashes by sunrise.”

“Yes.”

Kajsa didn’t wait for her to begin walking to the car, idling still a safe distance away. Helmi preferred it that way. For a few minutes—and that’s all it would take, really, to unlatch the canister lid and toss the gasoline over the bodies, against the paneling of the wall, atop the roof—she could turn her brain off, forget the way Kajsa’s eyes see straight through her, forget the bodies of her brothers and sisters as she tossed the match on them and watched the flame eat through the fuel.

Hungry. A beast. Like me, Helmi thought absently, as the flames licked at the sky, reaching reaching reaching. Watching them felt like watching the souls of her brothers and sisters reaching for the stars, carried away in wisps of foul-smelling smoke. She wondered, do they feel it now? Do they feel the sting, the burn? When their bodies haven’t been given to It, do they feel it all after?

“Come, Helmi,” Kajsa called from the car. “We have a long drive ahead of us.”

They had been at it for hours, this methodical and clinical extinguishing of bodies. Every spot that they had agreed and picked out on the map in such an instance was now blacked out. Burned. Their brothers and sisters had done what was expected of them, and for that, they would not be forced to rot—they would be turned to charcoal, to ash, only blood and bone spent.

Her feet carried her back to the car as the flames began to devour more than just flesh, crawling along the rooftop of the Spread Eagle and popping in the still, quiet night. Kajsa’s hand came up to her face and cradled her cheek, fixing her with those eyes: dark eyes, shades of gray and glassy, like a shark.

“Ingenting under solen är beständigt,” she said, the pad of her thumb brushing across Helmi’s cheekbone. For a second, the older woman almost looked like—well, looked like something, an unknown flicker of emotion crossing her face—but then it cleared.

Hel watched her curiously, waiting until the hand against her cheek dropped before she said, “I know, Kajsa.”

Kajsa nodded. Only once, short and brisk, the gesture as sharp as the lines of her face. “Make sure you do not forget.”

I won’t, Helmi thought, but did not say. Kajsa had never believed words before, and she would not start now. Helmi would just have to show her that she had not forgotten.

She looked back; the singeing of flesh fizzing in the air, the crackle of devouring flame whispering to her. A cleansing fire. Their bodies weren’t given to The Father, but they had given in another way, with their lives—in a way that still mattered.

“Kajsa,” Hel said, bringing the woman’s attention back to her, “do they feel it, still? The fire, when they’re gone?”

“Perhaps,” Kajsa replied, jaw absently working something wadded just in the hollow of her throat; words she wanted to say, and could not. Or would not. It was always hard to tell, with Kajsa. “It’s not for us to know. The after belongs only to the dead.” The dark-haired woman opened the driver’s side of the car, pulling her gloves off of her hands and tossing them inside. “Get in the car, Helmi. I want to keep track of that interloper.”

Interloper. The kinder of the words that what remained of them had been using for John Seed and his merry band of fuck-ups and patience-testers. Heretics, zealots, apostate—

The list was unending. Helmi wished she could run out of disdain, but she knew that she would not be able to. Sorrow and mourning for those they had lost came in absolutes, in fixed amounts, but the bitterness persisted. She swung into the passenger side of the car, shutting it against the smell of burning skin, and exhaled slowly through her nose.

Kajsa pulled the car away from the sight. Hopefully it would be just as the harbinger wished—by sunrise, Hope County would be leveled by fire and flame, nothing but ash and ruined structure left. If the scraps of Eden’s Gate didn’t try and douse it out. If they didn’t continue to interfere.

She glanced out the window to the sky. The tires of the car hit the highway, and Kajsa clicked the cruise control on, and as tendrils of smoke clung to the stars, the clouds parted and the light of the new moon filtered down. Just a sliver of her light, but cold and cruel and reliable all the same.

“It’s pleased,” Kajsa said lightly.

Hel made a low noise of agreement, closing her eyes as she leaned her head against the glass. “Are you?”

“Not yet,” the older woman murmured. When Hel glanced over at her, her eyes were fixed on the road; the headlights switched off, and in the far distance, she could see the tail lights of another vehicle glowing red as blood in the darkness. Seed, Hel thought through the haze of her exhaustion.

“But very soon, I will be.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

One Week Later

“Are you warm enough? Where’s your scarf? Elliot?”

The door was only inches away, and yet—somehow—she’d managed to not make it out without the barrage of questions that typically accompanied any of her departures. Taking in a soft breath, Elliot closed her eyes for a moment, leaving her hand on the door handle.

“I am sufficiently bundled,” she promised, turning to regard her mother, standing in the foyer. “I don’t need a scarf between the front porch and the car.”

“Scarf, please,” her mother murmured, deigning to set her martini glass down in order to pluck it off of the coat rack. Elliot watched the movement curiously—not because she had never seen her mother set aside an alcoholic beverage before, but because these days it seemed more often than not that she was beginning to slow down on them; a thing which Elliot never thought she would see. Part of it might have been the sudden upheaval of having her grown, child-carrying daughter and dog suddenly move in with her, and part of it may have just been, well, time—but either way, she didn’t think she could ask.

There were some things that were just better left unsaid.

“Okay,” Elliot relented tiredly. “I’ll wear the scarf.”

“It’s not just about you anymore, bunny.”

“I know, mama.”

“So wear the scarf—”

“I am,” she insisted irritably, making a great show of flinging the scarf around her neck. I know it’s not just about me, something prickly inside of her said, I fucking know, it’s never been about me, and it’s especially not about me now.

Scarlet eyed her for a moment, wary. This had been happening a lot more now, too—these odd, lingering looks her mother had begun to favor her with. It was the same way Sheriff Whitehorse had looked at her, and the same way Burke had looked at her that last time before she—

Well.

Forcing her tone to lightness, Elliot said, “Happy?”

“Hardly,” her mother replied tartly. “No reason to be spending time around horses in your delicate condition. And you’ve been so irritable as of late—”

“It’s supposed to be good for anxiety.” Elliot glossed over the additional barb blithely, years of muscle-memory kicking in now.

“Getting some sleep would help your anxiety.” Jab, jab, duck, her mother’s tell-tale movements, skittering across their conversation like so many little spiders. It had been so long before this that she’d nearly forgotten what it was like to be engaging in a constant verbal battle with someone who was supposed to love her.

That wasn’t necessarily true, either. She had plenty of experience ducking and parrying verbal punches from someone who claimed to love her, as of late.

“I don’t—” Puffing out a sharp breath through her nose, Elliot passed a hand over her face. Sleep had not been her friend, not before and certainly not now. Too many strange, unnerving dreams about handsome, blue-eyed men with flowers blooming out of their eyes for her liking. “I’m not taking medication that’s not prescribed to me, mama. Sorry. But it’s like you said, it’s not just about me anymore. Right?”

Scarlet picked up her martini glass, waving her hand as she turned to head back into the living room where the fire still glowed warm and hungry in the hearth. Yes, there was nothing she would have preferred more than to give in to the despair and apathy welling up inside of her, curl up under the blankets in her bedroom, safe and tucked away in a perfect bubble; but she couldn’t, because stronger than that apathy was an uneasiness, anxiety that vibrated just under her skin.

Not safe, it told her, during the day when she was trying to relax and at night when she was trying to sleep. Not safe, not us.

That was the real gut-punch of the whole thing. Before, the paranoia, the anxiety, the hyper-sensitivity—they had all been things that served a purpose. Her body had been ready for constant assault because she had been under constant assault. But now? Now, she was in bumfuck-nowhere Georgia, with no bills to pay, no job to maintain, only one task: be healthy, for baby. Be happy, and healthy, and do it for baby, because that was her only responsibility. She could no longer function as a single autonomous unit because she was not, by all intents and purposes, a single. Autonomous. Unit. And yet?

And yet.

And yet, the off switch was broken, somewhere in her brain. Broken, or locked behind bars, or somewhere that she couldn’t reach it. Her brain still liked to think she was under constant assault. And if Scarlet’s verbal fencing skills were anything to go by, maybe it was a fair judgment of the situation.

“...standing there for?” Scarlet asked from the couch, her voice filtering in through some strange fuzziness that had erupted in her brain.

“Just—thinking,” Elliot managed, forcing a smile onto her face. She could tell it fell flat from the way her mother regarded her, but she cleared her throat quickly and glanced at Boomer, waiting patiently by the door. “You gonna take care of mama, Boomer?”

“He certainly will not.”

“Protect the homestead.”

“Elliot—”

“He can’t come with me to the barn,” Elliot informed her mother primly. “He’ll be well-behaved here, I promise.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line. It was something that couldn’t be argued, Boomer’s manners, and so finally she said, “Just don’t be gone long, then.”

Nodding, Elliot opened the front door and slipped out, keys clutched in her hands. The first snowfall of the winter had hit; it was still fresh and powdery, crunching underfoot, and by the time she was carefully pulling out of the driveway, she had nearly forgotten about the strange static fuzz rattling around in her head.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Elliot lifts the glass of champagne to her mouth. Here, John can see the wedding band on her finger—gold and simple, for now. He’d promised her something nicer after things quieted down. She’d said, of course, that she didn’t need anything nicer; she was happy with the one she had. With him.

He thinks that she has never looked so beautiful, bathed in the romantic glow of fairy lights, hair pinned back and the white of the wedding dress dappling lace across her skin. And wearing the ring, of course.

I love you, he wants to say, but cannot. I love you so much, he wants to say, but does not; he watches her set the flute down on the table and he opens his mouth to say it. He has to tell her—she has to know, all of those things he had said, he didn’t mean them. He loves her. He has to tell her so that she can know.

John reaches for her and opens his mouth. She lets him take her face, lashes fluttering closed; when he tries to say it, when he wills the words out of his lungs, he is choking, choking, choking, the sickening scent of flowers rushing over him and he heaves.

The petals spill from his mouth. They tumble to the ground between them. You’re mine, he wants to say, I love you, but the petals choke him on their way out, billowing out from his lungs and tripping on their way out of him, blowing out in gorgeous baby-soft puffs that leave his throat shredded from the inside out.

His hands find her shoulders. He clutches her, because he can’t breathe—there are too many of them, these flowers, each labored attempt at breath making it worse. He’s choking, and Elliot grabs his face with her hands as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

She shoves her fingers into his mouth, packing the petals against the back of his throat, and he can’t breathe, and she says—

“I told you that you couldn’t have both.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

John jolted awake, the sound of the alarm on his phone echoing in the tight space of his car. The dream lingered, stuck somewhere in the back of his throat and on his ribs like a heavy meal yet to be digested. It took a few blinks for him to really gather himself, remember where he was, who he was, what it was he had been doing. It felt like he could still taste the petals in his mouth.

Wicked devil, he thought tiredly, the image of Elliot looking down at him—wretched, and unyielding, as he choked to death—burned behind his eyelids. Even in my dreams, you’re ungrateful.

On his way out of Hope County, he’d dropped the Eden’s Gate truck for some poor shmuck’s sedan. It certainly wasn’t the kind of car he was used to driving in, and not for long periods of time, but he couldn’t risk a cop tagging his plates and finding out that the car was owned by him.

Not that he thought news of what had happened in Hope County had reached anyone yet. The government had their hands full as it was, he was sure—if the news on the radio had anything to say about it, anyway—so he imagined that the extraction of a few “criminals” out of Hope County, Montana had hit the backburner.

Passing a hand over his face tiredly, John tossed the book he’d fallen asleep reading onto the passenger seat and shut the alarm off on his phone. The book joined a collection of others, the titles including but not limited to Unconditional Parenting, The Whole-Brain Child, and other such riveting pieces, set to guide him along the path of parenthood.

He had been in Weyfield for three days; finding Elliot’s ancestral home hadn’t been hard, considering there were only a handful of houses that said rich by their exterior, and fewer less of those that looked to have been constructed so many years ago. In fact, the house that he had narrowed down looked the epitome of a wealthy Southerner’s ancient household; big front columns binding the two-story structure together, a sweeping front porch, and what he could only assume was a painstakingly-maintained garden when it wasn’t covered in a healthy foot of snow.

But more than that—more than the house, and the snow, and the stupid, shitty car he’d been living in for the last week—was Elliot.

His sleep schedule was fucked up because her sleep schedule was fucked up. He’d only caught glimpses of her through the windows, on occasion, and as much as he wanted to go charging into that house and demand she come back to Hope County with him, John knew he had to go about this very carefully. Elliot had willfully left him to be arrested, and she had willfully lied to him, and she had willfully and spitefully informed him of her pregnancy, and that meant that there were too many factors for him to think he could just breeze in and out. He was going to have to be diligent about everything—and that meant learning as much as he could before she figured out he was there.

It made him feel psychotic. It made him feel like a madman, but he supposed that was to be expected. That’s amore.

He had figured out precisely three things since his arrival in Weyfield: Elliot was staying with a woman he could only presume to be her mother, she had yet to make any friends, and she wasn’t sleeping. Every single night—or morning—she was up, moving around on the second floor and sometimes the first. It was nearly Christmas, now, which meant that she had to be at least nearly five weeks. What was she doing, up and about all hours of the night?

Now, watching Elliot haul herself into the jeep, bundled up and puffing hot air onto her hands, he thought, where are you going without the beast, huh? Haven’t seen you spend a second away from him.

John watched the car pull carefully out of the driveway and then head down the road. He’d been parked beneath the cover of a snowy row of cedars, the air inside as cold as outside by the time he’d woken out of his tenuous sleep. Now, as the sight of the dark Jeep disappeared down the residential lane and turned onto the street that would take her out to the country, he turned the key in the ignition.

The car came to life with a shuddering groan. It took a few tries to dig himself out of the fresh snowfall, tires skidding and the orange light reminding him—time and time again—that the tires were having a hard time. Thanks, you piece of shit, he thought tiredly, finally pulling out of the little ditch and setting off down the road. He let a few cars go ahead of him before he turned down the same street Elliot had, driving until the houses became fewer and fewer and it was more pastureland; three cars ahead, he saw Elliot pull down a long drive that wound for an eternity until a...barn?

A fucking stable?

“What the fuck,” he said under his breath, sighing. He should have known—of course she’d find some reason to spend her afternoon around stinking animals. Was that safe for her to be doing? Being around horses?

He pulled a slow u-turn and found a turn out at the top of the hill—close enough to see when she was leaving, but not close enough that he could be seen if she was pulling out. As soon as he shut the car off, the engine ticking as it cooled, John settled back against the seat and let out a long, suffering breath.

Well. He supposed that she should have been grateful she wasn’t leading a particularly exciting life, but he wouldn’t have minded something a little more exciting than this. Something more than staying holed up in her mother’s home—something which he was sure she did not enjoy, if the way she had spoken of her mother before had been any indication—or the occasional walk down the lane with the hound.

It didn’t matter, in the end. Once he felt confident he knew what was going on, once John had figured out what exactly he was up against when it came to fetching Elliot from this Stepford nightmare of a back-water-nobody-town, he’d get a couple of extra resources gathered and snag Elliot hook, line, and sinker.

But first, he would just have to wait.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was pretty easy to find a place that wanted someone to come and brush their horses for free. Elliot had called around to a few places at the behest of her doctor, who had been displeased when she explained no, she did not want to speak to a therapist, but yes, she would take the suggestion of seeking out other avenues of emotional healing.

I’m going to be frank with you, Miss Honeysett, the doctor had said, her voice stern, you can’t keep going the way you are. Stress is bad for babies, let alone post-traumatic stress.

Elliot had fervently nodded her head and explained that yes, she understood, and yes, she would make sure to find a place to relax and destress. And that was how she ended up here the first few times, and now standing in a stall, bringing a brush slowly over the shiny gold coat of a palomino that stood by idly while she fumbled herself through the motions. She had spent a lot of time around horses before, back when she was a kid—back when her grandfather still had his own little mini stable. After he’d died, the horses had of course been sold, even though Elliot had begged her mother to let her keep just one of them.

“They’re racehorses, Elliot, not show ponies,” her mother had snipped, all those years ago. “What are you going to do with a racehorse?”

Run, she’d thought then. Run and run and run, as far as he’ll take me, and we’ll camp out under the stars and then we’ll run some more until no one can find me ever again.

That had been a dream, of course. Now she only had her two legs to carry her wherever she wanted to go, and they had served her pretty well.

“Been around horses before?” someone asked lightly from the stall door. “Before the last couple of times you’ve been here, I mean.”

Elliot’s gaze flickered, snapped out of her thoughts—out of that girl she had been so many years ago—and landed on the same young woman that had gone through all of her paperwork and given her the run-down. Her name was...Sarah? No, it was something else. Something with an S. She was pretty; dark honey-blonde hair swept up into a ponytail, her face pretty enough to be woman and round enough to make that woman look angelic.

“A long time ago,” Elliot admitted sheepishly, her fingers braided into the palomino’s mane as she worked the kinks out of it. “When I was little.”

“Ah,” the woman said, smiling. “It’s sort of like riding a bicycle. How come you aren’t riding?”

“My doctor said not to.” She paused, because that sounded suspicious, and then said, “And anyway, I’d be making a fool out of myself.”

“Everyone makes a fool out of themselves the first time around, even after a long time. But of course, we want you safe,” the blonde replied somberly, but a smile still ticked the corners of her mouth. When she shifted, Elliot could see that her name tag said Sylvia W. “Hey, you’re Honeysett’s kid, aren’t you?”

Ellliot stifled a groan. She had made it through precisely two interactions without someone bringing up her mother in the entire time that she’d been back in Weyfield, and she had been hoping to make this a third. Glancing over at Sylvia’s curious expression, Elliot managed out as politely as she could, “Yes, that’s me.”

“Your mama called,” Sylvia explained amusedly. “Wanted to make sure you got here without problems.”

I’m twenty-six. “Ugh.”

“It’s cute, but she’s...” Sylvia’s gaze flickered while she tried to come up with a word. And then: “Strong.”

A quick, sharp laugh billowed out of her, unexpected, because the idea of someone calling her mother strong was absurd—not because she wasn’t, but because so many other words came to mind before the word ‘strong’ did. Elliot stifled the second laugh that tried to bubble up out of her, and Sylvia grinned.

“Take it that’s not the first impression people get of your mama?”

“No, Sylvia, it certainly is not.”

“Via is fine,” the blonde corrected, not unkindly. After a second, of quiet introspection, she continued, “If you ever wanna get out of your house, my brother and I go to that bar in town—you know, the uh.... Wild Rose? They do trivia night every Thursday. Winner gets fifty bucks.”

“Wow,” Elliot said without thinking, “a whole fifty dollars? To split between the three of us, huh?”

Via flashed a grin. “I knew you had a sense of humor.”

The words caught something funny in her chest, hooking into her all of a sudden. Reminding her that once, she had been funny—once, she’d had friends. Once, she’d had this kind of rapport with—

Shut the fuck up, she thought to herself, viciously, if you wallow every time you think about that fuckface you’re never going to get anywhere.

“So?” Via prompted. “What do you think? Want to be our third?”

“I’m—that’s really nice of you,” Elliot managed out. “I think this week I’ll have to pass. If you think my mama’s strong over the phone, just imagine her in person and five drinks in.”

The blonde grimaced. “Fair enough. But, invite’s always extended, alright?”

“Thanks, Sy—Via.” Elliot corrected herself, earning a quick, playful wink from Sylvia before she disappeared down the hall to resume her duties. She finished brushing the old brute; on occasion he’d twist his head back to bump the dark velvet of his nose against her side, reminding her that he was there and appreciated her.

She finished up the last of the brushing and then dumped her things in the bucket before she carried it out. The last few times she had been here had passed in much the same way—and now that she thought about it, hadn’t Via offered the trivia night thing to her before? Or was she just imagining things?

“Need sleep,” she murmured to no one in particular, depositing her bucket and brushing her hands against her jeans before sliding her coat on. When she had signed herself out on the sheet and stepped out into the late afternoon, the sun had already gone down; it left the world terribly blue, the sky blue and the snow blue-tinted, like someone had slapped a dim neon light over the sun.

Elliot puffed a hot breath of air out, fishing around for her keys and unlocking the car. As her gaze swept absently over the landscape, she spotted a car parked at a pull-out just up the hill. From where she was, it was hard to see—perhaps nearly impossible—and she wouldn’t have noticed if—

If she wasn’t so concerned about seeing a face that was too familiar. Burke, even, would be an unwelcome addition to her life in Weyfield. She tried to stuff down her paranoia; someone was surely just parked while they were sending a text, or making a phone call, or...

Or, they’re watching you, something inside of her said. She ducked into the driver’s side of the car, cranking the heater, but no amount of hot air washed the voice away. Maybe they’re watching you and waiting to arrest you. Or, maybe it’s—

But it couldn’t be. Because the Seeds were in Federal custody, and that meant they weren’t her problem anymore.

Elliot pulled out of the yard, and then carefully onto the highway, checking her mirror every now and then as she drove the short distance home. Just to be sure. Just to be safe. Someone else pulled out of the stable yard, behind her, and then cresting over the hill came a car that might have been the same one that was parked, and maybe wasn’t, because she hadn’t been able to see the make and model, but if it was, then she would have to make some extra turns on her way home, and...

“No,” she said, firmly. “It’s no one. It’s nothing. Just traffic. Other people live here too, you idiot.”

The remainder of the drive was spent forcing herself to keep her eyes on the road and only checking her mirrors when polite driving protocol called for it. After all of that fussing she’d done, she was the only one pulling down the road to her house, and even when she waited in the driveway for a few minutes, nobody followed. No headlights. No strange, dark cars. No monsters to haunt the corners of her vision.

“You’re late,” her mother called from the kitchen when she stepped inside, shaking the snow out of her hair and shrugging out of her coat.

“Traffic,” Elliot lied without thinking. God, had she always been such a wretched liar? Surely not, right? “Smells good, mama.”

“I should hope so. I slaved over it.”

Elliotshot her mother a dry look, taking a bowl out of the cupboard and beginning to scoop the stew Scarlet had made into it. Boomer waited patiently in the doorway of the kitchen—no dogs allowed rule vehemently obeyed—and when Elliot picked two pieces of bread out of the basket on the counter, still warm, her mother said, “How were the horses?”

She paused in the doorway. The stairs to the second floor, and the subsequent peace and quiet, were just there. “Good,” she replied after a moment, inching toward the doorway. “Polite. I—made a friend.”

Scarlet looked up from the book she’d been reading, eyes narrowing. “A horse friend?”

“No, a—a person!”

“Mm.” Scarlet looked back at her book. “Just be careful who you associate with, Elli, you never know who has a reputation here.”

“But you do.” Elliot’s foot hit the first bottom stair. “I’m relying on you to watch my back. Thank you for dinner.”

Before her mother could ask her where she thought she was going—“Taking food up to your room, Elliot? What are you, nine?”—she had fled up them, Boomer trailing after her until she had the bedroom door safely closed and locked with a breath of relief sweeping out of her. Every interaction was like that; wondering if she was going to make a misstep, drag herself into an argument that she didn’t want to have and which she would only be able to escape if she acquiesced and admitted that her mother was right.

Splitting one of the pieces of bread in half, she tossed it to Boomer and kicked her shoes off. He chomped happily, tail brushing against the floor. Elliot ate her dinner with the dim, low volume of the TV playing in the background, until half of her soup was gone and she had curled up under the blankets. It wasn’t until the Heeler burrowed into the blankets next to her, pressed against her side, that she finally felt the dredges of exhaustion begin to pull at her.

The sleeping pills her mother had given to her sat on her bedside table, still untouched. I don’t need them, she thought, shutting the tv off and the lights with it. I don’t need them to sleep.

I’m just fine.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Night fell heavy, quiet and cold. By the time the late hours had passed and early morning was beginning to roll around—the kind of early where the world still slept—Elliot found herself standing in the hallway.

She blinked tiredly. She was still in her jeans; she’d neglected to change. Her hands were on the banister, and below her the living room stretched, long and only dimly lit, effused by the glow of the night lights peppered throughout the house. How did she get here? Had she slept walk? What had woken her?

Slowly, and then all at once, the sound of static drifting from the cracked door of her bedroom registered in her brain. The television was on; that must have been what had woken her. Elliot stood for a minute longer, trying to collect herself, trying to see if she was still dreaming, and then pushed the door to her bedroom open.

Boomer was snoozing quietly on the bed still. The telvision’s channel flickered static once, twice, and when Elliot reached for the remote, the static flipped again and the screen went black.

Not powered-off black. Just—a black screen, still backlit, empty.

White text blinked onto the screen.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

Elliot felt her stomach flip. The text blinked out, and then blinked back on, and then stayed. Her heart thudded aggressively against her rib cage, demanding—out out out, it said, desperate for a reprieve from this sudden chill spilling down her spine. She reached blindly, no longer sure where the remote was, when the text blinked again.

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

No, she thought furiously, even though she knew it wasn’t true and that it didn’t matter. Whatever kind of strange late-night programming this was—and that’s what it had to be—wasn’t going to give her a response and certainly wasn’t waiting for one. She would just need to—

HAVE YOU BEEN HAVING STRANGE DREAMS?

Elliot’s fingers gripped the remote and she pressed her finger feverishly, missing the power button once, twice, and then a third time before she finally hit it and the television clicked off. Her hands were shaking; her whole body was shaking, and she quickly crawled back under the covers until Boomer was whuffling, tired and inquisitive, against her face. Her fingers knotted in his fur and she closed her eyes tight.

Even when they were closed, she saw the words, burned behind her eyelids. The inner strength to stay like that only lasted for another few minutes before she grabbed the bottle of sleeping pills and took one, swallowing it down dry and then dropping the container back on to her nightstand.

She would sleep. She would sleep, and forget about the strange commercial, and she would get her fucking life together.

In the morning. After sleep.

No strange dreams, she thought, not for me.

Not anymore.

[travelbystarlight]

I got joy, joy, joy in my soul tonight / I got joy, joy, joy in my arms alright / Although you treat me badly, I love you madly / You really got a hold on me, you really got a hold on me

Had the absolute honor of commissioning @redreart to create another Joseph/Tawny piece for me and she knocked it out of the park. 100% everything I was imagining plus she captured Tawny perfectly!! 😭😭😭

I've been brewing in my mind for the past few months an AU where Tawny decides to go with Joseph after meeting him back like ten years before the start of the game and ends up marrying him. She's both loved...and feared 😈 lol

also bonus lol:

[seedofjoseph]

but you choose death and company

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Pairing: John Seed x F!Deputy

Raiting: E (explicit)

Words: 3700

Warning: dub-con, intoxication, bondage, blood & injury, guilt-tripping, gaslighting, love-bombing & other indoctrination tactics

John Seed hasn't been seen on his ranch since the snow slid off of the rooftops this spring. Since the day began to grow and the night all but withered away, he has been sowing fear and reaping rewards.

The moon looks on in silence as he unloads an armory's worth of bullets into your sanctuary: Spread Eagle Bar.

"If you want your drink," Mary May Fairgrave coughs, emerging from the smoke. "John's serving it at Seed Ranch," she hisses as you hold her, skin still sizzling from the Molotov cocktail that burned down her life. "Son of a bitch reaped my entire supply."

Not a single star hears your death wish over the angry roar of your engine.

"I know you're parched," John Seed slurs over the static. "I know there's nothing like a cold drink after a hot summer's day of sinning," he breathes down your neck, out the radio receiver on your shoulder, as any suicide co-pilot would. "You want seconds? Thirds? I've got enough to last you the Collapse, so won't you share one with me, Deputy?"

Just as rumoured, the Reaper is nowhere to be seen on Seed Ranch. There is no trace of humans welcoming the trespasser either. There is nobody but the cold moon to spot you sneaking across, up, and onto a balcony. And there he is, in the warm light of the master bedroom, the beacon in the night.

"Deputy?"

Or, rather, a pale reflection of the Baptist who had you hooked with piercing blue eyes from star-studded waters all those nights ago. Tonight, he looks to you like a faded photograph, like a man drowning in shallow waters. Even his eyes shine like the moon, like a mere mirror of the sun.

"Welcome," he throws his heavy hands towards the ceiling. "To your atonement," he dropped them to his hips, but they slipped on the silky robe falling in blue waves on his sides. "You're here," his voice is small, like he is on his last breath. "You're really here."

Tonight, he looks like Death.

Drawing your handgun, you step out of the night and into the light. "You invited me."

"And you RSVPed," he blinks, his wax face melting before your solid apparition. Slowly raising his hands from where they hung like weights at his sides, he points to the silver tray floating on a sea of blue sheets. "Thirsty? You must be thirsty."

Drawing closer, you take note of the lack of a holster under his robe, and you don't jot down the absence of undergarments. But you can't help taking in the black ink on the white canvass of his calves that are being revealed to you as he turns on his heels. Or the sway in his step on the short walk to the bed.

"And you must be drunk."

"Nine years," he snarls, snatching two full glasses and swiveling around. With his face now reddening at the edges, he starts spitting fire and almost pours out the alcohol onto the sheets. "Nine years of sobriety down the fucking drain," he empties one glass and stretches his arm out towards you with the other. "Because of you. You've done this. All of this," he narrows his eyes, struggling to stare you down. "You've lit a fire inside me, Wrath. Which lit a bigger fire in Fall's End, which-"

You cock the gun. "You steal businesses, you ruin homes, and you take lives," you raised your voice with a vengeance. "You're the one sowing wrath, Seed, and it's about fucking time you reap it." But, before the barrel can rise between his clouded blue eyes, two rifles are pointed at either side of your temple. "What the-"

"Didn't see it coming, did you, Wrath? Hah! You've been blinded by your sin," John Seed raises both hands, one for each sentinel stationed on either side of his balcony. "But I can heal you. I can open up this festering wound, I can fill it up, up, up," he brings the glass back between the two of you. "And I can put this fire out once and for all," he splashes the spirit between your eyes.

"Fuck," you fire off the gun in the darkness behind your burning eyes.

"Fuck," he echoes.

"Brother John," one voice rings in your right ear.

"Your face," a second voice sounds off in your left ear. "Your face is bleeding."

"Fuck my fucking face," John hisses. "Get that fucking gun away from her before she fires off another shot into the equipment."

There are footsteps stampeding all around you and both of your eardrums follow the rhythm. There is also a dark shape blocking the light burning your eyes as you open them.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you hear John hyperventilate. "The FM transmitter is fucking fucked."

"We can still record it."

The shape splits into two: one secures you gun and the other binds your arms behind your back.

"Yes," John's voice gets louder and louder. "Yes, brothers, the camera is still rolling."

Your blood boils hotter and hotter the closer and closer you're being dragged. "Camera?"

"Your atonement is a matter of public safety, Wrath," he sounds suffocatingly close now, like he's breathing down your neck unfiltered by the transmitter. "And of public interest. The fire you've started, your little resistance, needs to be extinguished county-wide and it needs to be done tonight."

Once he gives you back your space, his speech is distant and cold again, like the moon. They are both watching you wrestle the hands pulling yours above your head and pushing them into the matress: "This is the will of the Father."

"Make it a public execution then," you scream to the ceiling, or the skies, or the stars. "Because I won't confess, I won't beg for forgiveness, and I'll die before I say yes," you scream to whoever might be looking down, to whoever your blind eyes can't see.

"And I will die before I martyr you," he sounds questionably sober and definitely wrathful, like the bullet you misfired had brought him back to life.

"I bet you would, Seed," you sound like Wrath herself. "I bet you sent security home and brought along your little camera crew for it," you snarl left and right and all around you at the feeling of your wrists being fastened to the bedpost.

"And I bet you came here with no plan, no backup, and no hope that you'll make it out alive," his words fall heavy on your ears. "But you can beg, and plead and pray all night. I will not damn your soul to hell," his thighs are weights on your torso as he sits astride. "I will descend into the deep dark depths. I will flood you with pain and drown every demon in my wake," he roars over the ripping of your cotton shirt and your spandex sports bra. "I will cleanse you."

"No," you bellow, bucking your hips up into his which rut back into yours. "No," you wail, wiggling your wrists in the rope. "No," you choke, curving your spine and pouring your chest into the cups of his hands.

"Yes," he screams, squeezing your supple flesh. "Yes," he persists, pinching the peaks, pulling them up along with your pitch. "Say yes," he insists, inducing a fever inside of you.

"No," you burn - eyes, body, soul and all.

"Say you want me dead more than you want your barmaid to live," he rages, your fire spreading through him. "Say you want to die taking me down more than you want to live by her side," he releases your breasts only to bring back his hands on them with a slap. "Say it." And another.

"Yes," you cough, your throat tightening. "Yes, bastard, yes," you sob. "Yes, I want to burn with you more than I want to drink with her tonight," you cry, putting out the fire in your eyes.

"Ah," John Seed exhales, cooling off your hot tears. "There she is," he inhales, taking your breath away. "There's my Wrath," he whispers, confesing his own sin in the confines of your open mouth, his thick beard raking up against the sore skin of your chin. "She's really here," he pulls away his face and his hand from yours.

After his withdrawl, your sight returns everything comes into focus: the zoom of the camera lense on your face, the blood red graze of your bullet against his, and the heavenly blue of his eyes. No longer is he reflecting the yellow light hanging from the ceiling. Now it's shimmering with unshed tears and a glow all their own, as the sun itself would.

"You won't regret this," he speaks to you, but his eyes turns to his side. "I promise," he nods, summoning the other santinel along with the silver tray.

"You're not here to surrender your life," he takes a swing of the bottle before bringing to your mouth. "You're here to receive a new one," he wets his lips as yours wrap around the rim. "A life free of sin," he smiles as you suckle. "For I will scrub you clean of every one of them," he pulls away the drink and pours the rest all over your chest. Licking up the liquor with his eyes as it runs between the valley of your breasts, he replaces the empty bottle with a loaded tattoo gun. "Starting with the one you already confessed: wrath. After, we'll go with gluttony since I already indulged you. Then, we see where the night takes us. So, my dear, what do you say?"

With a cleared vision, you watch him. Yet, it isn't what your eyes see that clears your mind, but what you don't see: wrath. There is no wrath lighting the fire in John Seed's sweat-slick chest, or his blow-out eyes, or even the heat of his velvet cock under his silk robe, atop the pit of your burning belly.

With a cleared voice, you speak.

"Yes."

*

John Seed hasn't been sleeping in his own king-sized bed since winter came to an end. Since the sun started rising earlier, so has he. And, at night, he sets alongside it, over the horizon and down into his bunker.

The sun catches you sleeping in the Seed Ranch master bedroom the morning after your atonement. The morning after, the master himself is also spotted in there.

He grumbles, gathering your bandaged body into his arms. "How's the hangover?"

You snort, seeking out his heat through the thin sheet separating your skins. "Believe it or not, I've had worse."

"Oh, but I believe it," he runs one hand across your thrumming temple. "I've also had worse," he grabs a glass with the other. "Only water for you from now on," he offers.

You accept.

The sun catches you drinking in the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing. And your tongue tasting your own lips while his press up against the impression of them on the rim. And it couldn't have missed the buck of his bare hips into your covered crotch. You had just squeezed your thighs around him, your own body betraying your truth as it did throughout the night.

"My dear," he grits his teeth, gripping the glass tight. "What was that about you being a good girl?"

"Oh, John," you suck your bottom lip and squeeze your eyes shut. "I thought you washed away the bad."

Before the sun caught you in bed together, John Seed had carved out of you a confession of carnal desire for Mary May Fairgrave. And for him.

It was the last of the seven sins he exorcised out of you, the sin he exposed between your hipbones, into your womb, and onto a digital camera's memory card. It was the sin he shared with you, just out of frame, as he exorcised it out of himself, exposing his big burning erection to you and erupting between your blood-stained thighs. After your Atonement, he washed away his sin as well as yours with a cold sponge, but not before burning Lust with the salt of the two of them combined.

And now, after the sun caught you, he traces it with trembling fingers through the white sheet and the bloody bandage coming between your bodies.

"I did, didn't I?" He hisses, just as thirsty, hungry, and touch-starved as you. "Yes, I did. This can't be Lust. This can't be sin."

"How is this not sin?"

Because you bled it out all over your scarred stomach and trembling thighs. He scrubbed it clean with his hot seed and a cold sponge. Your body throbbed like you'd been training until your muscles burned, like you were energized by the endorphins flooding your bloodstream. Because the old you died under the moon last night, and a new you was born in the sunlight this morning.

"Because I choked it out," he presses his open palm to your pelvis and his forehead against your own. "And I breathed life into you."

He has to believe that. And you? You also have to believe that. After you gave up your life to be born again, to bleed out on his mattress and wake up in his bed, you have to believe that. You have to believe him.

"Your urges," he sniffs, the smell of you seeping through the sheet. "My urges," he swallows, the taste of you soaking up his tongue. "They are from God."

He has to believe in Him. And you? You have to believe in Him, too. As sure as the sun watches over you this morning, He is your witness. And you have to believe in Him.

"My dear," he brushes his nose up against yours. "As God is my witness, I gave you life," he presses his lips against yours. "I gave you my life," he pushes each word into your mouth. "As God is my witness, you were reborn in my bed last night," he growls, gripping the sheet and the bandage with one hand and ripping them off of your torso.

"Yes," you now share his breath as you've been sharing his bed. "Yes," you now share his breath as his fingers force your windpipe close. "Yes, John, yes," you now choke as he constrains your airwaves.

This can't be sin. You have to believe it. You have to believe him.

You have to believe he'll revive you after strangling the life out of you. You have to believe his deadly hands are scrubbing you clean of sin. And you have to believe his seed is disinfecting your sin as his cock spills it all over your stomach.

"My dear girl," he marvels at you. "You're all clean now," he runs his fingers over the sore spot he just squeezed. "You're pure," he rubs his come into each letter he carved and then mixes it with yours as it pours out of your pussy. "Immaculate."

"Brother John?"

"Yes?"

The door stays closed, but the voice bursts through it all the same. "The Father is requesting permission to land."

"Joseph is here?"

"The Father is here."

*

They can't remember the last time Joseph Seed stepped foot on the ranch. Though they do remember he didn't approve of any alcoholic beverages being stocked in the kitchen pantry or served on silver trays. And John Seed does remember swearing out his sin when he first arrived in Hope County.

"Shh," he smoothes back your shower-soaked hair. "I washed it all away," he towels off your torso, careful not to cause any of your scars to spill. Though he does take his time with Gluttony, the sin he disinfected using the last bottle of your favorite beverage when he spilled it all over the letters on your lower back, turning the liquor into holy water. "Joseph will see that."

And Joseph Seed can't wait to see it.

The voice returns and brings along knuckles rapping at the master bedroom door. "Brother John?"

"Yes?"

"The Father is downstairs."

Slicking back his wet hair, John looks down on you and sees that you are still damp. "If you hadn't shot the FM transmitter, he wouldn't have to be here," he says, eyes burning with a fire that cannot be Wrath, even if the angry scar on his cheek stings of that very sin. It stings of your sin. "He will see that," he repeats himself, retracing the word he carved into your chest and reigniting the pain he used to purify you.

He will see it, just like John said. And he will see it, but not through a thin bedsheet or a bloody bandage. Joseph Seed will see it through a white cotton dress.

"I won't ask if you have a bra laying around," you caress the Eden's Gate cross that is splayed out onto your chest. It doesn't cover your breasts or the nipples which poke at it like needles, and you won't ask who'd worn it before you, even as you trace your Envy tattoo. "But what about-"

"You won't be needing any," he smirks, stuffing himself into a pair of underwear that seems too small for him and too large for you. He smirks because he caught you staring at his bare body, shimmering in the sunlight.

"And you won't be needing shoes either," he answers before you ask, pulling his pants over his boots.

The rapping at the door comes back for an encore.

"Coming," he calls towards the door, his biceps bulging under the blue shirt sleeves he's rolling up. "Come," he calls to you, offering you his arm.

When you stretch out both of yours to meet him, you feel the fastenings you fought against last night and watch your rope-burnt wrists as you wrap them around his forearm.

"Look at you." And when you look up at the man who had you bound to his, you see none of the wrath that he had to wrestle into submission last night. Instead, you see another fire you've ignited within him. "You're perfect."

The morning after your Atonement, you see nothing but clear blue skies and the sun catching in his eyes. And, on the same morning, you see Joseph Seed in daylight for the very first time.

"Good morning," John Seed declares, descending the stairs with you on his arm. But the man on the first level remains reclined in his chair and as silent as the animal trophies on the mantel. "And what a good morning it is. Sorry for keeping you waiting, brother," he hurries to the bottom step and only halts to help you off of it. "There is no rest for the wicked," he holds his breath, holds your hands in the crook of his elbow, and your bare, sore feet on the hard, wood floor. "And this one kept me up all night."

You look up to him, searching for something to cool your nerves inside of his eyes, but failed to find it. The moon wasn't there, nor was the sun, but there was a fire. And they were watching the Father, burning holes into the back of his head as he stood up.

"I see," he speaks but doesn't look back. His eyes are captivated by the camera display, the details of your delay up on the small screen, and under his scrutiny. "You've been working yourself into an early grave, John," he slams the screen shut, the sound of which startles you both. "The last I heard from you was a gunshot," he sets the camera down on the coffee table, right next to a handgun and a badge. "Then, static."

"It was the deputy," John jumps to defend himself, making you jerk. "She was one step away from falling off the edge," he braces himself, bracing his hands where they're gripping him by the bicep. "I pulled her soul away from the precipice of hell itself," he looks at you, at where your fingers are intertwined and where his own joined them. He looks at you and his muscles, along with his nerves, unknot. "I saved her, Joseph. The deputy is dead."

"I see," Joseph speaks. And, following John's line of sight, you arrive at the aviator sunglasses and the light catching in them. "Bring her to me."

This morning, you see Joseph Seed in daylight for the very first time. On the same morning, he sees you, the real you. While you have your white dress to hide behind, there is nothing but yellow glass standing between your body and his naked stare. And while you walk to him with John Seed's warm hands on your shoulders, a chill climbs up your spine in time with his eyes reaching yours from all the way down your bare toes.

"God is watching," he stares you down, lifting your face up with both of his hands. "He saw you opening your heart, shedding your skin, and baring your soul," he descends onto you, his forehead falling atop yours. "He saw you have embraced His gift and He has graced you with a new life," he smothers your nose with his. "Will you trust me with it? Remember God is watching us."

"Yes," John soothes you by spinning circles into your wing bones. "Say yes," he thumbs the Pride tattoo through the thin thin cotton.

"Yes," you whimper into his mouth, which is only a word away. "Yes, Father, yes" you exhale, all the air in your lungs now lost between his lips.

"My child," he inhales and moves his mouth before it can meld with yours. And you're breathless as it presses against your furrowed brow. "The Gates of Eden are now open to you," he exhales over the wet outline of his kiss. "Your Brother John will march you right through."

"Yes, Joseph," John joins in, kissing the crown of your head and compressing your tenderized body between their two hardened ones. "I'll keep her safe," he joins his and the Father's foreheads, sighing in relief and ruffling your hair. "I'll protect our Family."

The sun catches you under the Father's chin, your nose in his shirt collar, and his scent on your tongue. And it couldn't have missed Brother John's hand on your stomach, over the knee-length skirt of your dress, and the still-sore Lust scar. And God sees everything.

The junior deputy was last been seen alive driving over the speed limit in the dead of night. Only the sun and God Himself watch over her now. And every eye in a Hope County household with a plugged-in TV set.

[naromoreau]

Blind Date

Thank you so much to my amazing friend @outranks for betaing this and encourage me in every step to write this. Also a big thanks to the lovely @starsandskies for giving me her insight of John which I greatly appreciate.  _________________________ Pairing: Rook (Not a Deputy yet) x John Seed Rating: SFW, no warnings.  Pre-Game events

To abandon her old life was the hardest decision she'd taken knowing fully well it was the only way to get out of that shroud of toxicity. David had sworn with words that had punched her in the gut, not to leave her alone until she'd finally forgive him, something Rook knew was not gonna happen in the next month. Year. Hell, probably never. It wasn't as much the act as the treason, the lies and deceit that now felt like venom sluicing down her throat. It was wrath and it was consuming. It shouldn't hurt like this, she was better off, yet head tripped over heart 99 times out of 100. 

Not knowing where to go, calling Kim had seemed a brilliant idea. Much to her chagrin they hadn't seen each other in a long time, despite have been partners in crime in school, and pretty much sharing the tiniest detail about each other’s life once they were away. Those phone bills had been sky up high. Even after she married Nick, who was everything Rook could’ve asked for Kim, they were still as thick as thieves. 

So, in seconds Mrs. Rye had had everything decided, coaxing Rook to move back to Montana where they’d be waiting for her. It sounded like the perfect set up. Away from the constant hubbub and chaos New Jersey was. 

Her old Chevy roared up the highway, as the corn fields passed in a blur. It’d been a hell of a long trip but somewhere between the sight of the far away mountains and the mauve streaks of the sky, Rook felt a bit more at ease. She spotted the sign of Fall’s End at the distance and decided to drop by the closest grocery shop to buy the stuff she needed to prepare her killer spaghetti bolognesa to thank Kim and Nick to allow her to stay with them. Her mouth watered at the thought. 

The car skid to stop just outside the only visible store Rook could find. The place was small, crammed with supplies and the man in charge was attentive and polite. She glanced around. There was just another person aside her, who now fidgeted with something standing next to a pile of toilet paper. Rook looked at him as she passed by and her brows arched. He was definitely the most handsome man she'd seen. Just a little taller than her, trim and lush beard and brown hair slicked back. When he tipped his head up, a breath caught in her throat. Blue eyes clear as country sky stared back at her, icy hue making her words stutter in her mind. 

The corner of his lip quirked slightly in a smile that she decoded as a form of remote acknowledgement of her presence, so she nodded and made an stately retreat. 

Right. Pasta. 

It was ridiculous. The way her knees trembled a little when she finally seized the pasta and the tomatoes. She didn't know the man. For all Rook knew he could be married, engaged, or plainly not into her. And really. She was just tangling her thoughts when the reality was they were nobodies to each other. 

Rook sighed.

The only thing left to pick was the parmesan. Memories of her mom's recipe huddled in her mind once she stood in front of the cheeses and picked the one she remembered. 

"You don't want that, darling, it's nearly… inedible." 

It was that man. His voice was sinfully sweet, a tinge of pleased satisfaction falling thick from his tongue. 

"Excuse me?" 

The fact that he just called her 'darling' before insulting her childhood memories, kicked her sudden infatuation to the back of her mind. 

"That… cheese you just picked-- it's definitely heinous, a crime to use it in a good bolognese," he said, looking inquisitively at the ingredients she carried clutched to her chest. "This one on the other hand…" A tattooed hand offered her a different one, as she watched a smug grin come alive on his face. 

"Thanks. But I think I'll go with this one."

A wave of annoyance was starting to shatter her polite smile, as she sidestepped him, walking to the check out. 

"Suit yourself, dear."

Rook knew it was far better to ignore the taunt, but again, she wasn’t known for being the smart type. “Are you a professional cheff perhaps?”

The man just laughed. A short, sharp sound that made a shudder wrack her spine despite her best efforts. “I’m a lawyer.”

Huh. “Ah, well, yeah-- thanks.”

“I’m not wrong, dear.”

She clenched her jaw, waving a goodbye as his final words brushed her on her way to the register. 

She was about to leave the store, when the same honeyed voice greeted her from the store’s TV. 

"The salvation is within your reach, join us at Eden’s Gate--" 

‘Lawyer my ass’. The man was a fucking preacher. 

“Fucking televangelist.”

Apparently you couldn’t trust people in this town. 

___________________

Hope County was as idyllic as a bucolic painting but far more interesting. Her life in Rye's household was proving to be oddly cheerful even if half the time Rook was forced into the pleasant inaction of a well-tended guest. The grey dawns creeped one after the other and slowly, slowly, she started regaining a little of her previous balance. Thick amounts of anger, heavy as tar, fizzled out with every day she spent trudging across golden barley fields. 

That was, whenever Kim and Nick had to go to business in town, leaving her on her own. Otherwise, Rook was always hedged by activities ranging from helping Kim to administer the property, to assist Nick with never ending tuning and 'reparations' of his plane. Which Rook suspected had a bit more mileage than was safe, not that she would’ve voiced that thought in front of its owner. The man was head over heels for Carmina, the seaplane. 

"Pass me the torque wrench, Rookie.” 

Rook heard Nick’s huff from beneath one side of the plane, where he was bent trying to determine the source of the jarring sound of metal scratching metal everytime he turned on the engine. 

She fumbled in the tool box until it produced what she was looking for. "Here."

"It was just routine crop-dusting," he mumbled more to himself than Rook, "dunno what coulda got wrong."

"Bet you'll figure it out soon enough."

"I'm fuckin' counting on it, tell you that-- A friend and I go on testing flies on the weekends, y'know?" 

"More like dick measurement contests, but with planes, you mean." Kim chided in carrying a tray of sandwiches and three beers. 

Nick almost jumped on the spot, hitting his head with the open door of the plane. "It ain't like that, Kimmie, you know that."

"Yeah, right." Kim rolled her eyes an sipped her beer, an amused smile tugging her lips. 

"John's a good guy," Nick said. 

"Who’s John?" Truth was that Rook wasn't as interested as to actually want to know, but she didn't want to seem rude, after how amazing they'd been with her. Asking didn't cost anything. 

"A guy who moved here 'bout couple years ago," Nick said, "nice guy but keeps pretty much to himself except for--" 

"The dick measurement contests," Rook and Kim offered in unison with devilish twin grins, the words a slap on Nick's face. 

"Very funny you two," Nick groused. 

Kim sauntered to Nick and kissed him, softly, nothing more than a chaste peck on the lips. The way Nick clung to her waist, receiving every bit of what she was giving with complete rapture, as if they hadn't  kissed almost a hundred times already that day, struck Rook right in the middle of her current train of thoughts. Even in their best moments, David had never been like that, had never shown an ounce of the joy that reeked from Nick every time he held Kim. 

He'd never loved her and now she knew it. Suddenly Rook felt ill. 

"C'mon," Kim said with a dreamy smile, holding Nick's hand, "let's have some lunch."

-------------------

A month went by in a heartbeat and Rook started thinking about getting a job and settling there. Coming back to her roots, in a sense. 

“I’m glad to see you smiling again, honey,” Kim said after putting in the oven the result of their hard work.  

She had been trying for the last half hour to teach Rook how to make the perfect crust for an apple pie, after she ate six slices and demanded to know the magic behind it. Now they both sat at the isle, sipping two cold ones. 

“Yeah, kinda hard not to in a place like this-- I mean it’s… breathtaking.” 

Kim smirked. “It has its ups and downs, like every place I guess. You never meet too many new people.”

“But I mean that’s good in a way, right? You get to deepen your relationship with the ones you already know?” 

It was so different from the rhythm of living in New Jersey. Always fast. A ceaseless flow of new things that after a while were always not enough. Like David. And maybe that’d been the problem. 

“You thinking about that asshole, huh?”

Rook just sighed. “I mean-- maybe that was the problem, we moved in together too fast, I don’t know--”

Kim set her beer down, and placed one hand over one of her own. “No, sweetie. The guy was always an asshole, trying to pretend he wasn’t one. Knowing him more-- less, it wouldn’t have made any difference.”

Rook let out a soft, dry chuckle. She knew that, but trying to understand how all went to hell in a handbasket was helping her to realize this time, she wasn’t the failure. 

“I should’ve listened to you, Kimmie.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not your signature move,” Kim said, voice tinged with amusement.

Rook laughed, the joke unspooling the frayed, worn out tension curling up inside her. 

“How do you meet good people?” Rook asked, not really expecting an answer. 

“I guess-- I guess it’s a matter of you know-- just knowing people.” Kim arched a brow. “Do you wanna start dating again?”

“See, I don’t know. Yes? No? I don’t--” Rook sighed. “I just wanna know people, like you said, and maybe then-- who knows.”

Kim nodded along her stuttered monologue, her eyes glinting with what Rook identified as a sudden idea. She knew Kim’s ideas were to be feared or celebrated. “What about John?”

“Who’s John?” It took Rook point-three seconds to realize who Kim was talking about. “Nick’s weird plane friend?”

“He’s not weird and he’s a good man.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. I mean--”

“He’s really good looking,” Kim said, pointedly.

“So you think I can be convinced with the promise of a pretty face, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Seriously, Kimmie, you think so little of me,” Rook said with faux offense, sporting a half-grin. She wasn’t totally opposed to the idea and she trusted Kim above all. Maybe this could be a good onset, and it didn't matter if things went sideways or if the guy ended up being a self absorbed prick that just took a swim in a barrel of cologne: it was a step in the right direction. “Fine, but make sure he’s into this too. I don’t wanna spend time with a guy who feels I ambushed him.”

“No worries, honey. I’ll take care of everything.”

__________________________________

 She admired the view in the mirror for a few long seconds, trying to convince herself it was not such a bad idea. Rook had never considered herself beautiful, but she was pleased by her reflection. The plain navy blue dress she'd packed almost without thinking, seemed fitting yet comfortable which was exactly what Rook wanted. She didn't want him to think she was trying too hard, especially if he wasn't going to return the favor. The silky fabric caressed her fingers as she glided them over the skirt, trying to fix any visible creasings. The nervous squirming in her stomach intensified as she went down the stairs, to meet the Ryes. 

"Ain't you a sight for sore eyes, honey," Kim chirped, with a big grin on her face. 

Rook tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear, painfully conscious of her own blushing. "You think so?" 

"Bet your money on it." Kim gave her a reassuring smile, before holding her hands. "Nick's gonna take you there-- John insisted you two should have dinner at his ranch which I think is nice, 'cause the Spread Eagle is good and Old Gary is a nice guy but the place isn't suited for a proper date."

Rook quirked a brow. "He has a ranch?" 

"Yeah, I think you'll like it."

This was it. The physical display showing she was kicking her past to the curb, ready to start anew. Rook blew air hard, shaking her head and her carefully combed curls.

"It'll be fine, honey, and you can always call either me or Nick if you want an early pick up for whatever reason, m'kay?" 

Rook nodded before hugging Kim. 

"Thanks, Kimmie-- for everything."

Kim's eyes glinted, smiling warmly. "Go have fun."

-----------------------------------

Rook shivered when a current of wind blew up, her dress whipped around her body by it. The night sizzled with warmth, suiting for the end of July, yet Rook clutched her arms as if it was freezing before stepping through the threshold of the house. 

The door had been left open, a clear statement of how peaceful and quiet this side of the County was or of how much John trusted his neighbours. She could feel her heart drumming under every inch of skin, from her toes up to her temples. Her eyes swiveled down to the perfectly set table at the side of the great living room, and she let out a small gasp of surprise. It was definitely far more intimate than any scenario she'd expected. 

The room was dimly lit and she almost missed the man standing next to the fireplace with his back turned. 

When she took a step forward, the click of her heels against the floor seemed to snap him out of his silence and he swirled to face her. 

Oh. Oh no. 

"Ah, Rook, it's such a pleasure--" 

The words were cut in a dry halt, while a glaze of confusion set on his face. Apparently he was as dumbstruck as she was. 

Rook was trying her best to not let her jaw hit the floor, because "plane John" was the "parmesan guy", as she referred to him in the abridged version she'd given to Kim. In Rook's book the guy was a total jerk and a liar. Definitely not someone she wanted to spend the evening with. 

He recovered quicker than her. "I didn’t know you were staying with the Ryes," he said with a saccharine voice. 

"There was no reason for you to know it,” she said with her chin held high. "I'm sorry-- this was a mistake--" 

"On the contrary, my dear," he said, taking a few steps in her direction, his eyes drinking in the sight of her, "I believe this is a very right encounter." 

Rook gulped despite herself. He had no damn right to be this handsome: perfectly tailored black trousers and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he could've passed for a model if he wanted to. She bit her lip to cut the spell. 

"You lied to me," Rook blurted out. 'And insulted my choice of cheese,' she wanted to add but it didn't seem like a proper claim. 

His brow creased. "I beg your pardon?" 

"You told me you were a lawyer but I saw you on that televangelical infomercial." 

She didn’t know what she was expecting but it certainly wasn't him huffing a laugh. "So you jumped to the conclusion I should've been lying because lawyers aren't men of God?" 

Rook wasn't feeling as confident in her assertion as a minute ago, nevertheless, she retaliated. "Actually the opposite, I think."

John finally broke in an honest, clear, ringing laugh that was as annoying as it was enticing. What a contradiction this man was. 

"Well, normally you'd be right, but it does happen that I am both," he said, walking to the table and reaching a hand in her direction. "I can tell you all about it if you stay with me for dinner."

Rook weighed the options in speed mode and agreed. After all saying no over the parmesan, would've been a whole new level of petty even for her. 

She took the hand drawn in her direction and her cheeks flushed when he closed his fingers around it. It felt warm, and a little rough, and something wild fluttered in her stomach at the contact. It'd been ages since she'd felt like that, like the central focus of attention, like he was the lucky one having her there. 

Her heart tumbled again when he reluctantly let go of her hand to pull the chair for her. A small gesture done with the ease of something that came natural, not just for show. 

"Thank you," she said. 

He nodded and flashed another dashing smirk in her direction. Thank God she was sitting because by now her knees were jello, courtesy of those striking blue eyes. 

"I have to say I wasn't expecting my date to be the beautiful stranger I met a month ago," he said in a frank tone, sitting at her side. "I often wondered if you were still around."

Rook almost let out a goofy giggle. She shouldn't have let it rattle her that much but the fact that he called her beautiful, aside from making wonders for her ego still hurt by the betrayal, in that matter of factly tone, just brushed aside some of her doubts about him. 

"Do you say the same to all your dates?" She quipped. 

By some magic trick her question made his composed manners crack a little. A light blush spread over his nose and cheeks. "I haven't had a date in years if I have to be honest." 

For the first time that night, she smiled at him. "Then we're in the same boat."

"Better to say, the same plane," he said serving her a slice of a handmade lasagna, the smell making her stomach rumble of hunger. 

"I bet you are as head over heels with your plane as Nick is with his," she scoffed. 

"Not true, darling," he said, "as much as I like Affirmation, my plane that is, things are just meanings to an end." He leveled his gaze with hers, almost breathtaking under the candlelights. "I reserve love just for people."

Rook shuddered under his veiled words and for a moment found herself wondering how would it be to be loved by him. It was silly, and utterly naïve. She was floundering in spirals of ifs when the truth was he was only being polite and she was being delusional. 

"Shall we?" She asked gesturing to her plate, swallowing her inconvenient thoughts. 

John's eyes lingered for a few seconds on her, his mouth quirked in a smirk. "Of course."

-------------

By the end of the meal Rook had learned everything there was to know about John Seed the lawyer and PR of Eden's Gate Project. 

She wasn't a woman of faith, considering herself mostly a respectful audience rather than willing participant but John had been so convincing she'd agreed to join him for the Sunday service next week. 

A pang of regret assaulted her for thinking bad of him for so long when in all honesty he seemed a good person, if well, a bit overeager about his beliefs, culinary and religious alike. The whole night had left her under the impression than despite his candor on the questions she asked, there were a lot of things unsaid especially surrounding his upbringing. 

She knew he had siblings, part of Eden’s Gate as well, and that his whole life now revolted around it. He seemed too perfect to be truth and when the night was over, she found herself wanting this wasn't just a one time thing. 

"I had a really great time," she said taking her phone out of her purse to check the time and dial for Kim. 

"It was a pleasure-- no, a delight, to have you with me tonight and I hope is not a bold assumption to think this was not a one time only thing-- or am I wrong?"

Rook's heart pounded heavily in her chest. "No, you’re not," she said with a soft smile. 

This man was certainly in his own league.  When her eyes finally fell to her lockscreen, she bit back a scream. It was 2:00 a.m. 

Probably seeing the distress on her face, John leaned forward, a hand placed over hers. "Is something wrong? "

"It's-- it's 2:00 in the morning!" she yelped, "I can't -- damn, I can't call Kim right now, it'd be so rude."

He huffed a short laugh. "Don't worry, darling. I'll take you there."

He stood up, offering her a hand that she took quickly, thinking about how inconsiderate she'd been with the Ryes. At least she had her own key. 

"Thank you, so much, I don't -- I don't wanna bother you though, it's quite far."

"Nonsenses, my dear. It's my pleasure."

She hadn't realized he was still holding her hand, when he stopped right at the threshold of the house. 

"I know--" He chuckled, and cleared his throat, clearly nervous, and Rook's knees bucked at his proximity, "I know I have no right asking this of you, but-- may I kiss you, Rook?" 

There was a slight waver in his otherwise confident request, Rook found endearing. She would've been lying if she said she hadn't toyed with the idea more and more as the night progressed, imagining the scrape of his beard over her chin, the hard press of his mouth over hers-- 

"I'd very much like that," Rook answered, thanking her stars she wasn't croaking out of pure nervousness. 

She felt her cheeks burning as he closed the distance between them, painfully slow, blue eyes delving into hers as if to pry into her soul. 

His hand slid up, thumbing at her jaw, fingers resting against her neck, warm and gentle. Rook's heart galloped when he leaned in, not diverting her eyes from those magnetizing blues. Her breath came in shallow exhales when finally his lips brushed hers, soft and slightly damp. Tentatively first, shy eagerness that untethered with every second passed. 

Rook closed her eyes, taking in the sensations, flitting and stark, careening through her. Kissing someone hadn't felt like this in a long time if not ever. A kiss capable of send jolts of pure exhilaration and new-formed vertigo to the farest corner of her being. She could feel every inch of his chest pressed to hers, warm and solid, his tongue sliding along the seams of her mouth, and every movement drove her further away from heartache, further away from the feeling of hollowness. So quickly, so effectively. It felt so right. And it was scary. 

She broke the kiss, gauging the impact of how screwed up she was. 

"Is everything alright?" John asked, lips swollen, breathing coming out in small puffs. The whole sight and the pitch of his rough voice wreaking havoc on Rook's gut. 

"Perfectly." She allowed herself a genuine smile that he promptly returned, holding her hand and finally guiding her to the black SUV parked at the garage. 

"Thank you for that, my dear," he said with a pitch that made her half-formed hopes, gain reality. "Now, let's take you home."

Hope County looked beautiful and daunting at night. Dark blue scattered with silver glimmer of distant stars.

Sitting at John's side Rook felt alive. She could even say she forgave David. She didn't care at all about it anymore, because if it meant coming here, and coming here meant meeting John, then it wasn't all tragedy. 

Living here was going to be perfect, and she was going to seize every second of it. In that moment John turned his head to look at her and she was struck by the sheer glee waving back at her from those clear blue pools. A light squeeze of her hand as a silent reassurance. 

Of what? Rook wasn't sure yet, but she was determined to find out.

[western-writer]

Never the Same

A/N this is sort of a sequel to “What Must Be Done” so if you haven’t read that, I highly suggest you do before reading this. Enjoy!

Summary: The reader works through the consequences of her actions.

John wipes some access ink off your skin and sighs, pulling away to look at the lettering. All over your body read the words “Lust”, “Pride”, and “Sloth”. The words repeat themselves, some never to be removed from your skin under Joseph’s orders: part of the price to pay for what you did. He wants you to confess and atone and then confess again until he feels you truly understand the weight of your actions. Until he thinks so, the words will continue to be inked into your skin and some to be cut off.

“I think you’ve had enough today, don’t you?” he questions. 

You merely nod, your vocal cords coarse from the constant confession and lack of water. He sets his tattoo gun down and strides over to you, loosening the cuffs that bind your wrists. 

“If it’s worth anything, I’m sorry that I have to do this.” 

You look to meet his gaze and scoff slightly. “Not sorry enough to stop.”

He gives you a look and turns his body toward you. “You know I can’t do that.” 

“Right, because you fear Joseph more than you love me.”

John rolls his eyes at you. “It is not my fault that you made the choices you did. Just be happy he didn’t order me to carve it into you.”

“Yeah, because having some of them cut off me isn’t bad enough.” You laugh a bit, humorlessly. “I bet if it was you in my place right now, Joseph would be a lot more forgiving. Know why? Because none of you love me as much as you love each other.”

John rolls his eyes at you once more and helps you to your feet. Your body is sore from the long hours sitting in the chair. “Before I forget,” John starts as he leads out of the room. “we’re having a family dinner tonight at the ranch. And no, you can’t skip it.” 

You curse under your breath at him beating you to the answer before you could ask the question. You’d rather lock yourself away in your room than have to face the rest of your family. “Do I have to go?” you ask. 

“You’re a part of the family, aren’t you?” 

“I don’t know, am I?” 

You can tell that John is becoming more and more irritated at your remarks and he falls silent until you both reach his truck. “I would suggest wearing shorts until those heal,” he points to the fresh tattoos and fresh wounds littering your legs. He shuts the door, closing you inside his truck as he walks around to the other side.

Once you reach the ranch, you go inside quickly and make your way to the room John gave you. You shut yourself inside, making sure to lock the door, before throwing yourself down on the bed. You turn onto your back and stare at your skin, running your fingers over the ink and the gauze covering the missing patches of skin. If the tattoos weren’t meant to teach you some sort of lesson and humiliate you, you’d almost like them. There’s something you’ve always appreciated about John’s handwriting.

You sigh, looking out the window to look at the sun as it sits over the mountains.  

You don’t really know how much time passes before you hear the vehicles pull up. You try to avoid going down, but John calls you to the table when the food is ready. You sigh and get to your feet. Slowly, you make your way downstairs and see the four of them sitting at the table already. You slide into the empty seat beside Faith and put your hands on your lap. 

“Let’s say Grace,” Joseph says from the head of the table. You keep your head down as you reach to your left to take Faith’s hand and reach across the table to take Jacob’s. You barely listen as Joseph says the prayer and soon everyone is beginning to dish up. You wait until everyone has their food to start dishing yourself up. You eat slowly, keeping your head down to avoid eye contact. 

Eventually, Joseph clears his throat. “(Y/n)...” he says, making you look up slowly. 

“Yes?” you answer as politely as you can. 

“What made you decide on your choice of clothing for dinner tonight?” 

You look down at your t-shirt and pair of shorts. “Um...” you mutter, unable to come up with answer under his scrutinizing gaze. 

“I’m afraid that’s my doing,” John chimes in softly. “I advised her to keep as much fabric off her skin as possible while the tattoos and wounds heal.” 

Joseph nods. “It would make sense to avoid infections and such.” And he leaves it at that. You shoot John a thankful glance before turning back to your food. 

You’ve eaten barely half of your food before you realize you don’t want anymore. You stir parts of it around and stab other parts with your fork before you feel Faith’s hand on your shoulder. 

“Are you okay?” she asks sweetly. 

“Yeah...” you nod, looking back to your plate. “Just don’t feel that good.” You reach over to take a drink of the water Jacob poured for you. 

“Are you pregnant?” Joseph suddenly asks you in a very serious voice. 

You choke on your water a little bit and stare at him. “W-what!? N-no, of course not!” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I-I’m not pregnant, Joseph. I’m one hundred percent sure on that.”

An uncomfortable silence falls between you and the other four. You can’t believe Joseph just asked you that, especially in front of Jacob. With an internal sigh, you look at the word “Lust” staining the skin of your thigh. It’s embarrassing and serves as a reminder as to what you’ll never experience ever again, let alone with someone you love as much as Staci. 

Your heart hurts remembering your last night with him. 

“Can I be done?” you ask suddenly. 

“You barely touched your food,” Jacob says, giving you a pointed look. 

“Like I said, don’t feel well.” 

Everyone looks at Jacob, seemingly waiting for an answer like you are. He sighs and waves a dismissive hand toward you. “Go on,” he mutters. 

You stand up, plate in hand, and walk it to the trash. Once you scrape the food off you walk to the sink and scrub it down before setting in the bottom of the sink. Then you hurry back to your room. 

Someone grabs you from behind, wrapping one hand around your waist as the other around your mouth. You panic, beginning to struggle before a calm voice fills your ears. 

“Sh, sh, it’s just me, babe,” Staci whispers into your ear. You immediately stop struggling and spin to face him, shocked to find that it is actually him. 

“Staci, oh, my God,” you whisper, grabbing his face. You study him for half a second before pulling him into a hard kiss. “How are you here...?” you question after pulling away just barely.  

“Rook distracted the guards long enough for me to climb in through the window...” he answers softly. 

“You were right... I should’ve gone with you and Rook while I had the chance...”

He shakes his head. “No, you were right. Even now, the Resistance still sees you as an enemy. If you would’ve come back with us, there’s no telling what they would’ve done.”

You sigh a bit and look down. Staci’s gaze follows yours and he jerks away quickly, taking your wrist in his hand. He runs his fingers over the tattoos and where John had ripped old ones off of you. “What did they do to you?” he questions, walking you to the bed. 

“It’s my punishment...” you mutter. “He’s making me confess and atone over and over, each time having John tattoo my sins on me. Then rip some of them off by cutting the skin around it and peeling it away. He’ll do that until Joseph feels I understand enough, but some of the ink will never be ripped off to serve as a reminder for me about what happened this time.”

“And what did Jacob do?”

“Whaddya think he did? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a single fuck.” 

Staci sighs and puts his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you into him. You wrap your arms around his torso, holding onto him like he’ll disappear if you don’t. You breathe in deeply, trying to engrave this feeling into your head. 

“Staci?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Staci stays with you for as long as he can before leaving. You watch him leave through the window and disappear into the darkness. Moments later you hear a knock on your door. 

“Yeah?” you ask. 

“It’s me.” The voice on the other belongs to Jacob. 

“Come in.”

Jacob pushes the door open and enters the room, closing it behind him immediately. This is the first time you’ve been alone with him since he confronted you and honestly, it puts you on edge. Especially as he leans against the door, blocking your only easy exit. 

“Joseph says he thinks you’re almost ready to stop atonement.” 

“Does he, now?” 

Jacob glares at you, annoyed by your sarcastic tone. “Yeah, he does. Says that you might be able to skip goin’ to Faith if you behave.” 

“Behave,” you scoff. “Makes me sound like one of your judges.”

“Stop bein’ a smartass. It won’t help you.” 

“Nothing will help me, Dad. Don’t you get that? Even my own father is allowing me to be mutilated every day as punishment. And punishment for exactly? Allowing my boyfriend to get away from my father that tortures him.”

His glare focuses on you with intensity. “You betrayed this family. You are lucky Joseph didn’t decide to have you killed.”

“And you would’ve just let ‘em, huh? Is that how little I mean to you? Is my life that replaceable?” 

His glare softens just barely, but he says nothing. 

You sigh and look to the side. “I mean, I guess it makes sense. I can never compare to your brothers, can I? You’ll never be able to love me as much as you love them, that much is obvious. And even if I can win my way back to you, it’ll never be the same. I’m just a traitor, right?”

“I dunno what to tell ya and I dunno what you expect me to do,” he mumbles. 

You jump off your bed and stand in front of him. “I want you to tell me I’m wrong, Dad! Tell me that it’s all in my head! That no, of course, you love me as much as John and Joseph. But you won’t, will you? And I want you to be my father. I want to see why I did what I did. I want you to want me to be happy. I want you to stop letting Joseph order John to hurt me for what he believes is the Project.” Your voice fades as you step back and land hard on your bed. “But you won’t, will you?”

Tears now roll down your face and you try to wipe them away before he sees them. 

“Why him, (Y/n)? Why fuckin’ Peaches?” 

“I don’t know, Dad. I really don’t know.” 

With a heavy sigh, Jacob walks over to you and takes your arm. You catch his gaze on your scars and tattoos, courtesy of John. “C’mon,” he says softly. Softer than you’ve ever heard from him. “You’re comin’ home with me.” 

“What? Really?” 

“Yeah. And we’ll work on some of that stuff you talked about.”

[hopecountylovin]

Howdy! Not sure if you're requests are open, but what about a Deputy suffering terribly from depression? Her mood is low, she looks at knives and thinks about ending it, she's tried it before and has been stopped? Sorry, if it's not something you'd do, I just thought I'd ask, and it can be any seed, you'd prefer.

First off I just want to say thanks for the ask and that (unless I get way overwhelmed) my requests are always open, though they will probably take me a while, because I’m slow(:

Also this got longer than expected so I linked it to AO3.

I went with John/Dep for this.

Warnings: depression, hopelessness, thoughts of suicide, self harm, self destructive behavior, drug use

***

The war between the cult and the resistance had certainly taken its toll on the residents of Hope County and Rook was no exception. It destroyed homes, landmarks and left countless bodies in its wake.

The cult worked nonstop to break the those still fighting them and Rook continued to fight physically, no matter what they threw at her she kept getting up.

A bullet or knife wound was nothing, she simply mended herself and kept going. But with each battle she found it that much harder to do so on a mental level. Each kill, loss, win and defeat brought her that much closer to the edge.

Before fighting the cult she had struggled with anxiety and was even on meds, they had almost not let her join the force because of them, but after a comprehensive psych exam she was allowed on.

But that had been months ago and the last pill she took was the day they went to arrest Joseph Seed. She knew that it was bad to quit a medication like that but she really had no choice. It didn’t seem that bad at first as the effects really weren’t felt for some time as she really only had time to focus on survival.

Then the Seeds started paying individual attention to her. John was the first to take her. It was when he had her head under the water - his strong inked hands holding her down, those piercing blue eye boring into her - that she began to wonder what the point was. Would it have really been so bad if he never let her up?

The cult kept getting the upper hand and the resistance seemed to need her for everything, but did anyone really want her? She felt used, only important for what she could do.

In the back of the truck on the way to John’s bunker she had actually looked forward to her atonement, she felt she deserved the pain and torment that John had promised. Then the truck was hit and she was “saved” by Pastor Jerome. After that she easily slipped back into survival mode, simply going through the motions.

The Baptist did not give up on her though. He would constantly radio her, even when she wasn’t in his region.

The first time was right after her escape. She had found a small cabin and had been heating up a can of soup when her radio sounded.

“Ooooh Deputy why did you run? You think I wont find you?”

No. She knew he would find her again but she didn’t feel dread she just felt done. Done fighting him and his siblings, she just wanted it all to end. She didn’t respond, but didn’t turn the radio off either.

A loud sigh came through before he said “I saw that look in your eye Deputy.”

The spoon she was using fell to the ground as his words froze her in place. How could he know?

“You want peace. A place to belong. You feel used by your so-called friends.”

A deep breath left as she reached out for the radio her fingers pressing the button and her own questions spilled out “How-how did you know?”

“Oh it is so nice to hear from you dear, your voice is simply angelic.” Rook could hear the wolfish smile in his voice.

“Answer the question John or I’m turning my radio off.”

“You want to know how I knew that you feel lost and used Deputy? That the idea giving up and letting me kill you in that river today was more appealing then fighting us?”

His words left her quiet for some time letting them sink in. There was no denying a single thing he said. Even before this whole thing she had never felt so understood not by friends, family or even mental health professionals. How could this one deranged cult leader get her in such a way?

“Because I have felt the same way. I’ve seen the look you had in your eye in the mirror. But then I atoned for all my sin, I became free. You can too dear, I can give it to you.”

Read the rest on AO3

[deputyexhausted]

wheres that b99 gif of terry restraining rosa as she tries to fight someone and she’s like flailing her legs and snarling that’s jacob and gracie whenever she sees john and that’s just facts