Far Cry 5 One-Shot Collection

John x Reader: "I'm not perfect..."

It is implied and then not so implied that Reader Dep has seen the future. Angsty times ahead.

22. "I'm not perfect. I know I have problems and that I'm... that I'm not a very good person but I'm trying, sweetheart. I'm trying for you. Because I love you, and nothing will ever change that."

- - -

The warmth of the afternoon sun is a fleeting comfort at your back, a metaphorical hand upon your shoulder that offers a moment's solace before a sudden shiver shakes it loose. Brings with it a chill that accompanies the infernal turbulence of a shifting reality, the ebb and flow of the physical and mental and emotional disjointed as you simply breathe and be; the sensation of change knocking something intrinsic askew. It's unpointable, not discernable exactly what or where it stems, but you know it is true.

Something is happening. A bigger change than the comparably meger conversation that you've prepared yourself to have will produce, no doubt. But it will be a start, a catalyst that sparks the beginnings of a future that you can not grasp. That nurses a void that mutes all that you are until you lose touch of your own self, your own nerves, thoughts, feelings.

Wading through such a slog, catching the once perceived familiar now turned alien shades of the world, is a struggle. A battle in itself to keep you steady enough to not fall through the pages of existence, urging yourself to keep the crisis at bay despite the altering reality surrounding you. Pressing forward is all that you can do, it is the only thing that you can do, and still you falter; tangled in the unnatural unease that has disturbed your very existence.

You wonder if Joseph understands the feeling.

"This isn't going to work, John," voice soft, eyes downcast as you push on. Distract yourself away from the foreboding vacantness by saying what you came here to say, the sunlight from the kitchen window your only support. "I love you, I know I always will, but I... I can't do this. I can't watch you destroy yourself, John. I can't watch you destroy us, I-I just can't," a crack, a splinter you fail to bite back. Eyes closing tightly to keep the tears at bay.

You'll never understand how he can idle knowing what he knows.

"Darling, who said anything about destroying us?" John questions worriedly, "You know I'd never do anything to hurt you. The moment I become yours and you mine I promised that I would do everything within my abilities to protect you. That hasn't changed, sweetheart." Taking a step forward John easily takes hold of your arms, firm but careful, "Nothing is going to separate us, let alone destroy us."

"You don't know that, John."

"And you do? Do you really have so little faith in us?"

Despite how foreign and unfamiliar the world feels, John's expression is one you recognise; and, in spite of the minute relief that's bred from that familiarity, it kills you. It kills you to see him look so wounded, like his own heart is on the cusp of shattering. His eyes have always been so pretty, a magnificent blue reminiscent of tropical waters. And even with them looking so sad, their azure shade so bright and reflective, you still think they're the prettiest eyes you've ever seen.

And they make this even harder than it already is.

Before you can get a chance to answer John beats you to it, his voice melodic even when heavy with emotion.

"I know that I'm not," grimacing he pauses, eyes dropping to stare at the space between you both, his hold on your arms unintentionally getting tighter as he quietly collects himself. Eventually he continues, admitting defeatedly, "I'm not perfect. I know I have problems and that I'm... that I'm not a very good person," a woeful John croaks free from you, but he keeps going, "but I'm trying, sweetheart. I'm trying for you. Because being with you is the happiest I've ever been. Because being with you makes me think that maybe, just maybe, despite everything I have done and surely will continue to do, I can be a better person; a better man. If not for myself then for you. Because I love you, and nothing will ever change that. So please darling, don't give up on us. Don't give up on me."

The tears fall quickly down your cheeks. Misery crashing heavily against you at such an earnest plea.

Desperately you want to listen to him. To surrender yourself to a life together no matter how brief and tragic it may end. At least you would have each other; at least you would have him. But not for long, you know. And it is for that reason that you can't, that you shouldn't. Because if you do you will lose him. You will lose yourself. You will be dragged into a war you want no part in, forced into a role you have no want for, coiled into a mere silhouette of who you once were. No longer a person but a figurehead, an effigy atop a defiled altar.

And John will lay upon it.

So in your shakiness you stand firm. In your heartbreak you hold yourself together. And with a wheeze of a breath you say little and yet so much.

"I'm sorry."