Far Cry 5 One-Shot Collection

Bury Me Low

Pairing(s): Yandere John Seed x Reader
Warning(s): Yandere themes; non-consensual touching/kissing, possessive behaviour, imprisonment/kidnapping (kind of...)
Word Count: 4,952
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The air is stale, thick as congealed tar and laced with an underlying bitterness, a metallic twang that taps at the tongue like a beater to a triangle. It rings on the taste buds, defined but not completely obvious at first taste. There is a sickly sweet aroma that also intermingles with the varied smells, a spray of too much perfume that has bile fingering the back of your throat, invasive and acidic.

Your breath stutters at every breath you take, staccato bursts that you work feebly to get a handle on; deep inhales followed by slow exhales that each catch on one another as you quiver. Hands clasp tightly to your chest, fisting at your well-loved jumper in a poor attempt at comfort, as you plead with watery eyes for your drumming heart to let up in its relentless beat; so tight and tangled within the box of your chest that it physically hurts, battered in its gruelling journey so far.

A ghostly touch plays on the keys of your spine like a piano, perfectly tuned to elicit the sweetest response out of your quaking form. It is a perverted blend that gets you to play so beautifully, a radiating fear that feeds off of wild assumptions and known tellings in equal abandon, lingering beneath the residual chill of the metal maze that you find yourself lost in. A rat in brutal testing.

Pressing tightly between a cluster of wooden crates, joints aching at how tightly wound they are, you tilt your head back to glance at the ceiling of your metal tomb. Red engulfs the walls, emergency lights painting bloody lines into the bends and crevices, haunting shadows reaching out from darkened corners just out of sight, but never far from mind. Dread creeps like a devouring ivy beneath your skin, pushing into the foundations as they burrow deep, carving a place for themselves as they watch on uncaringly as their host falls to ruin.

The walls moan gloomily, rattling echoes that cast a despairing spell throughout the ants nest of a bunker. Winding paths stretching on, dull and never ending, leading to nowhere but subjugation. Cages made of steel and sin, rooms of iron and blood; intentions paved by pain and falsehoods. Crude promises of salvation mar the walls with sharp words, cutting in image as they are from tongue. The bunker is empty, hollow, so cold and distant, and it nurtures the moulding terror in your marrow with a soggy touch.

A writhing shiver worms at the base of your neck, teasing your body into tensing before refusing to rise to the horrifying occasion that you have found yourself trapped in. It sits in a twisted anticipation that has you twitching.

With a wrecked sigh you bow your head, body sliding weakly down the wall, to press into the pad of your bent knees; curling in on yourself as a headache pounds cruelly behind your eyes. Thoughts rearing against thoughts, logic gasping in the face of the illogical, as your instincts war over the other in a harrowing cry for action; or a lack thereof.

This can't be happening...

Leaving the soft comfort of your jumper, an old buy that feels too long ago, your hands trail to cup over your eyes, shielding them from the crimson dyed world you are now a part of; nails scratching at skin as your fingers grip for purchase. Something to hold on and weep to. A new wave of tears threatens to get the better of you, teeth biting hard into your bottom lip at the situation you are stuck in. An anguish so raw, and a loneliness so visceral, that you can not help the clawing sob that they retch from you. The idea that you can never leave, that you are forever stuck and may very well die down here, is suddenly a very real and terrifying one.

Taking a deep breath you raise your head back, bashing it gently into the metal wall behind you, the sound small enough that there is only a fleeting second of worry, as you hiss out a broken curse between your teeth. Another quickly follows, bashing the back of the head a little harder as your jaw tightens and your teeth ground against each other, a bite of anger slipping into the deluge of your despair. Blinking hard in an effort to ease the sting and fatigue from your eyes you suddenly wish you had not run, had just sat there and let him do whatever it was he was planning to do. He was right after all; you are trapped. There is nowhere else to go.