Far Cry 5 One-Shot Collection

One Of Those Nights

Pairing(s): John Seed x Reader
Warning(s): Angst, depression, suicidal thoughts, Soft John.
Word Count: 1,139
A/N(s): Completely self indulgent nonsense. I wanted some John comfort so I wrote it.
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It's quiet, the late night filled by a chorus of stale thoughts that can't be heard nor eased. The mind wounded by unseen hands and decorated with scars from non-existent abusers. Internal demons silently biting at scabs that itch and agitate, that have the tears coming to your eyes until they are all you can focus on. Your soul distant as the sorrow becomes too much. Too pressing, too consuming, until the tears fall with the rain on the window.

Blindly you reach out. Desperate for a little bit of comfort, for a little bit of reassurance to help keep the despair at bay. To help keep its jaws away from your throat, the noose away from your neck. The warmth of your bed an embrace that you turn and suffocate yourself in, bury yourself in deeper as if it's your final resting place. Your partner the rock that keeps you from slipping further beneath the waves, his bare chest the contact that you need to keep yourself afloat. The reason you need to keep yourself dry and away from the temptations of crooked wonders. The reason you need to keep away from sly serpents that hang from gnarled trees, forked tongues hissing in your ears with bared fangs and salacious grins. Evil ideas that you should never consider lingering like a bitter after taste. Left to sit and consider even though you shouldn't.

The void grows a little wider, your soul a little quieter.

You stifle a sob, keep it caged like the embarrassment it is. The shame of your existence, the weakness of it, locked down tight by a sensitive pride. Easily pained and shaken when confronted by mortality, your own vulnerability. It's humiliating, a disgrace that you can't erase. A disease without a cure. One that you can barely manage, too quick to get lost and stew in. Too quick to pray and assure that it'll be over, that it's only a phase that will pass just as the moon does the night sky.

Sometimes you question when that 'over' will really be 'over'.

John must have felt you shift, felt the warmth of your breath as it fans wetly against him. Pushing into him until his arm comes to hold you tighter, pulling you closer still. Head ducking sleepily, beard brushing against you as he kisses you sweetly. Lips pressing chastely against your head as you press your face deeper into the mattress, nuzzle into the sheets to clear the tears away as you wrap your arms around him. A whine slipping brokenly between your lips as you hold him as close as you can, head tucked and turned away as you hold him like a lifeline. Your only haven within the hollow of your thoughts, empty and cold and so, so lost. Wrought by an echoing loneliness that eases with every touch and careful caress, every silent word spoken in every gentle press of his lips and brush of his nose.

He holds still for a moment, hesitant as he moves to press his head to yours. Sides shivering as he breathes softly into your ear, lips brushing against the shell of it as his thumb rubs soothingly against your back. Yet another silent word, another unspoken assurance, as he simply holds you within the dark; your little glimmer of hope.

"Darling? Is everything alright? Are you okay?" he questions tiredly, a small panic colouring his words a few shades brighter, a little livelier. Blinking John pulls back, hand drawing across to lay on your cheek instead as he brushes the tears that have dampened your cheeks away. Pausing, caught off guard, before he shifts to try and catch your eyes. Nose nudging yours as his eyes sparkle with a growing worry, azure seas choppy under the shifting of his emotions.

You keep your own eyes closed.

"Darling, what's wrong?" he presses his forehead to your own, a quake in his silk touched voice. "Talk to me, sweetheart. I'm right here..."

The tears come anew at his plea. A shaky sigh tumbling from your lips, a sob tripping over it as your raise your hand to his cheek. Scratching at his beard before sliding your hand into his hair, quietly urging him forward as you press a light kiss to his neck. Your free hand moving to rest over the carved lettering on his chest, your fingers curling as if to hold onto him as you tuck yourself beneath his chin. His arms securely coming to wrap around you as you cry against his neck. The word 'sorry' a broken choir that you can't help but sing. Sobbing as you hide yourself weakly against him.

John hushes you quickly, shifting until his legs are interwoven with your own, his fingers slipping into your hair to cradle you close like you are to him.

"Don't apologise, sweetheart," he breathes, eyes twinkling like reflecting stars. Blinking at the sting in them as you cry against him, powerless to help you, to ease the veiled thoughts and troubles that plague you so. That dim you into a mere shadow of yourself. Normally so free and pure, beautiful and just straight up divine. His own personal salvation, his own personal reason to keep on giving. To keep on trying. To one day be a better man, the version that you truly deserve.

"It's okay. It's okay, baby," he murmurs sweetly, tears free to run down his own cheeks as you hiccup into his chest. His own demons slipping through the cracks as he comforts you. His own doubts and fears causing him to hold you tighter, curl over you, as if to physically shield you from the horrors of his own mind. The glass edges that you've cut yourself on when things were so new, when you held him on dark nights just like this one. When raw topics were brought to light under your loving hands, your gentle guidance. More than willing to shoulder his and everyone else's burdens, regardless of the strain that fell upon your back.

He should've done a better job of looking out for you.

"You're okay. Shh, shh, you're okay, darling. I'm here. I'm here, I've got you. I've got you, baby. It's going to be okay. It's going to be okay..."

He holds you, whispers promises that are not phrased like promises, and kisses his adoration across your skin in gentle reverence. All the while he thinks on how he'll do better. On how he can best protect you from the injustices of the world and the demons that take you hostage. In the darkness of your shared room he thinks of the future, of how he never wants his beautiful angel so low ever again.
John thinks of the future, and of the modest little ring hidden safely within his draw.