Far Cry 5 One-Shot Collection

Hold Her Tight (And Don't Let Go)

Pairing(s): John Seed X F!Deputy (Named)
Warning(s): Yandere, possessive/obsessive behaviour, soft but unstable John; he has a very warped idea of things; mentions of blood and physical wounds.
Word Count: 2,963
A/N(s): A Christmas gift for a dear, dear friend of mine on Tumblr. She is truly a blessing, and I don't know what I'd without her 💖
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There is a hush over the land, a chilled lull that hints to the ending autumn just as much as it does the falling night. Early rays of tired light making the still dark sky blush with the faintest dusting of pink, colours catching in the reflection of crystal-clear dew drops as the night steadily inches towards the dawn. A new day quite literally on the horizon.

It's peaceful, the yawning night slowly being sung to sleep by the bird's melodic hymns, as many continue to wander dreamily within the landscape of their own minds. Unconcerned and unaware of the many battles that will no doubt erupt once the dawn finally breaks and this day officially begins; the same as any other, yet different nonetheless.

Deputy Rook knows this routine better than any; always the first to rise, to shed and spill blood in the name of her chosen faction – to drown her conscious deep below the water's surface as she fights in the name of a tarnished and frail justice, morals abandoned under the bodies she recklessly leaves behind – and the last to put her rifle down and let the temptations of sleep snare her into a fitful slumber. Yes, Rook knows her daily routine rather well.

Yet the days are still different, and on those rare days where the mould has been broken Rook would typically revel in the change of pace. Would let herself get lost in empty thoughts as the morning fog rolled in, taking in the sights of ghostly meadows and mist-drowned woodland as she slipped free from the collar of her obligations. The world an enclosure where she was the only occupant; a beautifully lonely solitude.

Today, however, is far from such a day.

There is a tension in the air; a wire worn thin by bitter exchanges and pulled too tight by vengeful encounters. Fear turned aggressive on the precipice of its snap, battlefield dusted as the two that tug and stress the wire to its fullest foam and snap like rabid dogs. Cruel jabs and nasty words constantly exchanged like devoted love letters over shifting radio waves.

Really if she was in a better condition Rook would continue this little game of theirs, reflecting every petty snark he threw at her right back like an ever-present mirror; would help to demolish this suffocating pressure and that infernal wire that strangles the Valley with a flourish. Or maybe even a good punch to the bastard's face. That would be something; but sadly, you can't have everything.

Especially when you are in Rook's position.

"How are you feeling?" John asks, a sea of troubled blue staring intently at the injured deputy. Gaze occasionally flicking down to her exposed bandages, fingers twitching restlessly in his lap. "You've been out for a while now..."

Rook shifts uncomfortably, hand pressed loosely over her side as she weakly moves up the bed and away from John. Jaw aching as she grits her teeth against the sharp twist in her side at every wrong move or too deep a breath.

At her silence John swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. He hesitates, lets the silence carry as one of his hands comes up to lay habitually against his chest, absently smoothing over the lettering of his displayed sin. A soft concern lighting his ocean eyes, strangely aglow under the lamplight.

"I was honestly starting to fear the worst. You should really take better care of yourself, Deputy."

Despite his touching, if not completely unexpected, worry Rook finds it easier to keep quiet. To rebel by denying him her words and, by extension, her compliance.