Justreallysadtbhgivereaderabreak - Tumblr Posts
UHHHH IVE NEVER WRITTEN BEFORE, Don’t know how to tag and I didn’t proofread cause I’m real lazy. also kinda stupid, i probably used the same metaphors and similes like a million times. So uh, yeah. Read at your own discretion, I’ll tag what I think is important so read pls
TWS & MENTIONS—— Torture, blood, goreish, betrayal, heavy angst, overall gruesome and violent, mentions of relationship with simon ghost riley (implied but heavily), angst angst angst and more angst with a side of angst. Did I mention angst.
That’s it I think lmk if I missed any? Okay enjoy, hopefully!
Inspo and plot credit to users ghouljams & criminalamnesia !!!
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When your vision blurs and your eyes fog up— you can’t make sense out of the coarse pangs of pain running up your sides, down your legs and through your nose. For the first time in your life, it’s a weary weekend evening and you happen to be tied up to a splinting wooden chair in the middle of a dark warehouse. You think the red running down and dripping onto the floor is your own blood, but again, you can’t see. A fist collides against your stomach once, twice, then thrice, and finally relents.
"P…please— stop," You recognize your voice alongside the ringing in yours ears. Panicked— desperate. Your hands twitch behind your back on instinct, a deep familiar instinct to grab those hands and soothe your thumbs over those scared knuckles.
“Fuckin’ hell.” Price grumbles. This wasn’t what he wanted to happen— not your betrayal, not the torturing, and most insistently— not the feelings that hit him when it all came crashing down. The pang in his heart planted the thought and truth that you were practically family. He shakes his head before slamming a door behind him.
“Fuckin’ hell is right!” Simon yells back, slamming down his mask onto the table. He catches a look at your blood smeared over it and anger flares up and over his lips again.
You look at his face and you think you’ve never seen him make that expression. You’ve seen the best and worse of him. You’ve seen the face he makes when he’s afraid, the one he’s made when he cries and his shoulder shake with sobs. It scares you how foreign they he looks now. Ten feet can’t feel anymore distant than right now. Tears boil over onto your red and purple cheeks, voice cracking and quiet.
“I didn’t— I wouldn’t! I was with Gaz all the whole time, tell them Gaz!” You manage and don’t notice how through your fading conscience, you omit and slur words together. When Gaz averts his eyes you can’t help but wonder who’s the real traitor in this whole ordeal.
“You abandoned your post, left Sergeant Gaz to fend for himself, didn’t answer none of your fuckin’ callsigns,” Simon steps closer. You flinch.
“Why?” He yells. “Fuckin’ speak!” Fear runs rampant through your veins and you can’t recognize this man. This man is angry and unrecognizable, and you can’t for the life of you believe why.
“Please, Simon— I didn’t. I wouldn’t.” A few words go unsaid in the wake of pain.
“Good at lying, aren’t you?” Simon steps close. He’s quick to pull out his infamous sleek knife out one of his holders and slice it across your shoulder. Warm blood trickles down and you let out a cry so raw it hurts your throat. It hurts, burns— but nothing sears more than the look he gives you.
You shake your head and sob out. This can’t be seriously be happening. You were just returning from hiding after the Mexican cartel stormed you and Gaz’s recon location. You ran until your lungs gave out and when you thought you were safe, Johnny had tied your wrist behind your hands and forced you down onto your knees with a rougher than usual hand.
Confused, you panted out. A joke, perhaps? You look around with a small smile. It drops as quick as it formed and it’s almost comical how fast it all happened. One second your legs were aching from running and the next it was from the cut of a choppy knife. The hand that used it was just as choppy, rigid, tense.
“Please, I didn’t do it! I didn’t fucking do it!” Your voice shakes with hurt and anger. “Why won’t you all believe me!” Your voice tears out of your throat. Simon slams his hand down on a table and the noise beats fear into you and gets your heart pounding.
Silence ensues and you could’ve sworn it was worse than being tortured. Your own fucking force members. Eight years, rough and painful years, for one bark from Shephard to tear everything down and away from you.
It takes a few more beatings from Simon for it to get through your hazy mind—He’ll kill you; Right here, right now. Your history can’t save you in the face of betrayal.
When your body is bruised and raw with cuts and you can’t place anything anymore, only then are you granted a silence. Like a madman, captain Price swings open the door of the room he had cowered into.
“Fucking hell, Simon! Stop!” He pulls Simon’s arm back, voice taut and if you could see, you’d see the guilt in the blue of his eyes. His words are like a bite in the neck to everyone in the dark room.
“Shephard conned us. He— Fuck!” He grabs the bloody knife out of Simon’s hand and throws it onto the ground.
“He and graves fucked us over. Lied to Laswell and the rest of us ate it up like fucking dogs!” He yells. Frustration pounds guilt into his head.
Simon’s hand goes limp and you don’t get the satisfaction of seeing guilt seep and set into his face. It would’ve been funny had it not been due to the weight of it all.
“Shit. Shit, shit!” Price runs up to you, eyes frantic as he look over your wounds. Raw, teared and sliced open. Bruised beyond recognition.
You can’t even respond to his hands holding together some of your wounds, the panicked yells between Soap and Gaz, the pale silence from Simon. It’s too quick, you think. That or your mind is slowing down. Most likely the latter.