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criminalamnesia · 7 months

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HIIII!!! I just wanted to say that i really love ur writing! I've read ur traitor series and I can't wait for part 4! I'm a new author, and english isn't my first language, so it's sometimes very hard for me to write bcs i'm stil not that good, but ur fics have helped me improve<3💗!

thank you so much!🫶 im glad you’ve enjoyed the series! and speaking of part four, here it is :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

simon didn’t turn to watch you leave the gym.

he stood there, eyes forward, mask clenched in one fist. he could feel the blood drying on his skin. he made no move to wipe it away.

he didn’t blame you for your anger— he couldn’t. he understood the rage. had felt it himself a time or two.

but he couldn’t take everything lying down.

did he deserve your wrath, your fury? yes— and he knew that. there was no making up for what he did; he realized that, but why couldn’t you understand?

he’d never fully taken his walls down around you, and that was no fault of your own. he was a guarded man, and his past gave him every right to be.

he had been burned and broken too many times. he’d seen the people he loved murdered because of him.

he swore he would never let that happen again. he put those walls up, and you knocked some of them down.

but there were some you’d never gotten through, at least, simon told himself you hadn’t. there was always something he was holding back, a piece of himself he wouldn’t give freely. he told himself it was because he couldn’t stand to love you so deeply and then watch you leave.

but really, it was because he needed an out. he needed a way to justify his leaving if something ever happened— and that’s what got him here.

simon trusted the 141 with his life. he trusted his captain with his life. price had never led him astray; john knew his face well before any of the others. well before you.

and when someone you trust so deeply, someone you’ve followed for years, tells you that the person you love has betrayed your team?

you can’t help but believe them. and that’s what simon did.

the evidence was coincidental at first. wrong place, wrong time. but then, everything started to seem like more than a coincidence. pieces of a complicated puzzle were fitting together. things only you and the rest of the 141 would know were leaked.

and all the signs pointed to you.

and although he didn’t want to, simon couldn’t help it. the second price had confided in him that you may be the rat, simon began to distance himself. you had been confused, but he had offered no explanation.

price was the one to question you first. it was a heated conversation in his office, consisting of him showing you the evidence and you becoming furious at the accusations.

johnny came to you next, buttering you up with his flirtatious and unarming words before asking if you’d leaked information.

then there was kyle, who pleaded for the truth. he told you that a case was being built against you, and that if you came clean now, things wouldn’t be so bad.

simon never tried to talk to you about it. the other men would tell him what you’d said, but he had never gone to talk to you himself.

maybe it was pride. simon wasn’t trusting, not after his past. he had let the 141 in, had let you in. and now you were a suspected traitor, and he was angry at himself. angry he hadn’t seen it sooner; angry he’d let you in at all.

but maybe it was hurt. hurt that you’d done this to him, to the team, after knowing everything they’d been through. after stitching up wounds on the battlefield and taking bullets for one another. after sharing simon’s bed and whispering you loved him.

all he knew was that he trusted price. and as evidence built, so did the distance between the two of you, until you were tied to that chair.

and simon had taken his hurt, his anger, out on you. he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew now that he was wrong. but he was still a little angry. angry because you couldn’t see his side of things— not like he could see yours.

so, he was an ass. he didn’t apologize. he snuck flowers to your bedside but kept his distance. he told you to watch your tone because you were still part of the team, and speaking to price like that was only something an outsider would do.

and he told you that he’d spared your life because he had. anger had consumed him, and truthfully, you were lucky he hadn’t done worse.

even if he’d smothered his feelings for you with rage, he still harbored love for you, and that’s why some part of him held back.

he knew you would probably never forgive him. he had made his peace with that.

but he couldn’t stand the fact that you couldn’t understand why he’d done what he did.

the creak of the gym door opening broke simon from his thoughts. he pulled his mask back on before turning around and making his way to the door.

it took one firm knock on the door for price to answer.

the door clicked open, and price sighed when he saw simon, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard before letting the taller man in. price turned, walking back to his desk chair, while simon closed the door behind him and locked it.

“this is a bloody mess,” the captain said, falling heavily into the chair. it squeaked at the sudden weight, old leather crinkling and crackling.

“doc came and saw me earlier, ‘fore she left for the night. told me about some new injuries, and yelled at me for letting that happen.”

simon didn’t speak. price’s eyes met his, and he sighed again.

“fuckin’ hell, simon. what the fuck did you say? doc said she had to stitch up both their hands.”

“doesn’t matter what I say,” simon spoke, eyes still on the captain “they won’t fuckin’ listen.”

price shook his head. “that’s not true, ‘nd we both know it,” he sounded tired as he spoke, dark bags under his eyes. he paused for a moment, then spoke again.

“spoke to laswell after you left earlier. she said she’ll try to speed up the transfer process. tryin’ to avoid more fuss, and im not fightin’ it any longer.”

“they’re part of our team,” simon spoke, tone rough.

price shook his head. “they are, but I can’t keep doin’ this. can’t keep pushin’ off transferin’ because of you lot. it may be better for us, but not for them.”

the room fell quiet. simon inhaled, exhaled. his fists clenched at his sides before quickly unfurling once more.

he didn’t have a right to be mad at you for leaving, but he was.

“laswell say anythin’ else about tha’ transfer?” simon asked.

price leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “not much. no word on where or with who, but even if she knew, doubt she’d tell us. for their sake.”

simon gave a small nod and made to turn, but froze as price spoke again.

“she did say she didn’t know if it would go through. they’d have to pass another eval.”

they both knew what that meant. if laswell said that, then she didn’t believe the transfer would happen. kate wouldn’t outwardly say it, but price had known what she’d meant.

pushing the transfer through wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t pass a physical and psychological evaluation— and laswell didn’t think you could.

although he wouldn’t admit it, price was unsure, too. torture was something that took an incredibly devastating toll on the mind and body.

but torture at the hands of your team? there was no telling the damage that that would do to someone. to you.

an honorable discharge was more likely. and, if that was the case, then your rage would likely grow tenfold.

you career, your livelihood, taken from you by the hands of the men you trusted the most. your family, cutting you up and pushing you out.

damned by your team and your country, regardless of everything you’d done for both of them during your service.

you were just another cog in the machine, one that had been damaged and discarded, and a discharge couldn’t make that any clearer.

he thought back to what you had said in the gym earlier, before you’d left.

‘you should have killed me.’

maybe he should have.

thanks to everyone for your patience! also just incase you didn’t see my post about it—

im no longer doing a taglist! my side blog @troiastitans will reblog my works from now on, so if you want to know when I post, follow that account and allow notifications!

as always, thank you for the love! (also I hope you all enjoyed a little peek into simon’s head!)

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soaps-mohawk · 5 days

Text

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 37: The Silence

Summary: Tensions are at an all time high in the pack as an eerie silence settles over the cottage

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 6,069 words

Warnings: Angst, heavy emotions, arguing, medical stuff, injuries, descriptions of pain, brief discussion about strangulation, so much crying, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, panic attack, PTSD, language

A/N: Uh yeah, this one did emotional damage. Prepare yourselves.

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They stand there watching like four knights in a tower guarding their kingdom. Their eyes are glued ahead, staring through the glass out into the backyard. They’re alert and watchful, eyes assessing and scanning for any threats. There are none except for your trembling legs.

They stand there watching like four knights guarding their princess. None of them are brave enough to move, none of them dare break the moment. They can’t help but wonder what’s going on in your head, what drove you to push past the pain and exhaustion to shuffle your way outside.

Panic bubbled in Kyle’s chest when he saw you shuffling your way across the living area. He’d nearly intervened when you stumbled, but John’s hand on his chest stopped him. You were in your own world, oblivious to everyone and everything as you shuffled determinedly toward the back door. They’d silently followed you, Johnny and Simon joining them when they descended the stairs.

All you’ve done is stand out there. It feels like it’s been an hour, but it’s been less than five minutes. You’re frozen there, all except for the tremble of your legs and the subtle shake of your shoulders.

You’re crying.

It hurts his soul. It tears through his very chest as he watches you. He wants nothing more than to run out there and take you in his arms and soothe your tears.

He can’t.

He lost those privileges when they left you, when they betrayed you, when they abandoned you. It may have been John’s choice, but they were all complacent in it. None of them fought that decision, none of them questioned it. Would John have changed his mind if they did? Could they have avoided all of this if they had just questioned their alpha, their captain?

Not all of it would have been unavoidable.

You would have still been hurt. You would have still been traumatized. There was no guarantee Graves would have held off, even if they came for you in the first place. Things might have been worse. Graves might have gotten impulsive as soon as he realized the outcome of his own situation.

Shepherd fucked him over too in the end.

Things happened the way they did and they can’t change that. That’s what Christine keeps telling them. The past is the past and you can only work to build the future.

It’s going to take a lot of work.

“How long has she been out there?” Christine asks, stepping up next to them.

“About four minutes.” Simon answers.

“She shouldn’t be out there like that.” Christine goes to move to the door, but John stops her.

“Let her have a moment.” He says, still staring out the window. “She needs it.”

Christine lets out a quiet huff but she doesn’t move, turning her gaze out the sliding glass door as well.

You continue to stand there, frozen like a statue. Time passes slowly, all of them captivated by the silent moment they’re witnessing. It’s almost hypnotic. The fading light, your figure standing there surrounded by grey skies and green earth like some sort of painting.

Pain and bliss.

That’s what he’d title it. He knows that’s what you must be feeling. Pain, visible and invisible from wounds that go far deeper than the flesh. Pain in its purest form as you stand there under heavy grey skies that echo the heaviness in your mind. The bliss echoes from John’s words, his reveal of your desire to see the ocean again, to stand on its shores and let its essence consume you.

It all makes sense now. No wonder you would cling to him the most, press your face into his neck and just breathe. His own briney scent was a gateway to what you desired in your landlocked position. How long had you been holding that desire in? Were you disappointed when you rolled up on their doorstep to find yourself still far away from the sea? You hid that desire from the knowledge that, as an omega, your wants and needs would always come last, in the knowledge that their jobs would come first and you would be at the mercy of that job.

His eyes burn with tears as he stares at you.

You begin to tremble more and more the longer you stand there, shifting on your feet. It breaks the haze they’ve all been frozen in, the five of them snapping back into reality. Christine is out the door before any of them can move, hurrying to your side. She wraps an arm around your back, careful not to touch your left arm as she steadies you. Kyle jumps into action automatically after her, hurrying to your new designated room to grab the wheelchair. With how much effort it took to walk out there, you won’t be walking back in.

He wheels it out, holding it still as Christine maneuvers you into it. As much as he doesn’t want to, he turns, slipping back in the door as Christine wheels you towards the house. The four of them watch as she passes, time pausing as they stare at you. You don’t look up at them, don't acknowledge them at all. Your gaze is turned down in your lap, head lowered as you hunch, shoulders rounded.

Pain and exhaustion are weighing on you from your exertion as Christine takes you back to your room. How heavy the world must seem from the combined weight of your physical and mental injuries. The state of your mind would be one thing, but being stuck in a temporary handicapped state due to your physical injuries must be driving you nearly insane. There’s no getting away, no isolation. You can’t even walk fully unaided yet.

There’s no freedom.

All of them share a look in the heavy silence, understanding without even needing to say a word.

The mug is burning his fingers but he can’t bring himself to care. His gaze is locked, mind focused elsewhere. He hasn’t moved in so long his joints are aching, but he can’t find it in himself to even shift his position.

“Drinking it black?” His fingers twitch as Kyle takes the seat next to him, his own mug of tea in his hands. It clunks as he sets it on the table before he lowers himself into the chair with a sigh. “That’s low even for you.”

Simon lets out a grunt, eyes still focused out the sliding glass door.

“She’s fine.” Kyle says, pulling out his phone. “The Doc won’t let anything happen to her.”

“Don’t like that she’s out there alone.” Simon says, finally releasing the mug, squeezing his burning fingers into his palm.

“Technically she’s not alone,” Kyle says, giving him a sideways glance. “We’ve been over this. We’re perfectly safe here.”

“For now.” Simon lifts his mug to his lips, ignoring the burn of the tea on his tongue. He’s long become numb to that sort of pain.

“No one knows we’re here except Kate and my sister. Neither of them would say anything, no matter what.” Kyle turns his gaze back to the sliding glass door, to your figure huddled in the chair outside. “She’s where she needs to be right now.”

Footsteps thud down the stairs, John letting out a groan as he reaches the bottom. He takes a moment to stretch before heading for the kettle in the kitchen.

“Rough night, sir?” Kyle asks, taking a sip of his tea.

“I’ve slept worse.” John grunts, grabbing a mug from the cupboard.

Both of them had tossed and turned last night. Simon had listened to the occasional creak of the bed frame as they turned. He knows that’s what it was. They’re not ready yet. None of them are. Things are too fragile, too frayed.

“Anyone thought about breakfast?” John asks.

“Still some eggs left, and some bread. We need to make a store run soon.” Kyle says.

“Today.” John says, pouring water into the mug. “A lot of things we need to pick up.” He turns to face Simon and Kyle, leaning against the cupboard. “Simon and I will go.”

Simon shifts in his seat, his hand tightening around his mug again. “That’s not a good idea.”

“What, you’re doubting our ability to watch the house?” Kyle says, turning to Simon.

Simon glances at him, his eyes hard. “No, There should just be an alpha here at all times.”

“Really? Because that sounds a lot like you don’t trust Johnny and I.” Kyle says, getting angry.

“Enough.” John says, setting his mug down on the table. “We keep fighting amongst ourselves, nothing is going to get better. Tensions are high, but none of this is about us. We have to keep our heads on straight for the sake of our pack, and our omega. Simon and I will go to town today. That’s final.”

Kyle and Simon both lower their eyes to their mugs of tea as John takes a seat at the table. He is right. Fighting amongst themselves will only make things worse for you. You’re already struggling, and the bonds fraying further will only cause more damage, more stress for you. Their bonds with you are delicate enough. They can’t risk the bonds between themselves getting any thinner. They have to be strong for you. They have to be strong for each other. They have to be strong for the pack. The whole pack.

It falls silent between the three of them as they sit there, sipping their tea. Johnny is the only one still in bed. He cried most of the night last night. He’s cried most of the night the last three nights. He’s probably shed more tears than you have.

Simon feels stuck in the middle, like he’s being torn in two separate directions. He got up in the night to free himself from the sounds of Johnny crying just to hear your own quiet sobs through your closed door. Each broken sob had his heart splitting in half, the ache in his chest getting worse and worse. He was sure he was having a heart attack that first night, his chest compressing and squeezing, his hands going numb from how tense his body was.

He wants to reach out and make it better, but he can’t bring himself to. Johnny will just shrug him off, and you won’t even look at him. Even John and Kyle are distant, gravitating further and further away. The gravitational field in the center of their pack continues to get bigger and bigger, forcing them further and further away from each other, and none of them know how to stop it. They’ve lost their point of equilibrium. They’re all spiraling further and further away. Eventually that gravitational field will dissipate and they’ll be left free-floating through space and time.

They all turn to look as the sliding glass door opens and you crutch your way in. Dr. Keller is right behind you, closing the back door before guiding you back to your room, the blanket you had been draped in folded neatly over her arm. You’re moving better, even just in two days since their arrival. Steadier on your feet, walking better with the crutch. You even look a little better, more alive than you were when you arrived here.

They all watch you walk to your room, but you don’t spare a glance their way. You haven’t looked at any of them in two days. You haven’t spoken a word to them, to anyone, in two days.

Kyle gets up to make breakfast as soon as you’ve passed, broken from the spell as Dr. Keller gets you settled in your room. You’re almost hypnotic now, all of their gazes drawn to you as soon as you enter the room. They’re all thinking the same thing every time you pass. Maybe this will be the time you finally look at them, when you finally glance their way. What he wouldn’t give to have you smile at him, give him that cheeky little grin after sassing him.

Little shit.

His hand tightens around his mug again as guilt floods him. You’ve sunken into an empty shell because of them. They sucked the life right out of you. They dragged you into this and failed to do what they were supposed to do. Anger bubbles in him as he thinks back to that moment. He should have fought back. He should have used his position to change John’s mind, or forced him to change it. He should have stepped up for you.

He’s not your alpha.

He almost wishes he was.

He stares down at the scabbed imprint of your teeth on his skin. He should pick up a bottle of ink in town, tattoo that mark on his skin forever as a reminder of both you and what he did to you.

“How is she?” John asks when Dr. Keller enters the kitchen. Simon’s shoulders square as she passes him, having been so lost in his thoughts he hadn’t even noticed her enter.

Bloody hell, he’s as bad as you.

“As good as she can be.” She sighs, grabbing a can of soup out of the cupboard. You won’t get the eggs and toast Kyle is making. Your diet consists of soup and only soup.

“Hasn’t said anything still?” John asks, turning to look at her.

“Not a word.” Dr. Keller shakes her head. “I’d be worried, if it wasn’t expected.” She pulls out a pot, opening the can before dumping the contents in. Chicken noodle. The staple soup in your diet. “Strangulation can be a hard thing to recover from.”

“I know.” Simon winces, taking a sip of his tea.

The doctor gives him a sympathetic look. He doesn’t want it. “She had some mild damage done from it, which will take time to heal. And, everyone deals with trauma differently. Silence isn’t that unusual of a response.” She puts the pan on the hob, turning the heat on. “If I was worried, you would know.”

“Thank you for looking after her.” John says, nodding at the doctor. “You didn't have to stay.”

“I made a promise.” She says, stirring the soup. “She's still my patient, even if the initiative was bogus. I still have a duty to perform as her doctor. Kate wouldn't have chosen me from the start if I was the type to just up and leave as soon as I found out my job wasn't actually real. I care about her a lot, and I want to help her get through this.”

“We all owe a lot to you.” John says. “We wouldn't have made it this far without you.”

“No,” The corner of her mouth twitches. “You probably wouldn't have.”

Christine lets out a quiet sigh as she steps into your room. You're in the chair by the window, your usual spot when it's too damp and cold to sit outside.

It's dark in the room aside from the light coming through the window. It’s always dark in the room, except at night when you sleep with the bedside lamp on. She flips that lamp on, not wanting to blind you suddenly with the overhead light. You’ve been blinded by enough bright lights over the last week. Nearly a week and a half. It feels like so much time has passed, yet it still feels like yesterday when she was coming to in her office after being attacked and drugged. The terror she’d felt upon finding you missing still fills her stomach, and she finds herself getting up in the middle of the night to check and make sure you’re really there.

She’s not the only one that does it.

The paper bags in her arms crinkle as she carries them over to you, setting them on the other chair. Your gaze is far away, staring off at the grey, stormy sea in the distance. How fitting the weather is, both for you and the members of the pack. The tension between them is still palpable, all of them moving stiffly around each other. They’ve lost the natural fluidity of a pack comfortable in their bonds. They’re stuck, and they can’t, they won’t, heal until you do. They won’t allow themselves to until they know you’re willing to at least try.

“John and Simon went to town and did some shopping. They picked up some things for you.” She says softly, breaking the heavy silence in the room.

You don’t even turn to look at her.

“More warm clothes.” She continues, looking in one bag. “As well as some boots.” She pulls a box out of another bag. “A nightlight, so you don’t have to keep using the lamp.” She looks in the third bag, the heaviest one of the three. “Another stuffed animal.” She says, pulling out a stuffed bear. It’s a nice thought, but she’s not sure you’ll even want to touch it. “And some books.” She says, pulling the stack out of the bottom of the bag.

There’s three of them, ones not in the collection on the shelves in the living area. Some of your favorites. They’re trying, putting in efforts to try and make you as comfortable as possible in the only ways they can right now. She sets the books on the side table next to you, taking a long look at you as you sit there.

You haven’t picked up a book in the two days they’ve been at the cottage, though she’s not surprised. You’ve been in and out of it, sleeping off the pain medicine, or sitting in a haze, mind far away from the cabin. She wonders where you are, where your mind is going. Out on the water? Out on the beach? Or maybe somewhere back in your memories where it’s safe. Receding back somewhere when life was easier and safer.

Are you thinking of your mother? Are you imagining her here with you?

Her heart hurts for you, being torn away from her at such a pivotal moment in your life. If she had the ability to find her she would. If she could track down your mother and bring her here for you she would.

You begin to sniffle, almost as if you can somehow read her thoughts. The tears are falling, streaming down your cheeks again. She doesn't say anything, she doesn’t have to as she stands there beside you, gently stroking your hair. She’s seen many things in her time as an omega specialist. She’s had patients that have gone through things that would make even the most seasoned doctor’s stomach churn. She’s helped omegas that have been pushed to the brink of insanity, omegas pushed to the brink of death. Yet none of them have affected her the way you have. Maybe it’s because she’s never been quite so invested in an omega’s life before, never been quite so inserted into an omega’s reality.

If she was a better doctor, she might have refused to stay here, keeping distance between herself and your pack. She’s gotten too close, pushed past the barrier of professionalism. If she was a better doctor, she’d distance herself, stick to the decorum and expectation of doctor/patient relationships. She knows omega specialists can get too close. She’d been warned over and over about how easy it is to invest too much into the lives and well beings of omegas. There’s a boundary that must be kept, both for the professional and for the sake of the omega. She won’t be around you forever.

Eventually she’ll have to distance herself. She’ll have to go back to America, return to her practice. Now that the initiative is over, now that her job doesn’t even exist, she’s running on borrowed time. She’ll have to leave you at some point, close your case and move on.

When is the question there. When will it be the right time? When will she decide you’ve healed enough to be graduated from her care? When will she be confident enough to break the bond that has formed between the two of you.

Will she be able to? That’s the deeper question.

Those are thoughts for a different day, she decides, pushing them aside. Instead she pulls you into her side, resting your head against her hip as she continues to stroke your hair.

You look just about as happy to be at the table as they do. It's quiet in the room aside from the clanking of dishes in the kitchen and the occasional sizzle of food in a pan. Your gaze is in your lap, assuming your normal position of a drooping head and rounded shoulders.

Your back and neck have to hurt from being in that position for so long.

The only time you're not in those positions are when you're outside. Then your gaze is out at the sea in the distance. You sit there and stare, almost like a statue. You’d make for a good painting, seated still enough for long enough a skilled artist could make a masterpiece of it.

He's surprised Johnny hasn't even sketched you like that yet. Perhaps if you can ever come to be more comfortable around them, you'll allow him to paint you. You’ll be taking up residence out there in that chair as often as you can.

He’s not even sure rain or storm would deter you, if it wasn’t for Christine’s intervention.

Kyle sets a plate of chicken on the table as Christine brings over your soup, setting it down in front of you. Always a bowl of steaming hot soup. How you’re existing off of mostly liquids is beyond him. Maybe that’s why you look so fragile and frail.

“There you go,” Christine says as she sets a spoon down beside the bowl. Chicken and rice, a changeup from your normal chicken noodle. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to. You’re not going to feel better without food in your system.”

You let out a quiet noise, just barely audible over the shuffling of bodies as they sit at the table. Simon is to your left, Kyle next to him, Christine and Johnny on the other side. He’s on the opposite end of the table, staring right at you. No wonder you don’t want to move from your hunched position.

They keep their eyes off of you as they begin serving themselves. The food they’ve managed to make is decent with the help of their combined cooking skills. They’d had a long discussion about the intricacies of British food versus American food the first morning after their arrival. Christine advocated for more American-based dishes, with Johnny taking her side purely out of spite for the three Englishmen.

John has caught Christine sneaking seasoning into the food every so often. He hasn’t said a word.

“Come on, eat up.” Christine says, gently nudging your hand where it rests over the spoon.

Your face screws up in a grimace as you stare down at the steaming soup. It’s a breath before your fingers wrap around the spoon, lifting it to the bowl. Every movement feels practiced and calculated as he watches you sink the spoon into the bowl, just barely sinking below the surface to get just broth. He watches as you lift the spoon, holding it halfway to your mouth. There’s a subtle shake to your hand, not much but noticeable to him. You stare down at the spoon for a long moment before lifting it the rest of the way, quickly putting it in your mouth before your hand starts shaking too much.

You grimace as you swallow, a quiet grunt leaving your lips. He can’t bring himself to look away as you sit there, taking in a couple deep breaths. He can’t bring himself to eat as you stare back down at the bowl, your fingers trembling around the spoon.

Fuck.

You sniffle as you sink the spoon into the bowl once more, the spoon shaking more now as you bring the second spoonful to your mouth. It’s like watching some kind of sick, twisted children’s windup toy as you feed yourself, following the pattern of spoon in soup, soup to mouth, pained grimace, quiet sob. It gets worse and worse with every bite, John barely able to stomach his own food as he watches you with every bite.

You stare down at a chunk of chicken on your spoon, a fearful look on your face. Your hand is shaking enough that soup is dripping off the bottom back into the bowl. Christine had cut the chunks up smaller, yet you stare down at it like it might jump off the spoon and bite you.

Tears start rolling down your cheeks as you bring the spoon up to your lips, forcing it into your mouth. You chew and chew and chew, delaying the inevitable. The face you make as you swallow nearly breaks him. He lowers his gaze to his own plate, barely touched despite the fact he feels like they’ve been eating for a lifetime.

“Take a break.” Christine says quietly, lowering your hand with the spoon back onto the table.

None of them can bear to look at you. Johnny and Kyle are busy staring at their plates as they eat while Simon glares holes into his water glass. He’s watching you just as closely, he’s just not brave enough to stare at you so openly.

The tears continue to fall as you start feeding yourself again, Christine watching you as your hand begins to shake more and more, the pain starting to get to you. John wants to reach out, to take the spoon and feed you himself, but he can’t. It’s destroying him inside, seeing you struggle so openly. Christine won’t intervene, she won’t do anything as she sits there. Rationally he knows why. You need to get used to feeding yourself again, you need to work past the pain and exhaustion to keep yourself going.

His alpha is screaming.

Your hand is nearly vibrating as you hold another spoonful up, this one full of rice and chicken. You let out a quiet sob as you stare at it. That’s going to hurt. He can nearly sense your pain, the agony you’re feeling. Your scent is like a cloud fogging up the air, sour with fear and pain. It’s sinking right into his brain, his alpha clawing at him to do something. You’re in such open distress in front of him but he can’t move. He’s frozen, staring at you in shock, unable to look away.

It’s Simon’s quick reflexes that save you, his hand darting out to flip the spoon onto the table before you drop it on yourself. It lands with a clang, startling all of them out of their ruminations as it hits the bowl of peas, splattering rice and chicken and broth across the tablecloth. Christine is on her feet almost immediately, checking you over for burns from any of it that might have landed on you.

“You're okay.” Christine says, wiping your face with a napkin as you sob loudly, openly crying now. “It was a good try. Come on.”

She helps you to your feet, grabbing your crutch before leading you back to your room.

All four of them sit there in silence, still as statues as they process what they had just witnessed.

“Fuck,” Kyle breaths, his eyes glued to the half-eaten chicken on his plate.

Johnny starts to sniffle himself, his gaze locked on his own plate. Simon's eyes are on the spoon he'd flipped where it lays on the table.

He had no idea just how bad things really were. He knew they were bad.

He just didn't think they were this bad.

You’re sitting outside in that chair again. It’s a lovely morning, cold but the sun is rising up over the hills, casting a pink and orange glow across the sky. You look almost ethereal out there, even if he can only see the back of your head. Your eyes are cast out at the sea in the distance, where your gaze always seems to lie.

His fingers itch in a desire to draw you, the art supplies Simon had picked up for him sitting unopened upstairs. It’s the first time he’s felt the desire to draw in weeks. Not since your heat when he’d sat there by your side, drawing to keep the thoughts away. The pictures are probably still up on his wall, the pieces he’d done to keep his own distress away. Had you laid there and stared at them after they left you? He can picture you laying there numbly, eyes glazed as you stare at them, picturing yourself far away.

You don’t need his drawings now to imagine yourself far away.

You’re still as a statue as you sit there, the thick blanket he’d picked up in Texas tucked around you. It warms his heart, even if he knows it was Christine who wrapped you up in it. The mug of tea beside you is still steaming in the cool air, untouched as it will remain until Christine eventually brings you back inside where you’ll recede to your room to sit in front of the large bay window to stare out at the sea.

He wants to take you.

He wants to load you up in the car and take you the short drive down the road to the beach. He wants to let you stand there in the sand, see the waves as they crash onto the shore. Hell, he’d let you walk into the water, let it soak your shoes and pants. Whatever you need to do, he’d let you do it.

John would have his hide if he left with you like that.

Simon would eat him alive.

He won’t do that, though, mostly because he knows you wouldn’t be strong enough to make it down to the beach, nor stand there for a long period of time. Carrying you would be out of the question. You’d never let him that close.

Instead he takes a gamble, getting as close as he dares as he slides open the door, stepping out into the cool morning. You don’t move, don’t even look up as he takes a seat in the chair next to you, the one Christine occupies when she’s out with you. He’d volunteered to watch you through the door to allow her some time to herself, something she hasn’t been getting much of. She’s been caring for you nearly 24/7, only getting breaks here and there while you sleep or nap, or on the rare occasion she trusts one of them to watch you. She never complains, but he knows she’s tired. Anyone would be after everything they’ve been through, after everything she’s had to see and experience over the last week and a half.

It’s the least they can do, even if you won’t allow them to do more. They all wish they could. They wish they could ease some of your suffering, take some of the strain off of Christine’s shoulders. Kyle even went so far as to invite his sister to visit over for the weekend in hopes she might be able to lighten the load, and to see if you’ll allow her closer than you’re allowing them to get.

He moves cautiously like he’s approaching a wild animal, not wanting to startle you and cause you more pain than you have been in. He can be a bull in a china shop, or he can be silent and deadly. He chooses something in the middle, making his footsteps just loud enough to be heard across the wooden planks of the porch, but he moves slowly enough he won’t startle you as he appears in your peripheral.

Your gaze never leaves the horizon, focused and far away even as he takes a seat next to you. His mug of coffee is warm in his hands, fighting off the chill outside. It’s a natural response to the sudden temperature change after being inside in the warm house. He almost wishes he had his own blanket, but then again, he’s not sure he’ll be outside very long.

He’s prepared for yelling, screaming, getting hit with your crutch as you tell him off, chasing him back inside. He’d almost prefer it over the eerie silence. He has to glance at you just to make sure you’re breathing, make sure the blanket is rising and falling over your chest. He follows your gaze out to the sea, sitting there silently as he gazes out at the dark blue water. Silence is hard for him. He can feel it throbbing in his ears, the ringing that fills his head when it’s quiet. He likes noise. He needs noise.

He just wants to hear you speak again.

He needs to hear you speak again.

He wants to talk to you, he wants to say something, he wants to drop to his knees and beg forgiveness. He wants to feel your touch again, even if it’s just a brush of fingers across his hand. He wants to get something out of you, some kind of reaction. You’re an empty shell, a ghost of what you were.

Tears fill his eyes as he stares out at the blue water. The silence is deafening as he sits there with you, still and quiet.

He might as well be sitting alone.

It’s the dead of night. The stars are out, or they would be if the clouds weren’t blocking them. It makes the world seem so much darker without their light. The fire is out, the curtains drawn closed. The only light is from the porch and the lights on the patio out back. The house is quiet, not even the hum of appliances filling the silence.

Kyle’s breaths are quiet and even, finally asleep after laying awake for far too long. Their backs are turned towards each other, yet the double bed forces them close enough they can feel the warmth radiating from the other. It’s the only position they can sleep in, even if they’ve woken up cuddling a few times in the night. It’s almost as if their brains are subconsciously trying to force the bonds back, to force the healing. It’s as if their instincts are laughing at them for trying to deny what they want deep down.

John lays there in the silence, his mind racing. He can’t sleep again for the fifth night in a row. He hasn’t been able to sleep since they left weeks ago on their mission to track down the missiles. No, it’s been longer than that. Not since you revealed the cameras to them. How long ago that seems now. How inconsequential it feels. If he knew back then what was going to happen, he would have changed a lot of things.

You can’t undo what was done. You can only change what happens going forward.

Things happened the way they happened. Now he has to make up for it. Now he has to prove himself not just as a capable alpha, but as a trustworthy human being. Your omega is screaming. He knows it. He had sensed it at dinner with your quiet sobs, the pain flooding your scent. He can still smell it, the sourness permeating his nostrils and sinking right into his brain. His alpha is still clawing at him angrily for just sitting there, for just letting it happen.

Simon intervened. Simon saved you once again.

He had barely comprehended the quick movement of Simon’s hand as he knocked the spoon out of your grip. He’d gotten soup on his hand, the droplets visible, yet he hadn’t moved as he sat there, letting it burn his skin. Better his than yours. He could almost hear Simon’s thoughts at that moment.

What a good alpha Simon is.

What a failure of an alpha John is.

Your omega must be screaming in your mind, clawing at her cage. It’s almost like he can hear it rattling in his ears, reminding him of the pain he’s caused you. The pain brought on by his failures.

Something is rattling in his ears, piercing through the silence.

It is a scream.

It’s your scream.

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #tf 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #kyle garrick x reader #gaz x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #a/b/o #omegaverse

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myladysapphire · 2 months

Text

High Infidelity

scorned and betrayed by your husband, you find solace in the arms of his uncle.

based of this request

word count: 2,455

CW: MDI, 18+, smut, cheating (both reader and Aemond), p in v, oral (f reciving) fingering, slight violence (legit a single punch), name calling. not proofread!

Gwayne Hightower x fem!reader/Aemondswife!reader

Masterlist

authors note: Gwayne is Alicents youngest brother in the books, but apparently he is the oldest brother in the show, but i’m still gonna make him younger than Alicent, who’s about 34, so in my head gwayne is around 30-32, and reader is older than Aemond.

He was with her again.

every night it seemed he would leave you. His wife. In favour of her.

You didn’t know who she was, were he met or, if she lived in the keep or in flea bottom.

All you knew is that he spent night after night alone with her.

He would come back smelling of wine and her perfume.

The smell seeping into your bedsheets.

The bed he insisted on sharing , even after fucking another woman.

After calling you ugly.

saying he never would have chosen you, not for your brain and certainly not your looks.

It wasn’t that you were ugly. Just that your hair was untamed, your clothes never quite fitting right.

It was the little things he picked on, insecurities you had noticed time and time again. And though you had strived to change these insecurities. Spending the crowns money on dresses from the best dressmakers, on hair oils from Essos. Aemond still found a way to make you feel insecure.

He loved to point out the insecurities, loved to belittle you, loved to bring to light insecurities you never knew you had.

You had been married nearly three years now, had provided him with both a son and daughter and yet to him you were still not enough.

The words of love and kindness he once gave you, in the first few months of your marriage, vanished. And in said cruel tormenting words replaced them.

Instead, those sweet words were now given to her.

And you were left all alone.

But a scorned woman is not a quite one, you did not shout or argue with him, no. you set your sights elsewhere.

To the man you had once know and loved, the man you had met before him. The man you had once longed to marry in Aemond’s stead.

His uncle, Gwayne Hightower.

Had your parents not craved status and the ideas of their grandchildren and princes and princess, you might have been able to marry him.

You were a daughter of house Redwyne, a noble house known for its fleet and riches.

And though you had grown up in the Arbor, your family had sent you away to Oldtown when you became of age, to win the favour of Otto Hightower and the potential match between you and one of his Targaryen grandchildren.

And though it had worked, with you being summoned by him to kings landing where you found yourself courting your now husband, Prince Aemond.

Though you had first, found yourself besotted with Gwayne.

A dashing knight, who had crowned you the queen of love and beauty at your first ever tourney.

He had won your heart only for it to be swiftly pulled form his grasp as you were summoned to kings landing on by Otto hightower.

You had never truly forgotten about him, even in the years you had gone since seeing him.

Then your wedding came, and as uncle of the groom of course he came.

And throughout the whole ceremony your eyes were drawn to his, wishing it was him you were saying your vows to.

But as fleeting as your love for him was, so was his presence. For he swiftly left after the wedding.

But not before whispering the words you had dreamed of hearing.

you swiftly found yourself married to an insecure man, who had too found himself a place in your heart, however small.

In those three years since your wedding, three years since you had seen him. You had thought you had grown to love…if not care for your husband.

And you had thought he had to, the words “I love you” really selling his lies. And now he betrayed you, night after night.

It hurt, and gods were you angry.

Everyone knew of his infidelity.

His lust for this other woman.

And though you didn’t know of it, not truly. For all you wished to do was deny it.

Doing everything in your power to imagine another reason for his disappearance, for his wine-soaked lips and rose scented body.

His drunken remakes about your appearance, how he hated your hair, your eyes. How you weren’t her.

Then as time passed the remakes turned hateful, as if you were keeping him from her.

And so the once words of beauty and love turned to ugly hate.

You had tried to not believe his remarks,

Hoping that a apart of him only craved an old love, just as you did.

Then Aegon came into your room, drunk in grief and yet finding so much humour in your husband’s affair he could barley get the words out.

He and laughed and laughed until he saw the tears in his sister in laws face.

He had regretted it instantly, though you could tell he still found humour in Aemond’s actions.

He claimed it was the woman he paid for Aemond to lose his virginity too, how she must have such a hold on him after all these years.

And as he watched the silent angry tears fall from your face, he had run out of the room, apologising as he did.

A week passed since then.

War was declared.

Lords and knight arriving, preparing for orders.

One knight in particular arrived, Gwayne Hightower.

You watched as he rode into the red keep.

His tired raged, yet no less handsome form, jumping of his horse.

His sister, the queen, greeting him.

You had raced down the steps, far to egar to see him.

And yet it all seemed to happen in slow motion.

His eye turning to you. A soft smile filling his face.

He bowed slightly, smiling even more as you returned with your own.

Lifting your hand to his mouth, in a slow gentle kiss.

Your eyes never leaving the others.

A cough had broken your hazes, his hand still clasping yours as you both turned to Alicent.

“Daughter” she greeted, her gaze questioning as she took you both in.

There was a fair age difference between you both, though you were older than Aemond, Gwayne was still years your senior. You were sure to Alicent it must seem strange almost, how close you seemed, close enough to greet him, to smile and kiss each others hand.

“You know my brother?” she asked, her gaze never leaving your joined hands.

You slowly separated your hand from his, though the slight caress of your fingers was sure to raise Alicent’s eyebrow’s.

“Yes, from my years in old town” you said, finally breaking eye contact with Gwayne.

“ah” she said, uncertain of what to make of your friendship with one another, “I am glad my brother has another friendly face, here at court.”

“As am I” Gwayne mused “it has been years since I last saw you, my lady.”

“Since the wedding I believe” Alicent interjected, finding the need to remined you both of your marital status.

“Ah yes, how is my nephew?” he asked, eyes fixed on your face, taking in every emotion passing between your eyes.

“I don’t know ser, may haps you should check the brothels and tell me yourself” you said, glancing to Alicent to see her reaction.

She pierced her lips, seemingly shocked at the notion “I am sure that- “

“ask the king if you must, I learnt it from him, though the wine and perfume was more than another hint for me” you mused, turning back to Gwayne “I shall show you to your chambers, ser” you said, before Alicent could say anything more in the matter.

Lacing your arm through his, you weaved your way through the red keep. Finding your conversations never ending as if no time had passed at all.

“I have missed you” you breathed as you entered his chambers.

Finally, alone after all these years.

He smiled, a true smile one that he only reserved for you.

Though there was some trepidation, uncertainty, in his gaze.

As if he knew that despite having you first, being your first everything, you would never be his.

“I am sure no more that I have” he mused.

“I doubt that” you whispered, sadness clear in your tone.

“What do you mean?” he said, scowling “has my nephew done something?”

“i-“ you were unsure of what to say.

It had been years since you had seen him. And though you had sent letters back and forth, they were restrained. Finding it hard to talk as you once did, be as open as you once had.

But as you looked at him, you saw everything you had ever craved, ever desired. Everything you had been deprived of for three long years.

“what” he prompted, moving closer to you.

“he is cruel…he has a lover in the city and only hates me for not being her” you sneered.

“And do you hate him?” he asked, his hand reaching for yours once again.

“I resent him…but I understand him. He only treats me how I wish I could treat him; he says the words I crave to say to him, act the way I crave to act…with you” you said, your faces so close that you were sharing your breaths.

“I never stopped wishing I had stolen you away that night, married you in his stead” he breathed, “I hate that he Is cruel…I j=had hoped you found love in his arms not hatred… I cannot but feel guilty” he said, his mouth kissing the corner of yours.

“We should have ran away…gotten married for love and ran from our duty” you agreed as he peppered kisses down your neck, his breath caressing your skin.

He hummed against your neck, his fingers playing with the laces on your back.

“please” you begged, moving his arm to grasp you, to pull you close to him.

Unlacing your dress, he started to pepper kisses down your chest.

“gods, I missed this sight” he groaned, kissing around your breasts.

You were insecure, having had two children, and year of belittling on your appearance. You went to cover yourself, only for Gwayne to tear your arms away from you, pinning them behind your back, as he stripped the remained of your clothes off of you.

He descended down your body, leaving hot kisses as he went, until he finally reached your wet cunt.

He gave a slow, tortuous lick through your folds.

Groaning at the taste of you, he moved his head further into your thighs , locking and tasting your cunt like you were his last meal.

moaning in pleasure, your hands, moved from his hold and reached down to clutch to grip his hair, tightening when he finally found your bud.

Focusing is efforts on your small bud of nerves, he sucked and licked at your bud, slowly bringing his fingers to your entrance.

Slowly pushing into you, your cunt hot and tight, from a year of neglect.

Your hips ground themselves against his face, soon loosing yourself to the pleasure as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

You peaked, as his third finger entered you. The pleasure overwhelming, and near too much as he continued to lap up your juices as you peaked all over his face.

Finaly moving from your thighs, he backed away from you, moving to stand, before pushing you down onto his bed.

Standing back from you, he ever so slowly took of his own clothes, revelling his toned chest and his hard thick cock.

Slowly crawling onto the bed, his body covering yours he finally took your lips with his.

Your first kiss with him in years.

It was hot messy and desperate.

Everything you needed craved and loved.

His tongue danced with yours, as he pulled your legs apart positioning himself between your thighs.

He pulled back from your lips, his eyes connecting with yours as he slowly pushed in side.

He filled you in a way Aemond never had, his cock hitting that one spot of nerves, only he had ever found, again and again as he thrusted his hips into you.

He moved to kiss you once more, his hips pumping faster and faster as he did.

You had never felt so perfect, so lost in pleasure as the sweet spot was hit over and over again.

Your second peak fast approaching, and you had turned into a moaning mess.

Grasping desperate to him as you both peaked, and he spilled his seed inside you.

Your breaths were heavy, your bodies still attacked as you both effused to leave the others hold.

That as until the door open, and her husband strolled in.

“uncle-“ he started, clearing coming to greet Gwayne, only to find you in his arms “wife?!” he sneered.

Gwayne moved to stand, covering himself quickly as he moved to hide you from Aemond, “nephew! How delightful!” he said in mock joy.

“what is she doing here?” he sneered, eyes darting around Gwayne body, trying to reach your eyes.

“what is it to you?” Gwayne drawled.

“she is my wife!”

“is she?” Gwayne laughed, “then perhaps you should treat her as such and not leave her to run of with your little whores!” Gwayne said, tone filled with rage.

Of course he knew of Aemodsn doing, of his treatment of his sweet lady, his siter had told him, ashamed of both her sons treatment of their wives.

And even if she hadn’t told him, the rumours of Aemond’s affairs had long travelled to the reach.

“you forget yourself!”

“I do not, you have treated her like a whore! As if she is worth nothing when she is worth the world!”

“so, you fucked her, because I am such a bad husband?” Aemond sneered, his eyes gleaming with rage.

“gods, are you that vain? This has nothing to do with you Aemond” you interjected.

“Nothing? Nothing to do with me? You are my wife!”

“I am not a broodmare! I am not owned by you just because we are married!” you said, standing from the bed, only a sheet covering your body.

“then what? You mean to say you are in love” he said mockingly.

“yes” you both responded at the same time, your eyes connecting and speaking in only a language you both spoke.

“you whore-” he started,. But Gwayne acted fast, landing a smooth and quick punch at Aemond. Knocking him clean out on the floor.

Your eyes locked in shock, releasing what had happened, and before you knew it your clothes were thrown on, bags packed and your children in your arms as you ran and caught the first both to Essos.

Away from your husband and the gods forsaken war that would have only lead to your doom.

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