Heyy guys I’m a girl who is in love with so many fandoms and just loves aesthetics and other stuff that is quite related to all of the above. But that’s what I mostly blog about and I love it! And of course thank you for stopping by to read this bio of mine. Thank you berry much!
Summary: Letter after letter had been sent out, each one returning with no response. And with your editor breathing down your neck to finish your article on the notorious Birmingham gang and its imprisoned leader, drastic times called for drastic measures. But when Tommy Shelby finally agrees to the interview, you don’t only get his undivided attention, you earn his watchful eye from behind the iron bars of his prison cell. As each visit burns hotter than the last, blurring every line you swore you wouldn’t cross, you become fearful of not only losing your job, but your slipping control over the situation. What a fool you were to think you could just walk away from a man infatuated. A man in...love. Or at least, Tommy Shelby’s version of it.
Warnings: Dark!Tommy, language, violence, psychological mind games, controlling behaviour, delusional take on love, manipulative behaviour, smut, psychological abuse, stalking.
Authors Note: This is a Dark!Tommy series that some readers may find triggering. Please review the warnings before continuing.
── · ˚ ୨୧ 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔. ⛥ — starring ! tommy shelby x afab!reader.
⊹𓈒˚ cw. nsfw. swearing, tommy being tommy (i.e. suffering from ptsd), reader is an orphan (most of her family died around the war time), tommy and reader have known each other since they were kids, alcohol consumption, smut. virgin reader. fingering, oral (f!receiving), p in v, tommy lowkey has a corruption kink and he loves missionary. wc. 6.9k (strap in folks, we're in for a long one) ── MDNI
req. Angsty/smut ending story of Tommy and his childhood friend where he's jealous af but he's too proud to admit his feelings for her, until he saw her with another man. Pretty please with cherry on top 🍒 xx — @mrkdvidal1989
Let it be known that it is a pain to witness two individuals pine over each other for so many years, ignorant of the way one looks at the other so fondly— adoringly, like they hung the stars up in the sky themselves... more so, when those individuals also happen to be childhood friends, thicker than thieves as some would say. The pain can, of course, be attested to by the spectators who find no qualms in voicing their suffering.
"Tommy, I swear to Christ himself if I have to watch you stare at the girl with lovesick eyes any longer I will gouge your eyes out and then me own." Polly, the lovely aunt of the Shelby family threatened one afternoon with a cigarette in hand and a good hearted glare “You know I’m good for it.” The man in question watched the woman he adores walk through the grimy streets of Small Heath with an easy smile plastered on her face, her beauty greatly contrasting with the filth of the street as she walked with her bag in hand, good naturedly greeting the people she passed by, an easy routine she followed in her every day life.
John snorted in response, his words coming out a little muffled due to the toothpick nestled between his lips "Now, Aunt Pol, we all know hell will freeze over before Tommy so much as thinks of doing anything about his boyish crush on his beloved sweetheart." He teased from his spot beside the board. With this contribution from his younger brother, Tommy finally directed his gaze away from the street (albeit quite unwillingly) to glare at his brother who revealed a thinly veiled smile.
"Well," Ada adds once she walks into the shop, leaving her place from the table in the kitchen "he better get on with it since I heard she's got a man wanting to properly pursue her."
The shelby family looked at Ada all at once and she stopped nibbling on her toast to send them a baffled expression "What?"
"Where'd you hear that from, Ada, love?" Arthur asked as he and John shared a knowing look.
"She had me over for tea yesterday, talked about this handsome man she met during work who's bought her flowers in an attempt to woo her." She says dreamily and Polly shakes her head with a smile on her face, lightly swatting her shoulder and flicking off ashes from her cigarette.
"And?" Tommy supplies impatiently when she doesn't continue, instead nibbling on another bite from her toast.
"'And’ what?" Ada retorts back, a smirk on her face at aggravating her older brother.
"Was she 'wooed'?"
Chuckles erupted in an instant at the way Tommy had phrased that, the way he mockingly emphasised the last word— and no matter how piercing his death stare was, his family remained unperturbed, laughing at him and his quite apparent jealousy. He sighs at last, the ghost of a smile hovering over his lips. He was aware he acting ridiculous (read: petty) but that mattered very little to him at the moment.
"In all honesty," Ada says after sobering up from her fit of giggles "I reckon she's bloody well warming up to him, so do with that as you wish."
“Just don't kill the poor man, Thomas." Tommy only rolled his eyes at his aunt’s unnecessary warning.
Tommy was reasonable, he wasn't going to kill him... at least not an unprecedented.
Around two days after the conversation with the Shelby family regarding Tommy’s sweetheart, Ada extended an invitation to you on behalf of them to attend a big celebration for the success of the business seen only a couple of months after it's opening. The invitation included a plus one which Ada encouraged you to use for the new man in your life.
"Come on it'll be fun, besides you'll get to see what he's like when he's drunk." Says Ada as she holds your hand in hers "It's never bad to know how a man acts when he's drunk."
"That's true," you nod, expression turned contemplative "but what about Tommy? He'll be there, no?"
Ada smirks in return "What have you got to worry about Tommy for? He's seen you with plenty of boys running after you."
"Ada!" The younger girl received a slap on her hand but she merely smiled, albeit a little mischievously.
"You've got nothing to worry about, love, Tommy's a grown man, he will be fine." She shrugged “And if he's not then that's not your problem... unless he makes it." Ada winced apologetically but then shook her head. You rolled your eyes and waved a hand in dismissal.
"It's not him I'm worried about, it's me." Ada's expression shifted into one of concern but also curiosity and she urged you to continue explaining with a nod of her head "I do like James, he's been nice and sweet but what if I go to the pub and speak Tommy again after so long and realise I'm still very enamoured by him?"
Ada let out a snort and you retracted your hand from her hold, a pout settling on your lips as you looked at the girl disapprovingly "Ada!" You chided again.
"Sorry, sorry, it's just you said James was 'sweet and nice' and Tommy is neither of those yet you might still be taken by him." She covered her mouth once more to stifle a giggle.
You pursed your lips at her "Your brother can be sweet and nice in his own way, Ada."
She shrugged her shoulders at you "Whatever you say," She surrenders before placing her forearms on the table again "this just makes going to the party all the more important, you'll either end up leaving with Tommy or James, your call."
You groaned at the implication of her words and felt yourself flush, covering your face with your hands as you mumbled "Whatever, yes, I'll go."
And that is how you found yourself in the infamous family owned pub with James by your side, smiling jovially at Ada and Polly who greeted him much better and more kindly as compared to John and Arthur who glared and sized up the poor man. You chose to ignore the two dunces (and you meant that entirely affectionately as you loved the Shelby’s).
"Congratulations!" You say with a tight-lipped smile, eager to walk off for a drink sooner than later "Where's the man in charge?"
"Oh, he'll be late," Polly supplies, already pulling out a cigarette to smoke "got caught up with some business but we'll be sure to let him find you when he's here."
You quickly raised your palm "Oh there's no need!" you smiled sheepishly and the Shelby's glance at you with concealed amusement "Just wanted to say congratulations but seeing as he's not here, I'll extend them to you once again on his behalf, congratulations..." You nodded before grabbing a hold of James’ forearm "We'll be getting some drinks, have a wonderful rest of the night!"
The Shelby family chuckled and raised their glasses in cheers when you glanced back at them as you settled onto the seats of the bar to order drinks and you returned a smile before focusing on james once more.
"They're a lovely bunch, aren't they?" James laughs and you take a sip of the alcohol that was presented to you rather quickly by the barman.
"Not the words often used to describe them," you giggle in response "they're gangsters but they are quite alright, grew up with them and all."
You watched James from the corner of your eyes in anticipation. You expected hesitancy, for his body to shift, find an excuse to leave but he just leaned slightly forward in curiosity.
"What was that like? Growing up with them?"
A smile broke through your blank expression and you grabbed his arm to lead him into a booth where you spent the rest of the night drinking and chatting away, getting to know him better than during any lunch break spent with him at work.
It must have been hours later when Tommy finally stepped into the pub, ridding himself of his cap and coat by hanging them onto the coat rack standing in the designated Shelby compartment. When he turned his head to the side he found his brothers seated "Good night, lads?" Tommy asks with a nod of his head as John and Arthur laugh over their glasses of alcohol, cigars held carelessly between their teeth.
"Bloody good night," Arthur smiles widely, handing Thomas the new bottle from the table for him to drink from, forgoing a cup. Tommy accepts it with an amused soft laugh and John cheekily smiles, and with a laugh he adds "An especially good one for our sweetheart!"
Tommy pauses mid gulp and furrows his brows at his younger brother who expands on it by sipping more whiskey "Second booth from the wall," he nods outside the room, prompting Tommy to exist with the bottle still gripped by his right hand.
Tommy's eyes flit over Ada and Polly who giggle, sipping from their glasses and he looks to where their gaze is focused to see you chuckling at something a random man said to you, a finger coming up to tuck a stray hair behind your ear as he whispers something into it, pressing soft pecks as well.
"Ladies," Tommy greets with a clearing of his throat and a serious expression, standing beside the women of his family seated at the bar.
"Tommy," Polly greets, pulling her hand away which was occupied with both a clove cigarette and a glass of gin "nice of you to finally show up..."
"Nice indeed, Pol!" Ada snorts, enjoying Thomas' expressionless face as he chugs from his bottle.
"Care to join us, Tommy?"
"Yeah, dear brother, we have an amazing view!"
Tommy takes another swig of his Irish whiskey, rolling his eyes at them he responds with a "Fuck off" but he sits beside them nonetheless. The three Shelby's sit with their eyes trained on you and your date, watching as you converse and laugh.
After a short while, Polly and Ada leave Tommy to continue his “creepy stalking” according to Ada and dance with random men instead, moving along to the jazzy tunes playing in the golden establishment.
He swirled the contents of the bottle around his tongue savouring the taste of it. For Tommy did not care for the bitter alcohol lingering on his tongue, it tasted much sweeter to him than the sight of his first love smiling brightly at a man who was not him.
He finally set the bottle down and stood up when he noticed the man accompanying you move his hand from your shoulder to your waist, pulling you closer to him so that he could press his lips against yours. Tommy’s heart dropped to his feet and he couldn’t stomach the sight anymore as the alcohol tasted almost poisonous in his mouth at this moment. He had to do something or he was going to be sick. With fluid yet commanding steps, he easily broke through the dancing crowd and stopped just by your booth. Hands in the pocket of his trousers, as he stands with his figure commanding attention and respect, per usual.
He calls your name in his typical deep, raspy, gruff tone. You instantly pull away from the man, scooting away from him as you turn to look at Tommy with an expression as though you’d been caught red-handed. He looks down at you with a blank expression but you know better than that, at least you should, his eyes betray him as he stares at you deeply, hurt flashes in them but you don’t notice it, not in your inebriated state.
"Tommy…" You breathe out, fixing your hair properly as you greet him. You tried to sober up but all the alcohol you’d been drinking during the night caused a small hiccup to escape your lips and Tommy notices your flushed cheeks from the booze and the ambiance "Congratsss…" you attempt to say but you slur the word and a giggle follows shortly after. You were clearly tipsy.
"Right, I think you've had enough celebrations for today." Tommy’s gaze travelled to the man who is most likely a light weight judging from the way he’s turned red and looking dazed as he turns his attention from you to the Shelby. The latter nods his head towards the door in an action that commands James to 'beat it' but he only scrunches his face in confusion, unable to fully comprehend what is going on. This elicits a rather sassy eye roll from Tommy who decides that it might all be easier if he takes matters into his own hands.
"Come on, love, I'll get you home."
"But I wuz—" Tommy’s hands grasp your elbows as he stands you up and steadies you when you stumble a little, feeling light headed all of sudden when his piercing blue eyes are inches away from your own. "Hullo," you whisper innocently, nose bumping into his.
Tommy, despite himself and his very serious demeanor whispers 'Hi' back in a soft tone. He pulls your coat that was hanging on the booth and fixes it onto your figure, making sure to close the buttons before grabbing your hat from off the table and placing it on top of your head "Let's go."
He notices you pout your lip when he grabs your bag, stepping further away from you in the process and Tommy fights the impulsive desire to press a kiss to them to make you feel better. He ignores James whose head has now fallen onto the table and is apparently snoozing as he leads you to the little room by the entrance to retrieve his coat and hat, his hand still holding onto your elbow.
"Leaving already?" Arthur asks, nursing his drink meanwhile John was knocked out on the couch, mouth open as he drooled.
"'e's forcin' me 'ome" You slur from your spot by the doorframe, leaning against it as Tommy gets dressed.
Arthur lets out a hearty laugh, alcohol spilling a little "You go right to bed, love!" He says, supporting his brother as he greets him goodbye.
"Alright,” Tommy appears by your side once more and wraps his arm around your shoulders, allowing your head to drop onto his collarbone “off we go now, love." you groan but let him lead you to his car regardless.
"I missed you, y’know." You mutter quietly once the cool air hits your face as he opens the car door for you, your back pressing against the freezing metal “’s like after the war, you didn’ wan’ no’in to do with me.”
Tommy paused, hand holding the car door open as he studied your serene face. You looked… fine but your slurred words sounded hurt. Tommy hated it when he made you hurt. He swallowed and with his free hand, he took a hold of your arm and helped you into the passenger’s seat “I’m sorry,” he whispered softly, so uncharacteristic of him as he tucked a stray curl behind your ear “I’m no good for you like this.”
A frown permeates your forehead, it is rather soft, like a miniscule annoyance popped before you which caused you to react. He knows you are barely conscious and that you probably will not remember this conversation tomorrow so his hand lowers to cradle your cheek, brushing his thumb gently against your flushed flesh “I’m so sorry, angel.”
You subconsciously lift your hand and hold his against your face, mumbling tiredly “I know.” Thomas almost startles, but instead he pats your cheek and releases you, watching your head softly knock against the head of the seat as you succumb to the sleep that has been fought off for a while.
He releases a sigh before buckling you in and gently closing the door, making his way to the other side to drive you home. The journey home was smooth, the so called “scary gangster” made sure to drive as slow as he could with minimal disturbances to ensure you continued to doze away while he got you home. He slowed to a stop once he arrived at the familiar house just down the street from his family home. Memories flooded his mind as he looked up, recalling all the times your mother would scold him for bringing you home with mud on your face and clothes, your brother would laugh from behind her as you glared at the little boy whilst simultaneously trying to defend Tommy (not that he needed it, your mother adored him)… It pained him to see the lights shut, the warm home being a ghost of what it was after the death of your mother a couple of years back. Tommy knew he was a bastard for leaving you alone to deal with the grief of your family but you never did blame him, despite him promising to take care of little Dani when they all got drafted—
You stirred in the seat beside him and he snapped out of his thoughts. There was no time to reminisce those gone, the war took away everything, even the living who returned. And so he turned off the engine, stuffing his keys in his pockets before he turned to you, he rummaged through your bag which he placed on the dashboard and retrieved your house keys. He exited the car, walking over to your side to unbuckle your seatbelt and carry you in his arms to your door. While still holding your sleeping figure, you nestled your face into the crook of his neck for warmth, Thomas slottled the key into its hole and turned it to the right as it clicked open for him. He ignored the warmth that seeped into his skin from your unconscious affection, choosing to instead focus on making his way to what he hoped was still your room. Luck seemed to be on his side because when he pushed open the door, he was met with the familiar sight of your cream painted walls, decorated with messy pink flowers that you insisted must be drawn on the walls when you were 5 (Tommy remembered dragging Arthur along with him to help your father out). He did not repress the small smile that bloomed at the memory, instead he tossed your bag on your chaise and carefully laid you on your bed.
Thomas stared down at you unsure of what to do now, you were still wearing your coat and heels which must be uncomfortable for you. He finally decided that he should probably strip you of them before heading back to the Garrison. With a determined knit of his brows, he got to work— Tommy sat you up gently, letting your head rest against his chest while his hands peeled off your coat. He let you rest back once more as he dealt with the buckles of your heels, smoothly unclasping the metal and popping it off her feet, setting them by your bed when he was finished. He looked at you once more, soft gaze following the soft breaths you took as you slept on your back. With a wistful sigh, he leaned down to press a kiss against the crown of your head to wish you a good night before leaving when all of a sudden you stirred in place, your hand reaching for his heavy jacket with a gentle grip.
“Stay.”
Your command was as mellow as your grip, almost imperceptible and yet Tommy felt the heavy weight of all the years of his yearning for you rooting him in place, lips parted and eyes wide as though he was his 12 year old self, blushing after you planted a kiss on his cheek before heading home. He found it extremely hard to do anything but comply and so he shook off his jacket along with his blazer and took a seat beside you on the bed, brushing your hair away from your face.
"You have no idea how much control you hold over me, angel." He whispers, watching you with adoring eyes as you snuggled into his torso. He kicked off his shoes and lied down on your large bed, adjusting so that you rested between his arms, with his arms slung around your waist and your hair wafting your shampoo into his nose allowing him the opportunity to smell the roses you were so fond off, he felt himself surprisingly drifting off to sleep.
You woke up with a fright the next morning. A screamed barrelled past your lips when you felt a body next to you in the space that was usually empty on your bed.
You had stirred awake due to the bright beams which appeared through the crack of your curtains. You stretched your arms out when all of a sudden, something solid materialised and you made contact with it. What you had failed to realise was that solid object happened to be a man you were well acquainted with. Of course, that did not register in your sleep-addled brain and so you did the only thing you could think of doing when dealing with foreign people in your bed. You screamed and pulled your pillow from behind your head and began to hit him with it.
“Get out, you pervert!”
Your scream and attacks startled Thomas out of sleep and his bleary gaze immediately found your own, his expression turned from fear (which he was accustomed to experiencing after being woken up with a fright) to exasperated amusement.
"What the actual fuck?" He grunted, grabbing the pillow from you and tossing it to the side to grab a hold of your wrists all while sitting up.
"Oh Tommy!" Your eyes lit up as you sat back on your feet “…What are you doing here?” You asked momentarily after, a little confused.
"You were drunk so I brought you back home, tucked you in and when I turned to leave, you told me to stay."
"Hmm." You hummed in response, getting off the bed “Sounds like something I would do.” You looked down at your fully clothed figure and then at Thomas and signalled between the two of you.
“We didn’t do anything, right?”
“And if we did?” Tommy asked with a hidden smirk, eyebrow cocked up in interest.
You snorted, moving around the room to gather your towel and change of clothes to take a much needed bath “I sure hope not, I’d hate for my first time to happen while I’m intoxicated.” You muttered playfully as you entered the bathroom connected to your room.
It appeared as though Tommy was still dreaming because you were gone in an instant, imparting him with the knowledge that you were still a virgin. He really does not know what is wrong with him but he needed to wake up before he headed back to the betting place, his job required a good head on his shoulders and he was quite sure that he was being delusional at the moment.
"You're still a virgin." He said the minute you stepped out of your steaming bathroom, his words almost like a declaration instead of a question. You are not too surprised to find him still seated on your bed, this time with a cigarette hanging from his lips, deep in thought.
"Hello to you too,” You humour him, the towel in your hand collecting the drops of water dripping from your freshly washed hair “Is that so surprising?” You ask in response to his statement, taking a seat in front of your vanity.
“’Suppose not.” He finally looks up from the floor to watch you through the mirror, taking a drag from his cigarette before blowing it into the air. His gaze travels from your face to your bare shoulders, drops of water clinging to them and your cleavage which he can sneak a peek of from your mirror.
“Don’t you have work, Thomas?”
He lets out a chuckle, close to a snort actually “You think I give a fuck about work right now? Besides, I’m the boss, it starts when I want it to start.”
You hum in response, applying your moisturiser to your face “That’s fair, I do however have to get dressed so—”
"What’s stopping you? I don’t mind." He leaned back, resting his weight on the palms of his hands as he watched you stand up to retrieve your articles of clothing from your cupboards and dresser.
“I wasn’t asking for your permission, Thomas.”
“No, but I’m used to giving it.”
You meet his gaze head on and purse your lips “So this is the Tommy Shelby everyone whispers about, huh?”
“Pleasure.” He drily responds, a nod of his head with his cigarette hanging from his lips looking so relaxed and in command causes you to scoff.
“Not sure if it is.” You retort and walk behind the divider that stands in the corner of your room. You throw your towel over it and pull on your underwear, tying your bra before dressing into your nightgown, stockings covering your legs.
"I’m sure it will be." The tension is palpable as his words linger in the room, settling around you like the smoke of his cigarette which he stubbed into the ground.
“What makes you think that?”
“I think,” he says, a small tug present at the corner of his lips “that’s what I’m good at.”
You bite back a smile eventually, a huff of air escaping your lips at his self-assuredness. He was right, he always was the “thinker” of the group “That did get you into fights often, you know?”
“It’s also got me a lot of what I’ve wanted.”
You cock your head to the side, arms crossing over your chest as you approach him “And what is it that you want?”
“You.” He says without pause, looking at you with a gaze so intense you almost fold “I’ve always wanted you.”
“And now?” You question, stopping in front of him to unfold your arms in order to reach a hand to his face, your finger caressing his soft yet sharp features, still your Tommy yet so changed.
“I still want you more than ever.”
Your hand holds his jaw and you lean down to press a kiss to his plump lips that look oh so inviting. It takes Thomas by surprise even though he has been craving it for so long. The feel of your mouth against his almost causes his heart to stop beating in his chest. Suddenly all white noise in the air disappears when your lips meet his. He does not even realise he stopped breathing until you pull away and he finds himself pathetically following your lips, lashes fluttering over his cerulean eyes.
“I’ve always been yours, Thomas,” You breath against his lips “It has always been you for me.”
Passion overtakes all of Tommy’s senses. He stands up and his arms immediately reach out for you, his hands hold your face and he crashes his lips against yours once more, addicted to the minty taste of your mouth. He presses you against the wall and you can’t hold back a moan.
“Say it again.” It was meant to come off as a command, however the desperation peeks through his words and it borders on a plea. He’s begging you to tell him you're his. Always have been, with nothing able to come in between you, not even a stupid war that took away your family and his light “Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.”
He slips his tongue into your mouth the second the ‘s’ slides between your teeth, choosing to taste your words on his tongue instead. You grip onto the collar of his shirt, humming into his mouth as his tongue explores all the crevices of your mouth, eager to know what he’s been fantasising about for years, all within in the reach of his arm but so so far away in his mind’s eye. You taste the cigarette you became familiar with from a young age and find that it doesn’t bother you as much as you thought it would, in fact, the way it lingered on your taste buds felt delicious, probably because it came from Tommy and something you mostly associate with him.
He pulls away reluctantly to let you catch your breath, but not far enough as he indulges in pressing wet kisses along your jaw and down the bare skin uncovered by your clothes. “Tommy…” You sigh contently, head lolling against the wall as he sucks on a sweet spot right under your ear.
“Hmm?” You can tell he’s not actually listening to what you have to say, too occupied, too consumed with the essence of you, which… ultimately is good considering you have no clue what was going to come out of your mouth. You instead pressed his head deeper against your skin, holding him in place meanwhile his hands reached down to lift the hem of your slip upwards, revealing smooth skin which he so desperately wanted to mark. He wanted to leave a trace of himself on you and he was going to do it if that was the last thing he would do. His rough hands suddenly parted your legs to allow his knee to occupy the space between them, pushing you down onto his muscled thigh which in turn caused your breath to hitch.
You grasp onto the short hair at the top of his head and forcefully pull him away, looking down at his lust-filled eyes fluttering open in a daze, his pink plump lips glimmering with a coat of saliva, a mix of both your own and his, “I hope you’re not thinking you'll taking me against the wall.”
He seems to sober up a little, standing up straighter and fixing your clothes “Right,” he says with a clearing of his throat “it seems I got too excited.”
You crack a smile at that confession, tapping his cheek lightly with affection “There’s always time for that later.” You wink and his own expression turns light, a soft smile pulling at his lips. He suddenly plants both his hands on your bottom and hauls you up in his hold, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist for security.
“I’ve run out of patience, love.” He lead you straight to bed, spreading you on your mattress and resting in between the gap left “I need to feel you, all of you.” He said, no room for hesitance and you pulled his face into a kiss, the palms of your hands splayed against the clean-shaven cheeks of his face. His hands roam over your thighs, pulling you closer so that your core pressed against his own, feeling more of him than you ever have before.
“Take it off.” You ordered, biting his lower lip. His hands move in an instant, eager as he pulls off your gown. You raise your arms, assisting him with a giggle. His face moves to your chest to pepper kisses down till he reaches your abdomen before he goes back up the way to connect your lips once again. “Now it’s your turn.”
You work the buttons on his waist coat, then his shirt all the while he watches you with an amused glint in his eyes, patiently waiting for you to rid him of his white undershirt. He was surprised when you did not stop there however, “Up.” You commanded, pushing him off the bed and sitting up to watch him get rid of his trousers, leaving him only in his drawers. Your eyes trailed over his figure, landing straight on the tattoos and scars that never used to be on his pale skin dotted with freckles in the past. They were from the war you concluded.
“Come here.” You say softly, switching your position so that you were now kneeling on the bed, inviting Tommy to do the same. He complies, something he has come to find himself easily doing when it’s with you. You fingers trail over his toned body, brushing over his biceps and finding the scar on his back. You gently trace it, not asking the story behind how he got it but meeting your eyes with his. Your gaze is soft and sweet and Thomas almost finds himself choked up facing your gentleness, it seemed so foreign to him. It has been years and he does not know why he has denied himself this when he needed it so long ago. You ghost over his military tattoo, acknowledging its presence despite not liking what it represented. Loss, grief, heartache, death… but it was ironically perfect because all you could do was move "forward", on with life because it waited for no one. Finally, your fingers splay over his chest next, over the tattoo covering his left pec. You chuckle a little, recognising the lack of an important figure intended to sit in the middle of the sunrays… It was so in character for Tommy to reject God but keep the symbolism of the religion he grew up with.
“Done enough sight-seeing?” He asks with a tilt of his head, staring fondly at you.
“I suppose I have.” No sooner does that last word roll of your tongue does Tommy knock you back into the mattress.
“Good, it’s time I have my way with you.”
He undoes your bra without second-guessing, reaching for the knot below your shoulders and releasing it with a gentle tug. He takes it off, discarding it somewhere on the floor before lowering his face to latch a nipple into his mouth, a hand coming up to tug at your free one. Your breaths turn shallow at his touch, legs wrapping behind his back as you arch into his mouth, wanting more.
His unoccupied hand slides down your tummy to meet the waistband of your cotton panties, meeting the lacy material. He slips a finger and pulls the elastic, pausing the swirling of his tongue to ask “Can I?” You strain to look up him, your head content on lying on the mattress but you nod down at him regardless, a soft plea tumbling past your lips.
“Please.”
He rolls off your panties down your thighs, then down your calves till he’s ridden you of them completely leaving you bare before him, completely nude for him to feast his eyes on. He sits back, looking at you with his pupils blown, barely any of that cornflower blue you’re so fond of peeking through, too consumed by desire and admiration “Beautiful...” He says quietly, more to himself than you. Heat flushes your entire body and you beckon him over with your hand on his shoulder.
He returns to hovering over you, lowering himself to press a soft kiss to your lips to distract you as his large hands glides down your right thigh before finding the centre between your legs. A gasp slips out when you feel him slide a finger, collecting your arousal and then placing his middle and ring finger on your most sensitive area, your legs falter at the touch from where they are bent on the mattress. He only bites his lip as his fingers take on a circular motion, watching and enjoying the soft moans that resound in the room at his ministrations.
“Tommy,” you whine and he shushes you by slipping in his middle finger, feeling more slick coat the digit and he grows tenser. He gulps as you writhe in front of him with the addition of his ring finger, the palm of his heel aiding his efforts in watching you come undone before him.
Your hips alternate between bucking into his hand and pushing into your bed, too overwhelmed by the pleasure coming from his touch but you do not back down, not when you feel too good from just his hand and you tell him as much “Don’t stop—”
Except he does stop when he feels the first squeeze around his fingers, a cruel (in your opinion) smirk on his face when you open your eyes in a huff “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Making sure you finish in my mouth.” He states and you falter, looking at him with a confused expression.
“What?” You ask, trying to make sure you heard him right but Thomas is a bastard and hates repeating himself so he only lifts you by the waist, sets you on your pink pillows and settles in between your thighs with his head diving in without out warning, licking a stripe up before swirling around. Your protests die the instant you feel his tongue and you instinctively spread wider for him, hand coming to keep his head in place because you’ll be damned if you don’t take Tommy up on his pearl diving skills.
He keeps you spread with his forefinger and middle finger, tongue focused on your clit meanwhile his fingers pump in and out of you at the same time. Your sanity slowly deteriorates as your senses are just full of him, mind empty, only thinking about good he’s making you feel.
“Thomas, I swear to God if you stop I will do what France has failed to do.” Your words are intended to be a threat but Tommy doesn’t know how seriously he can take you when you stop in between your words to catch your breath and let out tiny whines. It’s adorable though, so he decides he’ll play nice because this isn’t the first time someone has threatened to kill him, at least this time he knows it’s because he’s bringing his girl to her high.
Your legs almost shut around his head and suffocate him when you first begin to feel your orgasm approaching, Tommy actually wants to let you do it but you catch yourself at the last minute and hold onto his cropped hair instead (you really ought to get him to let it grow a little—), focusing on your pleasure as your vision turns black with sprinkles of white appearing. “Tommy, I’m—” he hums into you, his tongue and fingers turning rougher and you can’t hold back the mewl as you clamp down on his fingers, your hips jerking as you finally come. He releases his fingers, pops them into his mouth to clean it off before discarding his briefs.
You open your eyes, unfocused as you try to come back to your senses as you look at him. His intense gaze meets yours , you nod at him knowing what it is he wants. He can’t help the smile that graces his face and plants a kiss on your knee before parting your legs for him to fit snugly in between, the back of your thighs touching the front of his. One hand grips his length, you lower your hips to meet him as his slips in inch by inch.
Your immediate reaction to the intrusion is knitted brows, your eyes shut as he finally bottoms out after what you felt was an unnecessarily long time. You gulp when he hugs you, settled deep in you as you both wait. Tommy’s mouth hung open the entire time as he felt you engulfing him with your wet walls, head going light from this entire experience. You felt divine. He could almost cry, feeling you wrapped around, so snug and perfect…
“Move,” he says through gritted teeth, his voice cracks right by the pulse in your neck when he adds on “please, I need to feel you move.”
You throw your arms around his broad shoulders and rock your hips, prompting him to finally meet you in the middle, helping you find a rhythm against him. It does not take long as you work on the perfect symphony together, almost as though orchestrated by a brilliant maestro the way he moves into you, hitting all the right places while he pushes your knees up to your chest, ensuring he’s hitting deeper and you’re feeling all of him.
Thomas almost feels ashamed at the quickness with which his climax approaches, and he screws his eyes shut, tensing his jaw as he wills himself to hold out for longer but damn the way you feel when you pull him closer and kiss at his cheeks and nibble on his ear. You’re the virgin here, not him, and yet he’s almost emptying his balls out to match their record time. He groans and clears his throat as he tries to collect himself to tell you “I’m not going to last much longer.”
Your response chokes him when he feels you squeeze around him, he pulls his face away from over your shoulder to look down at you with an almost offended expression which turns exasperated when he sees your lazy grin “Oh so now you’re a minx?” His hand moves from your waist to your cheeks and he squishes them “Just you wait, love.” He spills into you after a few more thrusts before stilling, still nestled deep inside you.
You attempt to sit up but his hand stops you by firmly pushing you down, splayed over your sternum “We’re not done…”
Summary: When your estranged father shows up unannounced in Birmingham, slipping into your home like he still has a right to be there, you do what you’ve always done, stay quiet, keep the peace, and pretend the past can’t hurt you. But Tommy Shelby isn’t a man who misses the signs, and when he discovers the bruises you tried to hide, he makes one thing clear: no one lays a hand on what’s his and walks away unscathed.
Word count: 5.2k
Warnings: domestic abuse, physical violence, and trauma, including past and present abuse by a parental figure, choking, panic attacks, and PTSD. Mentions of war trauma, blood, minor injuries, and threats of violence
A/N: welp, I’ve fallen back down the peaky blinders rabbit hole.
The day started like any other.
The warmth of the fireplace crackled softly in the background as you sat curled on the couch, a book in your lap. Tommy was at his desk, going through paperwork, cigarette smoke curling lazily in the air. It was a rare quiet evening, one of those moments where the weight of the world seemed just a little lighter.
Then, there was a knock at the door.
Your brow furrowed slightly. It was late– far too late for visitors. Unless it was Arthur staggering by, drunk again. You glanced at Tommy, who sighed, flicking his cigarette into the ashtray before standing. He made his way toward the door, his steps slow and deliberate.
“If Arthur's pissed on the doorstep again, I swear to God…”
Tommy pulled the door open, expecting Arthur’s drunken frame to be swaying on the other side, slurring apologies for waking the house.
But it wasn’t Arthur.
His stance shifted ever so slightly, his sharp blue eyes scanning the man before him.
You barely registered Tommy’s hesitation because the moment you saw him, the breath in your lungs turned to ice.
Because suddenly, there he was.
Standing on your doorstep, smiling like he belonged there.
Your father.
Your hands clenched in your lap.
“Surprise,” he drawled, stepping forward slightly. “You’re not going to invite your old man in?”
Your body remained frozen. “What… what are you doing here?”
Your father let out a chuckle, his eyes scanning the entryway as if he was appraising it. Then, he stepped forward without waiting for permission. “What? A father isn’t allowed to come see his only daughter once and a while?”
You blinked, your stomach twisting. “How did you get the address?”
He waved a hand. “Your brother gave it to me. Had to practically bully it out of him.”
Your jaw tightened.
“What a place,” he mused, looking around before his eyes landed on Tommy. “And you must be the husband, aye?”
Tommy stood there, unreadable, his gaze cool and detached. He stepped forward, offering his hand, because that’s what men like him did– offered respect until given a reason not to.
Your father shook it.
“Thomas Shelby,” Tommy introduced himself, his voice measured.
Your father smirked. “Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of you alright.”
Tommy merely hummed, but his attention flickered back to you. He saw it then– the way your arms had wrapped around yourself, your fingers gripping your sleeves, your body tensed like a coiled spring.
You barely spoke all evening.
At dinner, Tommy tried to gauge your mood, throwing you small glances, subtle touches, but each time, you withdrew. When his hand brushed yours under the table, you flinched.
Just slightly. But Tommy noticed.
That night, after you’d made up the spare room and your father went to bed, Tommy pulled you into the hallway. His fingers tilted your chin up, his thumb brushing against your jaw.
“Everything alright?” His voice was soft, but there was something in it– something heavy.
You forced a small smile. “Of course. Just tired.”
Tommy studied you for a long moment, his gaze searching. He didn’t look convinced.
You exhaled, glancing toward the closed door of the spare room, then back at him. “I’m sorry he just showed up like that. I– I didn’t know he was coming.”
Tommy shrugged slightly, his thumb still absently stroking your cheek. “It’s alright. Family’s always welcome here. Lord knows mine barges in whenever they damn well please. It's kind of nice having it be yours for a change."
You let out a dry laugh, but it was hallow as your stomach twisted. “Right. Thank you.”
He watched you for a beat longer before sighing. “You sure you’re alright?”
You nodded, almost too quickly. “I’m fine.”
He exhaled through his nose, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face gently. Tommy watched you for another second, his thumb pausing at your cheekbone before he finally nodded.
“Alright, love.” His voice was quiet, but you knew him well enough to hear the doubt behind it. He wasn’t convinced.
You both made your way to the bedroom in silence. Tommy moved around the room, shrugging off his vest, unbuttoning his shirt. You sat at the edge of the bed, staring at your hands, the weight of your father’s presence pressing heavy on your chest.
You should have told Tommy the truth.
You should have said something.
But you couldn’t. You didn’t know if it was the shame that stopped you– not wanting Tommy to know where or what you really came from…
He saw you as strong, capable, resilient.
But if he knew… If he knew that you used to be a girl who flinched at raised voices, who held her breath when footsteps neared, who learned how to measure a person’s anger like a storm on the horizon, would he still look at you the same?
The thought made your throat tighten.
You lay beside Tommy, facing away from him, curled in on yourself. A moment later, his arm draped over your waist, pulling you into his warmth.
“You’re tense,” he murmured against the back of your neck.
“Just tired,” you said again.
He studied you for a moment before sighing, obviously unconvinced. But he kissed your shoulder anyway. “Get some rest, then.”
It took a long time before you finally did.
…
The days stretched on.
Your father made himself comfortable in your home, slipping into the space between you and Tommy like he had a right to be there.
He drank Tommy’s whiskey like it was his own, spoke to him like they were equals, like there was no history of violence, no reason for you to avoid looking him in the eye.
And yet, you did what you had always done…
You played the part: the dutiful daughter. The quiet peacemaker. The one who let his sharp words roll off her back like they didn’t cut.
But the part that made you sick to your stomach, was how easily you fell back into it. How, in his presence, you became her again– that pitiful version of yourself… that scared little girl who walked on eggshells, who measured her words carefully, who held herself so still when he passed by, like movement alone might set him off.
You hated it– hated that he still had that power over you. Hated that, despite the years of distance, despite the fact that you had built a new life for yourself, he still made you feel so small.
You tried desperately to keep Tommy from seeing that version of yourself. You smiled when you needed to. Laughed at the right moments. Acted like everything was fine.
But the longer the visit stretched out, the harder it was to hide your discomfort.
Days passed. Then nearly a week. Your father showed no sign of leaving.
One afternoon, while Tommy was away at work, you found your father in the hallway, stretching, rolling his shoulders like he’d spent the day laboring instead of lounging.
You took a deep breath.
“Dad.”
He looked up, raising a brow as if you had interrupted something important.
“How long are you planning to stay for?” you asked, keeping your voice even, cautious.
He shrugged, running a hand through his graying hair. “Dunno. Not sure yet.”
You shifted your weight, forcing yourself to hold your ground. “I just– Tommy has a lot going on, and I don’t want to impose.”
Your father scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, please. Your husband’s got plenty of room. He’s not hurting, is he?”
You swallowed your frustration and tried again.
“Did you tell Mom you were coming?”
His expression changed.
The lighthearted arrogance drained away, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. His posture stiffened, and his gaze turned sharp.
“That’s none of your business,” he said coldly.
You should’ve stopped there. Should’ve let it go. But something inside you, some small ember of defiance, pushed forward. “It is my business. And this is my house–”
The slap came so fast, you barely saw it coming.
The sharp crack echoed in the hallway, and before you could register what had happened, you were stumbling back, one hand flying to your cheek as heat bloomed across your skin.
Your breath hitched. Your father loomed over you, his face twisted in a sneer. “You don’t get to speak to me like that. Do you understand me? What I say or don’t say to your mother is between me and her. Understood?”
You nodded quickly, pressing your lips together, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat. “Sorry– I– I was just–” you stopped yourself. “Sorry.”
Your cheek burned and your heart pounded in your ears as you turned on your heel and walked away.
You closed yourself into the bathroom, locking it behind you before turning to the mirror.
The mark was already forming. A bright red outline, the shape of his palm clear against your skin. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You inhaled deeply, steadying yourself, gripping the edge of the sink until your knuckles went white.
…
That evening, you made dinner. A nice dinner. A meal you knew Tommy liked– something warm, familiar. A distraction. Maybe even something to please your father.
You set the table carefully, your hands only shaking slightly as you arranged the plates. You kept your face turned slightly away, hoping the dim lighting would mask the worst of it.
When Tommy got home, the door creaked open, and the familiar weight of his presence filled the space.
You were stirring something at the stove when his arms slipped around your waist from behind.
His touch was warm and grounding. His lips pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder as he murmured, “Smells good in here.”
You smiled– forced and practiced. “I thought I’d make us something nice.”
His arms tightened briefly. “God, it’s been a long day,” he murmured.
Then, as he leaned in, pressing another kiss just below your ear, he turned his head slightly, just enough for his gaze to catch the side of your face.
You felt him go still. His hands, steady on your waist, tensed.
His lips parted. “What’s this?” he asked, finger ghosting along the edge of your cheek.
Your stomach twisted. You knew what he had seen. The mark. The redness that you couldn’t fully hide.
You turned your head slightly, brushing him off. “Oh, it’s nothing. I–” You exhaled, forcing a lighthearted tone as you stepped away from his embrace. “I walked right into that hallway shelf. Must not have been paying attention. I was stupid.”
Tommy didn’t say anything for a long moment. You could feel his eyes trained on you, sharp and assessing, as you moved around the kitchen. Before he could challenge your excuse, another voice cut in.
“Tommy!”
Your father stepped into the room, grinning, swirling a half-full glass of whiskey in his hand. “Good to see you, son. How’s business today?”
Tommy and your father sat at the table, engaging in light conversation. Your father asked about business. Tommy responded, his voice steady, polite.
But his eyes kept flicking to you.
You barely spoke. You moved carefully, quietly, only nodding when necessary.
Tommy noticed. He saw the way you kept your head slightly down. The way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The way your hands trembled slightly when you reached for a glass.
You forced yourself to sit through dinner, every bite feeling like it might turn to ash in your mouth. Every sip of water was just an excuse to avoid speaking.
You were suffocating. You needed to get out.
So, when the dishes were cleared, and the conversation between Tommy and your father began to stretch into the evening, you pushed your chair back and stood.
“I think I’ll turn in early,” you murmured, keeping your voice light. “Didn’t sleep very well last night.”
Tommy’s gaze snapped to you immediately.
Your father barely glanced up. “Night, sweetheart,” he muttered, already swirling the last of his drink in his glass.
Tommy, though– he studied you. You didn’t meet his eyes.
He opened his mouth like he might say something, might challenge you, might ask you to stay, but after a moment, he simply nodded.
“Alright, love.” His voice was careful. Measured.
You forced a small smile before slipping from the room.
…
It was late when Tommy finally came to bed.
You heard him before you saw him, the slow creak of the bedroom door, the quiet sound of his footsteps across the floor.
He moved carefully, as if not wanting to wake you.
You kept your breathing steady and your eyes closed and pretended to be asleep.
The mattress dipped slightly as he crawled in beside you. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, slowly, his hand came to rest on your hip. His touch was gentle, hesitant. You didn’t move. Didn’t react.
A deep sigh left his lips, and you felt the warmth of his breath against the back of your neck. His grip on your hip tightened slightly, just for a moment, before he exhaled again and let it relax.
You waited for him to say something– to ask, maybe demand answers.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he did what Tommy Shelby never did. He hesitated.
And it was at that moment you realized, he was waiting for you.
Waiting for you to come to him.
But you weren’t ready. So, you remained still, your heart hammering against your ribs as his thumb trailed lazily along your hip. Then, he stretched his arm carefully around your waist and pulled you close.
…
You kept up the act– kept making dinner. Kept playing hostess. Kept pretending like the walls of your own home weren’t closing in on you.
A few nights later, you found yourself in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove, when you heard the front door swing open.
The sound was jarring, clumsy, forceful, followed by the sound of staggering footsteps.
The hair on the back of your neck stood up before you even turned around. Your father stepped into the kitchen, his shirt wrinkled, his eyes glassy, the stench of whiskey thick in the air.
He wasn’t just drunk, he was angry. A cold wave of fear ran down your spine.
You froze, hands gripping the edge of the counter as he loomed in the doorway.
“Look at you,” he slurred, waving a hand at the dinner on the stove. “Little housewife, cooking for your big, important husband.”
“Dinner’s almost ready,” you said, picking up a glass cup from the counter and trying to keep your voice steady. “You should sit down.”
His eyes narrowed. “What? You're giving me orders now?”
Your grip tightened on the glass. He took another step closer.
“You always were a smug little thing, weren’t you?” He muttered, shaking his head. “Always had something to say.”
You held your breath as he took another unsteady step forward, his eyes dark and unfocused, but sharp enough to cut straight through you. “I didn’t mean–”
“Now that you've married a Shelby, you're arrogant, too. Tell me,” he interrupted, the word twisted with venom. “Was it him who kept you from coming home all this time? Or was it you? Think you’re too good for your own family now? With your rich fucking husband at your beck and call?”
Your grip on the glass tightened. “You’re drunk.” You tried to turn away, but your father reached out to clutch your wrist.
“Don’t walk away from me.” His grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin like a vice.
Your stomach twisted violently. “Let go,” you said, your voice shaking despite your efforts to sound firm.
He didn’t. Instead, he yanked you back toward him, forcing you to stumble. The glass in your hand wobbled precariously, liquid sloshing over the rim.
“The king of fucking Birmingham, aye? And you’re what? His housewife? Or his whore?”
“Stop it,” you cut in, trying to wrench your wrist free. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I don't care who you're married to. You don’t get to fucking tell me what to do,” he spat.
Your pulse hammered, panic rising in your chest. “Dad, just stop– you’re drunk.”
He let out a bitter laugh, the sound jagged, cruel. “Drunk?” He sneered. “I’ve been drinking since before you could fucking walk, girl. You think you know better than me? Think that slimey Shelby husband of yours turned you into something special?”
“Tommy,” you swallowed thickly, forcing the words out. “Is a good man. I know that term might be hard for you to comprehend–"
A dark flash crossed his face. And then– the slap. It struck you with enough force to snap your head to the side, the sting burning hot across your cheek. The room blurred for a moment, your ears ringing.
Your father didn’t give you time to react. Before you could move, before you could process, he shoved you hard against the wall.
The glass slipped from your fingers, hitting the floor and shattering, fragments scattering across the kitchen tiles.
Your back collided with the surface, your breath leaving you in a sharp gasp. The pain barely registered before his hands were on you again– this time around your throat, squeezing.
Your hands flew up, clawing at his wrists, your body struggling instinctively. But his grip was tight, unrelenting.
Your chest heaved.
Your lungs burned.
A strangled sound escaped you, but it wasn’t loud enough. Not enough to stop him.
His breath was hot against your face as he leaned in. He was seething. His teeth clenched together as his eyes bore down on you with pure hatred.
Your vision blurred. Your limbs weakened. The edges of your consciousness began to flicker, the darkness creeping in.
In the hazy distance, you vaguely heard the sound of the front door opening, followed by heavy footsteps.
Then, the pressure around your throat disappeared instantly as your father was ripped away from you. You collapsed to the floor in a heap, gasping, your hands flying to your throat as air rushed back into your lungs. Your body shook violently, but you barely noticed.
Because in front of you, Tommy had your father by the collar, slamming him against the kitchen table with enough force to rattle the dishes.
The look on Tommy’s face was lethal.
Your father coughed, groaning, trying to push himself up. But Tommy was on him before he could move.
His fist connected with your father’s jaw– once, then twice. The crack of bone meeting bone echoing through the room.
Blood splattered across the floor. Your father groaned, but Tommy wasn’t done. He grabbed him again, dragging him up by his shirt, slamming him against the wall this time.
Your father choked, spitting blood.
Tommy leaned in, his voice eerily calm now. “You ever touch her again, and I’ll kill you with my barehands. You hear me?”
Your father wheezed, coughing weakly. “Fuck you–”
In an instant, Tommy pulled his gun.
He pressed the barrel beneath your father’s chin, tilting his head back slightly, forcing him to meet his gaze. The air in the kitchen was thick, the only sound the ragged breathing of the men in front of you.
Your father’s eyes widened, his drunken haze fading into something closer to fear.
Tommy’s finger flexed on the trigger.
Your stomach twisted violently.
“Tommy,” you pleaded, voice barely above a whisper.
His grip didn’t loosen.
At least not right away. His chest heaved, his knuckles white around the handle of the gun.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Tommy exhaled sharply and lowered the gun.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” he spat before releasing your father’s collar.
Your father crumpled to the floor, coughing, gasping.
Your father didn’t wait to be told twice.
His hand clutched where Tommy had struck him, his movements shaky as he scrambled to his feet. Blood dripped from his split lip onto the kitchen floor, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. He staggered toward the door, barely able to walk straight, a mix of pain and drunken stupor slowing his steps.
He didn’t even bother to grab his things. Or have the courage to look back at you.
Just stumbled toward the exit, his breath ragged and uneven, one last curse muttered under his breath as he shoved the door open and disappeared into the night.
Tommy followed him to the threshold, his cold gaze never leaving the man’s retreating figure.
Then, click. The sound of the lock sliding into place echoed through the house.
Tommy exhaled sharply, pressing his palm against the door, as if physically barring your father from ever stepping foot in this house again. His shoulders were tense, the muscles in his arms flexing as he gripped the wood tightly.
Your focus shifted to the glass– the shattered pieces lay scattered across the floor, sharp edges gleaming under the dim kitchen light.
Your hands trembled as you scrambled forward, sinking to your knees, desperate to clean it up. You needed to fix this. You needed to make things right.
Tommy was angry. You knew he was.
And if there was one thing you had learned in your life, it was how to keep the peace. How to stay quiet, to smooth over the damage, to do whatever it took to make things okay again.
So you reached for the shards, ignoring the way your fingers shook. One after another, you gathered them in your hands, barely noticing when a sharp edge knicked your skin.
A thin line of red beaded at your skin, but you kept going.
If you could just get it all cleaned up–
Strong hands stopped you, fingers curling around the wrist you had collected pieces in.
“Love.”
The word was soft, but firm.
You hadn’t even realized he had moved, but now he was crouched in front of you, his hands gently prying your fist open so that he could take the glass from you.
You tried to protest, shaking your head. “I– I just need to clean this up, Tommy, I–”
“Leave it,” he said quietly, reaching his arm up and discarding the shards on the countertop.
Your lip trembled. “I– Tommy, I–”
You couldn’t finish the sentence. Because the panic was setting in now, hitting you all at once. Your hands shook violently, the tremors traveling up your arms, your whole body beginning to quake. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, your chest rising and falling too fast.
You were unraveling.
“I– I can fix it, Tommy, I have to–” Your words broke apart into a sob as you tried to pull away from him, your limbs weak and frantic all at once. “I can fix it–”
Tommy didn’t let you go. “Hey, hey, hey,” he said gently. "It's alright."
Your eyes flickered back to the rest of the shattered glass, your mind spiraling. “It’s a mess, I made a mess, I– I didn’t mean to, I–”
“Love, stop…” His voice was a tether, grounding you even as you spiraled.
But you couldn’t stop.
Your fingers clawed weakly at his arms, desperate for something, anything, to keep you from sinking completely.
“I’m sorry,” you choked out, your whole body trembling so badly you could barely keep yourself upright. “I– I didn’t mean to–”
Tommy swore under his breath. Then, without hesitation, he pulled you in. His arms wrapped around you, strong and steady.
You let out a broken sound, your fingers gripping his shirt in fists as sobs racked your frame. You were shaking so hard it felt like you might come apart completely.
But Tommy held you together.
His hand cradled the back of your head, anchoring you to him. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite name. “Stop, just stop.”
The words tumbled out anyway. “I– I swear I didn’t mean to make him angry, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to–”
You felt the way his breath hitched, the way his hold on you tightened just slightly.
“Do not apologize,” he said, voice low and steady. “Do not apologize for that man. You hear me?”
You shook your head, barely able to breathe. “But I– I should’ve just–”
“No.” Tommy’s tone left no room for argument.
His hand slid from your back to cup your face, forcing you to meet his gaze. His blue eyes were burning now– not with rage, not with violence, but with something unwavering.
“Now you listen to me,” he murmured, his thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. “He did this. Not you.”
A sob caught in your throat, but he didn’t let you look away.
Tears blurred your vision, but the panic still gripped you tight, its claws lodged deep in your ribs. You shook your head weakly. “I– I should have done something.”
Tommy’s gaze darkened, his hands firm but gentle as they cradled your face. “Like what?” His voice was unwavering, pushing you to say it.
You swallowed, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “I should’ve just kept quiet. But I pushed him. I should’ve known better.”
The moment the words left your lips, shame burned through you like acid. It felt filthy to say it out loud.
Tommy inhaled sharply, his grip tightening ever so slightly. His thumb skimmed over the fading red mark on your cheek, the bruises forming along your throat, and something behind his eyes fractured.
“He would’ve done it anyway,” Tommy said, his tone quieter now. “No matter what you did. No matter what you said. Because men like that don’t need a reason to hurt people.”
Realization washed over you.
He didn’t blame you.
Tommy didn’t blame you.
You had spent your whole life believing it was your fault. That every slap, every harsh word, every cruel punishment was something you had earned.
But Tommy didn’t see it that way. He saw him as the problem. He saw him as the one at fault.
Not you.
The weight of that realization shattered something inside you, splintering through your chest like glass. You let out a broken sound, your body crumbling under the weight of all of it.
And Tommy caught you. He pulled you into his arms again, crushing you against him, holding you so tightly it felt like he was trying to anchor you to the world, to him.
And you let him.
You clung to him, your fingers twisting into his shirt, needing to feel the solidness of him, the warmth, the safety.
Tommy pressed his lips to the top of your head, lingering there as his breath shuddered against your skin. And he didn’t let go. Not when your sobs finally quieted, not when your breathing finally steadied, not even when your body had stopped trembling in his arms.
He just held you.
His hands ran slow, soothing strokes down your back, grounding you in the steady rhythm of his touch. His breath was warm against your hair, his chest solid beneath your cheek, rising and falling in time with yours.
For a long time, neither of you spoke.
Then, finally, his voice broke the silence. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
You stiffened slightly, but his grip didn’t loosen.
“I would’ve thrown him to the wolves the second he walked through the fucking door,” he murmured, his jaw tightening against your forehead. “Christ, I thought you wanted him here.”
You swallowed, gripping the fabric of his shirt in your hands, but you didn’t answer. You didn’t know how.
Because how could you explain that some wounds never really heal? That no matter how far you run, no matter how much time passes, the fear always lingers– deep, insidious, always waiting for an excuse to crawl back up your throat and choke the words before they ever leave your lips?
You felt Tommy sigh against you. His arms tightened, just slightly, like he was bracing himself.
And then, his voice dipped lower. “I should’ve pushed harder,” he murmured. “I knew– I knew something was wrong. And I let you tell me it wasn’t.”
That got your attention.
Your breath hitched, and you pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still fisted in his shirt.
“Tommy, no.” Your voice was hoarse, shaky, but firm. “This isn’t your fault.”
His jaw tensed.
“I just wasn’t ready to talk about it,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
Tommy studied you for a long moment, his blue eyes unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded, exhaling slowly.
“How long?”
You gazed up at him questioningly.
"How long has he been hurting you for?"
His blue eyes burned into yours, steady, patient, but unrelenting.
You took a breath, one that barely filled your lungs, and whispered,
“I think I was six the first time. I accidentally left the laundry out in the rain. Ruined his favorite suit."
You felt the shift in him. The way his hands, still cradling your face, tightened slightly. The way his breathing turned just a shade too slow, too controlled, like he was forcing himself to stay calm.
"I figured I deserved that one. It was an expensive suit and… well, we didn't come from money."
You swallowed, your throat tight, forcing the words out even as they scraped against something raw inside you.
“But the next time it happened, it was something smaller. I don’t even remember what I did.” You let out a weak, humorless breath. “I think I knocked over a drink. Or maybe I spoke when I wasn’t supposed to.”
You shifted slightly, staring at the spot on the floor where the glass had shattered earlier, as if it might somehow piece itself back together.
“Eventually, the reasons stopped mattering, I guess,” you murmured. “He’d get angry over anything. If you looked at him the wrong way, or even if you were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Your fingers twisted into the fabric of Tommy’s shirt, a subconscious need to hold onto something solid.
“When I was nine, he threw me against the table." Your throat felt tight, but the words were coming now, unraveling like thread. “I hit the edge. It cracked a rib, I think. I couldn’t breathe right for weeks.”
Tommy exhaled, sharp and controlled, like he was holding something down, something dangerous.
“The next day, he brought me flowers.” A bitter smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “To say he was sorry.”
Your voice wavered. “I don't know why but kept them in my room until they wilted. Because no matter how badly he hurt me... I think I still wanted to believe he loved me.”
The words felt foreign coming out of your mouth, like admitting them made them more real. More pathetic.
"I don't know what happened," you admitted. "He showed up here and I just... I panicked. It felt like I was that nine year old girl again. Just trying to make him happy, despite how scared he always made me. It felt like... Like I didn’t belong to myself anymore."
Tommy's hand rose to cup your face, his fingers brushing tenderly over your bruised cheek. His thumb traced the fading outline of your father’s fingers, and his gaze darkened, his lips pressing into a firm line.
Then, after a long pause, he spoke. “Fear that deep that never goes away,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, distant. “Not completely.”
You blinked at him, something heavy settling in your chest. He wasn’t just talking about you anymore.
“France?” you whispered.
His jaw tightened slightly. “Aye.”
His thumb brushed absently over your skin, but his gaze had drifted, staring past you now, as if he was seeing something else entirely.
“I used to think I’d come back and it would be over,” he continued, his voice steady, but different. He was using that careful, guarded tone he used when speaking of the war. “That the things I saw, the things I felt... they’d stay behind, buried in the trenches where they belonged.”
A humorless breath left him. “They didn’t.”
A silence stretched between you. You wondered if he had ever admitted that the war hadn’t ended when he stepped back onto English soil.
Just like your past hadn’t ended when you left home.
Your fingers curled slightly against his chest, your breath uneven. “How do you live with it?”
Tommy’s eyes refocused on you.
“I haven’t quite figured that one out yet,” he admitted.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly over your collarbone. “But it helps to find things that keep you here.” His voice dropped lower, his eyes locked onto yours. “Things worth staying for.”
Tommy exhaled, his fingers pressing lightly against your skin. “And maybe one day, you wake up, and you realize that even though it's still there, that fear doesn’t own you anymore.”
You swallowed thickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “And what keeps you here, Tommy?”
His hand on your chest tightened slightly, his fingers curling over your heart. His breath brushed against your skin. Then, softly, almost so softly you didn’t hear it, he sighed. “I thought that was obvious.”
His hand slid up, fingers trailing along your jaw before cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
“I’ll always protect you,” he murmured, his voice low, steady. Certain. “I mean it,” he said. “You never have to be afraid in this house again. Not while I’m breathing.”
The way he said it– it wasn’t just a promise.
It was a fact.
A truth carved into the very foundation of who he was.
You swallowed thickly, pressing your forehead against his chest, letting his warmth, his presence, his words wrap around you like armor.
Tommy’s arms came around you again, strong and steady, holding you like he never planned on letting go.
yandere!romangeneral!Ghost x crossdressing!AFAB!reader
wordcount: ~6500
tw: MNDI, yandere, smut, obsessive/possessive behavior, period-typical sexism, virginity loss, crossdressing, pregnancy(? c;), Ancient Rome AU, age gap (Ghost is in his late 30's the reader is in her early 20's), OOC Ghost.
(If you find some more, please let me know.)
As usual, thank you all, my dear sweethearts, for your support!
Idea - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Juno (here) / Another ending
This fanfiction is NOT suited for minors. Author does not endorse nor condone any of the actions depicted in real life. Also, English is not the author's first language, so there might be some mistakes.
Please remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.
Notes:
Hasta – a long thrusting spear used by Roman soldiers.
Gladius – a short, double-edged Roman sword, used primarily by legionaries.
Domus – A Roman house, typically owned by richer citizens.
Stola – A long, draped robe worn by Roman women, especially matrons. It signified modesty, virtue, and a woman's married status.
Dextrarum iunctio – this was the symbolic gesture performed during Roman weddings, representing unity, trust, and the formal binding of bride and groom.
Recommend listening:
Kiki Rockwell - From Persephone
Hozier - Work Song
You blinked, staring into the darkest corner of the room where the doe's eyes once glowed, wide and unblinking, carved from the horrific memory. But the gaze that had haunted you for so long began to wane. There, in the thick shadow behind the torches, the memory started to fade. The silence in your chest cracked like old ice.
You didn't know what would happen next. You didn't know why he'd taken you from the river, trembling and bare, into the heart of his lair. Why he had bared his face to you, piece by scarred piece, as though peeling back his very soul. But you knew what it meant. You knew that no general in Rome would kneel without reason. No god of war would disarm himself without a vow.
But in front of you was not a God of war. Not Ghost. But Simon. Flesh and blood and breath. Simon, with his ruined mouth and battle-worn eyes, almost trembling beneath the weight of your gaze. You looked down, tears falling on the scarred skiing of his face.
You could still feel the doe's eyes.
And yet…
Something cracked beneath your breastbone. A ripple, faint and trembling.
You finally remembered Proserpina.
The memory, once pale, surged now like a river breaking free. Your mother's voice came first, soft as oil on the freshly baked bread, whispering myth into your ears while your sister laughed beside you. "So she became a goddess above and below," your sister had said, face flushed with delight, as if it were a story of triumph and not captivity. You had stayed silent, but something in you had listened carefully.
"What if Proserpina wasn't taken?" you wanted to ask your mother back then.
What if she had reached for that flower purposefully? What if she had wanted to fall into the arms of someone who ruled not just men, but death itself? The thing that even Gods couldn't control? What if she was more than the victim the world made her out to be? Bored with innocence and starved for power. What if the story had always been hers to write?
And what if yours was too?
Slowly, deliberately, you raised your hands.
Simon flinched. The way beasts do when they're used to blows, not softness. But he didn't pull away. Your palms, sure but small, reached for his cheeks. You wiped your own tears from the ruins of his face, your thumb dragging slowly beneath the jagged curve of the split cheek. His breath caught. He looked up at you like you were the moon itself, like you were the only thing left standing after the ruin of empires.
"You're no hunter," you whispered. "No god of death."
The pomegranate seeds had been offered now, and your heart beat like a trapped bird behind your ribs. You were afraid of the doe's fate, of bleeding out quietly in the dirt, of being remembered only in silence. But there was no mother to pull you away this time.
Only Simon and yourself.
You remembered Agatha's words, seared into your bones: "Even the mightiest sons of Rome began their journey screaming, wet and helpless, born from the nurturing womb of our kin."
So be it.
You will feast.
"Simon," you tasted his name on your lips in a sudden realization.
"You are but a man."
Simon began to rise. Slow, uncertain, as if every movement might break the spell. His broad form unfolded from his knees, and he pulled the hem of his black tunic. You watched, breathless, as cloth slid over his skin, revealing scars so deep they looked like patterns carved into stone. The body of a man who had survived not just battles, but horrors unimaginable. He looked like Pluto forged from ash, death, and iron.
But so powerful in flesh, in heart he was but a man.
And you were but a woman.
You took a step back and sat on the rich furs plastered across his bed. A small, wry smile stretched across your lips when his tunic fell on the floor and he stared in awe. Then you reclined, spine arching against the roughness of fur and fabric, body shifting slightly to lure in the man in front of you. The flickering light touched your skin, and in the stillness, you reached out one hand towards him, palm open and ready.
Simon's mouth parted, and a groan vibrated low in his chest. Something primal. Something restrained by will and love alone. Simon approached carefully, the tension in his shoulders barely contained. You parted your thighs, making more room for him.
Simon knelt again. And then he worshiped.
His mouth found your flesh like a man starved. He kissed your bruised, not fully healed knee, the soft insides of your thigh, creeping closer to the pulsing but tender flesh. His breath trembled as he pressed his face into the patch of softness between your legs and inhaled, moaned – animal and devout. Your fingers curled in his hair, and Simon shuddered, eyes rolling back. His tongue, warm and slow, swept through your folds with such care and hunger you shivered, letting out a breathy moan. But he didn't hurry.
You gasped, whined, and moaned, another hand threading into his short blonde hair, body trembling as his tongue circled around your pulsing pearl and pressed into the leaking hole. You felt your breath shatter against your teeth. One of your legs immediately found its place on his shoulder and Simon contentedly grunted against your wet heat, wrapping his massive paws around the soft hips, caging your lower part against his maw.
You felt tears in the corner of your eyes. May mountain Olympys fall, it felt too good. Simon was so starved that it felt dirty and animalistic but so needed. His tongue was fever-warm and reverent, sinful in every stroke. When two thick fingers slid into the untouched heat of you and pressed against something inside, your body arched like a drawn bow, both hands flying up to cover your mouth, trying to swallow the moan tearing through you. The wet sound of him drinking from you was obscene, echoing in the dark like worship gone feral.
Your legs were trembling and your mind was hazy. Furs now felt too rough against the raw skin. You looked at Simon when he stood up, big and proud, face still in the evidence of your need. And dear Eros, that thing between his thighs was so heavy it couldn't stand upright. It looked painful and needy, big and ready, the angry head was weeping with translucent white. You swear you could see the pulsing of his heart in it.
You just couldn't stop staring and something curled in your tummy. The deep, slightly painful, but not unwelcome ache rose once again. Simon lowered himself and hovered above you, his left hand bent at the elbow, fisting the sheets near your head. The other went to the softness of your breast and when he caged your nipple between his pointer and middle finger, tugging, playing with the soft flesh, you whined, mouth open and needy. His left hand immediately let go of the sheets and cradled the back of your head. The moment was caught and his lips pressed into yours with such vigor like he was trying to eat your soul from the depths of your throat. It was suffocating. Overwhelming. Dirty. Right.
You wrapped your small hands around his scarred back and your trembling legs found their way around his strong hips. His mouth never left yours. But it was not his tongue that touched you next. It was his need. The heavy, aching want of him slid against your soaked folds. You gasped, he thrust his tongue inside your mouth, and then-
The unmistakable pain of something being torn, not in cruelty, but in desperate claiming. Your hips bucked, your thighs tensed, and your cry vibrated in his throat. A flash of heat, of pain, of overwhelming pressure tore through your core as he breached you with one powerful move until he was seated deep inside, his chest heaving over yours.
Simon froze, eyes wide with the sudden realization. You felt the shock pierce through him like a hasta pierces through the tender flesh.
He pulled back just enough to look between your bodies. And there it was. Slick and crimson, staining the place where your bodies joined. Where he had entered you. Too large, too intimate, almost entering the hot place deep inside you that was meant only to bear your children inside it. He took something sacred.
Simon's face twisted in something far beyond lust – it was rapture, madness, the wild ecstasy of a man who had finally tasted the forbidden and made it his. He looked possessed like something unholy had crawled beneath his skin and set him alight from the inside. His eyes, blown wide and black with hunger, drank in every tremor of your pain, every twitch of your surrender like they were proof of his absolute triumph. He looked like he won a war against Mars himself. Like he was promised everything in his life. But the only one he wanted was his woman.
You.
A low sound left his throat, a triumphant growl. The kind that he let out in the arena when he won yet another battle against yet another strong rival.
"Fuckin' hell," He chuckled once, broken and quiet, like a man too close to the edge. "Gods, what a fool I was. I thought you were just some soft-boned boy with a pretty mouth and no clue how to hold fucking blade."
Simon lifted his head and his brown and molten eyes searched your face like it held the secrets of the cosmos.
"When I saw you back by the river," he whispered, petting the short hair on your nape with his left hand, voice hoarse. "Thought I'd lost my mind. No cock. Just-" He bit down a groan and dragged his other palm down your side like he needed grounding. "Just this… glistening sweet heaven tucked between those beautiful legs. Built to take me. To keep me. Gods damn me, I even fell to my knees."
Simon pulled out just enough to see the blood glistening between your bodies a little bit better. His body went rigid and he started to move inside you, slow and powerful. Your body arched into him again and the hand that was stroking your side, circled around your waist, giving you the needed support and tenderness.
"I dreamt of this," he confessed, thrusting deeper. His left hand shifted to cup your cheek, clumsy but gentle. "Hundreds of nights. Always woke up snarling your false name with my cock in my fist. Imagining the wrong hole. But now I know better."
His lips brushed your jaw, frantic and possessive. "Tartarus take me, a battle-hardened man, on his knees over a pussy." then he groaned, your name like prayer on his tongue.
"But not just any pussy. Mine fucking nymph. My woman. My wife. All good and claimed from inside out now," he was shaking, panting through his teeth like a madman choking on prayer, his pace fastening. "It was me who tore your first blood. Me who marked that tight little cunt. And I'd give you my own blood if you asked," he snarled, looking right into your pleasure-clouded gaze.
"I hand you my gladius and guide your sweet fingers to the softest part of my throat. Let you open me like a pig and I'd thank you for it."
Simon's left hand grasped your much smaller palm and pressed it on your lower tummy. "Dove, do you feel how deep I am? Do you feel how I fit? You're never walking the same again. No one else is gonna know you like this," he panted and tore his hand away, clutching onto the fabric of the bed sheets once more.
His eyes were wide and burning, a step away from madness. A soldier broken open under moonlight and sweat. "You know you did this, don't you?" he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, panting like a beast. "How you turned me into this fucking lunatic?"
But you shook your head. Steady and sure, you reached for him, fingers tangling in his hair again, dragging him closer. You kissed him. Deep and full, the taste of your essence still lingering on his lips. When you broke the connection, you whispered into the burning air between you:
"I didn't. But I want it now. All of it. I want you, Simon"
And that shattered him.
His hips rolled into you, every inch of him driving closer to something he could call home now. You moaned beneath him, legs wrapping even tighter around him, pulling Simon deeper, needing the pain, the stretch, the bruising reality of him. You probably were going insane as well, but the way his calloused paws were grabbing at your soft flesh was so nice and savory.
"Fuck, love, you are making it so hard not to ruin you beyond repair,"
Your name left his lips like prayer, again and again. Simon kissed your throat, your breast, your shoulder. You laughed, breathless, body shaking with a newfound sensation. His breath hitched, hot, and ragged against the column of your neck. He hovered there, open-mouthed, nostrils flaring as though breathing in your pulse could anchor him. He breathed you in fast and heated like you were the needed air after a battle. Like he wanted to crawl into your skin and live there forever.
You only pressed his head into your neck, pulling him close until his teeth grazed your skin. And then his mouth began to move, dragging across your throat, your shoulder, your collarbone, and breast. Biting, calming, trying to devour.
"Mine," Simon howled.
“Yours,” you smiled.
When you came, you whined. A raw, broken thing. Tears spilled from your eyes as your walls clenched around him, your body trembling violently. He shifted and devoured your mouth again, thrusting harder.
Deeper.
Deeper!
Deeper!
"It hur- !"
Simon broke.
His entire body seized, trembled, then shuddered through the unbearable pleasure as his cock pulsed inside you, spilling molten heat in thick, primal bursts. One hand tangled in your short hair – not to hurt, just to hold – and the other wrapped so tight around you that it felt like he could break your bones. His eyes rolled back and his jaw slackened. If there were Gods, they showed themselves then, all of Olympus collapsing behind his eyes as he emptied himself into the woman who should've been a myth. The Gods may have left him to rot among the ashes of the battlefield, but they gave you to Simon. And he would have burned the whole world for such a gift.
You kissed your man through it. You kissed him like he was dying and you wanted to taste every last breath. You cried against his lips, and he fed you his soul with vigor. Your come mixed with his semen, thick and obscene, and the thin trail of blood painted the sheets. It was sacred, in the most perverse, unholy sense – and he loved you more for it.
Simon didn't move. Neither did you. Not for minutes. Maybe hours. The air was heavy, full of iron and want. You thought, absurdly, that if he pulled out right now, you would feel the hole left behind for the rest of your life. When he did move, it was sluggish and animal, his body slumping down beside yours like the hunt had finally drained from his bones. But he didn't let you go. No. Simone pulled you with him, dragged your wrecked body tight, your front against his chest, your thigh slung across his, forcing himself back into your sweet heat. Simon curled around you like something that had never been allowed to love, nose buried against your temple, lips pressed to your sweat-damp forehead as though you were the last warm thing on earth and he needed to touch just to believe it.
Your breath came in shallow pulls. Your body was sore and bruised in the sweetest way possible. A small pulse of pain sat low in your belly now, dull but constant, like your womb knew something unspeakable had happened and refused to let you forget it. Your lips were raw. Your throat burned. And despite everything, right now you felt the most loved than ever before.
And Simon thought you were beautiful, lying in his bed among the stained sheets and furs. Not just in the way most men say that to their women. No. Simon looked at your trembling body now and saw the world remade. A creature of filth and holiness, pain and rapture.
His woman. His Olympian vision, his little Goddess.
When the silence fell, you, fragile and raw from everything you'd just endured, still trembling with the lingering pulse of him inside, let out a laugh – soft, uneven, almost like a secret breaking free. Simon's body stiffened instantly, his breath hitching low in his throat, a shadow passing over his expression.
"What?" His voice was rough, thick with something fierce and uneasy.
You pressed your cheek against the heat of his chest, your skin flushed and warm from the closeness, your breath slow and steady.
"No one’s going to marry me now," you whispered, the words a quiet surrender, sleepy but certain. "I'm not a virgin anymore."
His whole body seemed to freeze for a heartbeat, and then a dark ripple of satisfaction shivered through him, his flesh twitching deep inside you like some wild animal tasting victory. His arm tightened possessively, curling around your waist like iron.
"Good," the word stretched taut between you, said in a voice as low and dark as the river Styx – thick with ominous promise and undeniable claim.
"That means only I can marry you now."
At those words, your lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile against his skin. Your man tipped his head back just enough, offering more skin, and you kissed him near the collarbone, soft and lingering, your mouth leaving an angry hickey that bloomed on his pale flesh like a secret brand. Simon nearly purred – a sound so primal and feral, like a beast finally tamed.
In that moment, you no longer felt the invisible eyes that had haunted you before.
The doe's silent stare faded into nothingness.
You stirred as if from a century of sleep, not by choice but by instinct. You were resting on your side with heavy limbs, sunk deep in furs you had not fallen asleep beneath. The bed was far too wide, and the sky behind the window was too dark. Then you felt a pleasant warmth. Not the kind born from blankets, but the unmistakable heat of a human's body curled around you.
Simon rested behind you.
The arm around your waist was massive – thick, scarred, and familiar, the shape of it bulging under the fur that was concealing your nude form. You felt stubble scrape your nape as a chin nuzzled against your neck. A low and pleased sound hummed behind your ear. You gasped softly and the arm pulled you back tighter. He wasn't asleep.
You tried to shift, and he inhaled the air roughly, puffing up his chest. A silent, solid weight, curved around you like a lion protecting its mate. Your head turned to the side slightly, and your gaze found his – half-lidded, shadowed by the deep blue of dusk, but unmistakably awake. No mask. Just bare skin, mussed pale hair, and those brown eyes.
Simon's gaze swept your face with something close to hunger, though not the cruel kind. The gaze of a man who believed he had seen a divine omen and still wasn't sure it wouldn't vanish with the next breath. A smirk ghosted the edge of his mouth.
"Finally awake, dove?" His voice was low, husky from disuse and restraint.
You didn't answer. Your body remembered too much, too fast. The ache between your legs, the bruise of his mouth on your skin, the way he had curled around you afterward. You shuffled and turned to him, nestling your face between his pecks. Simon chuckled lowly and lowered his face into your short hair. You lay there for some more time. Just relaxing in the warmth of each other.
Simon rose first. He pulled a black tunic over his massive form, shielding the scarred skin from your sleepy sight. You watched, stunned into silence, as he took your tunic, somehow folded neatly across a chair. You sat up on his bed and put your feet down on the cold floor. Without asking, he came to your side, eyes still shaded but focused entirely on you.
"Stay," he muttered. "Don't try to move. You shouldn't even try to walk now."
His hands were large and rough, but so careful. As if he thought the tunic would tear across your skin. As if he didn't trust the Gods not to punish him for touching something so soft.
You obeyed. You sat there, barely breathing, and let him dress you.
The hem slipped over your head with a whisper, and his fingers lingered, brushing the bruises on your ribs and the constellation of big and angry bite marks on your body. His throat flexed once, like he swallowed something bitter when the tunic finally slipped on. His face contorted in something like shame.
Then came the sandals. Simon crouched on one knee before you, and something about the image turned your breath to ash. It was the third time he'd kneeled before you, but the image still evoked some strange feeling in the depths of the gentle soul. You gripped the fabric of the tunic around your heart. Desperately trying to steal the beating inside your chest you stared at your own sandals.
"How did yo-"
"You've slept through the whole day." Simon caught your glance. "Got them back this morning. Took them off the riverbank before the camp woke up."
You said nothing, but when he lifted your foot gently into his lap, your breath caught. His thumb hovered just above the bruise on the joint. The skin was raw and there were little wounds from the endless marches in the same damned sandals. When the sand got in between the leather straps, it rubbed your skin until it bled.
Simon looked at the sandals and then his gaze turned back to the bruises. He stared at the slenderness of your ankle like it was something sacred. Your breath hitched when he lowered his head to kiss the joint where the biggest wound bloomed.
"You're not walking today," he said finally. "You won't make it ten steps."
"I can," you whispered, defiant as always.
"You do. But you won't," he said, his gaze meeting yours. "I'll carry you."
Then, slowly, he leaned forward, and without force, without command, pulled your body closer and up against his chest. It was like being gathered into arms made of earth and storm. You sank into him and felt the steady thrum of his heart against your ribs. The smile found its place on your lips.
He didnt even bother to pull on his mask because the camp was silent under the spell of Morpheus. The forest swallowed you two in silence, all things hushed beneath the twilight hour. Only the occasional stir of leaves, kissed by the wind, dared break the hush. You lay in his arms, limbs tucked close, breath brushing his collarbone. The world seemed to fold itself around the two of you, the dusky air painted in strokes of green and pewter, the shadows lengthening like watchful sentinels. Simon moved without a sound, like a beast at ease in his chosen wilds – step by step, all muscle and breath and will.
His eyes were ahead. Yours were on him.
You weren't clinging from fear now. You clung because it felt wrong to do anything else. Because in his arms, you didn't feel hunted anymore. You didn’t feel small. You felt kept and cherished.
The river appeared as if conjured – broad and silver and slow. Moonlight threaded across its surface like silk unraveling from the lap of Diana herself. Its voice was hushed, steady, beckoning.
Simon stopped at its edge and looked down at you with something like gravity stitched into his face. His breath warmed the curve of your temple.
"Thought we'd do this right," he murmured, almost to himself. "Clean ourselves. Start anew."
You nodded.
He stepped closer to the shallows and sat you gently on the same stone where you cried a night earlier. It held you like a memory, as if it had waited all day for this to happen again. It felt like something ancient was being honored.
Simon stood in silence for a moment. And then he turned his back to you and began to undress. There was nothing theatrical in the way he peeled the black tunic from his frame. He stripped down until he stood naked beneath the moon – his skin ghost-pale, marred with years of war, each scar a history carved in the flesh. This man was born of war. However, at that moment, standing beneath the stars, he looked like he had been sculpted not for death, but for you and you only. He folded his garments with precision, placed them on the nearby rock, and turned back to you.
His large hand slid toward your ankle, slow and deliberate. You felt the warmth of his palm before his skin even touched yours. His fingers undid the straps of your sandals with quiet care, as though he believed they might unravel the world if he pulled too hard. One fell open. Then the other. As if under some godly spell, he traced the length of your legs with his fingertips. His gaze shifted higher to the space between your thighs. To the mix of dried blood and seed, the small tremors still echoing through the fragile muscles that had welcomed him perfectly the night before. His jaw clenched.
"You're so…" Simon rasped. "So small. Didn't mean to-"
You reached and laid your fingers over his.
"I wanted you," you said softly. "And I got you."
His eyes met yours and you saw the faint vision of the smile on his lips. Without another word, he lifted you again and stepped into the river.
Simon's hand lingered on the gentle slope of your ribs, trailing down to the soft flesh just above your navel. There was no urgency in his touch, only something ancient and uncertain, like a sculptor afraid the marble might break beneath his palms. The water lapped at your bodies with a quiet rhythm, as if the river itself held its breath, unwilling to disturb the sanctity of what passed between you. His calloused fingertips slid over your hipbone, where the old bruises bloomed. He touched them with awe and guilt.
Then his voice cracked the silence, hoarse and splintered from the weight of what he could not hold inside.
"Why?" he rasped. "Why would you do this?"
You looked up, startled but not by the question, only by the unnatural helpless ache behind his usually firm voice. Simon's face was shadowed in moonlight, half-lit like some old god fallen to earth, lips tight with bewilderment, not fury. His brows drew together, a furrow deep and grim between them, and you felt his breath on your temple as he spoke again:
"You are a strong woman." As though that in itself was an accusation. Or a plea. You couldn't tell under which category it fell. "But this is an army. And men here…" His throat worked around something heavy. "We're not kind."
His hold remained firm and possessive. Like a man terrified that even breathing too hard might undo whatever spell had placed you in his arms.
"You're lucky it was me," he finished at last, voice barely audible. "It could've been someone else. Anyone else."
You blinked up at him. Your heart beat hard, not from fear, but from the aching tenderness in the hollow of your chest. There were so many things you could say. So many truths buried beneath your tongue. But you reached up slowly, fingers wet and cool, and pressed your palm against the scarred side of his face. Your beloved's eyes flinched at the contact and he leaned his head closer.
"I'm smarter than you think I am, Simon," you said softly, lips curving in a small, wry smile.
Still, he said nothing, but his face softened at the sound of his name. He stared at you, searching your face like a soldier trying to read a divine omen in smoke or entrails. Like if he understood you, really understood you, maybe he could finally be free of the brutal things he had done to survive.
You smoothed your thumb across the scar on his cheekbone. Water clung to your skin like dew.
"I want to wash you too," you whispered. "Will you take us to the shallows please?"
Simon obeyed. When he set you down in the shallows, the water climbed slowly up your legs, kissing your calves, your knees, then resting coolly against your belly. Across from you, Simon moved without a sound. He dropped down into the waters, letting the lazy current lap around his shoulders and throat, head now level with the center of your tummy. It made him look smaller, though he never truly could be. His hands found your hips and stilled there. He closed his eyes and stilled.
Your fingers slipped into the moonlit surface, breaking the illusion of glass and cupping some water to pour over his head. Then you ran your hands slowly through his hair, the strands heavy and slick with river water, curling gently against your knuckles. Then down, across his brow, where lines had etched themselves into skin. Across the old scar at his temple. Down the bridge of his crooked nose. You touched every scar like a votive. Traced the jagged geography of his face with a devotion that made your own throat close.
Simon's eyes remained closed, lashes wet, lips pressed together in something close to surrender. His breath slowed under your touch. His body softened. He leaned into the motion, into you, and let the river carry the weight of all he had been. You had never imagined it was possible. Not with The General. A man brought to war, formed in the pitiless fires of combat, now kneeling before you in the river like he had been waiting for absolution his entire life and didn’t dare to ask for it.
For some strange reason, you wanted to protect the man in front of you.
Simon reached for you and his thick arms wrapped around you in the exact same gesture as the night before. He pulled you flush against his chest, your belly pressing against his face once again, The water curled around your forms like a seal, consecrating the space between you.
The silence felt holy.
You rode into the village beneath the bruised light of late afternoon, cloaked in tunic and mantle, seated before him on the massive black warhorse that moved like a beast bred in Pluto's stables. Simon rode fully armored – a living sculpture of dread, draped in the crimson and silver regalia of an Imperial Legate. His mask caught the light, bone gleaming beneath the heavy helmet, and the villagers watched in frozen silence, their hands stilling on laundry lines and sickle blades, children yanked back by trembling hands as if the sound of hooves might crack open the sky. No one spoke. It was not every day that a run-away daughter of the merchant returned in soldier's clothing, short-haired and wrapped in the arms of a legend most believed half-myth, half-nightmare.
The horse stopped at the edge of your father's domus, and your sandals touched the familiar stones of the path again for the first time in many moons. Simon dismounted after you, the sound of his boots on the rocks as loud as thunder. He didn't take off the mask. Just walked to the entrance right behind you, towering and terrifying, flanked in iron like a creature summoned from Mars' own army.
Your mother was the first to appear, her hand flying to her mouth when she saw your face, her tears falling freely when she wrapped you in her waiting arms. "What has he done to you?" she whispered, and your sister stood behind her, trembling. "Has this monster taken you by force?" But you placed your hand over their backs, calm and whole and steady, and told them – no, you had chosen this. Chosen him.
Your father came out next. Still as gloomy and followed by your brother. Simon didn't wait for the pleasantries. He stood before your old man, looked him in the eyes, and spoke in a voice low and iron-shod: "I'll marry her. I need your permission."
And your father, though trembling, saw too clearly what this was. A living weapon forged by the Empire, a man who could end families, cities, nations even – wanted his daughter. It would bring honor. Status. Wealth. And more importantly, protection. In the mind of your father, that was a lucrative deal.
"Granted," the old man nodded once and gestured to your younger brother. "Go," he barked. "To the temple. Tell the priest they will wed at dawn."
That night, Simon stayed beneath your family's roof. When your father began to protest that it was improper, that no man should lie with a woman before the vows, Simon slowly turned, reached for the knots at the side of his helm, and pulled off the helmet and then the mask. The breath in the room stopped.
He looked the old man right in the eyes and said: "Her first blood was mine already."
You only chuckled at the shocked face of your father.
You two slept in your old room, though it felt strange and small now. The bed creaked beneath the weight of your beloved, but he moved so gently, wrapping himself around you like a living shield. His arm held you as if you might disappear, his hand splayed across your belly like a prayer. He didn't speak. Just rested his brow to the back of your head and breathed.
At first light, the village temple glowed with sacred oil and morning mist. No trumpets, no fanfare – only the priest in his white toga, your family gathered in uneasy silence. The altar was small, carved from river stone, a bowl of incense lit beside it to call Juno's blessing. You wore the red stola that was meant for your sister, simple but proud. Your hair, still too short for proper bridal braids, was crowned instead with a garland of olive and laurel that your sister and mother quickly weaved this morning.
Simon removed his mask before stepping to the altar, laying it on the ground beside him like an offering. He wore no armor, remaining only in the lower garments of a general's attire. His face was scarred, pale, and rough, but his eyes never left you. At the sight of your smile, his lips also contorted, his face gleaming with careful happiness, small wrinkles gathering around his eyes. You joined hands in dextrarum iunctio, palms meeting as the priest intoned the vows.
You belonged to Simon now, and Simon belonged to you.
Your mother cried again. Your sister smiled through her tears. Your brother looked away. Your father gave his blessing like a merchant closing a deal. But Simon… Simon looked at you like he was finally breathing air after a lifetime underwater.
By sunset, the saddle was packed. You didn't take anything. Not even the comb your mother tried to press into your hand. You refused and Simon intervened: "She needs nothing," he had said. "I'll give her everything she needs. Better than this place ever did."
And so he lifted you onto the horse once more, mounted behind you in his blood-dark cloak and armor, the world blazing gold beneath the setting sun. You did not look back. Not at the house. Not at the village. You only leaned into the warmth of his chest, let the rhythm of the road fold around you, and asked carefully:
"What's next?"
He smiled against the crown of your head. You couldn't see it or feel it, you just knew.
"Next - home," he said. "In Rome. With me."
By the end of the third month, he lay in a warm bed with your back curled against him, his face buried in your regrown hair, breathing in its soft, clean scent like it was the very air keeping him alive. You were so impossibly small, so achingly tender in his arms, that something in his scarred, battle-hardened heart melted without resistance.
The house was quiet – not silent like barracks or graveyards, but alive in its hush, pulsing with breath and memory and peace. Somewhere beyond the open windows, the streets of Rome exhaled their night sounds: a cartwheel creaking down stone, laughter echoing from a far-off tavern, the rustle of leaves stirred by the summer wind. But inside, it was only the two of you, entangled like roots under sacred soil.
Simon had accepted the Emperor's offer. Became Head of the Praetorian Guard, entrusted with the life of the most powerful man in the Empire. He wore red and white now, gold thread at his cuffs, and all of Rome looked at him with fear and awe. But none of it mattered half so much as returning to this house, this bed, this warmth. To you.
Simon had fought in deserts and snowfields. Had held dying comrades in his arms, had cleaved through enemy ranks without blinking. He had never feared the dark. But now, with you beside him, he feared blinking and missing a second of this. He feared the sunrise for daring to interrupt what the moon had given him back then by the river. He feared moving, in case the weight of his love might crush what was blooming delicately inside you.
Your body had finally healed. The bruises he had once washed from your thighs with clumsy hands were gone now, faded into the soft, sun-kissed skin that bore no trace of violence – only warmth and life. Your hips had rounded slightly, as though preparing to cradle something more. The bruises on your breasts were gone too and lately, those beautiful mounds became even more weighty and sensitive. Your cheeks flushed with health. You had begun to smile more – at the olive seller in the market, at the cat that visited the windowsill each morning, at him.
At him.
Every time you smiled at Simon like he was not monstrous, not ruined, not dangerous, something bloomed inside his chest that felt too fragile for a man like him to hold. He felt healed by you.
Simon closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the quiet, fragile weight inside his chest. The arrows Cupid had once driven into his heart no longer throbbed with pain. They had bloomed into flowering branches in the sacred garden of Juno, fragile and fragrant with hope.
Wordless and unsure, he offered the goddess a clumsy prayer as his calloused palm rested against the soft skin of your lower belly.
You three were finally home.
3 faces of love: Eros, Cupid, Juno.
Eros - sexual urges, he is the god of sex and carnal desires.
Cupid - first love, flitting between passion and desire, he is the playful god personifying love that will hit your heart fast and painful like an arrow.
Juno - deep, sacred, and lasting love, fidelity, devotion, she is the goddess of marriage, protectress of women and motherhood, and patroness of the home.
Three faces, three months, three humans.
But what if...? (another ending)
That’s my first attempt at writing smut. Hope it’s not too cringy! Also, my first finished fic! I had so much fun writing it and I hope you enjoyed reading it, my love!
Feel free to share your opinions and impressions in the comments or even in my DMs. I would appreciate some feedback! c;
Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life at its first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.
*DISCLAIMER*
I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment.
The only thing I own is Uley Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.
Chapter: 5/?
A/N: Sorry I haven’t updated in a bit. Working on my business and some health issue, but hopefully I will post a bit more regularly. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories. You can request at any time any story or one shot you desire. Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.
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Chapter 5
Carlisle couldn’t believe that (Y/N) had been the first one to take a step forward. He was still working when his phone had vibrated in his pocket. He only stopped to look at it once he was done with the page he was holding at the moment. When (Y/N)’s name popped up on the screen, a smile painted on his face. It was a short conversation, but the blank page on his planner for Sunday now had an important activity at five-thirty. He felt nerves building up in the pit of his belly, anticipation building inside of him. A day and a half stood between him and seeing (Y/N) again.
The emotions he was experiencing treaded on thin water. No matter how much he wanted to be next to her, there would always be a treaty standing in the way. Unlike Edward and Bella, (Y/N) lived in LaPush and was under close watch by the alpha of the Quileute tribe. Although his son’s relationship with the human from Forks was forbidden, it was a tad more manageable than whatever he was discovering with the sister of a shapeshifter.
He ran his hands through his golden hair and let out a sigh of defeat. There wasn’t much left to do at the office, so he packed everything up and headed home. He was not ready for whatever interrogation was waiting for him back at the house. Carlisle had yet to go home that week, deciding to stay as close to (Y/N) as he possibly could. He would rest in his office, pretending to sleep as to not raise suspicion from his coworkers. No one questioned as to why the doctor had not gone home, it had been a busy week and he was the best doctor they had.
Carlisle put his car in park and stared at his front door— Alice would be behind the door, a million questions about (Y/N) would be asked, none to which he’d have the answer to. He grabbed his briefcase and braced himself. Before his hand could reach for the door handle, it opened.
“Hi, Carlisle!” Alice perked. Her face was lit up with a giant grin and her eyes held a playful stare. She didn’t need Edward’s mind-reading powers to know what he had been up to that week. “How was your week?”
“Tiring, Alice. I’d really just like some peace and quiet.”
“Edward?”
“He’d rather be back in his office, reading with (Y/N),” Edward chuckled from behind a book. “No other advancements in the relationship. But they do have a date on Sunday.”
“A date?! Oh, that’s wonderful, Carlisle.”
“It is, and Edward, you know I don’t appreciate you reading my mind to divulge private information,” he smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to my office.”
Thankfully, Alice had left him alone and he was able to decompress in his office. He had grown accustomed to the books he had collected over the years, but seeing (Y/N) fawn over them awakened his love for them once more. His golden eyes scoured through all the spines and a smile was painted on his face. He reminisced on the first time (Y/N) came into his office. She had been uncertain about going in, knowing the important work he was doing; she didn’t want to become a distraction, she had said. The girl didn’t know that even in absence, she was his biggest distraction.
“Come in.” A knock on the door had captivated Carlisle’s attention and broke his train of thought. “Oh, good evening, Esme.”
“That girl really has a pull on you, huh?” She grinned. “I haven’t seen you smile this big in a long time.”
“She’s truly something special.”
“You shouldn’t feel guilty for pursuing happiness, Carlisle.” Esme smiled. Through the years she had come to know Carlisle in a deeper level, being able to read his silence and know his thoughts without having to read his mind. “It’s been long enough.”
“I just do not believe that I should delve into the risk of being with her for my own happiness. I must think of the family and how our relationship could affect your safety,” he sighed. “It’s selfish.”
“Carlisle, after a century of loneliness, no one will judge you for being selfish this one time.” The forever 26-year-old rested her hand on the doctor’s shoulder, a reassuring energy being transferred from it. “You deserve to explore this relationship for yourself, we’re all big enough to take care of ourselves. And if what Alice sees is true, this is destined to happen. Allow yourself to have something good in your life.”
“I can’t say that I won’t have my doubts about it, but I can tell you I will try my best to enjoy whatever this may be.”
They both shared a smile just before Esme left the room, leaving Carlisle alone with his thoughts. His heart and his brain were in dangerous turmoil, debating on choosing possible happiness or ensuring the treaty was preserved. They were already crossing a line by allowing Edward and Bella to have a relationship. But he would give himself permission to see where this adventure with (Y/N) Uley would take him.
Saturday flew by quickly since (Y/N) spent most of the day in and out of sleep. Her mother had not allowed her to do anything else. Following Dr. Cullen’s instructions, Allison limited her time in front of the tv and computer, closed all the curtains in the house to minimize her exposure to bright lights, made sure she was well hydrated while she was awake, fed her protein centered foods accompanied with other with antioxidants and rich in omega-3s, and a lot of rest. She had not left her room since she had gotten home Friday night. But (Y/N) had made sure to tell her mother that she had an important meeting on Sunday.
It took a long time to convince Allison to let her daughter go, agreeing to at least driving her up to Forks so she could meet up with her school friend. (Y/N) had decided to lie about her meeting with Carlisle, opting to tell her she was meeting up with a schoolmate that had graduated a year before her. Her mother had questioned why this friend couldn’t pick her up from her house, but somehow (Y/N) had been able to convince her mother that her friend was spending time with their family in Forks and was on a tight schedule to not miss a flight back home. Truly, she didn’t want Carlisle to risk crossing the treaty their ancestors had made, knowing the importance the elders held to it. Carlisle had agreed to meet her at the Art Center in Forks and return her there once they were done to the same place, only leaving after her mother would pick her up.
On Sunday morning, she woke up earlier than she had intended. (Y/N) had passed the night tossing and turning, nerves running through her veins for the encounter she’d have to endure in the afternoon. As excited as she was to see Carlisle again, she couldn’t help but feel anxious about the time they would spend together alone. The past five days had been comfortable and exciting, getting to know each other a welcome activity they had partaken in, but that was seen in a friendly light. Now she was looking at him in a way she had not looked at anyone else. (Y/N) wanted nothing more at the moment than to have Carlisle look at her in the same way, and today would be a testament to whether their relationship would take that route or not.
“Morning, mom!” (Y/N) perked as she walked down the stairs following the smell of breakfast coming from the kitchen.
“Good morning, darling.” Allison had her back turned to her daughter, plating the eggs she had just finished cooking. “Sit down, breakfast is almost done.”
“Smells good,” she sat. A few more seconds, Allison turned and placed two plates on the table for the pair.
“So, you excited for today?” (Y/N) nodded, not wanting to give away too much information. “I know I won’t be able to meet this school friend but tell me more about her. How long have you guys been friends? You haven’t said much about this mystery person.”
“Um, we met in my junior year, she was a senior at the time, and we’ve kept in close contact. She has some family in Forks and since we haven’t seen each other in a bit she invited me to go out for a bit. Her time’s a bit short cause she had a flight tonight so I’m sorry you won’t get to meet her.”
“Oh, and what’s her name?”
“Um,” (Y/N) had to think quickly on a pretend name for this fake friend. “Carine. Maybe next time she’s around you can meet her.”
“That’d be great, honey! I’d be delighted to meet this friend of yours. I’m sad that I have to work this afternoon, it’d be fun to finally meet someone from the time you were in school. You never talked about friends or anything back then.”
“I know, it seemed like the most boring part of my life when I was in school.” She chuckled dryly, hiding the truth behind her laughter.
“But I hope you have a good time there. Let me know as soon as you guys leave Port Angeles, so I know when to leave, alright?”
“Of course,” (Y/N) smiled. “Thanks, mom.”
“Any time, honey.”
After breakfast, (Y/N) cleaned all the used dishes and pans before going to her room to get ready with enough time to overthink her outfit and review talking topics in her head. As the time arrived to leave the house, her bed was covered in various items of clothing, her floor littered with shoes, all her jewelry scattered across her desk. Her hair had been braided and she had applied the slightest bit of makeup to cover any blemishes she didn’t want to be seen, a bit of mascara, and enough highlight to make her look awake and glowing. Rare was the time she did herself up like this, but she wanted to look her absolute best for her encounter with Carlisle – even if he had already seen her at her worst.
“You’ve always looked so pretty in red you know.” (Y/N) jumped slightly at the sound of her mother’s voice. “I think this is the one.”
“That’s perfect!” (Y/N) turned around and smiled at the piece of fabric her mother was holding in her hands. Taking it from her hands, Allison smiled at her daughter, her happiness being so contagious.
“Are you sure you’re just seeing a friend, (Y/N)?” Allison mused, a playful grin teasing her lips.
“Yes, mother. Just a friend.”
“Okay, honey,” she laughed. “Now, hurry up. It’s almost four.”
“Thanks, mom. I’ll be down in a sec.”
(Y/N) worked quickly to finish getting dressed, opting for a mix of silver and gold jewelry to accompany the red clothing she was sporting. She decided on some black boots to cover her feet. Although it was summer, Washington was still quite cold. Pairing her outfit with a black leather jacket, she sprung down the stairs with a bag on her back, finding her mother already waiting for her by the door.
“You look beautiful, darling.” Allison smiled, amazed at how much her daughter had grown up. It had only been four years, but so much had changed in that small amount of time. Allison had lost a son, and her relationship with her daughter was close to none. But her daughter was here now, and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do to keep her close.
“Thanks, mom.”
The pair walked outside, getting into the car to drive to Forks. It was only a twenty-minute car ride, but the whole way (Y/N)’s hands felt clammy, and her heart was beating quickly. She tried her best to hide her nerves from the figure next to her, but every time Allison would steal a glance at the passenger side, she noted her daughter’s feelings. She did well not to draw attention to it, knowing it would do no good to her child. Deep down she knew (Y/N) wasn’t meeting up with just a friend.
“Call me as soon as you leave Port Angeles, okay?”
“I will, mom. I promise,” (Y/N) smiled. “Drive safe. Love you.”
“Love you, too. Have fun.”
(Y/N) watched as her mother’s car drove away, leaving a trail of car smoke behind it. She sat on a bench, waiting for Carlisle to arrive. And with every second that passed, her anxiety rose. Every time (Y/N) looked at her watch, she felt the time was getting closer but no sign of the blond. Before she knew it, 4:30 had arrived. She was starting to feel nervous about the possibility of a stand-up. Her first date had been ruined before it had begun.
In the Cullen household, Carlisle was running around exasperated. Alice had been berating him over and over about what he was wearing, what car he should take, what excuse to say on why he wasn’t eating that seemed human enough – things Carlisle had already known.
“Alice, thank you for everything, but I’m already late. What will she think if I don’t show up soon?”
“Oh, I’m just so excited, Carlisle. I’m glad you’re doing something for yourself.”
“Thank you, Alice. But if you don’t let me leave it will all be for naught.”
“Yes, yes! Go. Have fun!”
Alice waved at the retreating black Mercedes that was leaving the house, smiling at her father figure, the thought of his future only bringing her happiness.
On the bench, (Y/N) sat growing angsty. Carlisle wasn’t late by much, just a couple of minutes, but he didn’t strike her as someone that was tardy. She was starting to believe that maybe he was married, and he had been caught by his wife trying to leave. The breath hitched in her throat and tears were stinging the corners of her eyes. She fidgeted with her hands and followed with her eyes every car that passed in front of her on the street, none being Carlisle’s.
It was 4:50 when a black car stopped in front of the art center, the driver’s window rolling down. She felt her lungs finally fill back with air when she saw the pearly white smile she had been thinking of.
“Sorry for the tardiness, I’m normally early.” Carlisle got out of the car and opened the passenger door for her. “I hope you can forgive me for this.”
“No worries, I understand,” (Y/N) smiled. The jittery nervousness was back, but that underlying feeling that he was hiding something from her was still there. Pushing her intrusive thoughts back, she got in the car and waited for Carlisle to get in.
The first few minutes of the ride were silent, only the soft humming of the A/C and the music from the radio were heard. The silence was comfortable, his presence having a calming effect on her. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel to the beat of the song, not sure what to say. They were both too nervous to be the first ones to speak up.
“How have you been feeling these past few days?” The doctor in him couldn’t help but shine through to start a conversation.”
“I’ve been feeling okay, my mom won’t let me do anything other than what you recommended. It’s been quite boring, to say the least,” she chuckled. “Nothing like spending time in your office.”
“Can’t say I didn’t miss you there on Saturday. Kept looking up at the door waiting for you to come in at any point.” He smiled brightly, still looking at the road in front of him. “It was fun having you around.”
“It was fun being around. I think I might enjoy actually working there.”
“I would hope so.” His laugh was like music to her ears, as sweet as honey. He gleamed as he smiled, it was almost like she could see shimmer emanating from him. “You’re always welcome to come around whenever you like. As I said at the hospital, my door is always open.”
“Thank you, Carlisle. I truly appreciate that.”
It didn’t take long before they were at the restaurant. Although they did almost miss the reservation, Carlisle’s fast driving made sure they got there during the tardy window they had for their table.
Once they were settled at their table, they were finally able to stare into each other’s eyes. It had been such a short amount of time but there was adoration shining in their pupils. Anyone that saw them would think they were a couple with several years of love between them. (Y/N) believed everything was happening quickly too. The way she had become so infatuated with the man she had just met two weeks ago – she barely knew his name, but she felt so deeply for him.
(Y/N) wasn’t the only one who felt such strong feelings. Carlisle was feeling like a schoolboy in love, willing to ignore his instincts to have even just an inch of closeness to (Y/N). In two weeks, he had grown captivated by her, in a way he had hoped to be when meeting Esme – who in a century of being together had only grown to be his friend. But with every beautiful thought he had of (Y/N), he couldn’t help but think of everything standing in the way of their happiness. Even if they got together and revealed feelings for each other, they still had to overpass the treaty, the supernatural secret, and the dangers that might arise from their closeness.
“You’re not eating?” (Y/N) questioned, eyeing the plate of spaghetti and meatballs in front of her.
“I had a heavy lunch,” he reassured. “I’m still full of that, but you enjoy. Don’t worry about me.”
“You could have said something, though. I could’ve eaten at home, and we could be doing something else. It’s not very entertaining to watch someone eat.”
“I don’t mind.” She raised her eyebrow. “Truly. We can go get ice cream when you’re done so you can feel at ease of eating here.”
“Alright, that’s a deal.”
They engaged in small conversation before (Y/N) was done with her meal. There was a small ice cream shop near the restaurant where they both got a cone. The afternoon was comfortable, and a walk seemed good enough.
“Does this ease your worries of being the only one eating?”
“A tad, but next time you have to eat also. Or we should do something we can both enjoy.”
“So, I have a chance to do this a next time?” She grinned before taking a lick from the ice cream she held. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Well, I’m definitely not saying no.”
The sun had started to go down and, through the fog, the sky was turning a beautiful orange and pink hue. It was truly something out of a movie. As they walked down the strip, their hands danced around each other. Inching closer and closer, not daring to touch without permission. They both felt the closeness of their hands, neither responding to the calling of proximity they were yearning.
“Can I…” They both spoke up at the same time, a laugh interjecting the rest of their questions.
“Go ahead,” she chuckled.
“I was just wondering if I could hold your hand.”
“Funny, I was wondering the same.” They both smiled at each other, inching their hands quickly together.
A spark was exchanged through their skin, his coldness instantly perceived by her warmer skin. (Y/N) attributed the cold temperature to the ice cream he had been holding, not caring about the difference in degrees – it felt comforting in a way for her. (Y/N) smiled up at Carlisle and got closer to him, enjoying the cone in her hand and the presence of the man beside her.
Carlisle was surprised that she didn’t recoil when she felt his hand in hers, she seemed to actually enjoy the small act of intimacy. He was overjoyed that (Y/N) was reciprocating the feelings he was experiencing, but he could sense a bit of doubt in her.
“Is something the matter, (Y/N)?”
“What do you mean?” (Y/N) looked up at Carlisle, wondering if he could read her mind.
“It seems something might be troubling you.”
“It’s nothing to worry about, Carlisle. Don’t worry.”
“But I can see it’s bothering you.” Carlisle was now standing in front of her, his cone already discarded, and placed his free hand on her cheek. “You can tell me anything, (Y/N).”
“Alright,” she leaned into his touch before grabbing both his hands in hers. “There is something that I have been questioning.”
“What is it?”
“My mother commented on something the other day. Apparently, there’s talk that you’re married and have kids already with this person. And, as much as I like you, I would not enjoy being put into the position of being the other woman.” Although (Y/N) had gathered the courage to voice her worries, she was not able to look into his eyes when she spoke these words. She was putting everything on the table, and she didn’t know how he would take it.
“(Y/N), I can assure you now and forever I would never put you in a position where you’d have to go against what you believe. And this will not be the exception.” He lifted her chin and held her stare so she would trust in the words he was declaring. “I am not married, and I have never been. I adopted 5 teenagers with my best friend and people just assume that we are a couple. I am tremendously infatuated with you, (Y/N), and I wouldn’t want anything to come between whatever could flourish between us. I hope you can trust that all I’ve said is nothing but the truth.”
“I do, Carlisle,” she smiled. “I don’t believe there’s any reason for you to lie to me, and I appreciate your honesty. I’m excited to see what will become of us.”
“You truly are something special, (Y/N) Uley.” A smile painted onto his face as his eyes flickered from her eyes to her lips, wanting nothing more than to seal that statement with a kiss.
“As are you, Carlisle Cullen.” The man would not wait long before their lips first made contact.
(Y/N) stood on her tiptoes and balanced herself holding onto one of Carlisle’s arms, closing the gap between them – Carlisle lowered his head to meet her halfway. Electricity rang through their bodies, feeling a ripple in time where pieces of a puzzle had finally fallen into place. Their lips both curled into a smile, and Carlisle’s hand landed on (Y/N)’s neck to deepen the kiss.
The girl wasn’t sure if she was dreaming – this being a strange fever dream had crossed her mind. But being able to touch him and be as close as she was now told her that she wasn’t.
On the other hand, as happy as he was, Carlisle couldn’t help but feel guilty. Nothing stopped the thought that he could be putting his family in danger, or worse, (Y/N). He knew just by having her be associated with the Cullen clan she would have a target on her back, and if the Quileute tribe found out of their relationship it could be grounds for the dissolution of the treaty. Carlisle would never forgive himself if he did anything to jeopardize the lives of the people he most cared for. But for now, he would allow himself to enjoy the moment and take everything as it developed.
Characters: Female Reader Uley Character, Sam Uley, Allison Uley, Charlie Swan, Bella Swan, Seth Clearwater, Billy Black, Jacob Black, Emily Young, Paul Lahote, Harry and Sue Clearwater, Leah Clearwater
Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life at its first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.
*DISCLAIMER*
I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment.
The only thing I own is Uley Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.
Chapter: 3/?
A/N: Hello, Cullens! If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.
Follow Me! it would really help me out 🥺
<-Previous | Next->
Chapter 3
(Y/N) was in awe of the man standing before her. A pale young doctor with blond hair and striking golden eyes. His face held a warm smile that made her feel at ease and warm inside. Although it did falter for a millisecond, something she attributed to the shadows cast by the darkroom. He seemed stuck in a trance but entered the room swiftly.
“So, how’s the patient? Sensitive to light, I see,” the doctor commented on the unlit room.
“Yeah, turned them off. Seemed to bother her,” Charlie answered, (Y/N) being too struck to muster up words.
“That’s alright.” He smiled, finishing his conversation with Charlie, and turning to her. “Hi, (Y/N). I’m Dr. Carlisle Cullen. Hit your head pretty hard, huh?”
“Yeah, I guess. It’s the only thing that could explain the headache,” she answered hoarsely.
“Well, your CT scans all came out perfectly. It does seem you have a minor concussion and I had to stitch up your forehead. But other than that, you can leave as soon as you sign the discharge papers. For the next seven to ten days try your best to engage in low impact activities, nothing that might move your head around too much, and try your best to not further injure yourself,” he chuckled. “If any symptoms persist after that time frame, come back to see me as soon as possible. Would you be taking her home, Sheriff Swan?”
“Yes, doctor. Her truck was quite mangled up.” Charlie stood beside (Y/N).
“Perfect, I’ll have a nurse send by the discharge papers and you’re free to go. Hope you feel better soon,” he smiled, and as quickly as he had arrived, he was gone.
Carlisle couldn’t wait to get out of the room. The smell emitting from the girl laying on the hospital bed created a hunger that ravaged his body like nothing he had felt in over two centuries. He knew exactly what this meant and the repercussions it would bring. He knew he couldn’t be near her, yet a part of him didn’t want to be apart from her any second longer. Carlisle had found his blood singer and his mate in the sister of his enemy.
Inside the room, (Y/N) was left dumbfounded by the sudden departure of the doctor. She felt a strong magnetic pull towards Carlisle, something she had never felt in her life. Before she could ask anything else, the older man had left the unlit room. Charlie was outside on the phone, possibly speaking to her mother. In walked a nurse, holding in one hand (Y/N)’s clothes and in the other a clipboard with papers. (Y/N) got dressed as quickly as she could, still feeling a little woozy from the pain killers, and signed the papers to be released.
After she was done, she exited the room and was met with the Sheriff.
“Ready to go home?” He asked, a sad smile adorning his face.
“Definitely,” she smiled. “By any chance, were you able to retrieve the bags from the back of the truck?”
Charlie chuckled, of course, the girl would be worried about other things. “Yeah, I had my buddy bring them around after he towed the truck.”
“Thanks, Charlie.” (Y/N) smiled and followed the tall man to the cruiser. Walking slowly and carefully, she finally made it into the police car and sat on the passenger seat.
Her head was still hurting, and her thoughts were still hazy, but the only certain thing was that she wanted to know more of the pale doctor that had ailed her wounds.
The drive to her house was short, and outside she was met with her worried mother and a scared brother. As soon as the car stopped, Allison and her eldest son rushed to the passenger side of the cruiser.
“Oh, honey, what happened?” Allison said between tears.
“I think I hit my head or something,” (Y/N) chuckled. Allison was not amused. “I’m okay, mom. A deer jumped out and I swerved to avoid hitting it, but the car slid and hit a tree. Luckily, Sheriff Swan was close by and got me to the hospital.”
“Yes, thank you so much, Sheriff Swan. Don’t know what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.”
“Just doing my job, Allison. Glad I could get to her on time.” Charlie smiled. “Now, Dr. Cullen said that her symptoms might last a few days, but they shouldn’t last for more than ten days.”
“What happens if it goes longer?” Sam asked.
“I die,” (Y/N) held back a laugh. Clearly, no one was amused. “Just kidding, I have to go back to get checked. Jeez, tough crowd.”
“Thank you for bringing her over, Charlie.” Allison shifted the attention. “And for taking the truck over to Jacob.”
“No worries, Allison. Just doing my job.” He smiled. “Make sure this one doesn’t get into any more trouble.”
The sheriff smiled and got back into the cruiser, leaving once the family trio was inside the house. Inside the house, Sam quietly went up the stairs to put (Y/N)’s bags in her room and Allison helped her daughter up the stairs. The Uley son was quiet as he put away his sister’s bags and kept to himself as his mother helped (Y/N) settle on the blue bed.
Only the rustling of the paper bags and the creaking of the bed was heard in that room. There was a palpable tension in it and the air was almost choking. (Y/N) laid in bed and watched her family members move around without interacting with each other. The girl couldn’t understand the strain that had separated her loved ones.
“I’m surprised you got here when I called, Sam,” Allison broke the silence in a sharp tone.
“Mom,” (Y/N) interjected.
“My sister was hurt, of course I would be here,” Sam defended himself.
“I guess I’m just shocked that you’d leave whatever is so important that you always do for your sister,” Allison added. “You know, like you did last night.”
“Mom, that’s enough.”
“It’s fine, (Y/N).” Sam kissed her forehead. “I’ll come by tomorrow in the afternoon to help you in here. Bye, mom.”
Sam left in the blink of an eye, leaving an angered mother and a saddened sister.
“You didn’t have to do that, mom. It was just a dinner.”
“It’s also two years of not knowing my own son,” Her mother sighed. “It’s nothing for you to worry about right now, darling. Why don’t you rest for now?”
“Okay, mom. Love you, good night.” (Y/N) heard her mother respond as she drifted to sleep.
Over in the Cullen house, a pixie-like vampire was waiting excitedly for the doctor that posed as her father. Alice Cullen had the gift of future sight, a gift she never took for granted. A couple weeks ago the young vampire had gotten a vision of a very important person that would come into Carlisle’s life. She couldn’t see this person’s face, meaning she was grouped into the beings that clouded her sight, shapeshifters and Isabella Swan. But she was able to witness a long life of beautiful moments between them and Carlisle. That morning, as Carlisle was getting ready for work, Alice noticed that the doctor had dressed in the exact clothing she had foreseen. Today was the day they would meet. On the other side of the house was a smiling Edward Cullen, the second oldest vampire in the coven. His gift allowed him to know exactly why his adopted sister was anxiously waiting for Carlisle. Those weeks ago, he had seen the vision Alice had running through her head. He had also witnessed the outfit choice of the doctor and shared the excitement the small vampire had. Edward had spent almost a century alongside the doctor and had been equally single until last year when the forever 17-year-old met Bella.
Although to the public eye Carlisle and Esme Cullen were a couple, the reality was that neither had a mate. As Carlisle turned more young people into vampires, the pair decided that it would be easier if they presented themselves as a married couple. To others, they were a couple in their late 20s with 5 teenage, adopted children because they couldn’t have kids of their own. But the Cullen family knew how much their parental figures were really hurting, especially watching how most of them had their life partners. That’s why Carlisle threw himself into work and Esme busied herself with mindless house chores.
On the couch sat Jasper Hale the empath, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the excited energy emanating from his mate as well as being hit by the annoyed energy emanating from his sister Rosalie. Since hearing of Alice’s vision, she couldn’t help but detest the idea of another human like Bella or even a shapeshifter joining the clan. Especially if it was a shapeshifter.
The crunching of rocks brought to the attention of the family that the patriarch had arrived at the home. Alice perked up and sped to meet him at the door, a smile illuminating her face. Carlisle hopped off the car with a heavy sigh and grabbed his briefcase from the passenger seat. Meeting (Y/N) had drained any energy he possibly could’ve had for the rest of the night, finishing his shift seemed almost impossible. As he opened the front door he was met with a smiling Alice.
“Hi, Carlisle, any special news you might want to share with us?”
“Yes, Alice,” he smiled softly, rubbing his eyes. “I met her today.”
“You did?” Esme chimed in, a smile on her lips.
“Yes.”
“You have to be kidding,” Edward said, shock spilling from his words.
“What?” Alice asked.
“She’s an Uley.”
“Then it can’t be her.” Rosalie added. “What kind of cruel joke is it that your mate could possibly be one of them.”
“It’s her,” said Edward. “There’s no doubt in that.”
“Great, because we don’t have enough trouble with the human, let’s add the sister of a mutt into the mix.”
“Rosalie, please.” Esme reprimanded the blonde. “So, how was it?”
“Well, she came in with a mild concussion so, not great.” Carlisle started. “And the smell of her blood made me want to wreak havoc in that hospital. Also, she’s the sister of our sworn enemy.”
“Everything is coming up Cullen, huh?” Emmett snickered, trying to alleviate the mood, but earned a warning stare from Alice.
“But I’ve seen your future, and it’s beautiful.” Alice comforted. “You’re finally happy.”
Those words took the centuries old man aback. He had been happy with his family but always felt something missing. He had tried for years with Esme to find that piece to fill the (time resistant) void, but it was fruitless. The pair cared for each other, but they weren’t meant to be together. Esme and Carlisle had remained friendly companions and perfect parental figures to the five teenagers that resided with them.
“I don’t know, Alice. It just seems too complicated.” Carlisle refuted. “Don’t you think if she was really the person I was meant to be with, it would be easier?”
“But look at Edward and Bella. He’s spent all this time alone and found his match in a human. It can work.”
“Yeah, look how well that’s turned out,” Rosalie scoffed. Her disgust towards humans very apparent in her tone.
“Rosalie, that’s enough, please. And Alice, if it really is meant to be as you believe, I shall let things run their course, but I won’t pursue it. Whatever happens, happens.”
“I’m good with that,” Alice smiled and shook Carlisle’s hand. “Whatever happens, happens.”
***
(Y/N) spent the next five days with the face of a man inundating her mind. Without being able to partake in her usual activities her head had slowed down enough to entertain non-work-related thoughts. The only time it seemed unoccupied was when her brain was pounding with an unbearable headache. Allison had been berating her daughter to go back to the hospital and get herself checked out. But (Y/N) was determined to make it at least to seven days.
“Morning, mom,” (Y/N) chimed as she descended the stairs and met her mother in the kitchen. The smell of breakfast had inundated her sense and her stomach was growling before her eyes had opened.
“Good morning, darling. How are you today?”
“Headache’s still there. I could barely sleep last night; I don’t even remember how I made it up to my room.”
“Honey, you really don’t remember?” She shook her head. “What about what we did before?”
“Last thing I remember is eating dinner.” (Y/N) replied nonchalantly.
“That worries me, darling. I’ve been reading online and those are symptoms of post-concussion syndrome, and that’s not good. I think we should take you back to the hospital.”
“Mom, that wouldn’t apply for another two days. I think I’ll live.” (Y/N) chuckled, but seeing the worried look on her mother’s face, she stopped. “Seriously, mom, if it gets worse, I’ll go back.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart,” she smiled. “Now, I’m gonna go over to Billy’s and check out the progress on the truck. Love you.”
“Love you too. Be careful,” Allison smiled and kissed her daughter’s head.
The walk to the Black’s house wasn’t too far and thankfully the day wasn’t too hot. The fresh air felt good for once. (Y/N) had been kept inside the house these past days with her mother helicoptering over her all the time. She was grateful for her caring mom, but she felt suffocated. There wasn’t much she could do from her bed and that’s where she was kept most of the time. Being able to stretch her legs and move around was exactly what she needed.
As she neared the Black household, she could hear tinkering from the open garage on the side of the residence. Her mangled truck seemed almost back to its normal state.
“Hey, Jake.”
“(Y/N)!” The long-haired boy peeked his head from under the hood of the truck and went to give his friend a hug. “How’re you feeling?”
“Eh, could be better. You know, could do without the constant headache but it’ll pass.” She smiled. “How ‘bout you? This thing looks almost as it did before!”
“Yeah, it’s almost done. Thankfully, it wasn’t too mangled, been working on it nonstop so you can have it back.”
“Jake, oh my gosh, have you even had time to rest?”
“Who needs rest, right?” He laughed. “It looks like you might though.”
(Y/N) had gone slightly pale, her vision blurring at the edges. “Can you get me some water, Jake?”
“Yeah, of course. Sit,” he motioned to the stool that rested against the garage wall. “I’ll be right back.”
Jake jogged quickly towards his house to retrieve water as (Y/N) sat. She felt short of breath and the room was spinning slowly. She could hear Jake’s footsteps from far away even though he was nearer than she thought. He was by her side in a matter of seconds holding a water bottle to her pale lips.
“I already called your mom. You’re going to the hospital.” (Y/N) shook her head not wanting to go back until day seven. “This isn’t a negotiation, (Y/N). You’re going.”
The girl tried to speak up but felt herself feeling like she was floating. She was sure Jake was still speaking and she was responding. But, on one of her blinks, she succumbed to darkness once again.
<-Previous
Tag list: @daniallh @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @jessicas-underground
Characters: Female Reader Uley Character, Sam Uley, Allison Uley, Charlie Swan, Bella Swan, Seth Clearwater, Billy Black, Jacob Black, Emily Young, Paul Lahote, Harry and Sue Clearwater, Leah Clearwater
Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life at it’s first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.
*DISCLAIMER*
I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment.
The only thing I own is Uley Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.
Chapter: 2/?
A/N: There’s no Cullen’s in the first chapter, we’ll see them soon though. Also, Esme is in the story but her and Carlisle are not together romantically. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.
<-Previous | Next ->
Chapter 2
The next day she awoke at half past ten. She looked at her bedside clock flustered, knowing she had wasted almost all morning. She could smell breakfast already prepared and her mother downstairs doing some light cleaning.
She hurried into the bathroom and took a small time to finish her morning routine, flying down the stairs. Allison laughed as she noticed her daughter stumbling with hurry down the stairs, clearly heading to the door.
“Eat some breakfast before you go, darling!” Allison shouted as she swept the floor of the dining room.
“I’ll just get some on the way,” (Y/N) said as she put her jacket on, seeing in the distance dark clouds adorning the sky.
“I made you a sandwich so you can take it with you and a travel mug filled with coffee.”
“Thanks, mom. You’re the best,” (Y/N) kissed her mother’s cheek and grabbed the food from her hands.
“And be careful on the streets, the tires haven’t been changed on the truck and the roads are supposed to be very slippery today.” Allison called out to the girl who was almost completely out of the door.
(Y/N) barely heard her mother’s warning as she jogged up to the truck parked on the driveway. There was a sandwich hanging from her mouth as she backed up and sped to the main road. It was quite a long ride to Port Angeles, and she wanted to be back before dark. She spent the ninety-minute drive listening to background music and noticing how the sky changed from blue to dark grey to a lighter grey as she passed and left Forks. She rarely visited the neighboring town, listening to the stories by the elders gave her enough reason not to. Unlike most of her friends and even her own brother, she believed the string of words that they sewed. There were so many things that were unexplained in the universe that it would be ignorant of her to not believe that the supernatural could exist. Although, the past four years she had started to disregard the tales as made up stories, not being able to prove that they were veracious.
Once she arrived, she parked in front of an antique store and started perusing through the various stores in the strip mall. Before she knew it, five hours had passed. Her feet were sore from walking back and forth, her arms were read from all the bags she had carried, and her head was hurting from a lack of food. It was already five in the afternoon and (Y/N) was ready to go home. She got back into the truck and started her drive back home. An hour into the drive the sky darkened more than it should’ve, and heavy rain cascaded from the clouds. Her vision was impaired from the thick droplets and her heart was beating hard, scared of what could jump out in the darkness.
(Y/N)’s worries were confirmed when a deer jumped onto the street and had her swerve the truck. The car spun for some seconds and slid off the road, crashing into a tree. The girl’s head flew forward on impact and connected with the steering wheel in front of her. Her vision blurred and her headache grew exponentially. She could hear her name being called from far away but couldn’t distinguish whose it was. As it came closer, she could finally make out the frame of the sheriff, Charlie Swan. He was speaking to her, but no words registered in her head.
Charlie moved closer to the truck and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. The sheriff reached into the open window and carefully tried to retrieve the wounded girl. She wasn’t in the right mind and in this rain an ambulance would take too long to get here. He laid (Y/N)’s head on his shoulder as she mumbled incoherent words, then reaching his arms under hers to pull her softly. He was careful not to scrape her body too much against the broken window, laying down his jacket first to cover most of it. Charlie tried his best to see amid the harsh rain, praying to whatever being was controlling the weather to stop. The blood that was gushing from (Y/N)’s forehead had washed off as soon as her head had exited the car but it didn’t stop flowing. After what felt like hours, the sheriff had the teenage girl in his arms and carried her to his cruiser. Turning his emergency lights on he sped as carefully as possible to the hospital.
He felt the ride eternal as he heard the hurt girl in the back of the car moaning in pain and noticing the shirt he’d wrapped around her forehead was soaking up too much blood. As he neared the bright lights of the hospital, he slowed the speed down as to not slam on his brakes and cause more damage to (Y/N). He carefully grabbed her limp body and entered the hospital. It seemed like the emergency room had a slow night, but he only brought trouble.
“I need some help here!” Charlie called out, worry laced in his voice.
“Sheriff Swan, what happened?” A nurse asked as she accompanied the team wheeling a gurney for the unconscious being in the officer’s arms.
“This is (Y/N) Uley. She hit her head in a car accident, I assume her car swerved as she avoided an animal in the street. She’s been unconscious since I got her in my car. When I found her she was barely coherent.”
“Okay, why don’t you wait for us in the waiting room. We’ll let you know as soon as we have some news.” The nurse smiled.
All Charlie could do was nod and sit down for a second, later pulling out his phone to dial Allison Uley’s number.
“Sheriff, to what do I owe this pleasure,” Allison chimed.
“It’s not good news, Allison. (Y/N) has been in a car accident.” Charlie could feel the panicked energy coming from the other side of the phone. Close to this time last year he had gotten news that his own daughter was hurt through a phone call. “Now, Allison, I know you want to speed off to the hospital but I would advise you not to. The roads are really bad over here and we can’t have you both admitted.”
“But I can’t leave her alone,” she sobbed. “I need to be there for my baby.”
“I know, but she won’t be alone. I’m gonna stay here until she’s good to go and I’ll take her back to your house. Now don’t you worry, you know she’s a strong one.”
“I know,” Allison sighed an air of defeat. “Alright, just please keep me updated on everything. Doesn’t matter how late.”
“Will do. I’ll have my buddy pick up the truck and leave it at Billy’s.”
“Thank you, Charlie, so much.”
“No problem, Allison. Try to get some shuteye, it looks to be a long night.”
And a long night it was.
Thankfully, (Y/N)’s injuries were minor and she would be able to leave as soon as she woke up. Charlie spent all night in the hospital, calling a friend to drive (Y/N)’s truck so that Jacob could see if it was worthy of repair and leaving a message for his daughter that he would not be coming home that night. The nurses were nice enough to bring the officer a blanket and some coffee as it seemed he wasn’t going to leave and come back the next morning, keeping his promise to Allison that he’d stay beside her daughter.
Once a room was given to (Y/N), Charlie managed to catch up on a little bit of sleep on the armchair next to her bed. The girl slept even through the morning light that slipped through the window that woke the sheriff up. He updated Allison on the persistent status of her daughter. Once again, the nurses showing kindness by bringing him a cup of coffee as he waited for (Y/N)’s eyes to open.
(Y/N) was engulfed in darkness during what felt like a second. She tried fluttering her eyes open but was met with a painfully bright light and a pulsating headache that rang through her body. Her eyes closed once again to try to minimize the discomfort, to much avail. She barely remembered what event befell her to end up in this situation, but she could hear she was not alone.
“Are the lights bothering you, (Y/N)?” Sheriff Swan spoke, noticing the girl had awoken. She promptly nodded and he stood up to turn off the lights as the room door opened. “All right, they’re off now. Hello, doctor.”
She tried opening her eyes again and was met with the most radiant eye color she had ever seen.
Characters: Female Reader Uley Character, Sam Uley, Allison Uley, Charlie Swan, Bella Swan, Seth Clearwater, Billy Black, Jacob Black, Emily Young, Paul Lahote, Harry and Sue Clearwater, Leah Clearwater
Story Description: (Y/N) Uley is back home after being away for four years. Her life at it’s first standstill and she is taking this time to find out who she is without school. But she never thought that coming back to the reservation would turn her whole life around. In the midst of secrets and mystery, a man crashes into (Y/N)’s and her life will never be the same.
*DISCLAIMER*
I do not own in any way Twilight, all credits of the pre-established characters, script, and storyline belong to Stephanie Meyer and Summit Entertainment.
The only thing I own is Uley Reader insert, any upcoming characters, and her storyline, as well as her effects in the others’ story line.
Chapter: 1/?
A/N: There’s no Cullen’s in the first chapter, we’ll see them soon though. Also, Esme is in the story but her and Carlisle are not together romantically. If you enjoy my writing I’ll also be posting them in AO3 and Wattpad along with other stories (I also hope to start taking requests if ya’ll want) Hope you enjoy and all constructive criticism is encouraged.
Next->
Chapter 1
Going back home felt bizarre for (Y/N). It had been 4 years since she had moved away from the La Push Reservation on a scholarship to a prep boarding school in Seattle. Although students were expected to go back home during summer break, she spent her time in summer taking college classes or attending internships in the area, so going back didn’t fit into her plans.
But she had just graduated from high school and decided that taking a gap year could not hurt. Seeing her family wouldn’t be that bad either.
(Y/N) Uley had not reunited physically with Sam and Allison Uley since she left for school, only calling occasionally but always being to busy for anything else. The mother and son duo had grown accustomed to the short phone calls and vague emails they would receive from their studious family member. The Uley siblings used to be a very close pair, being only a year apart helped their bond. But since (Y/N) had invested all her energy into her high school career, their relationship rapidly dissipated; replaced by untold secrets and life-changing details.
The Uley girl had no idea what was in store when she went back home. She had left when she was 14 and was coming back an 18-year-old with a high school diploma and a bachelor’s degree. (Y/N) had always been an over achiever and applying to the school she had and taking dual enrollment was no surprise to her mother and brother.
The bus ride from Seattle to La Push lasted almost eight hours, so (Y/N) equipped herself with two books, plenty of snacks, and a fully charged iPod to handle the ride. She had gotten the earliest ride available always enjoying the intriguing mystery that 3 am travels brought. Her brown eyes surveyed the curious characters that voyaged alongside her a young woman sat with a sleeping baby in her arms, the dark circles under her eyes signaled the baby was still a newborn getting adapted to a sleep schedule; there was a middle-aged man, his eyes attached to a computer and a briefcase tight to his side; there were two teenagers, backpacks at their feet and shared headphones in between them. They were wearing light blue polo shirt and her school insignia embroidered on the left side of their shirt. She had seen them in passing, two freshmen still energetic and excited for their school life. She looked at them and smiled, remembering being in their shoes four years ago.
Four hours in, (Y/N) had finished one book, and the bus made its first stop in Port Angeles, the place where everyone that traveled with her got off. It wasn’t surprising to see from the top of her book as everyone got off, she didn’t recognize any of them from the reservation so it would have been surprising if any of them had stayed in the bus. For the next four hours, (Y/N) continued to read her second book surrounded by a comforting silence. The sun had risen about an hour ago and a nice warmth was streaming from the bus window and (Y/N) felt herself drift in bliss.
Her eyes fluttered open once again when she felt the bus finally rolling to a stop. She blinked a few times as she adjusted her vision to the bright midday sun and her brain restarted normal functions. The brunette gathered the bag with her travel companions and got up from the chair she had been glued to for eight hours.
“Have a good day,” the driver chimed as (Y/N) was walking down the bus.
“You too, drive safe!” The girl smiled and got her two suitcases out of the side of the bus.
(Y/N) got startled as she felt two arms wrap around her midriff and quickly swung her elbow back.
“Woah, woah, careful with those arms, (Y/N). It’s just me,” the girl turned around, a gleaming grin adorning her face.
“Sam!” She jumped onto the open arms of her older brother, seeing the years that had passed on his tired face.
“Look at you, darling. All grown up,” Allison Uley smiled, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
“Mom, I’ve missed you.” (Y/N) hugged her mother tightly, noticing the difference in heights of her and her mother. Another thing she noticed was the strain between her mother and her brother. Before she left, they all had a very close relationship but now it felt like so many things had interlaced into their bond. “Let’s go home yeah?”
“I’m, actually I gotta go to my house,” Sam scratched the back of his neck.
“What house?” (Y/N) chuckled.
“I moved out, but I’ll come over for your welcome dinner.”
“Sam, she just came back. Don’t you wanna spend time with your sister?” Allison begged, wanting to have both of her children under the same roof again.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t, mom. Leave it.” Sam sighed. “I’ll see you at dinner, (Y/N).”
He kissed the top of his sister’s head and left. He wanted to tell them the whole truth, but he knew he couldn’t. Knowing that information would put them in a level of danger that he didn’t want them to be aware of.
(Y/N) stared at the retreating figure of his brother as he ran down the street, leaving her and their mother.
“What’s up with him?”
“Oh darling, if only I knew.” Allison sighed grabbing one of the suitcases her daughter had brought. “Let’s just head to the house so you can rest.”
“Yeah, let’s.” (Y/N) gave Allison a comforting smile and wheeled the second suitcase towards the truck.
The drive home was as short as she remembered, and the house hadn’t changed a bit. She walked up the steps to the porch and opened the old wooden door; it still made the same creaking sound. The house still smelled of seawater and pine, an odd mix but a comforting scent. (Y/N) regretted all the summers she missed here and all the days she spent away from her family.
She made her way up the stairs and entered the first door to the right. She ran her fingers through the stickers she had pasted on there when she was 13: a wolf, a rainbow, a heart, and a picture of her family. Her name still carved at the highest point of the door and she smiled at the memory of that. She sat atop Sam’s shoulder when she was just 12 years old, a trembling hand holding a pick as she carved as best as she could the name “(Y/N)”.
The doorknob as it was turned let out a squeaky groan and the door needed an extra push to open. The room had not changed at all. The walls were still painted a light green, the light switch still had the pink princess cover, the bedding had the little purple butterflies embroidered on them, and the pillows were all pink and purple. In a corner rested the five boxes (Y/N) had sent to the house from her dorm room.
“It hasn’t changed a bit,” (Y/N) commented as she felt her mother’s presence behind her.
“I didn’t want to change it until you came back,” Allison smiled. “But I’m sure you’d like to give this place a bit of a makeover.”
“Definitely,” she laughed. “I think I’ll go to Port Angeles this weekend, doing some shopping can’t hurt.”
“That’s true.” Allison side hugged her daughter as she laughed. She headed towards the door but stopped when she was called upon by her daughter.
“Hey, mom?”
“Yes, darling?”
“By any chance, do you know where Sam’s living?” Allison’s body stiffened but shared the information with her daughter. Maybe she could figure out why he’d just disappeared.
(Y/N) was surprised to hear he was living with a girl she barely knew. She knew of Emily Young through Leah Clearwater, but not much after that. Last thing she had heard Leah and Sam had been dating. She certainly had missed some very important pivotal points in her brother’s life.
The house wasn’t far, so she decided to walk there. Upon arrival she could feel the warm and inviting aura that the quaint house emanated. The blue door called to her as she knocked on it. It finally opened and revealed her brother.
“(Y/N), what’re you doing here?”
“I’m here to see my big brother. Is that such a crime?” She laughed.
“No, of course. Come in,” he smiled begrudgingly. “I don’t have much time so we gotta make this quick.”
“Wow, feeling the love there,” she chuckled passing through the doorframe.
“There’s just some things that I have to do before dinner tonight.”
“It’s okay, I get it. I just wanted to ask if you could help me on the weekend with my room. I’m bringing it four years into the present, gotta make sure it looks like an 18-year-old sleeps there.”
“Yeah, I’ll come over Sunday afternoon and help you then. Anything else you need?”
“Well, not exactly, but it wouldn’t help to catch up. You know make up for four years of chit chat conversations and get me up to date with at the happenings in your life.”
“There’s not much to say other than I moved out and I’m engaged.” He said nonchalantly.
“Excuse me?! You’re engaged and failed to mention that to me?”
“It’s not that big of a deal, (Y/N).”
“Yes, it is, Sam! You’re getting married and this is the first I’m ever hearing of this or the fact that you moved out or the fact that you’re engaged to your ex-girlfriend’s cousin. I think it is a big deal.”
“Okay, yeah. Kind of a long story on that one.”
“Enough time to tell it to me?” Sam hesitated. He could hear Emily’s truck approaching and two male voices coming back from patrol. He needed to get (Y/N) out of the house before they got here.
“Maybe another time. I’ll call you on Sunday, yeah?” Sam asked as he nudged his sister out of his house.
“I guess.” (Y/N) mumbled as she was pushed out the front door. “Bye.”
“See ya.” Sam kissed the side of her head and closed the door.
(Y/N) left the house with more questions about her brother that she had begun with but didn’t want to press on. There was no use if he wasn’t going to talk, so she walked back home.
Her mother had gone out, possibly grocery shopping for tonight’s dinner, giving (Y/N) time to catch up on some much-needed sleep. She walked up the stairs and into her room, plopping down on the bed not caring how she landed. All she wanted was to close her eyes and rest.
By six in the afternoon her eyes fluttered open once again. She could smell the dinner her mother had been cooking. The room had darkened as the sun was going down and thankfully her mother had turned on a lamp for (Y/N) to have some vision. The girl got up from bed and grabbed some clothes from her suitcase to take a quick shower before dinner. She stripped all her clothes off and let the water wash away all the hours of the day. As soon as the water started turning cold, she shut it off and got out.
For a second, (Y/N) stopped and stared at herself in the mirror above the sink. She barely recognized the girl staring back. The bags under her eyes were deeper than the last time she had seen herself in this specific mirror, her cheekbones were more defined than before, her skin paler than usual since she hadn’t really seen the sun in a while.
It didn’t take her long to change into some new clothes and head downstairs, where she saw her mother on the phone. Disappointment evident in her eyes.
“Sam, it’s your sister… please… ok, fine. Just don’t flake on her on Sunday,” Allison sighed, turning off her phone and slamming it on the counter.
“Everything okay, mom?”
“Oh, yeah, darling. Your brother won’t be able to join us, but Billy and Jacob, and the Clearwaters are on their way, and I also invited Charlie and Bella Swan. I hope you don’t mind that they join in.”
“No, I don’t mind. What about Paul?”
“You know I’ve never liked that boy, honey.” (Y/N) stared at her mother. Refusing to continue the conversation until Allison answered the question. “I did invite him, but he couldn’t come.”
“I love seeing you make an effort,” (Y/N) laughed and kissed her mother on the cheek. “I’ll set the table.”
“Thank you, darling.”
(Y/N) grabbed the 10 plates needed for the night and the respective cutlery. She still remembered how her mother liked the table arranged and set it as such. She set the vase filled with fresh flowers in the middle of the table, leaving space on the sides for the dinner platters. The arrival of the guests was soon after. (Y/N) had grown alongside Jacob and Leah, and on the summers, she would spend her times with the Swan girl. Once Seth was born, he became very close with the Uley girl.
“My oh my, (Y/N), how you’ve grown.” Billy Black grabbed Uley’s hand and smiled up at her, with the warmness that summer brought.
“Indeed, I have, and you haven’t aged a day in four years. What’s your secret?”
“It’s in the genes,” he laughed alongside the young girl. She’d always been a charmer, he thought “You remember my boy, Jacob, right?”
“How could I ever forget? Hey, Jake!”
“How you’ve been, (Y/N)?” Jacob approached his friend and wrapped her in a hug. “Been an awful long time.”
“Four years, that’s not much,” she smiled. “Come in.”
The father and son duo entered the house, and next came the Clearwaters. Harry, Sue, and Seth. No Leah. They had always been close to the Uleys, a bit of divide coming after the rupture between the eldest offspring of each family.
“Oh, wow, where has the time gone?” Sue commented, greeting the girl with a tight hug.
“4 years really do go by quick, don’t they?”
“They sure do, Harry.” (Y/N) smiled, motioning the couple in.
Finally, Seth walked in and engulfed (Y/N) in a tight hug. The girl was 5 years his elder, but he considered her one of his best friends. Seth and Paul were the only two people (Y/N) kept in close contact other than her family. For some time, Paul and (Y/N) had drifted apart but Seth always sent his monthly excited letters, updating her on what he had been up to.
“I missed you, (Y/N)!” Little Seth spoke into a bundle of brunette hair.
“I missed you too, Seth.” She smiled as he walked past her, joining his parents.
The last to enter were Sheriff Swan and Bella. The cop smiled at the girl and gave her a quick hug, commenting on how much she had grown, a low chuckle leaving his throat. Bella entered with hunched shoulders, possibly not wanting to be there but she still smiled at her old friend. Vague memories filled the girls’ heads of summer play dates and days at the beach.
“It’s been quite some time, huh?” Bella muttered.
“It sure has. It’s great to see you again,” (Y/N) smiled. “How have you liked Forks now that you’re back full time. Still hating cold weather?”
“Yeah,” the pale girl chuckled. “But it has its better days.”
The girls joined in a quick giggled before joining the rest of the group at the dinner table. Allison had already set the table and had said her hellos to the group.
The three males had engaged in sports conversations and the teens were all huddled in the kitchen munching on cheese and crackers and engaging in small chit chat.
“So, (Y/N), 18 and already a degree, how does that feel?” Jacob asked, stuffing his mouth with cheese and ham.
“Well, as good as it can be. Don’t know exactly what I’m gonna do now. All I know is that I’m taking a year off and taking a breather for the first time.” (Y/N) chuckled.
“I just can’t believe you’d spend all this time going to school, twice as much. I don’t like school at all,” Seth chimed in, picking apart the cheese and filling his mouth.
“So, you spent these past four years studying, including your summers?” Bella added.
“That’s correct,” (Y/N) smiled. “And now I have a degree and nothing to do with it.”
The group chuckled and moved towards the adults as they were being called to dinner. In the center of the table was a big platter of spaghetti and meatballs, (Y/N)’s favorite food, a tray of toasted garlic bread, and a bowl of a colorful mix of spring salad.
(Y/N) always enjoyed her mother’s cooking. Even on her saddest days, Allison’s cooking could warm her heart at any time. She and her mother had a very close relationship, even after four years of distance. Since her father left early in her life, her mother had always tried her hardest to make sure both her children were loved and cared for. And she stayed wondering where she had gone wrong with Sam and hoping (Y/N) didn’t stray away as her eldest had.
The dinner group had all taken their seats at the dinner table and were passing around the various platters, serving themselves their desired portions. Jacob and Seth were overfilling their plates, receiving a laugh from their respective parents. Charlie, Harry, and Billy were filling their plates with more protein than carbohydrates and the moms at the table smiled at the males engulfing the meatballs. (Y/N) looked around the table and smiled. It had been a long time since she had sat down with the important people in her life and was relaxed, even if two of them were missing.
After everyone was served, everything went almost quiet. Some background music could be heard from the living room and the sound of forks hitting plates and mouths chewing filled the environment. Everyone was comfortable with the silence, but there was still one question in everyone’s mind.
“Where’s Sam?” Seth spoke up, voicing everyone’s question. The whole table paused in action and Seth felt like a deer caught in the headlights. Sue softly elbowed her son. “What?”
“It’s okay, Sue,” (Y/N) smiled. “He couldn’t be here, bud.”
“Maybe he was feeling bad, like Leah.” He added earning a burning stare from both his parents.
“Maybe, Seth.”
“I just wanna apologize for our daughter missing this dinner. I know she really wanted to see you, (Y/N).”
“Oh, Harry, it’s really no problem. I’m sure I’ll catch up with her soon enough.” (Y/N) smiled trying to ease the tension felt in the room. She could see her mother gripping her fork tightly as she kept her head down. “But I would also like to apologize on behalf of Sam, I know he wanted to be here.”
Everyone simply nodded and went back to their plates. The rest of the evening was enjoyable. No one mentioned the pair that was missing, and (Y/N)’s past four years were questioned in depth. She had an answer for everything except “What are you gonna do now?”
She didn’t know and that’s what she answered. She mentioned she wanted to study medicine, having finished a degree in biology and always loved taking care of other people. Sue was excited, being a nurse herself. But (Y/N) had landed at a standstill in terms of her life and career. A vast portion of her life had been defined as a student and now that this part was over, she didn’t know who she was.
The dinner festivities were over soon thereafter, leaving Allison and (Y/N) to clean up after the group. The Uley pair put everything away in silence, exhausted from the eventful day. (Y/N) could see as her mother wiped away a few stray tears, sniffling behind her hair. The girl knew better than to bring the topic back up and left her mother with a kiss on the temple and a good night.
Upstairs, (Y/N) prepared herself for bed. The event had drained nay energy still left in her and she plopped down on the bed with a small thud. She had prepared her clothes for the next day, knowing her energy would also be drained but still excited to have this change. Her eyes fluttered close as she heard in the distance her mother’s quiet footsteps on the staircase, darkness overtaking her.
Next->
A/N: if you wish to be tagged for the next parts, please let me know. I’d be happy to. <3
Rheia succumbed to Kronos's love and bore him illustrious children,
Hestia and Demeter and Hera, who walks in golden sandals,
imperious Hades, whose heart knows no mercy
in his subterranean dwelling, and the rumbling Earthshaker,
and Zeus the counselor and father of gods and men,
Zeus under whose thunder the wide earth quivers.
Hesiod, Theogony, translated by Apostolos N. Athanassakis.
