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Ten Thousand Miles Away

On Sapphire Seas Part 1 of 12

It’s all of a brave and a gallant ship with a fair and fav’rin breeze / A bully good crew and a captain too to carry me over the seas - Joseph B. Geoghegan, "Ten Thousand Miles Away"

Aemond Targaryen x Reader (Pirate AU)

Summary: After fleeing your home, you thought perhaps you would be free from fear. Until black sails appear on the horizon.

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.5k

Rating: Mature/18+

Warnings: death, gore/blood, there are guns in this AU, language, referenced alcohol abuse, reference to physical and verbal abuse though none of it is explicitly depicted, mention of vomit

A/N: all I can say is: just wait until we REALLY get going

enjoy bbys <3

dividers by @firefly-graphics

The thin panes of the window separating the captain’s cabin from the outside elements are speckled with sea spray, clouding the view of the endless ocean. You might have thought it was raining outside had you not known any better.

You peer through it, looking down at the ocean below, gray and choppy, the dark swells of the waves lapping at the wooden sides of the ship, seeming to try with all their might to peel back the boards and sink you. For a moment, you wonder what it would feel like to surrender yourself to the sea and let it take you in its frigid embrace. To pull you down to unknown depths, places where the light of day could never reach. 

“Martyn!” the sharp, clipped tone of the Captain’s voice, calling the false name you’d given when you boarded in Braavos, shakes you from your head, and you snap to attention, eyes wide. 

It has been two long months at sea, sailing from port to port in Essos before beginning the voyage west across the Narrow Sea. You thought you might have grown tired of it by now, but you had not. You adored it all–the salt spray that stung your cheeks, the rolling rhythm of the waves, propelling the boat forward, even the ever-terse demands of Captain Simon Strong.

“Sir,” you speak with a respectful nod of your head, taking care to lower the natural timbre of your voice as much as possible. It was a narrow line you walked, living in secret like this. Every time you opened your mouth, there was a chance you would raise suspicion, be discovered, and be sent back to your uncle.

“Go below deck and fetch a bottle of Dornish Red, would you?” he requests idly, his eyes locked on the papers before him, scarcely sparing you a second look. 

“Yes, Captain,” you nod again, turning on your heel to leave his cabin at once. The sea breeze bites at your face the second you step outside, cool and sharp against you. You breathe it in deeply, relishing the smell of salt and tar before you make your way below deck, eyes lowered. 

It was in this manner you spent most of your days–quiet, meeting no one's gaze for fear that they might see something in your eyes that would inform them of the truth: that you are a woman. 

You managed to keep your identity a secret these last weeks, refraining from speaking when you could and taking care that you were not caught without a shirt or the bandages you used to hide your chest. Still, it was a small price to pay for the freedom your indiscretion afforded you. 

Back in Braavos, you had nothing and no one save for your uncle, whose usually foul temper grew worse when he drank–a nightly occurrence. You bore it with grace as long as you could, for almost twenty years, but eventually, cleaning up his sick and piss and dodging the bottles he threw at you in blind rage grew to be too much. 

In the dead of night, you’d cut off your hair to your chin, suitably short enough to be mistaken for a boy, and fled, securing passage on the first ship that would let you on board.

Anything was better than what you left behind.

Below the deck, you make your way to the hold, passing by the crew's quarters and the galley as you go, giving the cook a tight-lipped smile. The wooden sides of the ship creak and groan, and up above, you hear muffled yells from the crew and thudding footsteps against the deck. 

Inside the hold, it is pitch dark, nearly impossible to see anything even centimeters before your face, and the air smells still and stale. By now, you know your way around well enough not to bother yourself with a lamp, instead extending a hand before you, blindly reaching in the direction you know the bottles of wine are kept. You fetch one from where it is bound to the shelf and tuck it under your arm, humming under your breath to yourself to fill the silence of the hold.

You are moving back towards the door when the yelling above deck changes. 

The muffled, conversational shouts you were accustomed to grow into yelps of panic, then screams, and you hear a cannon shot go off, loud enough to shake the beams of the boat. It nearly makes you drop the bottle of Dornish Red on the floor, and you grip it tighter, sweaty hands squeezing at the cool glass neck of it. 

You scurry out, back up to the galley, intent upon going above deck to see what could have caused the commotion, but as you pass by, you are yanked into the narrow space between the counters, the grasp on your arm pulling a soft scream from you before the cook's hand slaps over your mouth as he drags you to the floor. 

“Quiet, boy,” he hisses, his voice roughened by the pipe he often smoked, colored with fear. “What you heard was a warning shot–if there is one thing to be certain of, there will be pirates coming after.”

Your heart hammers wildly in your chest, almost painfully so, and your breaths become difficult to draw, but you do as you're told, crouching there beside the cook, the bottle cradled in your arms.

You'd heard stories before about the criminals that trawled the seas, stealing from merchant ships such as this one and leaving behind no survivors. Screwing your eyes shut, you try not to think of what horrors could befall you at the hands of pirates, your fingers shaking uncontrollably.

The ship shudders, and again, the shouting changes, the panicked yells of the crew drowned out by the voices of other men, jeering and rough, the thumping footsteps above deck growing louder, though your heartbeat thundering in your ears nearly drowns it out. 

“Easy, lad,” the cook murmurs, squeezing your shoulder, though the gesture holds little reassurance. He doesn't need to tell you that you've been boarded–that much is clear from the clang of steel on steel and the unmistakable popping of gunfire. You squeeze your eyes shut again, fingers gripping the bottle so tightly that your knuckles begin to pale.

When you were a girl, your mother used to play games of hide and seek with you back before the fever took her. She would tell you that she would close her eyes and count all the way up to thirty, and then she would come and find you. It was your favorite game to play then. 

You were always terrible at hiding, but she would humor you, giving you long stretches of time to remain undiscovered, allowing you to think that perhaps you'd won. Believing you'd fooled her, you would giggle to yourself, a palm pressed over your mouth to stifle your mirth.

Now, where you lie on the floor of the galley, you place a hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing and begin to count.

One, two, three, four, five, six–

You don't make it to twenty before the pirates find you. 

It is a large man, broad and gruff, that pulls you from the galley. He is rough with you, tying your wrists tightly together behind your back, the ropes cutting into you, but in your fear, you scarcely notice the pain. 

He drags you above deck, and you squint at the change in lighting, blinking rapidly to let your eyes adjust, fighting the urge to vomit up every scrap you've eaten today, swallowing harshly to choke it down. A massive black warship sits alongside the boat, connected by tethers and wooden planks to provide access to cross from one ship to the other, and all around you, bodies lay dead and bloody, scarcely recognizable from the men you knew they had been.

A raggedly dressed man, thin and leering, grins as you pass by, showcasing several missing teeth as he yanks his sword from the corpse below him. Blood bubbles thickly from the wound, pooling around the body, staining the deck dark red, and you squeeze your eyes shut, unable to look any longer as bile rises in your throat.

Your captor shoves you to your knees, lining you up with the other men on the deck carelessly. Your kneecaps bang against the wood below them, pain lancing up your legs from the point of impact, and you whimper, earning yourself a smack in the back of your head that nearly sends you tumbling forward onto your face.

“Shut up, boy,” the large pirate growls behind you. “Keep that mouth closed, and maybe the captain will spare you.”

You kneel between the cook and Captain Strong, your hands shaking where they're bound behind your back, breaths labored as they puff from your chest.

“Gentlemen,” the narrowly-built pirate that smiled at you moves to stand before the line, a sick sort of glee contorting his thin face. “Today is a lucky day for you all indeed–you've been boarded by the honorable crew of the Three-Headed Dragon.”

Captain Strong is the only one who dares to meet his gaze. He sneers up at the pirate from beside you, eyes icy and unyielding, and the pirate notices, striding toward him with a wolfish grin. 

“You do not seem pleased, Captain,” he snickers, grabbing the older man's chin and angling his gaze up toward him. “You ought to rejoice–it is a privilege you've been given.”

“A privilege?” Captain Strong snorts dismissively. “We have been apprehended by filthy fucking fools–layabouts who couldn't concern themselves with honest employment–”

With a snarl, the pirate goes for his knife, seizing the captain by the hair, the blade pressed to his throat. You close your eyes, preparing yourself for the warm, sticky spray against your face and the horrible gurgling sound of Captain Strong choking on his blood, but then comes another voice.

“Wait.”

Hesitantly, you crack open an eye, searching for the source, your throat tightening at what you see. 

A tall, slender man dressed in leather and well-made linens stands before the prisoners now, arms clasped behind him, his shoulders rolled back comfortably. He looks at ease, his limbs relaxed as if he were standing in his own home rather than raiding a merchant ship. 

If not for having known otherwise, you might have thought he was a Lord or a wealthy merchant, given his state of dress. On his hip rests a large sword, and pale white hair spills over his shoulders, all but glowing, even with the grayed skies overhead, but none of that is what catches your attention. 

No, what grabs your focus is the leather eyepatch he wears, stretched across his face, covering his left eye. The ends of a thin scar protrude from beneath the cover, pink against his pale skin, though the injury does nothing to diminish how handsome he is. 

You'd heard rumors of the one-eyed pirate–the terror of the seas, ruthless and black-hearted, killing indiscriminately for his monetary gain–but you'd barely allowed yourself to believe them until now. 

“Remove your knife from the good captain's neck, Ulf,” he commands dryly, pursing his lips, his single eye trailing over the rest of you in a disinterested fashion. 

“But he–”

“That was not a question,” the one-eyed man drawls, irritation flickering over his face, his eye narrowed, an unspoken threat simmering behind it. 

“Yes, Captain,” the other man– “Ulf”, if the one-eyed pirate was to be believed –releases Captain Strong, stowing his knife back in his belt and stepping away as the pale-haired man steps closer. 

“What is your name?” the pirate asks the captain, a cold, indifferent smile curling over his lips. 

“Captain Simon Strong,” he replies, voice unwavering. 

“Strong…” the pirate muses. “How wonderful. And do you know who I am?” 

The captain stares up at him, his jaw set before he answers, his tone dripping with mockery and disdain, “There is no seafaring man alive who does not know of the great Kinslayer.”

The pirate’s smile broadens, and for a beat, he looks almost amused, but before you can blink, there is a sharp bang beside you, and a warm, sticky substance splatters over your shirt, and what skin of yours is exposed. You scream, cowering into the side of the cook, away from Captain Strong’s body as it collapses to the deck, thick, dark blood spilling from the clean hole in the center of his skull.

The cook is quick to shove you upright, and when you dare open your eyes again, the pirate now looks upon you, pinning you in place with a deadly stare. A smoking gun hangs from his pale hand, and he steps toward you next, tucking a finger under your chin. 

“And who might you be boy?” he asks, his tone terrifyingly measured and steady, given that he'd just killed a man with not so much as a blink of his eye. 

You can feel Captain Strong’s blood soaking through the knees of your trousers, and you can do nothing but stare, eyes wide in fear. 

“I asked you a question,” the one-eyed man warns, squeezing your chin between his thumb and forefinger painfully, his jaw ticking in mild aggravation.

“Martyn, sir,” you manage to choke out, exhaling sharply when he releases your chin. 

“What a sweet little voice,” he mocks, “Are your stones still in your stomach, Martyn?” he quips, raising a dubious brow. 

His comment elicits a laugh from his crew at the expense of the higher pitch at which you talk. You pray to any gods that are listening that he cannot see down your shirt to your chest, bound in bandages to hide it, and you swallow hard. 

“My voice has always been this way, sir,” you whisper, your voice wavering. “An unfortunate defect, I am afraid.”

“Hm,” he considers you with amusement, tilting his head and taking a step backward, “unfortunate indeed.”

“I am Captain Aemond One-Eye,” he barks to the rest of the crew, his voice louder than before. “You are all, for now, my prisoners. Once we have relieved you of all of your possessions, we will be off, of that you can be assured. I leave you a few moments to ponder a decision: surrender and return to your employers in disgrace, where you will be punished for aiding and abetting pirates, swear your fealty to my cause and join us, or die an honorable death.”

With that, he turns on his heel, nodding to the broad man who'd first found you in the galley as he passes, stepping back onto one of the planks connecting the ships and walking across.

“Right,” the large man grumbles, striding forward on measured, firm steps. “We're going to do this real nice like–if you surrender, lay down on your stomachs and stay there like the yellow-bellied dogs you are. If you choose fealty, stand. If death is what you prefer, remain on your knees.”

Your heart thunders in your throat, watching from the side of your eye as the cook and several other men lay down as they are bidden. The cook glances up at you, his gaze tinged with panic when he sees you still kneeling.

“Boy! Lie down!” he hisses intently, an edge of fear creeping into his voice. “There's no shame in living to see another day.”

You look back down at him, and the prospect of surrendering and returning to Braavos, to your uncle, looms in your mind like an evil specter, heavy and dark.

“I know,” you answer, breathing in unsteadily.

Then, you stand. 

Aboard the Three-Headed Dragon, you stand alone, wrists still bound, back pressed to the main mast. 

Of the entire crew you'd left behind, you were the only one to rise to your feet, moving as though possessed toward the big pirate who fixed you with an amused look but took you on board nonetheless.

Aemond One-Eye is nowhere to be found, and you are instead surrounded by his crew, all leering at you, half-interested, half-cruel. You try to keep from shaking, curling your hands into fists to steady them, your eyes darting from face to sun-aged face, not daring to stare at any one person for too long. 

“You lot, to your posts,” the broad pirate growls to the rest of them, shoving through the loose circle and grabbing you by your upper arm. “We're to be at Driftmark within the month–Captain's orders.”

He drags you off without a word, down the deck and up the narrow wooden stairs to the captain's quarters. The large man doesn't speak to you, just stares straight ahead as he walks, coming to a stop before the door and rapping on it with his massive fist. 

“Come.”

The burly pirate pushes the door open and pulls you through it behind him, shoving you in front of him. You stumble, nearly colliding with the polished desk in the middle of the room, and when you regain your balance, you look up to make dead eye contact with Captain One-Eye himself. 

He flicks his gaze over you carelessly, cutting his eye toward the man behind you, “Thank you, Hugh. You may go.”

Hugh does as bidden, the thick door scraping shut behind him as he swiftly exits the cabin, moving with surprising grace for someone of his size. 

You stand before the captain, privately cursing your knees for the way they tremble, trying in vain to steady yourself so as not to look weak. The captain doesn't speak for a long moment but rises from his desk, circling to the front, considering you.

“Martyn, was it?” he questions, leaning back against the desk with a lazy elegance, long fingers drumming on the table. You nod wordlessly, and his eye narrows.

“When you are spoken to, speak back,” he commands tersely, his displeasure sending a hot bolt of embarrassment and fear through you as you trip over your words to reply.

“Yes sir, I am sorry sir,” you spit out. “That is correct; my name is Martyn.”

“How old are you, Martyn?”

“Eight and ten years old, sir,” your voice trembles, but you manage a reply, lying about your age–there was every reason to do so. 

The truth of the matter was that you were three and twenty, but it would do you no good to tell him you were as old as you are–that would only raise more questions about your lack of hair upon your face and the already too-high pitch of your voice. 

“Eight and ten?” he repeats, eyebrows pinching together, fingers stilling against the table. “And still not a hair upon your chest.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Hm,” he tilts his head, lips twitching slightly at your formality. “Can you read and write?”

You pause, considering your answer–the truth was, you could, but displaying too much in the way of your abilities could be just as much of a danger as having nothing to say for yourself. Wetting your lips with your tongue, you nod. 

“Yes, yes, sir,” you reply, “I can.”

“Good,” he says, unsheathing his knife from his belt and reaching for your hands, sawing at the ropes that bind them. “You shall work by my side as a scribe and as my cupbearer. As long as you remain of use to me, you shall have safety and protection while aboard the Dragon. In time, should you prove yourself loyal, you will be taught our trade. Learn to fight and sail and to earn your keep.”

“Thank you, sir,” you breathe as the ropes come free, rubbing at your wrists where your binds cut into your skin, soothing the angry indentations. He rakes his eye over your frame and the clothes you wear, still covered in a thick splatter of Captain Strong’s blood. You sincerely doubt they are the kinds of stains that will wash away. 

“See to it that one of my men gives you new clothing,” he comments, eyeing the dark red blotches with distaste and moving back around the table to sit once more. “Return to me when you are done. You will sleep here tonight, on the floor. I may require your services as a scribe and have no desire to waste time looking for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We have set course for Driftmark,” he twirls his dagger in his fingers, testing the weight of the handle in his palm and running the thumb on his opposite hand down the flat of the blade. “You need not know anything more at present,” he decides.

“Yes, sir,” you repeat, remaining rooted before him, uncertain whether or not you are dismissed, rocking nervously on your toes. His lips quirk upward, almost amused, the soft pink curve of his mouth curling at the edges.

“Go now,” he bids you with a flick of his wrist, shooing you away. 

You waste no time doing as you're told, scrambling from the room with great haste. Part of you cursed your decision to come aboard the Dragon, but you push those regrets down–they would do you no favors now. 

What was already a dangerous game had become infinitely more so, and the hiding of your true identity was now a matter of survival. 

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FUCK. FUCK. FUCK. I JUST WANT THEM TO BE HAPPY GODDAMMIT

"Through One Thousand Worlds and Ten Thousand Lifetimes" Chapter Three: "A Soldier's Kiss" - Aemond Targaryen + Tom Bennett x Reader

a/n: catch up on this fic HERE. if you wish to be added to the taglist. Billy Washington is next! ❤️

Summary: Tom Bennett is on a mission the moment he sees you - to make you remember him.

TW: profanity, innuendo, s*xual refernces, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, character death, angst

Word Count: 2,820 words

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/World on Fire characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated ❤️

Tom Bennett has dreamt of the same thing every night for as long as he can remember. A girl, who seems to age along with him, the most beautiful girl he’s seen in his entire life, with bright eyes and the sweetest smile. Your voice has carried him through the most difficult parts of his life. When he feels lonely, he has always thought he need only go to sleep so that he may see you again. And when he gets in trouble? He loves the way you scold him for being a troublemaker, that crinkle in your brow being absolutely adorable.

Through his dreams, Tom learns that you and him have been lovers in each past life the two of you have had. He recalls you being a princess in both your past lives, a prince in one of his and a monk in the other. The idea of being a monk makes him let out a snort of laughter, but he digresses.

Tom wonders for the longest time when he’s finally going to get to meet you in this life. He asks the vision of you he sees in his dreams, but you just give him a secretive smile and tell him what is meant to be will be. It frustrates him, because he wants nothing more than to take you into his arms and hold you close. To tell you how he loves you. How he has always loved you. How you are the light in his darkness.

Two days before he is set to ship out, he finds himself wandering the Manchester streets, a bit aimless, a bit hopeless, wondering if he will find you before he goes off to fight in the war. Or if he’ll die in combat before getting to see you again. The thought of not seeing you in this lifetime pains him more than the idea of dying ever could.

Something tells him to go to his usual pub. He has never heard your voice when he is awake, but it rings so clearly in his head. Beckoning him inside. It feels a bit like fate, in all honesty. So, hands in his pockets, he walks down the street as it begins to drizzle. At least it’ll be dry in the pub, he muses. He walks in, shaking out his hair, a bit like a golden retriever would, before walking over to the bar.

And then? The whole world falls away when you turn his way, smiling that dazzling smile at him.

“What can I get you?”

God, your voice is as perfect as it has always sounded in his dreams. Tom realizes he probably looks like a total idiot, just gawking at you, and shakes himself out of it.

“A large whiskey please, darling,” he winks before leaning over the bar, “In fact,” he grins devilishly, “Make it two.”

You raise an unimpressed brow, clearly used to having patrons flirting with you, “Two large whiskeys coming up, soldier boy.”

Tom snickers at the moniker and corrects you, “That’s sailor boy, thank you very much,” he takes the drinks, swigging one down quickly before turning back to you, a twinkle in those gorgeous blue eyes, “And what is your name, sweetheart?”

You don’t even bother meeting his gaze as you drawl, “That’s on a need to know basis.”

“Well,” he chuckles, “You’re as sharp as you are pretty, I see. Perhaps I shall christen you as,” he pauses before saying your name as he knows it, “At least until the time comes that you decide to tell me for yourself, love.”

You freeze in place, “How did you…”

Tom smirks, “How did I what?”

“That’s my name,”  you look at him curiously, “How did you know?”

Tom smiles at you mischievously, that twinkle in his eyes, “Call it a hunch,” and he says your name again.

You frown slightly, gazing into his eyes, “Have we met before?”

“Well,” he grins, “I may or may not know everything about you,” he winks, looking you up and down, biting his lower lip, “Do you remember me now?”

“Not really,” you sigh as a barrage of customers pour in, making your night that much more hectic, “Excuse me.”

“Name’s Tom, by the way, love,” he calls after you, raising his glaze, “And take your time. I’ll be here.”

You give him a fleeting smile before walking off to serve the others. Tom watches you go, propping his head up, watching you as you bustle about. His eyes trace the shape of your hips as you move, smiling to himself. He waits for you to return with more patience than he’s waited for anything in his life. When you finally return, he’s smiling at you, waiting for you to speak as you pour his next drink.

“It’s weird,” you muse, “Something about you is so familiar to me. I don’t understand it. And I’m so sure I haven’t met you. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

Tom nods, as if affirming what you’re saying, “You’re crazy. For questioning it at all. You and I,” he leans forward, murmuring secretively, “We’re old friends. Even old-er lovers. You’re just a bit,” he pauses, “Forgetful right now.”

You frown slightly, “No, if we were friends, let alone lovers, I’d remember.”

“One would think,” Tom smiles, “But here I am, looking into those gorgeous eyes of yours, and I know the connection between us is deeper than anything I’ve ever known. But as I said,” he chuckles, “You’re a little forgetful right now.”

You give him a curious look before continuing to go about your work. Tom sips at his fresh whiskey after you top him off, gazing at you over the top of his glass. You don’t think you’ve ever been looked at the way this handsome stranger who claims not to be one is looking at you. As though you’re the most important thing in the world to him, as though you hung the very stars in the sky.

“If I tell you something, promise you won’t think I’m crazy?” Tom questions, prompting you to nod; he hesitates for a moment, taking a deep breath before speaking, “You and I… We’ve loved each other through a thousand worlds, through ten thousand lifetimes. We’re soulmates.”

You look at him incredulously, “Sailor, I think you ought to slow down with the whiskey.”

Tom laughs, “Oh, love, you haven’t changed a bit. The whiskey may have my head spinning a bit, but every word of what I said was true. You and I are meant for each other.”

One of the other girls who works at the pub with you walks by, letting you know your shift is over. You give her a grateful nod and turn back to Tom.

“Enjoy the rest of your night, sailor.”

Tom rushes after you as you exit the pub, ignoring the protest from your fellow barmaid that he hasn’t settled his tab, “Look, please just trust me,” he pleads desperately, getting in front of you and walking backwards so that he can keep his eyes on you, “We were lovers in our previous lives, don’t you remember?”

“Look, mate, if you don’t stop, I’m going to have to call the coppers.”

You turn the corner toward your flat, trudging up the steps, Tom hot on your heels as he begs, “Please, I’m telling you the truth! Look at me. Look at my face. Don’t you recognize me at all?”

You finally manage to get up the stairs to your flat and unlock your door, slamming it shut in your new acquaintance’s face. Tom lets out a groan of frustration, resting his head against your door, dejected, but not deterred.

The next morning, you leave to do a bit of grocery shopping for you and your flatmates. You should be surprised, but you really aren’t, to see Tom the sailor from the night before, leaning against the wall outside, that stupidly charming smirk painted on his stupidly handsome face.

“Are you kidding me?”

Tom grins at you mischievously, “Good morning, beautiful. Where are you running off to?”

You shake your head, walking past him, “You don’t give up, do you?”

He grins and shrugs, walking in step alongside you, “Well, I’m the persistent type, love. I won’t settle for less than the truth, and the truth is that we’re soulmates. No matter what. You can’t deny it.”

You wrap your scarf around your neck as you walk, “You’re annoying, you know that?”

Tom laughs, putting his hand over his heart as if hurt by your words, “What a thing to say to a potential lover! Aren’t you afraid to hurt my feelings, love?”

He gives you a cheeky little wink, smirking at you in that way you’ve come to associate with him after only one night. You smile in spite of yourself, shaking your head and continuing to walk. You rummage through your purse and realize-

“Forgot the grocery money,” you groan, turning back.

“Forgetful thing,” Tom smiles, “Always have been,” you give him a weird look and continue walking, garnering a sigh from him, “Why are you being so distant from me, love? Don’t you feel it too?”

He grabs your hand and you freeze. His touch sparks some form of recognition in you. You aren’t the type of person to remember their dreams. You forget them the moment you wake up. But now, the pieces fall into place. The boy with the sapphire eye in your dreams, promising that he would search for you. The dreams of you dying in your beloved monk’s arms after taking the blade that was meant for him…

“I,” you swallow thickly, meeting Tom’s eyes, “These past lives you keep talking about… I’ve had dreams since I was a girl of a boy with a sapphire for an eye…”

A smile spreads across Tom’s face, “You do remember me! You can’t deny that we were meant to be now,” he holds both of your hands, kissing them, “I was in love with you in all of those lives and dreams, and in this life and every life to come.”

“Your name was Aemond,” you say after a moment, the memories slowly coming back to you, “And then it was Osferth…”

He nods eagerly, holding you in his arms tightly, as though he thinks you’ll disappear if he lets go. And he presses his lips to yours in a desperate kiss. You kiss him back with just as much passion, your lips moving against his with almost feverish need as the memories of your lives together come back to you in a flood of emotion. By the time the two of you pull apart, you remember everything.

“How long have you known in this life?” you ask softly as he holds your face in his hands.

“From the moment I saw you,” Tom murmurs, resting his forehead against yours.

“I’m sorry it took me a minute to catch up,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, smiling up at him.

“Don’t apologize, love,” he says, gazing into your eyes with all the love in his heart, “We’ve found each other again. That’s all that matters.”

You sigh, looking at his navy uniform, “Only to be torn from each other once again,” you embrace him tightly, resting your head against his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat, allowing it to soothe you, “When do you ship out?”

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and smiles at you, “Tomorrow,” he chuckles ruefully, “The Royal Navy sure knows the best way to tear a couple apart. But our love can handle it. I know it.”

“Can I convince you not to go?” you ask softly, resting a hand on his cheek.

“Oh, love,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your palm and shaking his head, “I have to do my duty, love,” he swallows the lump in his throat as you begin to cry, holding him tightly, “Don’t cry, sweetheart, please don’t cry,” he kisses your forehead, lifting your chin to look you in the eyes, “I’ll come back to you. I promise. I won’t be gone forever. I’ll come back to you. I’ll always come back to you. I will never stop loving you,” Tom says, stroking your hair and kissing you again, repeating his vow, “Through a thousand worlds and ten thousand lifetimes, I will search for you.”

You wipe your eyes when the two of you pull apart, “I will wait for you in all of them,” you sigh, “We have tonight, at least.”

Tom nods, smiling at you sweetly, “Yes. We have tonight, my love.”

You two spend the day together, going for a walk in the park, lunch at a cafe, and finally, you manage to convince your flatmates to visit their respective beaus so you can have a night with him alone in your flat. Tom watches you cook dinner for the two of you, and it’s nothing fancy, but he adores every moment. He holds you from behind, swaying to the beat of the song you have playing, a jazz record. The two of you dance in the kitchen, wrapped in each other’s arms, when suddenly, Tom drops to one knee, holding up a beautiful ring. A sapphire ring. You cover your mouth, eyes brimming with tears.

“Is that a yes?” he teases, winking at you.

You toss your arms around your beloved, kissing him passionately, yelping slightly as he lifts you into his arms, carrying you off to bed. He lays you down gently, the two of you ridding yourself of your clothes, and you giggle as he slides the engagement ring on your finger, making it the only thing you wear. He moves his mouth between your thighs, grinning up at you like a devil as he brings you to the edge of ecstasy over and over before finally joining your bodies together as one. And it feels so very right. As he moves against you, your arms wrapped around him, it feels like fate.

The next day, before he leaves, he introduces you to his father and sister in this life, Douglas and Lois, who seem all too happy to meet you, the girl who has tamed the rowdy troublemaker. As Tom boards his train, you run to stand beside his window, giggling when two of his fellow crewmates dangle him from the window so he can kiss you one last time before he leaves. You wave at him, teary-eyed as you watch the train pull away with the love of your life.

After making his way through Spain, back to Manchester, Tom is thrilled at the aspect of seeing you again, even for a short time, before he leaves again. He vows that before he returns to the fight, he’ll marry you. A small ceremony. Just you, your parents, his dad, and Lois.

When he finds his sister, she tells him about his father’s death. And Tom is understandably devastated. He lashes out. He blames her for it, and he knows it’s wrong to do so.

Then, she tells him something that shatters him entirely.

You were in the house with Douglas. She hands him the two things she managed to salvage of yours. Your ring and a letter you’d been writing to him. Tom covers his mouth, tears pouring down his face as he reads the letter.

Dear Tom,

I miss you every second of every day. I can’t wait for you to come back to me. I love you with every beat of my heart and I will wait for you in every lifetime.

Always Yours.

PS.

You were right about me being forgetful. This letter has been burning a hole in my purse for two days now!

He laughs mirthlessly at the postscript in your letter, holding the ring in his hand, sobbing almost hysterically. Lois takes him to your grave. He sits there, his knees to his chest, crying until he feels he can no longer breathe. He buries the ring in the dirt beside you, vowing he will never love another. Not until he finds you again.

And as Tom lays on the ground, bleeding out in the rain, he sees you, dressed all in white, approaching him. You kneel beside him, resting a hand on his cheek.

“My love?” he whispers weakly, “Is it really you?”

“You’ve fought so hard, Tom,” you say softly, “You can let go now, my love.”

Tom smiles at you, at peace, taking your hand and allowing you to lead him to the next life you two will share.

A young Billy Washington wakes in his bed with a start, sobbing hysterically from the dream he’s had. His sister runs into the room to comfort him, asking what happened.

And the only word he manages to utter?

Your name.

💌 Send this to the twelve nicest people you know or who seem to have a good heart and if you get five back you must be pretty awesome. 💌

Awww...lovely🥹🥹🥹💕💕💕

Shameless reblog for...no reason in particular😊

Debt To Be Paid - Aemond Targaryen

i thought, what if I was in this situation what would I do? I thought, maybe if I had balls of steel I could give Aemond what he wanted. That sprouted this fucked up piece of fiction. Basically Reader replaced Lucerys

Warnings: body horror, mutilation, eye loss, sadism, blood, pain kink, knife kink, incest, noncon grinding, think that's it? If it wasn't obvious, MINORS DNI. There's not really smut but it's still very explicit.

1.7K Words🤙🏻

part two can be found here

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wait!”

You froze as you heard that familiar low voice call out, a fearful chill running down your spine that made you hesitant to turn back around to face him.

You knew this had all been a mistake, ever since you arrived. As soon as you saw the she-dragon, Vhagar, sitting outside the walls of Storm’s End, you knew that you should’ve hopped back onto your hatchling of a dragon and went back home to Dragonstone. But you couldn’t do that, not when your mother counted on you for your support. You had to see this through.

But the Lord Borros had all but humiliated you, insulting you and your mother, the rightful Queen. And your uncle, the prince, decided that your failure in gaining an ally for your mother wasn’t embarrassing enough. No, he saw this chance for revenge right there in front of him and couldn’t help himself but to take it. So, reluctantly, you turned back to face your uncle to anxiously await whatever he now had in store for you.

Your uncle as always looked at you in something akin to disgust, like you were a bug that needed to be squashed underneath his boot. But there was always a rage right behind that disgust, just below the surface, almost invisible to an untrained eye. Ever since you took his eye all those years ago, you had become well accustomed to his gaze fixed on you whenever you both were in the same vicinity. You hadn’t seen him since that last feast with the late King, clearly still sore and vengeful, insulting you and your brothers calling you bastards. Something was different then, an expression on his face that you couldn’t quite place even when you tried. A look he had given you, especially when you tried fighting back after he pushed your older brother to the floor that night. You had quickly given up trying to understand your uncle, he was too mysterious and aloof to understand.

“Princess Strong.” Prince Aemond spoke with a ghost of a smirk on his lips, keeping his predatory gaze fixed on you as you took a couple steps forward with a scowl. “Did you really think that you could just fly about the realm trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

You scoffed quietly, your heart hammering in your chest before you spoke your mind foolishly. “The throne was already stolen, my prince,” Usurper, “by your family. If you are looking for a fight, I’m afraid I must decline. I came here as a messenger only.”

Prince Aemond sneered, a growl bubbling in his throat at your insolence, also amused that you think you would last even a second into a fight. You probably wouldn’t even be able to unsheathe your sword in time. “No,” His voice boomed, reaching up and removing his eyepatch, revealing the bright blue sapphire in his empty eye socket. “I want you to put out your eye, as payment for mine.”

You inhaled sharply, your eyes almost immediately glazing over in fear, but you didn’t allow anyone to see it. You held your head up high as your uncle removed his dagger from his sheath, tossing to the floor that slid halfway to where you stood. “One will serve. I would not blind you.” He hummed in amusement at your shocked expression. “I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.”

You looked down at the knife in terror, your hands shaking at the thought of going through with it. You had prayed to the gods every night that this wouldn’t be your penance. You had hoped your guilt and broken nose that night would have been enough. The Queen Alicent had almost had her justice that night as well if it weren’t for your mother protecting you. Maybe this was always meant to happen, maybe this was the gods telling you that it was finally time to pay the price for seriously harming a member of your family. You knew you couldn’t hide from your guilt forever, you knew you couldn’t keep getting away with it. What would happen if you ran away yet again? It would just keep prolonging the inevitable.

“I will have your eye or your life, dear niece.” Aemond growled dangerously.

You took a deep breath as you made your decision, trying to clear your mind as you took the short steps it took to reach the dagger on the concrete flooring. With shaking hands, you picked up the weapon, seeing your fearful expression reflecting back at you through the steel, mocking you. You pressed your fingertip to the pointed edge, gasping as the edge easily pierced through your skin, letting you know just how sharp it was. In theory, it might’ve been relatively easy…

You looked back up at your uncle, eagerly watching your every move in anticipation, his expression almost in shock that you were actually considering it. Growing up, you were taught how to fight, how to build up your pain tolerance, but holding the heavy blade in your hand, you didn’t know if you could actually go through with it by yourself. Before you could think over it any longer, you held the dagger outstretched to prince Aemond, holding the blade part in your hand. “I took your eye, uncle, it would only be fair if…” You shuddered, tears coming to your eyes, “if you were to take mine yourself as well.” You felt like you were going to throw up. You couldn’t believe you were about to allow this to happen.

Aemond’s eye lit up, his sapphire glimmering in the candle light and occasional lighting strike, and you swore you could almost see a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

You fought the urge to step back and run away as your uncle stalked towards you, looking at you as though he could easily devour you whole. You shivered as he took the blade from your hand, his skin very briefly brushing against yours. He looked at the blade for a moment with a small smirk. “Although I would’ve rather been entertained seeing you take your own eye, I imagine this would be more cathartic. As you said, niece, it’s only fair.”

You almost let out a scream as prince Aemond grabbed a hold of your shoulder tightly, pulling you close to him, almost touching your chest to his, his eye looking down at you menacingly, savoring your expression and saving it to memory. “As I am a man of mercy, I will allow you the choice of which eye you would prefer to lose, princess.”

“Whichever may please you, uncle.” You stuttered tearfully, not having the strength to be ashamed of crying in front of him.

“You took my left eye, so I shall take yours as well.”

You took hold of Aemond’s arm that was holding onto your shoulder tightly, the other grabbing onto his thick coat, attempting to brace yourself for the oncoming pain you were going to feel at your uncle’s hand. You must’ve surprised him because he stared down at your hands for a moment before looking back into your eyes, his gaze heavy lidded and almost sultry. You would’ve felt the stiff tent in his pants pressing against you if it weren’t for the coolness of the sharp steel lightly pressing against your cheek.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment ever since that night, dear niece. Forgive me for wanting to savor this as long as I can.” Aemond couldn’t keep in the low groan as he stared at your tearstained face; the whole world falling away and leaving just the two of you together, uncle and niece, enemies, and a debt to be paid.

Aemond’s hand on your shoulder traveled up to hold the side of your face, his thumb gently rubbing away a fallen tear, lifting his dagger up to the corner of your lower lid, licking his lips before pressing in harshly.

As you stared in the face of destiny, there was a moment where you thought you would try your best to hold in your screams, but as soon as you felt the blade press into your eye, all those thoughts went out the window and were crushed by the excruciating pain you were now experiencing. Aemond grinned as you didn’t hold back, screaming and sobbing as he cut into your eye socket, careful and not wanting to completely ruin the eye itself. 

Your hands were holding on and digging into Aemond’s coat with a vice grip, unable to control yourself, your body going into fight or flight survival mode and trying its best to get away from the danger. But Aemond was strong, much stronger than you, and it almost seemed like he had no difficulty keeping your head in place to continue mutilating you. It was the most pain you’ve ever felt in your entire life, nothing could compare. Nothing. It was searing, blinding. You couldn’t see anything, even the eye that was still intact wasn’t retaining its vision. You couldn’t even feel anything else. You couldn’t feel the thick, hot blood running down your face. You couldn’t feel Aemond’s hand on your face. You couldn’t feel the rest of your body, your hands were numb and tingling from how hard they were holding on to your uncle. You couldn’t feel Aemond’s hard on that was subtly grinding against you as you screamed and cried. You were thankful you didn’t eat anything before flying to Storm’s End or else it would definitely be coming up.

You heard Aemond let out a prolonged groan then a short breathy laugh as your eye finally came free, slimy blood coating the tiny organ that was cupped gently in his palm. Even when it was over, you felt no relief, all that was left was pure white hot pain. You didn’t even register that you were being held up by your uncle with one hand after the deed was done, your legs entirely gave out from underneath you and you craved the sweet release of death just to be rid of the pain. You weren’t even holding onto Aemond anymore, your arms hanging loosely by your sides.

Only then your vision came back, but now only half of it.

You saw Aemond holding up your left eye in pride, staring at your blood and sweat covered face with an almost impressed expression. “Are…” You tried to speak, but it came out mumbled and shaky, “are you pleased now, u-uncle?”

Prince Aemond smiled. “Oh, my dear niece, more than you could ever know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

my first thought was: Storm's End but make it romantic cause I'm mentally ill...if you can even call what I wrote romantic🙈 (it was to me cause like i said, i'm mentally ill)

𝐀 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦

Haha...so...I wrote this in one sitting on my phone, which is unlike me. I prefer working on my computer but oh well, I couldn't stop. I'm insatiable and there was not enough Tom in season 2.

Summary: You and Tom take a nice walk through the park...until the rain starts pouring.

Warnings: SMUT (MINORS DNI), public sex, rough oral (m!receiving), kinda mean!dom Tom, implied subspace, teasing, dacryphilia, slapping, daddy kink, degradation, orgasm denial/control, and fluff cause I couldn't help myself🤷🏻‍♀️

word count | 2.2k🤙🏻

It had been a few weeks since Tom came back home. Tears of joy rarely seemed to leave your eyes, as Tom rarely ever let you leave his bed. But today, you decided it was too lovely outside to stay indoors all day, even though it would’ve been enjoyed regardless. The weather was predicted to be sunny with a nice breeze all afternoon, so you couldn’t possibly let yourself waste such a day.

You managed to convince Tom of the idea, after what seemed like hours of complaining and trying to get you to change your mind. But you weren’t having it, no matter how many times Tom said he’d bring you to a breathtaking release if you’d just allow yourselves to stay home.

You both walked to a local park, hand in hand, basking in the warm glow the sun offered, hearing the birds chirp happily, and glancing around at all the other people who must've had the same idea as you. And Tom, albeit reluctantly, started allowing himself to enjoy it and your company. Although, seeing a kid drop their ice cream cone and immediately bursting into fitful wails brought him enough joy that he started to think it was worth it. 

It wasn't until the skies suddenly darkened, the sun almost disappearing into oblivion, that you and Tom started regretting your decisions. 

It was slow at first, just a few droplets hitting the tops of your heads, then a few droplets turned into an absolute downpour. 

You squealed as you, Tom, and everyone else at the park started to get drenched, most scurrying to their vehicles or shutting themselves in their homes that were somewhat nearby. You and Tom didn't have such luck, as you both walked miles to get to this destination. What a great choice on your part. So all you really could do was take cover along the treeline of the woods that aesthetically encircled the park. 

As you watched the rain come down harder, you heard Tom sigh heavily and you rolled your eyes, already knowing you were about to get an earful...but it never came. You looked up at him in slight curiosity, seeing that a content expression was plastered over his visage, not an annoyed wrinkle or frown in sight. 

Tom glanced towards you, seeing your confused expression. "What?" 

You shook your head, jutting your bottom lip out slightly and shrugging your shoulders. "Thought you'd be...less calm than you are right now. More...mad." 

Tom furrowed his brows, going back to watching the rainfall. "Why would I be mad?" 

You chuckled weakly. "Well, you didn't really wanna come out here in the first place." 

He smirked, gently bumping your shoulder with his. "Ah, I was just pulling your leg, luv. I was happy to come out here, with you. I'm still happy to be here with you...never thought I'd get the chance again." 

You'd think your whole body would turn into a puddle right then and there, mixing with the rain and seeping into the damp soil. But alas, all it did was ignite a burning, consuming fire in the pit of your belly, almost disappointed Tom said such a thing and didn't do anything afterwards. 

You looked at your surroundings. Not a soul in sight, nobody but the two of you. The scarce playground equipment shook and swings swung violently with the wind, creaking and groaning from the force. If you were to scream, most likely no one would be able to hear you through the small storm. Why did the thought turn you on even more? And Tom, he looked so peaceful, the ever permanent curve in his lips deepening every time thunder shook the earth. 

Before you could overthink it, you started to lower yourself to the ground, the muddiness of the dirt that started to stick to your knees and ends of your dress doing nothing to quell the desire that kept on building inside you. 

Gaining his attention immediately, Tom looked down at you in dark intrigue, watching as you settled yourself on your knees. "And what do you think you're doing, sweet girl?" You didn't reply as you reached your hands up to palm his cock through his trousers, hearing him let out a barely audible grunt at your ministrations. "You do realize we're in public?" 

"You want me to stop?" You looked up at him with wide doe eyes, putting on an innocent expression even though you and Tom both knew fully well how debaucherous you really could be. 

You gasped as Tom reached down, grabbing you by the roots of your hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you into a bruising kiss. "You're a fuckin' vixen, you know that? A whore is what you've turned into since I've been gone, is that it?" 

"Yes...but I'm your whore." 

And with that response, you crossed the point of no return, which is exactly where you wanted to be. 

Tom smirked, his cock instantly responding to your words and actions. "Yeah, you are, baby." He brought you into another passionate kiss, biting your bottom lip before pulling away, making you whimper. "Let's see how your whore mouth can be put to use, hm?" He growled, leaning back and relaxing against a tree, a smug aura surrounding him as he watched and waited for your next move. 

You smiled as you took his cock out, hard and pulsing warmly beneath the weight of your hand, a gush of slick pooling at your entrance at the breathy moan Tom made as you ran your tongue along him from base to tip, weakly suckling on the head to tease him. And you repeated those motions a few times before he stopped you, grabbing onto your hair with a growl. "Fuckin' tease. You gonna suck my cock like a good little slut, or do I have to force you? 'Cause I can force you, luv, you know I can." You involuntarily let out a whimpery moan, clenching your thighs together at his low, threatening voice. "Ah, I see. That's what you want, huh? You want me to use you like the whore you are? I can fuckin' do that." 

"Tom-" You yelped when he slapped you with his cockhead, making you widen your eyes up at him. 

"Nah, sweetheart, whores don't get to use my real name. So, I'm only gonna ask you once: who am I?" 

Your heart hammered in your ribcage, never having felt so frightened and aroused at the same time. "...Daddy." 

Tom grinned evilly, and in pride. "That's my good girl. Now, beg Daddy to fuck your mouth, go on." 

"Daddy," you let out with another pathetic whimper, "please, fuck my mouth. I need to feel your big cock." 

"Open." He prodded the tip of his cock at your lips, coaxing them to part. "Wider. Yeah, that's it." He groaned loudly as he rammed himself inside your hot, wet mouth, hitting the back of your throat immediately and making you gag around him. "Fuck, so good for me." He pulled back and thrusted back in roughly, over and over again, until tears ran down your cheeks and your drool spilt down your chin copiously. "See what happens when you tease your Daddy, hm? You brought this on yourself." 

You moaned around his cock, the vibrations making him groan loudly, the still pouring rain drowning at any noise. No one would be able to hear you gagging on his dick, or his moans, nor the wet squelching of your cunt as you started to finger yourself to relieve some of the tension building in you. But Tom could hear it. "You better not be touching yourself, girl. Only I get to abuse that pretty pussy of yours." Tom pulled you up from the ground, your lips releasing his dick with a wet pop, your fingers retreating from your quivering form in the process. 

Your eyes were glazed over in a haze, mad with lust and pleasure, unable to focus as Tom brought up your hand by the wrist. He lightly slapped you, bringing your vision back into focus. "Were you touching yourself?" 

He asked so lowly, you were scared, so you mewled out a soft, "No." 

Your response only made him smirk. "Hm. So, if I were to stick your fingers in my mouth, I wouldn't be able to taste you, right?" You didn't even have the chance to respond before he wrapped his lips around your fingers, his tongue swirling around the digits before releasing them with another hum. "A whore and a liar? What am I to do with you?" 

And before you knew it, Tom had you pinned up against the same tree he was leaning on previously, the bark digging into your back uncomfortably. "You know what I do with whores, but what do you think I should do with liars? Surely, I shouldn't reward them for their behavior, right?" 

You stuttered, unable to form words in your lust driven mind. "Tom-" You started to sob out, being interrupted with another slap, much harsher than the last. 

"What did I tell you?" He growled. "Whores aren't allowed to use my real name. Why can't you just do as you're told? You've grown so wild and rebellious since I've been away. I think I need to put you back in your place." 

Tom turned you around, lifting up your dress to reveal your underwear already pushed to the side, giving him access to your needy cunt. "Just a slut." You cried out loudly as he pushed two fingers inside you roughly. "That's all you are." He spat in your ear, curling his fingers to hit your sweet spot, tears springing to your ears as pleasure overtook you all too easily. "So worked up, aren't you? You gonna come so quickly?" 

"Yes!" You sobbed, practically shaking from the cold of the atmosphere and the pleasure Tom was giving you. And he wouldn't fuckin' stop, bringing you right to the precipice before pulling away completely and landing a painful slap to your clit. "Ow!" You whined.

"What? You think I was gonna let you come that easily? No, you have to earn it, girl." 

"Please...please..." You cried softly, completely leaning onto the tree in quiet exhaustion, so desperate for a release that you couldn't possibly notice or care about the wood scratching up your delicate skin. 

"You sound so pretty for me, luv. And using your manners. It's almost enough to make me wanna show you mercy." 

Your body thrummed with hopefulness, your mind going into tunnel vision at the prospect of getting off. "Daddy, please. I'll be a good girl. I won't touch myself, I won't tease you, I promise. I'll behave, Daddy, I swear it." You sobbed, soft hiccups escaping your lips. 

"Hey, hey," Tom cooed, running his hands over your skin gently, gooseflesh rising along where his fingers made their path. "You are a good girl. My good, sweet girl." You preened at his praise, letting out a shuddering sigh as he finally pushed his cock into you. "I believe you've learned your lesson, luv. Now, all you have to do is come for me." He whispered in your ear, a strangled moan brushing past your ears as he sped up his thrusts. "Think you can do that for me?" 

You cried out softly as the tip of his cock kept bullying the rough patch along the front of your walls, your climax already building back up with brutal force. "Yes, Daddy." 

"Tom." He corrected, and you grinned. 

You moaned as Tom reached around to run circles on your clit, pleasure dizzying your senses, making you lightheaded. You were right there. "Please..." You wailed. 

"Say my name when you come, sweet girl. Come for me." 

"Tom!" You chanted his name like a prayer, your velvety walls squeezing around him tightly as your orgasm washed over you in tidal waves, Tom's grip on you the only thing keeping you standing on your own two feet. 

"Fuck, baby!" Tom cursed, rutting against like a wild animal until he came with a loud grunt, almost collapsing against you until he remembered there was only a tree there that couldn't keep the both of you upright in the position you both were in. 

A calming beat until Tom broke the silence first. "I love you." 

And just like that, the skies cleared and the rain stopped. The sun shined brightly once again, the fresh smell of watered earth covering up the stench of sex and sweat. 

"We should, uh, probably be getting home, huh?" Tom smirked, putting his softening cock back inside his pants and helping you fix your dress. To anyone none the wiser, it just looked like you both were drenched with rain water. You were of course, but it mixed with sweat from exertion. "And if anyone asks, you slipped and fell because you're atrociously clumsy."

You faked offense, playfully shoving him off the sidewalk as you walked back home, an easy grin on both your faces. 

You grabbed ahold of Tom's hand, squeezing it gently before leaning to kiss his cheek, the innocent gesture making him blush harder than any sex driven act could. 

"I love you too, Tom Bennett, more than you could ever know.”

sorry it's a bit shorter but i legit don't have time to write long fics all the time anymore. sadge. hope y'all enjoyed regardless. hashtag justice for Tom Bennett.

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞

Summary: Captured by Danes as a young child, you never thought you'd escape...until you were saved by a certain baby monk.

Warnings: triggering content (past sexual assault), PTSD, flashbacks, angst, Osferth being a sweetie (aka fluff), crisis of faith, and religious talks

word count | 5.3k🤙🏻

part 1 | part 2

You didn’t remember much before you were captured by the Danes.

You were just a little thing, barely even old enough to take care of yourself. So when your family was killed in front of you, you had no choice but to be subjected to the wills of your captors. You couldn’t run, you couldn’t fight, you couldn’t scream. It was a hellish existence, demons always right behind you, breathing down your neck.

You were forced to grow up with these savages, watching them pillage and murder like they didn’t know how to do anything else. They tried to make you like them, but even as a child, your family instilled such a strong faith in you that to become like a Dane was unthinkable. And they tried to break you, so many times, almost allowing the demons following your every move get closer and closer. But as you made your way into womanhood with still no cracks in your convictions, they decided you were no good for anything but work and…other things.

Getting used almost every day by your captors was the only thing that threatened to break your spirit. They were callous, uncaring about your pain, further proof that Danes were the source of all evil and that you’d eventually die by their hands.

You were always numb; unmoving. To anyone else, you may have looked lifeless if not for the man above you using your body like you were his own personal toy.

Sometimes, you wish to be killed, even thinking about disobeying or fighting back just to have your wishes fulfilled. Most of all, you wished death upon your master. You wished to be the one to kill him. But you were only a woman, inferior, weak. But your spirit was strong, it must’ve been to survive every single torturous exchange by the hands of your master. And that was something no one would ever be able to take away from you, or so you hoped.

One day, you snapped. You actually tried to fight back, but that only got you punished so severely, you didn’t wake for days. After that, you started to wonder, if God did exist, why did He let all this happen to you? Why did He let one of his children be violated each and every day, let you be beaten and forced to do the Danes’ bidding? It didn’t make any sense. You hated Him…you fucking hated Him. You couldn't devote your life to some being that seemed indifferent to suffering. But ironically, it made your existence as a Dane’s slave much worse, now that you had nothing to hope for. No warrior of God would come to save you, no reward at the end of your life, no “well done, my good and faithful servant,” once you got to Heaven.

You completely gave in to your fate, not even bothering to fight back or argue with your masters anymore, thus, allowing your demons to take over.

As the days went on after your loss of faith, the idea of staying in the company of the Danes got more and more unbearable. As your master was using you for his own pleasure for the umpteenth time, you decided that you wouldn’t take it anymore. Taking your own life was thought to be a sin in your religion, but then you remembered, you didn’t follow it anymore. So really, you had nothing to lose.

But then, your master was suddenly pulled away and turned around, blocking the view of the culprit. Perhaps it was another man who was tired of waiting his turn.

Then you felt a splash of something wet. It was red, it stained your dress and skin. Blood. Your master’s blood, you were covered in it. A sword had been pushed through his stomach, all the way until it stuck out his back. Only when he fell to the ground could you see who killed him.

It was a young man, no older than you were. He was wide eyed in panic, his blue irises piercing even in the dim lighting of the room. His eyebrows were furrowed in a way that expressed concern that was directed towards your frozen form. He looked as though he did not know whether to help you or run away, or to cry really. “Are you alright, miss?” He asked as soft as his voice, but you didn’t know how to respond. No, you weren’t but yes, you were, now that your evil master was dead. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise. You’re safe now.” 

Safe? What did safe even mean? You’ve never known what it was like to be safe, why would following this man be any different?

“My lord will keep you safe, he is an honorable man.” You looked down from the young man’s face to his chest, seeing a wooden cross hanging loosely from his neck. You could have laughed, the irony was not lost on you, of course. “You don’t have to, of course. But…you’re bleeding. Please, let me help clean your wounds, at least.” He was…giving you a choice? You’ve never been allowed a choice before. He cautiously held out his larger hand towards you, his innocent pleading eyes almost mirroring yours from a long time ago, whereas now yours were blank and cold from years of torture. But seeing his seemingly caring expression, you figured it couldn’t get much worse. Everything horrible that life had to offer had already been done to you.

You were surprised how warm his hand was as you shakingly reached out to it, every other hand that has touched you always so rough and cold, but his weren’t. “It’s okay…” He spoke so softly, you almost had to strain to hear him. You were like a baby deer, him being so afraid to spook you, but he just didn’t know you still had a death wish.

When the Coccham squad came across your little village, it was chaos. Danes, killing and assaulting each other, they had only heard horror stories about places like these villages. Danes weren’t normally like this, Uhtred could attest to that. Danes took care of each other, they never would kill one of their own without reason. At least, that’s how Uhtred saw it. This village you were in, there was no saving them. They had encountered a few Danes from your village on the road, and friendly they were not. They had killed one of Uhtred’s men, and he wouldn’t let that slide.

There were many slaves in the village, you being one of them. Uhtred and his team snuck in and killed every Dane they could find, freeing every slave in the process. Osferth had grown more confident in his fighting skills, didn’t cry every time he killed someone, and the thought he’d be helping people in the process made it easier. Uhtred didn’t feel he needed to be babysat anymore, he trusted that he could take care of himself. So everyone split up throughout the village to cover more ground, and it must’ve been some sort of luck or divine intervention that Osferth found you.

Osferth wasn’t completely naïve anymore, having more experiences with Uhtred’s team in the couple years spent with him than his whole life of being a monk. But when he came upon you being violated by your master, the first thought that went through his head was how could someone do that to someone else? Anger coursed through his veins, an anger that he’d never felt before, a dangerous anger that scared him. For the first time, he felt pleasure in taking someone’s life. The filth that was rutting against you deserved the most painful death anyone could possibly imagine, but Osferth just wanted to save you as quickly as he could, thrusting his sword into the creature’s chest. He didn’t even have time to savor the moment, wanting to make sure you were okay.

You were bleeding, wounds and bruises all over your body. But what was most concerning for Osferth, was the fact that you didn’t seem bothered at all. There was no light behind your eyes, like you were alive but not really living. Which makes sense considering all you must’ve gone through over the years. He didn’t want to scare you, speaking as softly as he could without being inaudible. But you didn’t flinch, not even when he reached out to you. You took his hand without question, and Osferth didn’t know if he should’ve been relieved or even more worried.

Osferth brought you to a secluded part of the village, where no dead bodies could be seen. You’ve probably seen worse, but he didn’t want to subject you to any horrors, even if those dead bodies brought you just as much harm as the man he killed himself. He sat you down gently, near a water well, using the cool water to wash away your master’s blood that mixed with yours.

You didn’t speak as he helped soothe some of your wounds, and he started to wonder if you were mute or simply too traumatized. “I am Osferth. What’s your name, miss?” He asked, breaking the tense silence. But you didn’t answer, staring ahead despondently. Osferth smiled weakly, slightly shaking his head. “That’s alright. You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to. Whenever you’re ready.” If you were ever ready, that was.

Osferth led you to where they set up camp just outside your village, sitting you down outside his tent next to a fire to warm you. You looked slightly worried at the man that was cleaning blood off his weapons, but seeing a similar cross around his neck, you didn’t feel you needed to run or fight. “This is Finan, he also helped free your village.”

“Why’d you bring her here?” Finan asked.

Osferth blushed. “I thought…she could travel with us, if she has nowhere else to go. Or if she wants to.”

Finan scoffed a laugh. “Did she tell you she wanted to?” But Osferth stayed quiet. “Uhtred will not be happy about another mouth to feed.”

“Uhtred will understand.” Osferth insisted, not leaving any room for argument, forcing Finan into a begrudging silence.

Suddenly, Osferth heard you let out a panicked gasp, whimpering and pulling out of his delicate grasp. He looked behind himself where you were staring, seeing his lord Uhtred. “A Dane…” You trembled fearfully.

“No, no, no, that’s my lord, Uhtred. He’s not gonna hurt you. He’s a good man.” Osferth tried to reassure you, but your fearful expression didn’t change.

“Osferth?” Uhtred spoke, looking back at you in curiosity.

Osferth placed you inside of his tent and went to Uhtred to push him away to speak with him. “I’m sorry, my lord. But I feel it is best if you don’t let her see you. She’s terrified of Danes.”

“You know I’d never hurt a woman.” Uhtred hissed, offended.

“She…her master was assaulting her when I saved her.” He whispered, Uhtred’s expression darkening. “Please just, let me take care of her.”

“Osferth, I’m sorry, but she’s not our concern. We have to travel back to Coccham and-”

“In all respect, my lord, I don’t care. I wanna help her…okay?”

Uhtred sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright, Osferth, fine. But she’s your responsibility.”

“...thank you, lord.”

Osferth grimaced when he saw you flinch when he entered his tent, carrying a bowl of hot soup. “My lady,” He kneeled down beside you, holding out the bowl, “you must be hungry? It’s not much, but it’ll push the hunger pains away for a little while.”

You took the bowl wordlessly, closing your eyes in contentment at the taste. “Thank you…” You whispered, trying your best to give him a weak smile. “For saving me.”

Osferth couldn’t help but blush under your grateful gaze, a bashful smile gracing his own face. “I was only doing the right thing, miss.”

You didn’t speak much throughout the journey back to Coccham, only thanking Osferth whenever he brought you food and drink. Nobody pushed you to talk, knowing only what Osferth told them was enough to try to give you your space. But in the rare times you did speak, you never spoke to anyone except Osferth. He figured it was because he was possibly the first friendly face you had encountered. He saved your life, perhaps it formed some sort of attachment.

Osferth could tell him getting you to join them was a bit of an annoyance to the rest of the group, and the fact you only ever responded to him didn’t make matters any better. But he wanted to make sure you were okay, he wouldn’t be a good man if he just left you back at the village. Though, he felt ashamed, but he kind of liked that he was the only one you spoke to. He decided you just needed some time to get adjusted to a new free life, and maybe a few weeks in Coccham would give you some comfort.

You never expected you’d get to share a little home, having been used to just sleeping on a dirt ridden blanket on the floor, or even having been forced to sleep in a barn with the animals. So that fact that you had your own bed, it brought tears to your eyes, reminding you of a time when you were with people who actually cared about you. Perhaps Osferth was trying to be that for you again, though you didn’t know how you felt about sharing a house with him, even if for a time until your own house was made should you choose to stay.

Even though you didn’t have much, you found yourself unpacking what little you had and placed the various things around your new room just to distract yourself. You never had a room to decorate before, you immediately thought of plants, flowers that could survive in the winter. Pansies, which you remembered being your mother’s favorite. 

You looked down at your hand, clutching the only thing you had left of your family; a small amber gemstone. You had done everything you could to keep this with you over the years, hiding it from your masters where they would never find it. But now that you’re free of them, you have no use to hide it anymore. You thought it would look nice on your own small mantel in your room. Turning around towards your mantel, you froze when you saw Osferth standing in your doorframe, leaning against the wall. “Settling in okay?”

You nodded meekly. “Yes.” You whispered, ignoring the nerves in your gut and walking to place the amber on the mantel, unwanted tears coming to your eyes at the sight, wiping them away before they even had a chance to fall.

“May I ask what happened to you, miss?” Osferth asked softly, but immediately regretted it when your face fell. “I’m sorry, I shouldn't have asked. Please, forgive me.”

You shook your head. “It’s alright…it’s natural to be curious, I suppose.” You paused, clearly contemplating the right action before a pained expression came over your visage. “I’d prefer not to speak of it…” You sighed heavily.

“Of course…I’ll leave you to it then.”

You didn’t know why you had a pang of disappointment when Osferth left, his presence somehow more comforting than when you were alone. You chose to ignore it. Though, it seems like Osferth himself had trouble staying away from you. Whether it was just checking up on you or simply wanting to be in your company, he was practically attached to you from the hip. You still had issues talking to anyone else, Osferth would help you get your point across whenever you needed. Despite his lack of personal space, you were thankful for him. He never let anyone push you to speak, or even try to talk to you without your permission for that matter. He was a bit overprotective, but you’d never experienced it before, or at least haven’t in a long, long time. It was nice to feel cared for, even if you still had difficulty trusting said kindness.

For Osferth, he fell for you pretty quickly. Despite having matured much in Uhtred’s company, his heart was still prone to a sort of childlike wonder and optimism, certain traits like those often getting him picked on by his friends. Though, Osferth never wanted his heart to harden like the company he kept. He never wanted to be a brooding pessimist like his lord, nor use sarcasm as a defense mechanism like he’s seen Finan or Sihtric do so often. He was always taught to be kind to others, not to judge as that’s the Lord’s business to judge. Those traits instilled in him from birth, it was no wonder he always fell fast and hard. 

Osferth thought he had been in love several times, from women he had one night stands with to women who politely smiled in his direction…another thing he got picked on about. You were no exception. As soon as he laid his eyes on you, even with the circumstances, he thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And that opinion never seemed to lessen in its sincerity, in fact, it seemed to deepen the more he spent time with you.

The more time you stayed in Coccham, the more your true personality started to show. Now that you weren’t fearing for your life constantly, Osferth noticed you had a decent sense of humor. You would understand his jokes and chuckle at them, still too shy to allow yourself a full belly laugh, but he was more than content with what you managed to give him. Every giggle you made always caused blood to rush to his cheeks…and a little other places, though he felt guilty every time it happened. He never wanted to make you uncomfortable in any way.

Osferth attempted to hide his shock when one day you approached him, asking him to teach you how to defend yourself, but his eyes widened despite his attempts, causing you to shy away but he didn’t let you. He was elated that you wanted to learn, and in all honesty, Osferth would feel a lot more at ease if he knew you could defend yourself.

Osferth still wasn’t the most skilled at combat, everything he learned from Finan, so he figured the Irishman would be the most qualified for the job. But soon into the session, he realized it was the worst idea he had ever had. Finan was serious about combat, never taking it easy when teaching Osferth, he didn’t know why he thought he would be gentle with you. He seemed to overwhelm you pretty quickly, knocking your training sword out of your hands with ease, just to tease you, which you obviously didn’t appreciate. Finan was prone to being a bit aggressively playful, which is tolerated and even enjoyed by some, but it was not what you needed at that moment. Every parry by Finan, who had a constant smirk on his face, seemed to upset you more and more…until something seemed to snap in you.

The dull sword shook in your hands, a feeling of overwhelming panic washing over you. You couldn’t tell why, you were in a safe environment where you knew no one would intentionally hurt you, but as you watched Finan attempt to strike at you with his own sword, you only saw your former master.

You blocked Finan’s blow out of pure instinct and fear, but he only saw it as that you were learning, earning praise from him. “Good.” But it wasn’t his voice, there was no accent that resembled Finan’s at all, nor pitch. It was him. Could you never escape?

Fearfully, like a cornered animal, you swung at the man wildly. No technique or thought behind the blows, all you wanted was your sight to be rid of him. You sobbed and screamed, desperate to escape, desperate to kill. But the man kept evading your blows with ease, mocking laughter filling your ears, spurring you on further in a rage. You felt your blade hit something, and an almost feeling of relief washed over you, but it wasn’t enough. You barely could sense your surroundings, up until you felt a pair of arms wrap around you.

Osferth was frozen as he watched the interactions, unsure of the best decision and terrified of making the wrong one. It was clear you weren’t there anymore, not really, your mind forced back into the state you were before you were rescued, but no one else clued in on it. Not even Finan, who he figured was just playfully excited that you were being more aggressive, making the training session all the more worthwhile. But Osferth saw the frightened look on your face, immediately telling him that something was wrong. He finally made a move when you had almost connected your blade to his neck, if it had been a non-training sword, would have the capacity to cut Finan’s head clean off. 

Finally, Finan seemed to sense something was wrong too. His laughter stopped and his expression fell, realizing that you were actually trying to hurt him. He hesitated for the briefest moment, but that was enough for your sword to actually connect to his body. The dull blade hit his shoulder, your fear seemingly amplifying your strength, making Finan fall on the cold ground. “Hey, hey, hey-!” Finan started to shout in a panic as you surged forward, your sword raised above your head, prepared to strike. But Osferth came to Finan’s rescue, and yours too.

Osferth wrapped his arms around you, ripping the sword from your hands quickly to prevent further injuries. You flailed about, screaming to the top of your lungs, demanding he let you go. But he knew he couldn’t, not when you were like this, a danger to others but most of all, yourself. All he thought to do in the moment was whisk you away, back to your shared home. “I thought this was only supposed to be training, lass, not an actual fight!” Finan called out angrily.

“Don’t.” Osferth called out sternly, shocking the Irishman and the rest of his friends.

Osferth tried his very best to use soothing words to calm you down as he walked you back to your home, guiding you to your bed and repeating that you were safe. Whatever you think you saw wasn’t real. Once you realized you were indeed safe, you clinged onto Osferth, your arms tightening around his shoulders, not allowing him to leave your side, not that he ever wanted to. He’d stay by your side forever if he could. But you settled, slowly releasing him from your grip, your expression bashful and ashamed; Osferth could already tell where your mind was at.

“I don’t know what happened…” You whispered, your voice cracking. “I-I was fine one moment and then…” You whimpered, huffing angrily, willing yourself not to burst into tears again. You relaxed again slightly when Osferth ran a soothing hand up and down your back, his presence more than comforting. He started to feel…like a safe space. “I kept seeing him…in my mind’s eye. The image wouldn’t go away and I felt like I was back in that village, back in his house and forced to-” You quickly cut yourself off, not sure if you were even ready to say the words out loud.

Osferth shook his head, grabbing a hold of your hand and squeezing gently. “You don’t have to say any more.” he reassured. “You’re safe here. No one's ever gonna hurt you again, not while I’m still breathing. One day, all those memories will become so distant they’ll be like a dream. It won’t hurt as much anymore. Time heals all. You’ll see.” Your gaze was so transfixed onto him, Osferth thought the skin of his cheeks would burst from all the blood that rushed to them. His own gaze fleeted from your eyes to your lips, over and over again on a loop, his own lips tingling with the thought of how easy it would be to just…lean forward and make that connection.

But no, Osferth respected you too much. He’d never push your boundaries, nor with anyone, but especially not with you. He tried to ignore your confused expression as he quietly excused himself, stating that you should find rest, leaving your bedroom in a hurry, retreating to his own room to steady his rapidly beating heart. Maybe it was a mistake to have you living with him…

Even after your first lesson not going the way you planned, you still wanted to learn to fight. Finan, unsurprisingly, was more than hesitant to teach you again, so it was up to Osferth, not that he minded. He let you take a couple days to gather yourself, recover, for it was best to train with a clear head. Unlike Finan, Osferth went more easy on you, giving you a fair challenge but not babying you. You seemed to have more fun with Osferth’s training style, a determined smile on your face never falling during that first lesson. He figured you appreciated his style, but you just loved being around him regardless of the situation, not that you’d ever admit this. Not yet, at least. And slowly but surely, over the course of a couple weeks, you felt you’d be able to handle yourself with a sword. The feeling was empowering, knowing you’d be able to fight and hold your own. All thanks to Osferth.

You still had much to learn, but you just had to thank Osferth for all he had done for you. After a training session, he looked so…pretty. Sweat beaded his brow, his chest expanding with each deep breath he took, a proud smile on his face at your progress. You didn’t think before you kissed his cheek, a shocked expression coming over your face as well as his. You almost regretted it until he grinned widely, his eyes sparkling with pure joy, making your heart warm. “Thank you, sweet Osferth, for everything.”

You had finally started to find some semblance of peace with your life in Coccham, mostly because of Osferth. Most of the time, you were content, spending time training with the baby monk being the highlights of the day. You just wished it was always day. You wished the sun never set and the world was never covered in darkness, you started to despise it. You realized that nights were the worst.

Every shadow you might’ve seen, or any twig that snapped under the pressure of various wildlife that were roaming their woods, it always startled you, pushing you to the verge of a panic attack. You felt so vulnerable in the darkness. Constantly. It didn’t help that the company you kept didn’t even try to keep themselves out of trouble, if anything they went out of their way to find trouble. While that might not have been exactly true, your traumatized mind found the extreme in everything.

You could scarcely find sleep with tossing and turning in fear and paranoia that your master would rise from the grave to steal you away again. You’d always finally find sleep once the sun had already started to rise. It was frustrating, you were angry that your mind still tormented you so. You were free now, so why couldn’t your mind comprehend it?

You knew you were fitful in your sleep, whenever you managed to find it. But no one had ever mentioned you making much noise when traveling back to Coccham, until one night. 

Even after staying in this new town for over a month now, you still had such bad nightmares in the form of embellished memories, your subconscious making them seem even worse. One particular nightmare had you gasping awake, a scream escaping your mouth as you sat straight up in your bed in a cold sweat, your heart beating so fast you thought it would stop.

Osferth had heard you from across the little house, immediately brandishing his sword to frighten away or kill whatever or whoever dared to hurt you. But unfortunately, Osferth’s sword couldn’t scare away your own mind. “My lady?” He asked, panicking at your state.

You were hysterical, unable to even say more than stuttering apologies. Osferth went straight to you, ignoring the boundaries he set for himself just for you, bringing your shaking frame into his arms to try to soothe you, cooing comforting words in your ears. “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s okay now, sweet girl. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

“Osferth…” You spoke in broken sobs, leaning into his touch while your body heaved with the pain of your memories.

“I’m here, love. I’m here.” Osferth’s heart broke for you, just imagining what you might’ve gone through to have nightmares that elicited such reactions from you. It also brought back that similar dangerous anger that rooted itself deep in his heart, making him hold you tighter, his expression hardening and willed anyone who was curious to keep away lest they wanted to be up close and personal with his fists.

After a few minutes of crying onto Osferth’s chest, your body finally started to stop shaking. “I’m sorry…bad dreams.” You stuttered, even though they weren’t just dreams.

“You have nothing to apologize for, my lady. I can’t imagine…” Osferth sighed, choosing not to finish that sentence. “I hate that you are troubled so. Is there anything I can do to make it better?” He moved to pull away, to fetch you water or whatever you so wished, but he was surprised to find you didn’t want to let him go.

“Can you…stay with me?” You asked timidly. “I’ve learned I don’t like sleeping by myself.”

Osferth’s expression softened, settling himself back beside you, placing an arm over your shoulders to pull you to him gently. “Of course, my lady. I’ll always stay with you, if that’s what you desire. Now, try to get more sleep. I’ll be right here when you wake. I’ll have no harm come to you ever again. I swear on the cross.”

You looked up at him, your eyes heavy with exhaustion, but no sleep could come to you when you had so many questions. “Why are you so kind to me? You don’t have to be, but you are.”

Osferth blushed, smiling bashfully. “It’s the Godly thing to do, miss. Treat others that way you’d want to be treated.”

You frowned. “I’ve never been treated with much kindness throughout my life.”

“It shouldn’t have been that way. You deserved kindness and respect, much like anyone else. But the fact that you yourself are still kind and respectful, despite all you’ve been through, is a testament to how strong you truly are, my lady.” Now it was your turn to blush, hiding your face from his view by cuddling into his chest.

“I don’t feel very strong most days, not with my mind so…shattered.” You sighed, fiddling with the cross necklace he wore. “How do you keep your faith, Osferth, when you’ve seen so much death and cruelty in the world?”

Osferth frowned. “I will not say it isn’t difficult, my lady. But all of this has to have some meaning, doesn’t it? If there is no reward after death for our good deeds, why do we bother at all? My faith remains strong because of all the good I’ve seen, in spite of the bad. The ability to be kind towards others, to show empathy, to protect the ones you love…those are all Godly things, innit?” 

Osferth shifted, moving to sit up, you moving with him with a curious expression decorating your features as he removed his cross. “Here,” He placed the cross around your neck, the feeling of rough callousness of his fingers along the sensitive skin making gooseflesh rise along your body, “I want you to have this, my lady. Perhaps, let it be a reminder that there is good in this world, even if some days it doesn’t feel like it.”

You didn’t realize it until right then, but you were in love with Osferth.

Don't worry, there's gonna be a part 2. I wouldn't do that to y'all🥰 next part is gonna be even more angst and some smutty smut, so if anyone wants to be tagged for that, just let me know💕