This is an edit of one of my fav fanfics atm “don’t kiss and tell” by @harringtonsdiary!! I’m so excited for the last few chapters and I hope you like the edit 🫶🫶🫶🫶
(Faceclaim of reader/hotshot is Emmy Rossum as Fiona Gallagher)
Hi, I recommend reading the drabble (from Baelor's POV) first, and then watching the edit (from Aemma's POV).
I don't know if it's because I love them so much, but I literally got a lump in my throat while writing and editing them lol
As I always say if you like it, don't hesitate to like, comment, and reblog. Comments really motivate me and make me happy 🥰🥰💖
Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.
I wish you all a good read!
“Baelor!” Aemma called out, frightened and horrified, as she approached him, extending her hand.
Baelor felt confused; he couldn't remember if she had ever called him by his name before. He was sure she hadn't; she always addressed him as “my prince” or “your Grace.” It was a shame that this was the first and last time he heard her say his name, especially with that scared tone instead of her sweet voice.
Perhaps if he had been a braver man, he could have listened sooner if he hadn't struggled so long to accept his feelings for Aemma. He should have told her how he felt before, how seeing her, even for a moment, instantly brightened his day, how making her laugh or smile gave him the same pride as winning a joust, how her company provided a warmth he hadn't known he needed. He was going to die, and she would never know how he felt. Because Baelor wasn't a selfish man who would tell his sweet girl he loved her before he died. He didn't want her to be haunted for the rest of her life with what could have been.
Should he try to reach out, try to touch Aemma one last time? A part of him longed to, just as he longed to see Valarr and Matarys one last time, longed for Maekar to be here just to make it clear that he didn't blame him for anything, but he only had Aemma. And yet he wasn't going to take her hand. He didn't want to leave Aemma shaken, for her to remember the last time they touched as something sad, to remember his cold hand. No, Baelor preferred that she remember his warm touch, when their hands met during dances, when they strolled arm in arm through the gardens in the sun, or when he placed his cloak over her shoulders after noticing she was cold during a hunt. Gods, he hoped Daeron would mature, that he would pay attention, that he would be able to warm Aemma when she was cold, that he would be there to care for her, that he would become the man Aemma needed.
Baelor couldn't help but grieve because he wanted to be that man, he wanted to take care of Aemma. He never had the chance to show Aemma she was wrong, that love isn't overrated, that marriage isn't just a duty. But now he will never be able to do it.
"Baelor!"
It hurts that the last thing he sees is her with tears about to overflow from her beautiful brown eyes. And the last thing he hears before collapsing is the broken scream of the woman who captivated him without her even trying.
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