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cuddlemen0w ยท 11 months
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Cannot wait to read the cottagecore Din x reader fics
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cuddlemen0w ยท 1 year
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din djarin is so taylor swift coded
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#turbobaby
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cuddlemen0w ยท 1 year
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THIS! and it would totally debase her character into โ€œa love interestโ€ and that would not be very slay from them
i an literally begging for din and bo-katan to not be a thing. on my knees PLEADING. donโ€™t get me wrong i think bo-katan is awesome but din doesnโ€™t need a love interest please hear me out dave filoni and jon favreau please donโ€™t make them a thing please donโ€™t Iโ€™M BEGGINGโ€”
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cuddlemen0w ยท 1 year
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WHO DID THIS ๐Ÿ˜ญ
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cuddlemen0w ยท 1 year
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My first choice (part 1/2)
summary: Aemond thinks you are way too good to be Aegonโ€™s best friend. But you are enough for the one-eye prince to fall in love with.
pairing: Aemond Targaryen and F!Reader words: ~ 5500
warnings:ย friends to lovers, slow burn (with very obvious mutual pining),ย angst, Aegon is a sad boy (but ends up being a pretty good wingman!)
author's note: this isย inspired by โ€œLittle womenโ€ย andย Amy Marchย in particular. I took the liberty to rewrite some plot lines because to me Aemond isย nothingย like Laurie (Aegon is ;) and I hate love triangles so we are not having any of that sorry. it's a bit of a roller coaster so I divided it into 2 parts in hopes that it will be easier to read: the first part explains Aemond's feelings, the second one will be about hers.
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part 1. How could you be so blind
Aegon knows he's supposed to be relieved โ€” he never wanted the crown and now that Rhaenyra is the Queen and a feast is arranged in her honor, he should be celebrating. And he may have been hitting the wine way too hard for the past couple of hours, but he canโ€™t pretend to be happy, and he gave up trying to force a smile. Itโ€™s ridiculous that he is upset overย this,ย and yet he canโ€™t help but feel horribly useless. The prince drinks one cup after another until the room starts spinning and he canโ€™t even sit straight โ€” and then he suddenly finds himself propped against the wall, sliding under the table instead of sitting at it. Aegon catches a few judgemental glances but at this point, he couldnโ€™t care less. There is only one person whose judgment heย isย afraid of โ€” and itโ€™s not long before heโ€™s greeted with a displeased remark:
โ€œWhen I asked you not to swoop too low, I couldnโ€™t imagine you would literally lay on the floor.โ€
He looks up โ€” and here you are, staring down at him, not even trying to cover up your disappointment. At any other time, Aegon wouldโ€™ve at least tried to sober up, but today heโ€™s disappointed in himself, too, so he doesnโ€™t make an effort. Instead, he reaches out an arm to you with a lax smile:
โ€œWould you like to join me?โ€
โ€œI didnโ€™t get the invitation to this pity party so I will pass,โ€ your tone suggests you are not in the mood for jesting. โ€œNow that youโ€™ve succeeded in making a fool out of yourself, would you mind getting upright?โ€
โ€œI think I like it here,โ€ he retorts, shamelessly staring at the legs of the maids passing by.ย 
โ€œYou like wallowing in misery for all to see?โ€ you huff. โ€œAegon, get up.โ€
He fakes a whine:
โ€œMy legs gave out, Iโ€™m afraid!โ€ย 
โ€œYou would need to drink all the wine in the castle for that to happen, and I doubt you managed to do that,โ€ you roll your eyes, taking a step toward him โ€” but pause upon hearing a voice behind your back:
โ€œYou underestimate my brother.โ€
Aemond has a habit of sneaking up on people which often startles you yet right now you are too angry at Aegon to be bothered. You throw Aemond a glare over your shoulder but your eyes soften when you see the apologetic look on his face. Itโ€™s not the first time that the two of you find yourself in this situation โ€” throughout the years you learned to work as a team: you bring Aegon back to his senses while Aemond helps to physically bring him to the nearest flat surface. You have never asked him for help โ€” and yet heโ€™s always there.
Aemond is about to lean down to help his brother up โ€” you stop the one-eye prince with your hand, your palm inches away from his chest.ย Anyone else wouldโ€™ve thought twice before standing in his way but you donโ€™t hesitate.
โ€œHe is perfectly capable to get up on his own,โ€ you reject Aemondโ€™s attempt, your eyes fixed on Aegon. โ€œHe can hold onto the wall shall he feel unable to stay on his two feet.โ€
There is something in your gaze that makes Aegon uncomfortable, piercing him to the bone. You are never downright mean or rude but with just a few words you can easily unmask his feigned recklessness. The prince stands up, tottering and feeling a little light-headed.
โ€œAre you happy, now when I'm in the standing position?โ€
โ€œIf you cared about anyoneย else's feelings but your own, you wouldn't be in this position,โ€ you scold him while Aemond takes his brother under the arm to guide him out. Aegon tries to grab another cup of wine but you slap his hand.
โ€œDo you ever get ashamed of yourself?โ€ you hiss at him.
โ€œLet me think... No, why would I?โ€ he sounds sarcastic.
โ€œYou should be,โ€ you whisper scream at him. โ€œYou can find nothing to do but dawdle and make a mockery of yourself!โ€
Aemond feels his brother shuddering at your words, and he tightens his hold on Aegon.
โ€œWell,ย what elseย am I to do,โ€ his voice is bitter. โ€œSince I am not an heir and serve no purpose to the realm nor do I have any taste for duty.โ€
You slow your pace, and a sigh leaves your mouth.
โ€œI feel sorry for you, Aegon, I do. I only wish you'd bear it better,โ€ you reach out to stroke his arm but the prince bristles.
โ€œYou don't have to feel sorry for me.ย Yourย duty is to marry, and we will see how that goes,โ€ he mutters before he can stop himself โ€” and regrets it the very next second when you swiftly turn to him.
โ€œAt least I would be respected if I couldn't be loved,โ€ your tone hushed but sharp.
Aegon stops dead in his tracks, his wide eyes meeting yours. You moved away from the crowd into the hall, and it becomes silent. And then his lower lip quivers.
โ€œBut I thought thatย youย loved me,โ€ Aegon whimpers, his assumed nonchalance instantly gone.
โ€œOh, Aegon, how much did you have to drink?โ€ you come to his side, lending him a shoulder to cry on. While heโ€™s aggressively sniffling, you look at Aemond and quietly mouthย โ€œHow many cups?โ€
โ€œWay more than usual,โ€ he gives you a wan smile, and you groan at his answer, taking Aegon by the arm.
โ€œAlright, you can lean on me. But donโ€™t get handsy or Iย willย push you down the stairs,โ€ your remark earns a weak laugh from the older prince, and the three of you head toward his chambers.
Aegon doesnโ€™t talk much but his mood softens and you exchange a few jokes before finally reaching his room.
โ€œI can take it from here,โ€ Aemond suggests but his brother eagerly protests.
โ€œNo, I want to be tucked into bed! And definitely not by you,โ€ he sticks out his tongue, and you chuckle at his whim.
โ€œAemond, I can handle him.โ€ย 
The one-eyed prince shoots you a knowing glance and holds the door open for you and Aegon to walk in. You slowly move to his bed, making sure he doesnโ€™t stumble on his way โ€” and then, with a sudden boost of energy, the prince flops down on the fluffy blankets, letting out a satisfied moan. You hold back a giggle and wait for him to crawl under the covers.
โ€œShould I call for the maid to help you undress?โ€
โ€œNo, I am way too comfortable like this,โ€ he pulls the blanket up to his chin, and you sit on the edge of the bed.
โ€œI am sorry for the way I behaved,โ€ he reveals, frowning. โ€œI did not mean to, truly.โ€
โ€œAegon, you know Iโ€™m not the one you should apologize to,โ€ you take his hand in yours, and he squeezes it with childish eagerness. โ€œYou left Helaena all alone. And youย promisedย me you would make an effort.โ€
โ€œI know, I know,โ€ he yawns. โ€œI was doing better until today, I swear, you should ask her,โ€ his speech becomes incoherent as he is already too drowsy to talk, his cheeks flushed from the wine and the heat of the blankets. As you stand up to leave, Aegon mumbles:
โ€œI fetched you a book... the one you were looking for,โ€ he sloppily points to his table by the window before dozing off.
There is only one book so itโ€™s easy to find โ€” and when you do, you can barely contain a sound of surprise: it's the complete history of Westeros, heavy and hardcover, decorated with gilding. You glance at Aegon but he looks fast asleep so you cautiously get out of his chambers.
If you were to turn around, you wouldโ€™ve noticed that he kept an eye on you with a grin on his face.
When you walk out, you see Aemond still standing there, his gaze landing on the book and then immediately on you. It takes you a minute to figure it out and then you smile at him:
โ€œEven though I appreciate the gesture, it is hard to imagine Aegon in the library.โ€
โ€œHe asked me to help him find the book you wanted. I did,โ€ the prince explains as if it isnโ€™t that big of a deal. But to you,ย it isย โ€” although you think he only did it out of politeness.
โ€œThank you, Aemond,โ€ you enthusiastically turn your attention to the book, flipping through the pages in awe. He watches you, feeling the warmth in his chest at the sight of your joy.
โ€œYou know that you bring out the best in him?โ€ Aemond says in a low voice, and your heart skips a beat at his comment. You are thankful for the dim lighting that makes your heated cheeks less obvious.
โ€œYou overestimate my influence,โ€ you say, then dither before admitting, โ€œI think I was too hard on him today.โ€
โ€œSomeone has to do it,โ€ Aemond objects, and thereโ€™s something in his tone โ€” sincere and soft, that makes you look at him again. At this moment, away from the prying eyes and the pressure of everyoneโ€™s expectations, you can see the side of him that people rarely get acquainted with.
โ€œI think you are doing a pretty good job, too,โ€ you tell the prince, finding his presence ever so calming. You could never understand why would anyone call Aemond intimidating when heโ€™s been nothing but kind to you ever since you two met. Whenever you have a chance to be alone with him, his company always brings you comfort, and that feeling is so rare, you want to chase it.
But then you remind yourself of the harsh reality, and your smile falters.
โ€œIโ€™m sorry you had to get involved,โ€ you look down at the book. โ€œI wouldnโ€™t want to distract you.โ€ย 
โ€œYou need to elaborate on that,โ€ Aemond says uncomprehendingly.
โ€œIโ€™ve heard that you were courting lady Baratheon,โ€ you explain casually, avoiding his gaze.
He hesitates before answering.
โ€œWell, I only plan to,โ€ the prince clarifies. โ€œIf she accepts my advances.โ€
โ€œIt would be silly of her not to,โ€ you blurt out and, while you canโ€™t see it, Aemond gives you a quizzical look.
โ€œShe may have her reasons โ€”โ€ย 
โ€œI canโ€™t come up with a single one,โ€ you tell him with so much confidence, Aemondโ€™s heart flutters at your words but you continue without a second thought. โ€œYou are intelligent, good-hearted, handsome โ€” and a really skilled swordsman. Not to mention you have the biggest dragon in the realm, which does sound like a reasonable perk.โ€
The prince is glad that youโ€™re too preoccupied with the book to see his stunned expression. Itโ€™s not just the fact that you compliment him so easily โ€” but also the way you do it. When other people try to, they usuallyย startย with Vhagar as if the old grumpy creature is the main good thing about Aemond. But you only bring up the dragon at the very end and in passing, instead keeping the focus on the prince. He is silent for a moment, letting your words sink into his memory.
And then Aemond persuades himself that you only said it out of politeness.
You notice his lack of response โ€” and you are about to question it when a maid comes to you in haste:
โ€œLady Y/N, your presence is needed. Your father is looking for you.โ€
โ€œBetter not keep him waiting,โ€ the prince encourages you with a grin. โ€œIf he finds Aegon, he might hug him to death.โ€
You playfully elbow him and turn to follow the maid but then stop to say:
โ€œPlease make sure your brother stays in bed.โ€
โ€œWill do,โ€ Aemond looks at you walking away, clutching the book to your chest as if it's the most precious thing in the world.
To this day, it is truly a mystery to him how Aegon managed to befriend someone like you. You met the Targaryen brothers when your family was invited to one of the royal feasts. You were ten and three, the middle one of three sisters. Your oldest โ€” Elaesa โ€” has been the center of attention, beautiful and graceful, but while everyoneโ€™s eyes were on her, you looked a little bit disoriented. It was the first feast that youโ€™ve attended, and maybe you got too agitated or overwhelmed โ€” or both โ€” but soon you ended up lost in the castle, and somehow ripped the hem of your dress in the process.
Aemond was the one to find you. The prince has never been keen on taking part in celebrations, often sneaking away from all the noise. Thatโ€™s when he saw you โ€” fussing with the dress, your sobs echoing through the hall.
โ€œAre you hurt?โ€ he rushed to your side, and you looked up at him with blubbered eyes.
โ€œWhy do you have so many halls? You should hand out maps so people can find their way back,โ€ despite being clearly upset, you sounded unusually serious, and Aemond fought back a smile.
โ€œI can help you find your parents without a map,โ€ he suggested, and for a second it seemed to lighten your mood but then your pout worsened.
โ€œI cannot go back,โ€ you gestured at the dress. โ€œI am in such trouble!โ€ you whined, the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes.ย 
Truth be told, Aemond didnโ€™t have much experience with ladies back then nor did he know a thing about dresses but your distress seemed so genuine he couldnโ€™t leave you be.
โ€œIt is notย thatย bad,โ€ he pointed at the ripped material. โ€œI can ask our seamstress to take a look.โ€
You studied his face for a second, then glanced back at the dress โ€” surprisingly, that was all it took for you to stop crying, and no other coaxing was needed. You wiped your nose and fixed your hairdo, smoothing the damaged hem the best you could.
โ€œI'd appreciate it if you help me find my way back,โ€ you said, your face seemingly more relaxed.
Getting you to talk was pretty easy, and Aemond shortly discovered how open-minded and outspoken you were, using your quick thinking to compensate for your timid personality. When you returned to the hall of the Iron Throne, he was reluctant to let you go but promised to come back with the seamstress. The task only took him about ten minutes, but when he did reappear, you were not alone โ€” Aegon was standing next to you, making you laugh so hard, it looked like you forgot about the dress already. Aemond didnโ€™t mean to interrupt as he suddenly felt very out of place, uninvited in his own home, so he abandoned the idea of helping you and just left.
At first, he thought you fell for Aegonโ€™s flirtatious charms but soon learned that, as much as youย didย like his brotherโ€™s humor, his charms had no effect on you. On the contrary, you often chided him for hitting on young girls and openly condemned his affection for wine. Your honesty set you apart from all the ladies Aegon was surrounded with โ€” and that was the reason he came to enjoy your company as much as he did. Despite the three years age gap, you were the one who told him the truth, no matter how ugly it mightโ€™ve been, but you did so without prejudice or any ill intentions. You would usually follow your critique with advice or a solution of some sort to keep the prince away from unnecessary trouble. That is why you were on friendly terms with Helaena, too, and your influence was also welcomed by Alicent, the then Queen. She liked that you were straightforward with your remarks and often said that you were wise beyond your years. Although, as much as Aemond agreed with it, he suspected there was a reason youย had toย grow up early.
It happened the same year you met โ€” your older sister, with all her grace and beauty, ran away from home to elope with some unworthy beggar. Your mother was inconsolable for at least a week, saying that Elaesa brought shame upon her family. Your father, the kind man that he is, forgave his daughter fairly quickly and tried his best to restore peace. And yet, you came to realize that Elaesa's vagary did cast a shadow over your House. Your youngest sister, Alyna, was a fragile little thing, frequently sick and tacit โ€” which left you to be the one representing your family in the eyes of society.
Within a few years, there wasn't a thing you weren't good at: lords lined up to have a dance with you, ladies admired how well-spoken you were and shared a laugh at your florid sarcasm, and you learned to embroider, to ride a horse, to walk exquisitely dressed and with impeccable posture. But while for everyone else it was a reason to compliment you, Aemond saw the underlying cause of your diligence โ€” the corrosive desire to prove one's worth which was something he learned to live with as well. And which led him to think he understood you better than anyone.
More often than not he found himself watching you as if he had the need to make sure you weren't in harm's way. Helping you with Aegon was a part of that routine but it also gave him a chance to be alone with you. You talked about everything and nothing in particular, and he would catch glimpses of you โ€” the real you, shy and emotional at times, but still understanding and perceptive. He cherished every opportunity to steal you away from the never-ending chattering, from lords ogling at you, from Jason Lannister whose interest in your company should've been concerning. Aemond has gotten so used to observing you, so enthralled with your covert conversations, he didn't realize that a particular feeling was creeping up on him. But there was one person who turned out to be more observant than Aemond has been. Aegon was the mere reason why his brother ended up at your door a few days later. Aemondโ€™s been to your place a couple of times and he promptly memorized the way to the farthest room of the house โ€” the one you used to paint in. It was the only thing you truly allowed yourself to enjoy, an unexpected talent of yours which you soon perfected, too, except it wasn't meant for the others to marvel at but plainly for you to keep your head occupied, to have some quiet time.
He walks in when you are already painting the finishing touches. When you turn to greet him, you stop mid-sentence, seeing that itโ€™s Aemond instead of his brother who you were waiting for.
โ€œHe overslept,โ€ the younger prince shrugs. โ€œIt isn't a bothersome task to come pick up the portrait of my nephews.โ€
You point in the direction of the painting with the brush in your hand. Aemond admires your work โ€” as he always does โ€” while you try to shake off your confusion. There is another reason youย did notย expect to see Aemond today. You tarry with voicing your concern but eventually glance at him with empathy:
โ€œI was sorry to hear about lady Baratheonโ€™s decision.โ€
โ€œI was not,โ€ heโ€™s quick to retort.
โ€œI cannotย imagineย agreeing to marry a Stark,โ€ you say, dipping a brush in a jar of water.
โ€œIs it the cold weather?โ€ Aemond grins knowingly.
โ€œYes! Gods, just thinking about it makes me feel uneasy. All the layers you have to wear to keep yourself warm, barely being able to move, getting no sunlight...,โ€ you ramble, making sure to wet all the brushes before lining them up on the table.
โ€œSome say they've got quite a beautiful scenery,โ€ Aemond tries to object although he knows his argument doesn't stand a chance.
โ€œI wouldn't be able to enjoy that,โ€ youย huff. โ€œHow am I to capture the beauty if my paint freezes?โ€
He only hums in agreement, watching you busy yourself with your supplies. You go through the brushes, delicately cleaning the bristles with a cloth. Your fingers carefully take one brush after the other, and Aemond silently admires your love for neatness and order.
โ€œYou are staring,โ€ you say without turning to him.
โ€œWhere do you want me to look at?โ€
โ€œAemond, you are in a room full of art!โ€ you chuckle lightly. โ€œSurely, enough options to land your eye on.โ€
The prince lets his gaze go around the place, and it takes him about a minute to quickly examine all the paintings. And then he inevitably looks at you again. Aemond thinks he likes this view the most.
โ€œWhen do you begin your next great work of art?โ€ he asks, hoping to distract you.ย 
You halt movement, then force out glumly:
โ€œNever.โ€
โ€œWhat do you mean?โ€ heโ€™s taken by surprise.
โ€œIโ€™ve come to realize that Iโ€™d never be a genius,โ€ you reluctantly explain. โ€œSo Iโ€™m giving up all my foolish artistic hopes.โ€
โ€œY/N, you cannot be serious. You have so much talent and โ€” โ€
โ€œTalent isnโ€™t genius!โ€ you throw up your hands in defeat, and he can sense your frustration from a distance. โ€œIย may beย talented in other things, but when it comes to painting, I want to be great or nothing. And I am only of middling talent,โ€ you scoop up the brushes, give them a quick look and place in another jar to dry.
Aemond wants to argue, heย reallyย does โ€” but he also knows better than to try and persuade you when you are like this: firmly standing your ground, exuding nothing but stubbornness. In any other situation, he wouldโ€™ve found it endearing but itโ€™s upsetting to see you downplaying your brilliance.
โ€œHm, may I at least ask your last portrait to be of me?โ€
You instantly turn to him, taken aback. Throughout the years youโ€™ve known him, he clearly expressed that he did not like being painted, and you only could make a quick sketch or two, at best, when he wasn't paying attention.
โ€œAlright,โ€ the long-awaited opportunity makes you smile. โ€œNext time I come for breakfast, Iย willย drag you into the garden to pose for me,โ€ you give him a pointed look, and Aemond humbly nods.
Your smile grows wider but you try to tone it down, afraid to spook him, and focus on wiping the nearest table.
โ€œWhat are you going to do with your life in the meantime?โ€ he changes the subject.
โ€œPolish up my other skills and become an ornament to society,โ€ you sigh, putting the cloth away.
Thereโ€™s a brief pause before he says, his voice a bit strained:
โ€œHere is where Jason Lannister comes in, I suppose?โ€
You say yes but the answer comes a little bit too fast, and Aemond notices that the topic makes you uncomfortable.
โ€œBut you areย yetย to be betrothed to him,โ€ he clarifies, gaze fixed on you.
โ€œI will be if he proposes,โ€ your eyes meet his, and you are sure that thereโ€™s a shadow of disapproval on his face that only spurs your stubbornness. You fully turn to the prince to say: โ€œI always knew I had to marry well, I do not feel ashamed of that.โ€
But Aemond isnโ€™t looking for a fight โ€” he swiftly corrects himself:
โ€œThere is nothing to be ashamed of. As long as...โ€ โ€” he can barely bring himself to say it โ€” โ€œAs long as youย loveย him.โ€
For the reason unknown to Aemond, his statement brings a bleak smile to your face.
โ€œI believe we can have some power over who we love,โ€ you object, lowering your gaze for a second as you start absentmindedly twisting the ring on your finger.
โ€œI think the poetsย wouldย disagree,โ€ he chuckles, trying to defuse the unexpected tension.ย 
But when you look up at him, your glare is as obdurate as ever.
โ€œWell, I am not a poet, I am just a woman,โ€ you rebut crisply. โ€œAnd as a woman, I have no illusions about my prospects whichย do notย include me earning a living to support my family. And my parentโ€™s fortune has its limits as I've come to learn. Hence why, if I want to have children โ€”ย I doย โ€” and be able to provide them with everything they wish for, I must rely on my husband,โ€ that last word is pronounced withย disappointment. โ€œSo don't stand here and tell me that marriage isn't an economic proposition, becauseย it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me.โ€
Had he not known you, Aemond wouldโ€™ve been very impressed โ€” with how blunt and witty you are, you are very good at delivering speeches. But as heโ€™s standing in front of you,ย watching your face, he senses that your determination is akin to despair. Aemond thinks heย mightย take a chance at arguing with you, after all โ€” but youโ€™re both startled by a knock on the door:
โ€œLady Y/N, Ser Lannister just arrived.โ€
You look baffled for a second, your confidence crumbling.
โ€œWhy would he โ€” I, I didnโ€™t expect him today,โ€ you mumble, almost ashamed of his arrival.
Yet you pull yourself together faster than Aemond can come up with a reason for you to stay. You remove your apron and quickly examine your dress, then move to put on a cape.
โ€œDid I miss any paint stains?โ€ you ask Aemond in a haste.
โ€œNo,โ€ he looks over the flowing material of your neat dress, your hair knotted up high โ€” and then: โ€œ...Wait!โ€
You stop abruptly while he grabs a clean cloth.
โ€œThere is something on your cheek,โ€ he says as you both step toward each other โ€” and in the next second youโ€™re suddenly standing too close.ย 
You turn to him and shyly shut your eyes, taking a deep breath. Aemond is frozen for a moment but then carefully wipes away a slight smudge of green from under your cheekbone. His hand unwillingly lingers as he examines the delicate features of your face. You open your eyes, looking at the prince questingly. His facial expression is unreadable but it makes you wish you didnโ€™t have to go.
You brush away that silly thought and stand back, fixing your cape.
โ€œHow do I look? Do I look alright?โ€
โ€œYou look beautiful,โ€ Aemond says with no hesitation, taking you in โ€” with your cheeks a bit flushed, lip parted and eyes shining. โ€œYouย areย beautiful.โ€
You seem bewildered at his words but then a smile grows on your face โ€” and in a blink of an eye, youโ€™re gone. The prince is left standing there, staring at the spot where you were just now. The room suddenly feels so empty without you โ€” and so does his heart.
The realization strikes Aemond like lightning: he wants to be the one you come to, at all times. The one holding your hand, watching you paint, or read, or dance โ€” watching you do whatever your heart desires. Becauseย hisย only desire is to be with you. That thought puts down roots deep into his chest, and he doesnโ€™t know how to pluck it out.
Nor does he want to. Itโ€™s all he can think about for the duration of the week, until you come to the castle โ€” with canvas and supplies, not hiding your excitement. He almost forgot about his promise but follows you into the garden without objection. You sense a slight change in Aemondโ€™s behavior, him being more quiet than usual, but decide not to push the prince so he wonโ€™t reconsider.
โ€œI will start with a sketch and then we will go from there. Alright?โ€ย 
He just hums in response while looking at you but you are unaware of the meaning behind his gaze.
โ€œTake any pose you like, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable,โ€ you suggest with a half-smile, knowing full well he will probably remain standing.
And he does, arms clasped behind his back, his eye never leaving your face. You immerse in the process too quickly to be bothered, the piece of charcoal in your hand sliding over the paper, leaving lines and shadows. Drawing Aemond is an effortless task, and you can only enjoy how easy it is to sketch the sharp contours of his face and his lean body. The simplicity can be also explained by the fact that you've already memorized all the details by heart: the curves of his cheekbones and his lips, the flow of his silver hair, the shape and cut of his eye.
When you are finally satisfied, you canโ€™t tell if itโ€™s been an hour or three, and the prince, as it seems, hasnโ€™t moved a muscle. At this point, Aemondโ€™s demeanor does worry you yet you blame it on his nervousness.
โ€œWant to take a look?โ€ you hand him a few sketches. โ€œMind you, Iโ€™m not finished so please donโ€™t judge too harshly โ€”โ€
โ€œI could never,โ€ his hand brushes yours when he takes the drawings.
Aemond has seen your works before but it's a whole new experience when he's the one being portrayed. He almost doesn't recognize himself โ€” you didn't miss a single feature of his yet somehow this version of him looks too beautiful to be real. He's at a loss for words until he spots that there's another drawing hidden underneath. It's a sketch of him sitting, both arms on the table, his face looks like he's deep in his thoughts.
โ€œWhen did you do this one?โ€
โ€œAfter the coronation,โ€ the memory makes you smile. โ€œMade my poor father lug around with charcoal in his pockets while he was trying to keep up the conversation with Ser Lannister.โ€
It was the day you got introduced to Jason. You were supposed to be by his side, with your charming smile and polite talks, yet you spend your time drawing Aemond. He can imagine your gaze focused on the piece of paper, the way you must've been looking at him to capture every detail and movement โ€” all of that without him asking to, without him even noticing. There's so much care in that act, he is unexpectedly moved by it.
The words leave his mouth before he can think them over:
โ€œDon't marry him.โ€
His request makes your hands tremble, and you drop the piece of charcoal, slowly looking up at Aemond, the smile disappearing from your face. Heย did notย mean that, you must've misunderstood.
โ€œ...What?โ€
Aemond turns to you, looking you straight in the eyes:
โ€œDon't marry him,โ€ he repeats, helplessly and desperately.
โ€œWhy?โ€ you ask in disbelief, suddenly having trouble breathing. The only reason you can think of sounds delusional, close to impossible. You wait for him to come up with some clever explanation โ€” instead, he comes closer to you, his gaze so warm it makes your cheeks burn.
โ€œYou know why,โ€ Aemond says and his hand gently lands on yours. You look down at it, perplexed, your mouth opening and closing, heart rateย speeding up.
He keeps his eye on your face as he waits for your reply. You are not repulsed nor angry โ€” which is supposed to be a good sign โ€” but the reaction he gets is actually worse than that. Because when you finally glance at him, you lookย hurt.
โ€œNo,โ€ you yank away your hand as if his touch stung. โ€œNo, Aemond, you are being mean, stop it,โ€ you take a step back, your eyes glossy and lips tight. The look you give causes him physical pain โ€” while you are trying your best to fight back the tears.
His intelligence clearly fails him because Aemond has no clue whatโ€™s going on. He feels like there is a deeper meaning to your words but he does not get it.
โ€œWhy am I being mean?โ€ he asks incredulously as you slowly continue putting more distance between you two.
You donโ€™t even realize you are doing it โ€” itโ€™s almost an urge toย notย be in his presence, for the first time ever. The weight of his words feels suffocating and merciless. How easy it is for him to toy with your emotions, you think, and that cruelty of his โ€” as you see it โ€” wounds you so deeply, he might as well put a torch to your heart.
โ€œI have felt like everyoneโ€™s second choice my entire life,โ€ you bemoan, not being able to keep your agony bottled up any longer. โ€œIn everything, no matter how hard Iโ€™ve worked to be better. I thoughtย youย out of all people would understand that,โ€ you sound raspy, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.
โ€œSo I will not be the person you settle for just because your first marriage proposal was turned down,โ€ only when your voice shudders, Aemond finally understands how wrongfully you interpreted his intentions.
But you are out of his reach already โ€” at least ten feet away from him, and the distance separates you like a giant chasm.
โ€œNo, I wonโ€™t. I canโ€™t,โ€ you are hurting so much, your feelings spill out like blood from a wound. โ€œI canโ€™t do it. Not when I have spentย yearsย loving you.โ€
His breathing hitches as your confession pierces through his chest โ€” and he is left speechless, deafened by it. The moment slips through his fingers with unforgiving pace: you were standing so close only a minute ago โ€” and now you are turning your back to him, rushing away. The last thing he sees is how broken you look, your shoulders slumped and eyes brimming with tears.ย 
Aemond stands, shocked and paralyzed until itโ€™s too late โ€” the garden is silent with your absence and the only evidence of you being there is your supplies scattered on the ground. Your words are ringing in his head, his heart heavy with a dreadful feeling.
He was afraid he would never have you โ€” but he actually could have.
If only he wasn't so blind.
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yes, this is me blabbing again: Iโ€™ve watched this movie an embarrassing amount of times, and Iโ€™ve wanted to write a fic based on it for a few months. I did rephrase a couple of quotes but still tried my best to do the story justice. my apologies for the angst โ€” just so you know, itย wasย painful to write. also, will I ever stop using friends to lovers trope? only time will tell! (I probably won't, though) I know there is a very heartwarming fic by aemonds-war-crime that was also based on โ€œLittle womenโ€ and it's only fair that I link it as well!
tagging @greenowlfactif because you asked ๐Ÿ’™ comments and opinions are VERY welcomed! ๐Ÿฅบ
2K notes ยท View notes
cuddlemen0w ยท 1 year
Text
Maroon (part one)
modern!Aemond Targaryen x f!reader
The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me
And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was (maroon)
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An imagine loosely based on the song Maroon of off Midnights by Taylor Swift โ–ช๏ธŽ read more Daemon & Aemond midnights imagines here: masterlist
themes: fluff, Aemond and the reader being friends first, shy reader, red wine antics, language + Aemond does not have his disability/lost eye in this one (but I plan to write it in for a potential part two)
The reader has always admired Aemond Targaryen from afar, the brother of her best friend Helaena. Little does she know, she has caught his eye as well. Something is revealed one night, encouraged by a sudden splash of maroon.
word count: 3.8k
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"You've been awfully silent tonight," Aemond says, "and more so after Helaena went to bed. Is something wrong, y/n?"
Your fingers tighten around your wine glass, unsure of what to say. Perhaps you have withdrawn back into your shell when your best friend Helaena decided she was going to bed early. She is quite the lightweight, after all. A few sips of wine and she was out.
You didn't mind. But she left you here with Aemond, sprawled out on the expensive carpet in their living room. He gracefully leans against the couch, remaining poised. One thing you admire about him is the way he carries himself, almost with a sense of regal austerity that makes him intimidating to most people. Add that to the fact that Aemond is one of the heirs to the Targaryen business empire, the richest family in the city.
But for some reason, he is gentle with you. Treating you differently than he does anyone else. Almost with reverence. Helaena once joked that he shouldn't go easy on you too much, with you being tougher than you look. Aemond just laughed it off, but you stood there awkwardly, unable to hide the way your face grew flushed all over.
Your crush on Aemond Targaryen has only gotten worse since then.
"I'm not silent," you find yourself blurting out in a defensive tone, "I'm... just... nursing my wine, that's all."
Get your shit together, y/n.
A small smile appears on Aemond's lips, as he notices your increasingly flustered state, "Okay, I believe you."
"Good," you look down at your glass, swirling it around. What should I say next? What should I say next?
Aemond interrupts your nervous train of thought, continuing his sentiment slowly, "Because, you know, I would hate to think if there's anything wrong, or if you feel uncomfortable in any way. We are friends, y/n. I want you to feel that you can be free around me, as you are around Helaena."
He just knows the right words to say, doesn't he?
"I know," you respond, in a calmer tone that even surprises you, "and I appreciate that, Aemond. I apologize if I come off as aloof sometimes - "
"Don't apologize," he laughs dryly, "if there's anyone who knows what it's like to come off as aloof, it's me."
"True enough," you smile, taking a sip of your wine. You don't notice Aemondโ€™s eyes follow your movement, fixating at last on the way your lips curve against the glass.
"Tell you what," he says, "how about we play a game? Break the ice even more and all that."
"A game?"
"Yeah, like, I haven't a clue... truth or dare?"
You gulp, your mind racing with the possibilities of what that game usually entails when played out, "I don't think that works with just two people, Aemond."
"Why not?" he slides a bit closer to you on the carpet, and your heart races ever faster.
"It just... it just doesn't!" you shrug, breathing out in a slight huff. He's so close. So close.
"I say it can work, y/n."
"Really, now?" you raise your eyebrows, "I'm not built for doing dares."
"We'll keep it simple. Nothing too ridiculous. And if we don't want to tell the truth, or do a dare, we just have to take three sips of wine."
"Hmm..."
"Or even soda, or water. If you prefer. I don't want to feel like I'm making you drink. Helaena would murder me if you get too drunk whilst in my company." Ah, Aemond. Always so considerate.
"I'm okay," you smile, "I'll stick with wine."
"So you accept my offer?"
You take a deep breath, in an attempt to steel your nerves. Before you can chicken out, and change your mind, you say, "Fine. Let's play."
"Wonderful," he smirks, "So, darling... truth or dare?"
"Truth," you croak, the way he addressed you as darling still echoing in your ears. There's no way you'll jump right into a dare.
"Okay. What was your first impression of me?"
"Oh," you rack your brain for an appropriate answer. One that can be said out loud in front of Aemond anyway.
"I, uhm, I thought you were polite."
"Polite?" he laughs freely, "glad to know I make that much of a lasting impression."
"I mean, not just that," you lean forward, "you were well put together, I guess. Quiet, but not shy. I got the sense that you know exactly who you are. You've got a strong sense of self, and as a result, you know how to take care of yourself, and your family. It's admirable, really." You also thought of running your fingers through his astonishingly silver hair, craving to know what it felt like, but he doesn't need to know that now.
"Hmm," he smiles softly, looking down, almost wistfully, "there was a time when I was quite different, you know. I was so insecure, and so angry. It's a miracle that I've grown into who I am now, but I am proud of myself for it."
Aemond is opening up to me? You get a sense of innocence with the way he spoke, and a sincerity, with all pretenses put away. Here, he is just Aemond, not this great heir or this renowned scholar. โ€œThat truly is something to be proud of,โ€ you profess, โ€œI, for one, am proud of the person that you are.โ€
His eyes light up as he looks at you, โ€œThat means a lot coming from you, y/n.โ€
โ€œDoes it?โ€ you ask. Why would it? Since the first time you met, over a year ago, you have not had many lengthy interactions. The handful of times you were brought together, with only the two of you, were purely coincidental. Like this very moment. You did not expect to be drinking wine with him on the carpet tonight. You had actually considered heading home after Helaena went to bed, but Aemond took your hand, pulling you back down to sit with him, imploring you to please stay. Just a while longer.
And you are glad that you had.
โ€œIt does,โ€ is the only thing that Aemond says in response, and as much as you want to press on, you decide to let it go.
โ€œOkay, Aemond. Truth or dare?โ€
โ€œDare,โ€ he takes a sip of wine. You think of how pointless the whole condition of only having to take a drink when refusing the challenge has become. You two continue to drink, either way.
โ€œI dare you toโ€ฆ uhm, tell me something in High Valyrian.โ€ Youโ€™ve always been fascinated by the Targaryensโ€™ native language, them being originally from the faraway country of Valyria. It is truly a place on top of your bucket list, and you secretly wish that Aemond would take you there one day.
โ€œThatโ€™s easy,โ€ he smiles, then pauses, looking at you directly in your eyes. He takes a deep breath, as if mulling over what to say. Then you hear it.
โ€œIksฤ gevie.โ€
You swallow nervously. The way his voice deepened went straight to your head, making you feel slightly faint. You whisper, โ€œThat soundsโ€ฆ lovely. What does it mean?โ€
โ€œIโ€™ll let you figure that out on your own.โ€
You punch him lightly on the shoulder, your confidence gaining a significant boost from the wine, โ€œCome on. Just tell me. What did you say again? Ikse gevya... gevy?โ€
He beams, amused by your pronunciation, โ€œIksฤ gevie,โ€ he repeats, โ€œEek-sah gev-yeh.โ€
โ€œRight, right,โ€ you nod, taking another sip of wine, โ€œJust you wait until I type that in Google Translate. It better not have been anything rude.โ€
โ€œOh, it wasnโ€™t,โ€ he promises. โ€œTruth or dare?โ€
โ€œEhโ€ฆ dare,โ€ you say, but you immediately change your mind. โ€œNo, wait, truth! I choose truth.โ€
โ€œAre you absolutely sure, darling?โ€ Aemond croons, tilting his head.
โ€œTruth.โ€
โ€œAlright, then. Are you seeingโ€ฆ uhโ€ฆโ€ he pauses, clearing his throat, โ€œare you seeing anyโ€ฆ any chance of you working for our company in the future?โ€
Are you seeing anyone? He had wanted to ask instead. Aemond internally kicks himself for pulling back.
You notice how weirdly he phrased that question. You choose your answer carefully, โ€œWell, itโ€™s definitely something I would consider. You know how much I admire your family. But, I donโ€™t want anything handed to me on a plate. If I were to get a job there, I want it to be on my own merit. I donโ€™t want you or Helaena or anyone to vouch for me, or put in a good word for me, just because Iโ€™m your friend.โ€
โ€œI understand, darling.โ€ He smiles at the determined way with which you spoke. His stubborn girl. โ€œBut if you ever need any help, Iโ€™m here.โ€
You reach out to squeeze his hand gently, as a sign of your appreciation, โ€œThank you, Aemond. Youโ€™ve always been kind to me.โ€
He looks down at your hand around his, and he clutches yours in return. When your eyes meet, you see that his gaze is so warm, so gentle. You feel as if you are being held. Like youโ€™re safe.
You finally let go of his hand, โ€œSo, truth or dare?โ€
And so, the game continues for another half hour, the two of you growing increasingly inebriated by the minute. The wine glasses have been put to the side, the two of you opting toย  take turns with drinking out of the bottle instead. You answer all sorts of questions from Aemond, such as โ€œWhich of the Targaryen siblings do you think should run the company?โ€, โ€œWhoโ€™s your preferred drinking partner, Aegon or Daeron?โ€, and โ€œDo you like my hair better short or long?โ€
You ask him your fair share, but one thing that sticks to your mind is what he answers to โ€œAre you interested in anyone at the moment?โ€
โ€œYes. I think so.โ€ He says, and you can tell that he is being honest. Your heart sinks at that. Of course, there would be someone who already caught Aemondโ€™s eye. He is one of the cityโ€™s most eligible bachelors, after all. Women everywhere are vying for his attention. It only makes sense that he would eventually meet someone he truly liked.
โ€œThatโ€™s great. Iโ€™m happy for you.โ€ Your smile doesnโ€™t reach your eyes, and Aemond astutely picks up on what you may have assumed.
โ€œDarling, I - โ€
You cut him off bluntly, not remembering that itโ€™s his turn to ask, โ€œTruth or dare, Aemond?โ€
โ€œHmm,โ€ he stands, your question hanging in the air, with his hand outstretched for you to take, โ€œcome with me. I want to show you something.โ€
Taking the wine bottle, you stand and interlace your fingers with his. โ€œWhere are we going?โ€
He guides you out of the expansive living room, turning right at the end of a long hallway. He pries open a glass pivot door, revealing the private stairwell of their penthouse. Without a word shared, you climb up the flight of stairs together. One floor, two floors, three. Until you reach what can only be the roof of the high-rise building they live in.
The cool, midnight air is a refreshing assault to your senses. Immediately, you feel more awake, less drowsy from the wine. The rooftop is spacious and has been outfitted with a seating area, plenty of potted plants, dainty lighting fixtures that hang from the posts, as well as an exposed room littered with bust sculptures. The balcony stretches all around its perimeter, made out of ornately carved bronze.
โ€œWow,โ€ you say, after taking it all in. โ€œIโ€™ve never been up here before.โ€ You turn to look at him, and he seems pleased at your reaction. You add, โ€œAnd you live here? Imagine. My entire apartment must only be a quarter of this rooftop, if not less.โ€
โ€œHmm,โ€ he smiles, looking around, โ€œI like to come up here to think. This rooftop is rarely ever in use, since my family all prefer to huddle downstairs. And well, Aegonโ€™s afraid of heights.โ€ He sneers at the end.
โ€œIs he now?โ€ you hand him the bottle of wine, โ€œRemind me to bring that up the next time we see him.โ€
โ€œLast time he was up here, he threw up over the balcony.โ€
โ€œOh, god,โ€ Aemond laughs at the way your face scrunches up in disgust. โ€œThatโ€™s quite a long drop. I hope he didnโ€™t hit anyone on the sidewalk with it.โ€
โ€œWhat a shame, really. That would have been the most interesting lawsuit.โ€ Aemond remarks, before motioning with his head for you to follow him.
He reaches a plush seat facing the balcony, and the two of you sit in relative silence for a while. The whole city seems to be sprawled out below you, and the stars above also gleam much closer, like they are just within reach. Your wandering eyes take everything in with awe, but Aemond only watches you.
Instead of the stars, he thinks of how you are within reach. If only he would just let you know how he feels.
When you turn to finally look at him, you are surprised to see that he has been watching you. โ€œAemond,โ€ you say, โ€œwhy are you so nice to me?โ€
โ€œWhat do you mean?โ€
โ€œI mean, why are you so nice to me? From what Iโ€™ve seen, you are indifferent to most people. It canโ€™t just be because I am Helaenaโ€™s friend, is it? You donโ€™t have to treat me like Iโ€™m some fragile doll, you know. I wonโ€™t break, I swear.โ€ Your voice takes on a sarcastic tone, and the corner of his lips lift in a smile.
He looks away, facing the tops of the buildings in the sprawling city that his family empire practically owns. Prince of the city, some people call him.
โ€œI know that, darling.โ€ He tilts his head partially towards you. โ€œI like that youโ€™reโ€ฆ different. I mean, trust me when I say, the crowd that the lot of us are exposed to tends to be entitled, shallow sycophants.โ€
โ€œBit harsh, Aemond.โ€
โ€œPerhaps,โ€ he smiles sardonically, โ€œbut anyway. Iโ€™m used to people only being interested in me because of my last name, or the family legacy. No oneโ€™s ever bothered to see me for who I truly am, save for only a handful of people. Because of this, I get quite protective of Helaena, since she can be overly trusting. She only chooses to see the good in others.โ€
โ€œThatโ€™s what I love the most about her,โ€ you say sincerely.
โ€œHmm, yes. But it also makes her more vulnerable. Sheโ€™s had friends before, who were only clearly hanging around her so they might leech off of her higher status.โ€
โ€œAemond, Iโ€™m sorry to hear - โ€
โ€œBut not you. I am aware that Helaena tried to help you before. Tried to get you a better apartment, or get you a high-ranking job with us. It would be easy, just like that. But you refuse, time and time again. You donโ€™t mock us either, simply for being who we are, and having this much privilege. You see us as people, and unfortunately thatโ€™s a rare thing. I can tell that you truly care for Helaena, otherwise I wouldnโ€™t let you hang around her at all,โ€ Aemond smiles, nudging your shoulder, then drapes his arm on the back of the seat behind you.
โ€œOverprotective brother much?โ€ you taunt lightly.
โ€œItโ€™s an affliction I choose to bear,โ€ you notice how he has leaned closer, his breath warm on your face.
You swallow nervously, โ€œSo, I guess you answered my question.โ€
โ€œPartially,โ€ he shakes his head slightly, โ€œdarling, Iโ€™ve got a long list of reasons why I like you, and thatโ€™s only scratching the surface.โ€
โ€œOh.โ€ If you thought you felt faint before, then you were just about ready to pass out now. Panicking, you raise the wine bottle to your lips, taking a long drag. But when you pull the bottle away, you must have done it in a nervous rush, causing it to tilt in a way that wine spills out and splashes on your shoulder.
โ€œSteady, y/n.โ€ Aemond takes the bottle from you, setting it down on the stone floor.
โ€œFuck.โ€ You look down and see the wine stain on your shirt, seeping wider, a shade of scarlet so deep it could be mistaken for maroon.
Suddenly, Aemond laughs. You want to act incredulous, or annoyed, but the sound of his laughter is so hearty and genuine. And so rare, that you find yourself smiling at the sight of his dimples deepening, and the faint lines around his eyes bursting free.
โ€œWhatโ€™s so funny?โ€ you ask.
โ€œNothing,โ€ he shrugs, shaking his head, โ€œItโ€™s just, at the rate youโ€™re going with the wine, you could be giving Aegon a run for his money.โ€
โ€œHa-ha,โ€ you dab at your shirt with your hand, but it doesnโ€™t do much good.
โ€œCome, I can lend you something to wear.โ€ He takes your hand, leading you out of the rooftop.
โ€œItโ€™s alright, Aemond. I can just borrow one from Helaena.โ€
โ€œSheโ€™s already asleep,โ€ the two of you descend down the stairwell, stopping at the first floor below.
โ€œIโ€™m sure she wonโ€™t mind.โ€ Where is he taking me? Must be the laundry room, or a guest room?
โ€œI insist,โ€ he declares, dropping your qualms altogether.
You come to a halt in front of a wooden door, painted a brushed forest green. Before you could ask anything, he holds the door open for you, โ€œThis is my room.โ€
You look at him expectantly, unsure of whether you should enter. He only smiles, โ€œAfter you, darling.โ€
With your heart pounding in your chest, and the maroon patch still vivid by your shoulder, you step inside Aemondโ€™s bedroom. Itโ€™s massive, predictably, just like every other room in this penthouse. The walls are a comforting, deep shade of forest green, just like the door. There are also accented panels of dark gray, to avoid a monotony of colour. The furniture is simple, clean, modern. Yet each one possesses intricate detailing. His bookshelf covers the entire eastern wall. His bedโ€ฆ well. You compose yourself, trying not to let your mind wander.
You feel him standing behind you, waiting.
โ€œNice room,โ€ you say.
โ€œHmm,โ€ you can practically hear the smile in his voice, โ€œthank you. I donโ€™t really bring anyone in here.โ€
โ€œOh, I donโ€™t mean to impose - โ€
โ€œStop. I asked you to come in here, y/n.โ€ He walks over to a sliding door to the left, revealing a large walk-in wardrobe. Of course he would have one of those.
He disappears inside for a moment, before returning to you, a dark green sweater in his hand. The same shade as his bedroom walls. Hmm. Aemond seems to have an affinity for green.
โ€œHere, put this on.โ€ He hands the sweater to you. โ€œThis should be comfortable enough to sleep in.โ€
โ€œThanks,โ€ you take it, feeling the material in your hands.
โ€œNo problem,โ€ he continues to look at you, and you have to ask, pointing to the walk-in wardrobe, โ€œCould I maybe change in there?โ€
โ€œRight, sorry, I should have offered,โ€ Aemond smiles, looking down.
โ€œOne second.โ€
When you gently slide the door shut, you lean back against it, taking the deep calming breath youโ€™ve been holding in. Being around Aemond makes you feel as if your very skin is on fire. The attraction you feel for him becomes so palpable, making you somewhat a nervous wreck. Thereโ€™s no need. Like he said, he is your friend, y/n.
You sit on the bench in the middle of the room, taking your shirt off. Hurriedly, you put on his green sweater, and heโ€™s right. It is so damn comfortable. And it smells exactly like him.
โ€œEverything alright in there?โ€ you hear him from behind the sliding door.
โ€œY-yeah,โ€ you say. Taking your stained shirt in one hand, you stand, and meet him outside.
He studies you, admiring the way his sweater hangs off your torso. โ€œHmm,โ€ he remarks, as he always does, โ€œyou look better in it than I do, y/n.โ€
โ€œWell, thank you,โ€ you say sincerely, before adding, โ€œbut I have to disagree.โ€
โ€œYou look beautiful.โ€ He suddenly says, the words immediately taking root in your heart, โ€œYou are beautiful.โ€
โ€œWhat?โ€ you croak, your voice coming out in an astonished whisper.
โ€œThat is what I said earlier,โ€ he continues, โ€œThat is what iksฤ gevie means.โ€
โ€œOh.โ€
Aemond crosses the few steps needed to erase the distance between the two of you, plucks the shirt from your hand, and deftly tosses it to a nearby chair. Then, he takes your hands in his. He gazes into your eyes, and his expression is a mixture of longing and reluctance. He then traces your cheekbone with his fingers, delicately, as if you will crumble under his touch. And you just might.
โ€œAemond - โ€
โ€œIksan jฤre naejot vลซjigon ao sir.โ€
You feel the urge to ask him what those words mean, instead you choose to simply let it be, and just bask in the sincerity in his tone. In the way he does not drop your gaze when he spoke them. In the way his hands slowly find themselves on your waist, pulling you close.
He leans in, slowly. And the whole world ceases to exist around you. The ringing in your ears becomes silenced, and there is only Aemond. Youโ€™ve always wondered what it would feel like, his lips pressed against yours. His devotion reserved only for you. It seemed like a dream, but now, it is well within reach.
But the dream is shattered when a heavy knock echoes throughout the room. Three, brief, raps on the forest green surface. That was all it took to break the spell.
Aemondโ€™s brows furrow in frustration, his hands still on your waist. There is an anger in his voice when he calls loudly over his shoulder, โ€œYes?โ€
โ€œItโ€™s me, sir.โ€ You recognize the intruder to be Criston Cole, the head of their familyโ€™s security team.
โ€œWait here, darling,โ€ Aemond says, running his finger over your lips, over what he could have taken if you had not been interrupted.
Aemond opens the door, and you briefly meet Cristonโ€™s eyes from across the room.
Your presence in Aemondโ€™s room seems to catch him off guard, but he straightens quickly, โ€œAemond, there is someone here for you.โ€
โ€œAt this fucking hour?โ€
Looking at you once more, Criston lowers his voice when he replies, but you hear it anyway. โ€œItโ€™s Alys Rivers. Sheโ€™s waiting for you downstairs as usual.โ€
As usual. Alys Rivers. The famous model and socialite. You knew of her from the magazines, the internet. There have been tabloid articles of her and Aemond, but you knew better than to pay any attention to them, not believing that there could be any truth to such lowly forms of media. Or at least, that was what you assumed. But if sheโ€™s here, in this ungodly hour, thenโ€ฆ
โ€œI think I should get to bed,โ€ you walk towards the doorway, โ€œto Helaenaโ€™s room, that is.โ€
โ€œNo,โ€ Aemond stops you in your tracks, grabbing your arm, โ€œwait. We arenโ€™t finished yet. I just - โ€
โ€œYour guest is waiting, Aemond.โ€ You cut him off, not meeting his eyes.
โ€œIโ€™ll see you in the morning,โ€ he says, while he tries to get you to look at him, but to no avail. Youโ€™re worried that if you do, you might not be able to leave.
Criston shuffles out of the way to let you through, greeting you with a cordial, โ€œGood night, y/n.โ€ You notice how there might even be a hint of regret in his eyes.
Each step feels heavy as you make your way down the hallway to Helaenaโ€™s room. Compared to how you felt, mere moments ago, as though you were floating on air.
Sleep doesnโ€™t come easy to you that night, your thoughts racing on what might be happening down the hall. Who is Alys Rivers to you, Aemond? Why did she have to ruin what would have been a perfect night? Are you just stringing me along?
When you finally succumb to slumber, you fall into a dream.
Of who else but Aemond? Of who else but the one whom your heart desires?
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Ok ok ok. This will be the last thing posted before part 5 of Heart on Fire. I think. ๐Ÿคž
โ€œIksan jฤre naejot vลซjigon ao sir.โ€ - "I'm going to kiss you now." - Aemond ๐Ÿ–ค
Maroon just had to be multi-chaptered. It might be my favourite track from midnights.
Apologies to those who have sent requests. I do see them, but I'm just a bit bogged with uni/life at the moment. Hopefully will write a lot more soon!
Also, thank you thank you for all the kind remarks/messages. You guys are amazing. Any suggestions for part 2? Let me know in the comments ๐Ÿ–ค๐Ÿ–ค๐Ÿ–ค
Aemond/HotD taglist: @aemcndtargaryen @cryztalline @fairaardirascenarios @blackravena @vensidia @xinyourdreamsx @mrswhitethornbelikov @mikariell95 @thermiting @witchofthenorthstar @m00n5t0n3 @booknerd2004 @throughgoeshamilton @xcallmetaniax @wrendermeuseless @m-indkiller @graykageyama @nsainmoonchild @milemarianne @immyowndefender @moonmaiden1996 @caspianobsessed @schniiipsel @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @random-human02 @icarusignite @flourishandblotts-inc @siriusdumblittlepuppy @just-a-harmless-patato @moni-cah @boofy1998 @huntycola @angel6776 @sanguinalia @thelastcitysposts @daeneeryss @wondergal2001 @huntycola
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Forbidden | Aemond Targaryen Part 1
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Summary โ‡ข โ€œ Youโ€™re the kings daughter, and by the wishes of your dear mother, you are to be betrothed soon. Noblemen and princes across the kingdom come to embark in tourneys and feast for the kings treasured daughterโ€™s hand. But one morning as you escape your coming doom, you meet the Aemond Targaryen. โ€ Part 1 of 4 The next 3 chapters will contain smut, so stay tuned lol
pairing: Elf!Aemond Targaryen x Elf!Reader type: 4-part series, House of the Dragon x Lord of the Rings AU genre: smut, fantasy, drama, soft, angst, romantic words:ย 5.6k rating: 18+MDl warnings:ย future explicit smut, gore (war), death, reader is female with she/her pronouns Note: โ€œ bold italics โ€œ will be them speaking in high valyrian, and โ€œ plain italics โ€œ will be the readers/povs thoughts.
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my babygirl
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AEMOND TARGARYEN โœฆ House of the Dragon, 1.10 โ€œThe Black Queenโ€ ย 
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You: What kind of bird are you?
Some Lord: Iโ€™m a sparrow, sheโ€™s a dove
You [to Aemond]: No, I said what kind of bird are you?
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vhagar: is it me? am I the drama?
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me rn with stranger things 4 :
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Reblog if you genuinely support asexuals
It terrifies me that thereโ€™s so much raging passion in the lgbt+ community that insist on marginalizing asexuals and implying that asexuals donโ€™t deserve to have safe spaces. Thereโ€™s still so much acephobia so I just wanna know which blogs are genuinely supportive and a safe space for asexuals
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ii. second glances | anthony bridgerton
summary: All is fair in love and war. And when you unexpectedly meet the man again, you canโ€™t help but steal some glances.
word count: 1.9k
ratings: enemies to lovers(?), pinning
warnings: none
a/n: i know this took a little longer and the next might too, iโ€™m at the end of the year and had so many exams i couldnโ€™t write at all. i hope you all understand and will continue to,, taglist is at the end (open!)
masterlist | part i
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โ€œWould it be such a horrible thing, dear?โ€ your mother asked and it felt like the hundredth time just this season. She was asking about marriage of course, but she did not mean the kind you sought. You wanted to find true love, preferably with a well educated man whoโ€™d share your views on how marriage should work. Not a transaction of convenience, not for the gain of money or title. Marriage should be love and friendship first and respect and equality second.
Your mother on the other hand thought of securing you a wealthy lord. You didnโ€™t blame her for it. She herself was pushed into a marriage of convenience. Did she regret it? Was she truly happy after all these years of parading with your father at every social gathering just to make face? Did she fell in love with him eventually? If she did, she didnโ€™t show it at home. She loved her child, you. She loved you more than anything, and she told you as much. She cherished and cared for you without a nurse or a nanny since you were a mere baby. She told you of her love everyday. But she never told your father, not to him nor to you. And even if she meant well with her intentions of marrying you to wealth, you felt as if she betrayed you. How could she want this for you? To only find love and comfort in your child but not in your husband.
โ€œIt would,โ€ you answered her as you walked through the street with her. You didnโ€™t want to end up like her, even if you loved her dearly. You didnโ€™t wish this for yourself, nor anyone else.
โ€œAll I want for you is to be happy, you know that? And security is the most important aspect of a happy life,โ€ she said.
The late springโ€™s season was in full force and the heat started to seep through your dress, both of you needed some refreshment and the nearest cafรฉโ€™s salvation of cool air and the cold lemonadeโ€™s smell thankfully broke the little argument you had with your mama.
โ€œSecurity without love is like breathing without oxygen, mama. But I donโ€™t feel like having this argument,โ€ you answered her and stepped through the door to the cozy cafรฉ on main street. โ€œLemon or strawberry?โ€
โ€œLemon, please, dear,โ€ your mother said and untied the ribbon on her bonnet. โ€œIโ€™ll find some seats.โ€ It seemed like most of the ton had the same idea on the sunny day, as almost every table was filled with chatting misters and ladies.
You went to the counter, waved your hand softly for the woman to notice you. She granted you with a gentle smile and you ordered two cold drinks, lemon for your mother and strawberry for yourself. You always had a sweet tooth, more than your mother and the thought of the sour fruit made you grimace slightly.
โ€œLemon is certainly not your favourite I see,โ€ you heard a familiar male say on your left. โ€œI must say that strawberry certainly isnโ€™t mine.โ€
You turned to Anthony Bridgerton and it was like a cold wind flew by. His eyes, brown and deep and so mischievous, looked straight through yours. He stood next to you, taller than ever and radiated confidence, as if you hadnโ€™t cracked it just a few days prior.
โ€œMr. Bridgerton,โ€ you curtsied and looked back to the woman taking and serving the orders. โ€œHave you lost your way? The manโ€™s club is on the second, not the main.โ€
โ€œIโ€™m not here to socialise with my fellow gentlemen.โ€
โ€œAnd what would you be here for then?โ€ you turned your gaze back at him, curiosity taking over you.
โ€œIโ€™m here with Miss Whitman, she felt rather hot on our walk and I suggested this place for the refreshing. They do have amazing lemonade,โ€ Anthony said and the side of his lips seemed to move slightly.
You only hummed in answer. Thankfully your drinks were ready and you could excuse yourself from the viscount. โ€œI hope you will enjoy your day with Miss Whitman, I hope she can play more than one instrument,โ€ you curtsied once more and left with your two drinks to find your seating.
ใƒปโฅใƒป
โ€œThree actually,โ€ Miss Whitman answered rather eagerly to Anthonyโ€™s question if she can play an instrument. She was almost perfect. Except for the eagerness and the blatant fact that she only sought a title and money to pay her debts at the modiste.
โ€œThe violin, the harp and the pianoforte,โ€ she babbled on about how many more she wanted to try her hands on. But Anthony couldnโ€™t help but let his mind wander to a sky blue dress and the soft curls that spilled from under the bonnet you wore. The pastel blue ribbon complimented your skin at in the crook of your neck where it tied together the cap. The way you seemed to be just a tad bit jealous when he mentioned he was here with a lady. Or was it hatred, envy perhaps? He couldnโ€™t help but smirk. His charms must have worked.
They certainly worked on the miss sitting before him. Her slender finger twirled with her pale blonde lock, her eyes looked away when he caught her staring, bashful, blushing. But the shape of her hand wasnโ€™t right, nor was the colour of her hair or eyes. The small quirk of his mouth slipped. He shouldnโ€™t compare Miss Whitman to you. He shouldnโ€™t think of you when heโ€™s in the middle of interviewing a possible match. In fact, he shouldnโ€™t think of you at all.
ใƒปโฅใƒป
He was here. The nerve.
But you couldnโ€™t really blame him. It was a total coincidence, even if you didnโ€™t want to believe it. It wasnโ€™t his fault that the lady he was promenading with felt too warm, or that this was the closest establishment serving cold lemonades. It wasnโ€™t your fault either. Definitely not your fault.
Dismissing him in his presence came easy. Anthony isnโ€™t the first gentleman getting on your nerve. But he is the first one to make you think of him even when heโ€™s not right next to you. You mentally groaned at the thought of admitting that. He is insufferable, irritating and so full of himself. Yet, you couldnโ€™t help but to compare him to the others. Where other so called suitors cowered and left in haste, he remained with a smirk. He challenged you, no other man has done that and you couldnโ€™t help but admire that. Hurting a manโ€™s ego is truly an insult to his name and it came to you easily. You didnโ€™t blame them for running away as fast as they could, you made them do that for a reason. But Anthony Bridgerton stayed put. He started a war and for once you didnโ€™t feel bored out of your mind.
โ€œWhat is on your mind?โ€ your mother inquired, sipping on her lemonade.
You held tighter onto your own glass of the sweet strawberry pink drink and shook your head lightly. โ€œNothing, mama.โ€
โ€œIt must have been something, youโ€™ve been in your head since you came over with the drinks. Donโ€™t worry, you can tell me,โ€ she said as she put her drink down and went to hold your unoccupied hand. โ€œIs it what I said earlier? You know me and your father are just worried. We donโ€™t want to rush you into marriage if you donโ€™t want to, butโ€”โ€œ
โ€œItโ€™s not that, mama.โ€ You held onto her hand. โ€œI know this is my second season and you both wish for me to not end up a spinster, but Iโ€™m still young enough, twenty gives me enough time to find a suitable husband to love.โ€
She smiled, โ€œI would be delighted if you found a husband whoโ€™d love you beyond words, my darling.โ€ And with enough money to secure your future. The words were unsaid but you felt them in the air.
โ€œI know, mama.โ€
You sat for a little while, both of you enjoying the buzz of the people around you and the little rest before you had to walk back home.
The clouds outside seemed to take pity on you and covered the hot sun just as you stood from your seats and headed to the door.
But before you could open the white-wooden door, two figures emerged from next to you, one striding to the door faster than the other. โ€œLet me,โ€ he said. Your eyes locked with the mahogany browns of the viscount. Anthony looked away first. โ€œWe were just leaving,โ€ he felt the need to say and opened the door. โ€œPlease, before me.โ€ He held the door and pointed for you all to go ahead.
First went your mother. He smiled politely and she did too. Second went Miss Whiโ€” suddenly he couldnโ€™t remember her name as you went through the door next. The stretch of his sleeve tightened around his shoulders. His muscles tensed as you walked past him. The smell of lavender and peach and something that resembled the sweetness of the spring breeze brushed his nose. He couldnโ€™t help but search for your eyes once more.
โ€œHave a good day, sir,โ€ you nodded and this time you were the one to look away first. Your steps catching up with your mother.
ใƒปโฅใƒป
You sat in your drawing room. Occupied by the paper and various oil paints on your palette. Your hands were adored by mixtures of blue, yellow and green. The picture you painted of the field in the country side was quickly finished and you held it for your mama to see. She was ready to scold you for the mess on your hands but you were saved by the butler coming in and greeting you both.
Addressing your mother and then stepping closer and addressing you. โ€œYou have received a letter, Miss.โ€
โ€œMe? From whom?โ€
โ€œMiss Eloise Bridgerton,โ€ he answered and held out the envelope on a silver platter.
You wiped your hands quickly onto your skirt, making your mother gasp in horror. โ€œYou canโ€™t just do that!โ€
โ€œI would think that I can and just did, mama,โ€ you said and shared an amused smile with the butler. You took the letter from him, ripping the envelope, but making sure that the stamp was still together, you put it away to keep it as a memory. It wasnโ€™t the first you took as a token, often youโ€™d ask your mother for those she got on her letters, liking the different ornaments on each of them. But this one was special. It wasnโ€™t your first own one, but it was special none the less. It held the sentiment of a friendship. And once it was securely hidden away you opened the letter.
๐’Ÿ๐‘’๐’ถ๐“‡ ๐“Ž/๐“ƒ,
๐ผ ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐“๐’พ๐“€๐‘’ ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’พ๐“ƒ๐“‹๐’พ๐“‰๐‘’ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’ถ๐“Ž ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐“‚๐“Ž ๐’ป๐’ถ๐“‚๐’พ๐“๐“Ž, ๐’ถ๐“‰ ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ƒ๐“‰๐“‡๐“Ž ๐’ฝ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’ฆ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐“‰, ๐’ถ ๐“Œ๐‘’๐‘’๐“€ ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’ถ๐’น๐“‹๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’ธ๐‘’ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“‚๐“Ž ๐“‚๐‘œ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡โ€™๐“ˆ ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ƒ๐“‰๐“‡๐“Ž ๐’ท๐’ถ๐“๐“. ๐ผ ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐“‰๐“‡๐“Š๐“๐“Ž ๐’น๐‘’๐“๐’พ๐‘”๐’ฝ๐“‰๐‘’๐’น ๐’ป๐‘œ๐“‡ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐“‚๐‘’๐‘’๐“‰ ๐“‚๐“Ž ๐’ป๐’ถ๐“‚๐’พ๐“๐“Ž, ๐“ˆ๐’ถ๐“‹๐‘’ ๐’ป๐‘œ๐“‡ ๐“‚๐“Ž ๐‘œ๐“๐’น๐‘’๐“ˆ๐“‰ ๐’ท๐“‡๐‘œ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡, ๐“Œ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐’ธ๐’ฝ ๐ผโ€™๐“‚ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“‡๐“‡๐“Ž ๐’ป๐‘œ๐“‡. ๐ผ ๐“…๐“‡๐‘œ๐“‚๐’พ๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐’ฝ๐‘’โ€™๐“๐“ ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐“Š๐’น๐“Ž ๐“‚๐‘œ๐“ˆ๐“‰ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“‰๐’พ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐’พ๐’ป ๐’ฝ๐‘’โ€™๐“๐“ ๐’ธ๐’ถ๐“‡๐‘’ ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’ฟ๐‘œ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐“Š๐“ˆ ๐ผ ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“๐“ ๐“‚๐’ถ๐“€๐‘’ ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“‚ ๐’ท๐‘’๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‹๐‘’. ๐ผ ๐“ˆ๐’พ๐“‚๐“…๐“๐“Ž ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น๐“ƒโ€™๐“‰ ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’น๐“Š๐“‡๐‘’ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’ถ๐“Ž ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‰ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“‚๐‘’๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘’ ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“ˆ๐’ถ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’ถ๐“‰๐‘’ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“‚๐’พ๐“ƒ๐’น, ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ ๐’ถ๐“๐“ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“๐’ถ๐’น๐’พ๐‘’๐“ˆ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐‘”๐‘’๐“ƒ๐“‰๐“๐‘’๐“‚๐‘’๐“ƒ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“‰๐‘œ๐“ƒ ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“‚๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’ป๐‘œ๐“‡ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐’ท๐’ถ๐“๐“, ๐ผโ€™๐’น ๐“‡๐’ถ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡ ๐“…๐‘’๐“‡๐’พ๐“ˆ๐’ฝ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“ƒ ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡๐‘’ ๐’ถ๐“๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘’ ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ ๐’ฟ๐“Š๐“ˆ๐“‰ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐“ˆ๐’พ๐“‚๐“…๐“๐‘’ ๐“‚๐’พ๐“ƒ๐’น๐‘’๐’น ๐“…๐‘’๐‘œ๐“…๐“๐‘’.
๐’ด๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐’น๐‘’๐“‹๐‘œ๐“‰๐‘’๐’น ๐’ป๐“‡๐’พ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’น, ๐ธ๐“๐‘œ๐’พ๐“ˆ๐‘’.
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cuddlemen0w ยท 2 years
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rays of sunshine
Benedict Bridgerton x Reader
Summary: You were the girl that always wore gray, accompanied by clouds that hung over your head that could dampen any suitor's day. Yet Benedict Bridgerton was always the perfect amount of sun.
wc: 2.1k
A/N: Anon! I've never done a grumpy/sunshine trope and I'm so glad you sent this request my way โ™ก I tried to keep this under 1k words and failed... here's 2k of fluff. poorly edited... Enjoy! โ™ก
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Looming clouds comprised of countless shades of gray floated slowly above the red-bricked home in Grosvenor Square. Benedict Bridgerton squinted as he looked at the contrasting colors, his mind wondering how he would mix the colors with his beloved acrylic paints.ย 
"Sir, have we arrived?" His new valet called from the front of the carriage. As if on cue, a young man dressed in pastel flung open the white doors of the home, sobbing to himself as he scurried with his tail tucked between his legs. His face was pale, bordering on a pasty white and fear etched into his lengthy features.ย 
The brunet man smiled softly and shut his leather-bound sketchbook with a faint thud; Benedict's fingers traced the inscription on the spine with speckles of the gold leaf lifting to the pads of his fingers from the countless times he'd traced the words. "We have arrived indeed."ย 
"L-lovely weather we are having, aren't we?" The curly-haired boy from the other side of the couch asked timidly as he awkwardly shifted in his seat.
Poor thing, you thought as you steadily brought your teacup to your lips. "It is going to rain," you intoned against the delicate ceramic.ย ย 
His red cheeks went pale at your prickly tone of voice, his smile quickly fading in your peripherals. In one swift motion, he placed his cup and saucer on the table with a rather loud clang and got down on one knee.ย 
Your mama and papa looked at the scene with eager eyes, but you were anything but impressed. "Miss Y/N, I know it is early but I wish for your hand in marriage!"ย 
"No," you answered evenly.ย 
"B-but I do not understand..."ย 
"Let me clear it up for you," you said as you stood, smoothing out your gray-colored dress. "I do not find you attractive, we have nothing in common, and we will never make each other happy. My answer is still no. Leave immediately."ย 
"Y/N," Your mother groaned as she uncharacteristically slumped into her chair, her well-manicured hand covering her face in embarrassment. Yet another suitor was drenched by the cloud that hung over your head, leaving your drawing room defeated and cold. He stood to bow to your parents stiffly, brashly picking up the lilac flowers he brought for you.ย 
You, on the other hand, sat straight up, your hands placed in your lap and a large smirk appearing on your glossy lips. It's not like you enjoyed doing this, denying every well-titled man in the ton, they just never could compete with the man that lived down the street.ย 
"You might have scared off the last man who could warm that cold heart of yours," Your father grumbled, opening up the well-loved crystal jar of brandy.ย 
Oh, how you wanted to roll your eyes at him and his comment. Your heart was warm, beating in your chest just like everyone else. It was your fault you saw everything with an overcast gaze; it wasn't all sunshine and golden colored dogs like...ย 
"Mr. Benedict Bridgerton," your butler promptly announced as he entered the room.ย 
Your head jerked up, the frozen shards that covered your so-called cold heart melting at his name. He entered the pale room with as much color as the signature Bridgerton blue could, his smile was brighter than the golden sun in the middle of summer.ย 
"Lord Y/LN, Lady Y/L/N," he greeted warmly, bowing his head. โ€œMiss Y/N.โ€
You cleared your throat and rose from your seat, hiding your anxious hands behind your back, "What brings you, Benedict?" you asked him, a glimmer of hope rising through your tone.ย 
He flashed a toothy grin and shifted on his heels, "I believe I left my acrylics from the last time we painted."ย 
Before anyone could recognize the disappointment that crashed into you, you rolled your eyes at your oldest friend and walked to the desk. "You're lucky I brought them indoors, Bridgerton. This weather would surly destroy them," you managed.ย 
Benedict chuckled and stood near the window while you retrieved his paints. "What would I do without you, Y/N?" he sighed, followed by another laugh as you pressed the box into his lower back.ย 
He jolted and quickly took the box from your grasp as you stood on the opposite side of the window. "Die, probably," you joked.ย 
"Beautiful weather isn't it?" he marveled after a moment in comfortable silence. He leaned comfortably on the window ceil, the unusually cool glass pressed to his defined features.ย 
"It's going to rain," you told him, just like the other young man.ย 
You could kick Benedict in the ribs, beat him every time at Pall Mall, criticize his finest work, and the man would still smile at you and feign actual pain. "Still," he pouted, "even gloomy, it deserves its place amongst the masterpieces."ย 
Looking out at the sky, you smiled. It was the type of smile Benedict was the only one lucky enough to ever see on rare occasions, the one where your teeth peeked out from your lips, and the apples of your cheeks rose.
"I suppose," you responded simply.ย 
Benedict took it as a victory. The ton didn't get to see smiles other than the obligatory ones you showed at balls to judgemental mamas. Even when you tried to hide your joy from him, he managed to find rays of the sunshine you possessed.ย 
"Will we be seeing you and your family tonight at the ball?" he asked, his blue eyes glimmering in your direction.ย 
"Unfortunately. Margaret hasn't scared any of her suitors off yet... she isn't so lucky."ย 
Benedict peeled himself from the wall and tucked the paintbox underneath his arm. His eyes lingered on you as he pouted dramatically, earning just one more scoff that resembled a chuckle in his mind.ย 
You had tuned everything out as the Bridgerton bid his farewell. You couldn't decipher your parent's words over the thunder from outside and the thumping beat of your heart. "Y/N," your mother's distant voice began to cut through. "Y/N," she repeated gently, placing a gloved hand on your shoulder.ย 
"Yes, Mama?"ย 
"Lord Barrows was the last caller," she sighed. Of course he was, silly to think Benedict Bridgerton would actually call on you.ย 
"I didn't like him," you told her honestly, your eyes locking onto Benedict as he hurried to his carriage trying to not get soaked from the rain. They didn't understand you as he did.ย 
"I understand, my darling," she comforted, taking your hand in hers. "You should be with someone like your brother."ย 
"Excuse me?" you scoffed, pulling your hand away.ย 
Your mother chuckled and recaptured your hand, "Perhaps I could have worded that better, but I am serious. He was the only one who could make you laugh until you couldn't breathe. Snort like the piglets we cared for in the countryside. It was a shame we never heard it again after he passed; it was truly the purest form of sunshine."ย 
Her thumb lovingly ran along the seam of your glove after she noticed your hand beginning to tremble. As soon as you looked up to see her stare at you sympathetically, you shook your head. "Maybe someone like that doesn't exist," you faltered, taking one last look at Benedict's carriage in the distance before walking away.
The members of the ton always had their eyes glued to the doors when a new family entered a party. Eyeing them up and down to size up their competition. As soon as your family entered, there was a mixed reaction; most praised your beautiful outfits and how Margaret looked from beside you. The eligible men looked at you and instantly looked away, eyes darting to the floor. No doubt still embarrassed by their rejections.ย 
"Please try to fill your dance card," your mother whispered in your ear, nudging you towards the crowd.ย 
"Mama, you know they do not wish to speak to me," you chuckled, "I'm fine standing in the corner."ย 
She grumbled and took your father's arm to mingle with the ton. Men avoided you like the plague, parting as you walked near. They parted enough so that you could see the other side of the room, Benedict laughing along with Eloise by the fireplace. He looked away from his favorite sister, wiping a tear that escaped his eyes.ย 
He looked up, lips curling upwards as his eyes fell upon you. He took it all in, how the gems in your dress sparkled in the candlelight, the small tiara that sat on your head that he just knew was giving you a headache. You always looked beautiful to him, even in shades of gray. โ€œWhat are you staring at, brother?โ€ Eloise asked in amusement, she already knew by that lovesick look on his face.ย ย 
โ€œHow are you enjoying the party, Eloise?โ€ You asked over the music as you reached the Bridgertons.ย 
โ€œAnother event filled with the patriarchy? Delightful,โ€ she grimaced before taking a long sip of her lemonade.ย 
โ€œAnd you, Benedict?โ€ย 
He gulped and smiled politely, โ€œThe music is fair, the food is always good at these things,โ€ he tried to say something that you would agree with.ย 
Your eyes followed one of the servants with a silver tray of baked goods, โ€œI will agree with you on that, Benedict,โ€ you hummed.ย 
That polite smile turned into a bright boyish grin as he stared at you, which didnโ€™t go unnoticed by his younger sister. She could always see how you brought out the best in each other even if you painted the world differently. โ€œIโ€™m going to find Pen. Talk amongst yourselves,โ€ she gulped down the rest of her drink and started to hurry away before the two of you could protest.ย 
Conversations always flowed between you and Benedict, one simple mention of an object could spiral into a variety of topics that would have you going for hours. It was always easy with him. Late nights on the swings as he passionately talked about the Academy, and the days in the park where you would paint by the water and he would sit on the blanket below you and listen to you talk about the adventures you wanted to go on.ย 
Even tonight, he just let you talk, getting lost in your words and your beauty. He leaned up against the top of the dormant fireplace, placing his elbow there to keep him stable.ย 
Benedict clung to every word you said, he didnโ€™t even realize the lace runner on top was beginning to slide. His chest slowly started to get closer, before he could notice the pull in his arm he jolted forward, nearly touching your chest. He gasped as he scrambled to catch his cup before it could spill onto your gown. You looked at him astonished by his blushing face and the lack of grace. His lips parted to apologize but you just smiled.ย 
Something was bubbling deep within your stomach, it was unfamiliar as it rose to your chest and up to your lips. Your gloved hand covered your lips as a hearty laugh erupted from your throat, the other hand clutching your aching sides. Benedict cocked his head as he watched you laugh so freely, tears from the laughter springing to your eyes. โ€œI canโ€™t breatheโ€ฆ I canโ€™t breathe, Ben,โ€ you struggled to say. You donโ€™t remember when you laughed this hard over something so small and silly. It felt so foreign to youโ€ฆ and to Benedict.ย ย 
All Benedict could do was grin and try to memorize as much of this as he could. โ€œY/N,โ€ he chuckled as he touched the side of your arm, trying to get you to breathe with him. You almost lost balance, falling into the wall beside you.ย 
You finally caught your breath, able to pry your eyes away from him and look at the crowd. The young men were staring at you, a newfound hunger in their gaze like you were a trophy coming back from being polished. โ€œI donโ€™t like when they look at me like that,โ€ you whispered.ย 
Benedict looked out at the room and understood your comment. They were getting their quills ready to put their name on your forgotten dance card. They didnโ€™t deserve to see the rays of sunshine that peaked from the clouds. He never wanted them to hear that laugh ever again. In his mind, he knew it was selfish, but he didnโ€™t care.ย 
His hand trailed up your arm until he placed his gloved fingers under your chin, guiding your face to look up at him. โ€œThen only look at me,โ€ he told you kindly.
Timidly, your fingers wrapped around his wrist, his pulse thumping against them. You leaned in close, rising on your tiptoes to reach him, โ€œYou, Benedictโ€ you sighed in an attempt to not let your voice waver, โ€œare the only one I ever wished to look at.โ€
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cuddlemen0w ยท 2 years
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I LOVE YOUR ANTHONY BRIDGERTON FIC Iโ€™M SCREAMING!
IM SCREAMING TOO THANK YOUUU
1 note ยท View note
cuddlemen0w ยท 2 years
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thank you so much!!!
ii. second glances | anthony bridgerton
summary: All is fair in love and war. And when you unexpectedly meet the man again, you canโ€™t help but steal some glances.
word count: 1.9k
ratings: enemies to lovers(?), pinning
warnings: none
a/n: i know this took a little longer and the next might too, iโ€™m at the end of the year and had so many exams i couldnโ€™t write at all. i hope you all understand and will continue to,, taglist is at the end (open!)
masterlist | part i
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โ€œWould it be such a horrible thing, dear?โ€ your mother asked and it felt like the hundredth time just this season. She was asking about marriage of course, but she did not mean the kind you sought. You wanted to find true love, preferably with a well educated man whoโ€™d share your views on how marriage should work. Not a transaction of convenience, not for the gain of money or title. Marriage should be love and friendship first and respect and equality second.
Your mother on the other hand thought of securing you a wealthy lord. You didnโ€™t blame her for it. She herself was pushed into a marriage of convenience. Did she regret it? Was she truly happy after all these years of parading with your father at every social gathering just to make face? Did she fell in love with him eventually? If she did, she didnโ€™t show it at home. She loved her child, you. She loved you more than anything, and she told you as much. She cherished and cared for you without a nurse or a nanny since you were a mere baby. She told you of her love everyday. But she never told your father, not to him nor to you. And even if she meant well with her intentions of marrying you to wealth, you felt as if she betrayed you. How could she want this for you? To only find love and comfort in your child but not in your husband.
โ€œIt would,โ€ you answered her as you walked through the street with her. You didnโ€™t want to end up like her, even if you loved her dearly. You didnโ€™t wish this for yourself, nor anyone else.
โ€œAll I want for you is to be happy, you know that? And security is the most important aspect of a happy life,โ€ she said.
The late springโ€™s season was in full force and the heat started to seep through your dress, both of you needed some refreshment and the nearest cafรฉโ€™s salvation of cool air and the cold lemonadeโ€™s smell thankfully broke the little argument you had with your mama.
โ€œSecurity without love is like breathing without oxygen, mama. But I donโ€™t feel like having this argument,โ€ you answered her and stepped through the door to the cozy cafรฉ on main street. โ€œLemon or strawberry?โ€
โ€œLemon, please, dear,โ€ your mother said and untied the ribbon on her bonnet. โ€œIโ€™ll find some seats.โ€ It seemed like most of the ton had the same idea on the sunny day, as almost every table was filled with chatting misters and ladies.
You went to the counter, waved your hand softly for the woman to notice you. She granted you with a gentle smile and you ordered two cold drinks, lemon for your mother and strawberry for yourself. You always had a sweet tooth, more than your mother and the thought of the sour fruit made you grimace slightly.
โ€œLemon is certainly not your favourite I see,โ€ you heard a familiar male say on your left. โ€œI must say that strawberry certainly isnโ€™t mine.โ€
You turned to Anthony Bridgerton and it was like a cold wind flew by. His eyes, brown and deep and so mischievous, looked straight through yours. He stood next to you, taller than ever and radiated confidence, as if you hadnโ€™t cracked it just a few days prior.
โ€œMr. Bridgerton,โ€ you curtsied and looked back to the woman taking and serving the orders. โ€œHave you lost your way? The manโ€™s club is on the second, not the main.โ€
โ€œIโ€™m not here to socialise with my fellow gentlemen.โ€
โ€œAnd what would you be here for then?โ€ you turned your gaze back at him, curiosity taking over you.
โ€œIโ€™m here with Miss Whitman, she felt rather hot on our walk and I suggested this place for the refreshing. They do have amazing lemonade,โ€ Anthony said and the side of his lips seemed to move slightly.
You only hummed in answer. Thankfully your drinks were ready and you could excuse yourself from the viscount. โ€œI hope you will enjoy your day with Miss Whitman, I hope she can play more than one instrument,โ€ you curtsied once more and left with your two drinks to find your seating.
ใƒปโฅใƒป
โ€œThree actually,โ€ Miss Whitman answered rather eagerly to Anthonyโ€™s question if she can play an instrument. She was almost perfect. Except for the eagerness and the blatant fact that she only sought a title and money to pay her debts at the modiste.
โ€œThe violin, the harp and the pianoforte,โ€ she babbled on about how many more she wanted to try her hands on. But Anthony couldnโ€™t help but let his mind wander to a sky blue dress and the soft curls that spilled from under the bonnet you wore. The pastel blue ribbon complimented your skin at in the crook of your neck where it tied together the cap. The way you seemed to be just a tad bit jealous when he mentioned he was here with a lady. Or was it hatred, envy perhaps? He couldnโ€™t help but smirk. His charms must have worked.
They certainly worked on the miss sitting before him. Her slender finger twirled with her pale blonde lock, her eyes looked away when he caught her staring, bashful, blushing. But the shape of her hand wasnโ€™t right, nor was the colour of her hair or eyes. The small quirk of his mouth slipped. He shouldnโ€™t compare Miss Whitman to you. He shouldnโ€™t think of you when heโ€™s in the middle of interviewing a possible match. In fact, he shouldnโ€™t think of you at all.
ใƒปโฅใƒป
He was here. The nerve.
But you couldnโ€™t really blame him. It was a total coincidence, even if you didnโ€™t want to believe it. It wasnโ€™t his fault that the lady he was promenading with felt too warm, or that this was the closest establishment serving cold lemonades. It wasnโ€™t your fault either. Definitely not your fault.
Dismissing him in his presence came easy. Anthony isnโ€™t the first gentleman getting on your nerve. But he is the first one to make you think of him even when heโ€™s not right next to you. You mentally groaned at the thought of admitting that. He is insufferable, irritating and so full of himself. Yet, you couldnโ€™t help but to compare him to the others. Where other so called suitors cowered and left in haste, he remained with a smirk. He challenged you, no other man has done that and you couldnโ€™t help but admire that. Hurting a manโ€™s ego is truly an insult to his name and it came to you easily. You didnโ€™t blame them for running away as fast as they could, you made them do that for a reason. But Anthony Bridgerton stayed put. He started a war and for once you didnโ€™t feel bored out of your mind.
โ€œWhat is on your mind?โ€ your mother inquired, sipping on her lemonade.
You held tighter onto your own glass of the sweet strawberry pink drink and shook your head lightly. โ€œNothing, mama.โ€
โ€œIt must have been something, youโ€™ve been in your head since you came over with the drinks. Donโ€™t worry, you can tell me,โ€ she said as she put her drink down and went to hold your unoccupied hand. โ€œIs it what I said earlier? You know me and your father are just worried. We donโ€™t want to rush you into marriage if you donโ€™t want to, butโ€”โ€œ
โ€œItโ€™s not that, mama.โ€ You held onto her hand. โ€œI know this is my second season and you both wish for me to not end up a spinster, but Iโ€™m still young enough, twenty gives me enough time to find a suitable husband to love.โ€
She smiled, โ€œI would be delighted if you found a husband whoโ€™d love you beyond words, my darling.โ€ And with enough money to secure your future. The words were unsaid but you felt them in the air.
โ€œI know, mama.โ€
You sat for a little while, both of you enjoying the buzz of the people around you and the little rest before you had to walk back home.
The clouds outside seemed to take pity on you and covered the hot sun just as you stood from your seats and headed to the door.
But before you could open the white-wooden door, two figures emerged from next to you, one striding to the door faster than the other. โ€œLet me,โ€ he said. Your eyes locked with the mahogany browns of the viscount. Anthony looked away first. โ€œWe were just leaving,โ€ he felt the need to say and opened the door. โ€œPlease, before me.โ€ He held the door and pointed for you all to go ahead.
First went your mother. He smiled politely and she did too. Second went Miss Whiโ€” suddenly he couldnโ€™t remember her name as you went through the door next. The stretch of his sleeve tightened around his shoulders. His muscles tensed as you walked past him. The smell of lavender and peach and something that resembled the sweetness of the spring breeze brushed his nose. He couldnโ€™t help but search for your eyes once more.
โ€œHave a good day, sir,โ€ you nodded and this time you were the one to look away first. Your steps catching up with your mother.
ใƒปโฅใƒป
You sat in your drawing room. Occupied by the paper and various oil paints on your palette. Your hands were adored by mixtures of blue, yellow and green. The picture you painted of the field in the country side was quickly finished and you held it for your mama to see. She was ready to scold you for the mess on your hands but you were saved by the butler coming in and greeting you both.
Addressing your mother and then stepping closer and addressing you. โ€œYou have received a letter, Miss.โ€
โ€œMe? From whom?โ€
โ€œMiss Eloise Bridgerton,โ€ he answered and held out the envelope on a silver platter.
You wiped your hands quickly onto your skirt, making your mother gasp in horror. โ€œYou canโ€™t just do that!โ€
โ€œI would think that I can and just did, mama,โ€ you said and shared an amused smile with the butler. You took the letter from him, ripping the envelope, but making sure that the stamp was still together, you put it away to keep it as a memory. It wasnโ€™t the first you took as a token, often youโ€™d ask your mother for those she got on her letters, liking the different ornaments on each of them. But this one was special. It wasnโ€™t your first own one, but it was special none the less. It held the sentiment of a friendship. And once it was securely hidden away you opened the letter.
๐’Ÿ๐‘’๐’ถ๐“‡ ๐“Ž/๐“ƒ,
๐ผ ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐“๐’พ๐“€๐‘’ ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’พ๐“ƒ๐“‹๐’พ๐“‰๐‘’ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’ถ๐“Ž ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐“‚๐“Ž ๐’ป๐’ถ๐“‚๐’พ๐“๐“Ž, ๐’ถ๐“‰ ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ƒ๐“‰๐“‡๐“Ž ๐’ฝ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’ฆ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐“‰, ๐’ถ ๐“Œ๐‘’๐‘’๐“€ ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’ถ๐’น๐“‹๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’ธ๐‘’ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“‚๐“Ž ๐“‚๐‘œ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡โ€™๐“ˆ ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“ƒ๐“‰๐“‡๐“Ž ๐’ท๐’ถ๐“๐“. ๐ผ ๐“Œ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐“‰๐“‡๐“Š๐“๐“Ž ๐’น๐‘’๐“๐’พ๐‘”๐’ฝ๐“‰๐‘’๐’น ๐’ป๐‘œ๐“‡ ๐“Ž๐‘œ๐“Š ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐“‚๐‘’๐‘’๐“‰ ๐“‚๐“Ž ๐’ป๐’ถ๐“‚๐’พ๐“๐“Ž, ๐“ˆ๐’ถ๐“‹๐‘’ ๐’ป๐‘œ๐“‡ ๐“‚๐“Ž ๐‘œ๐“๐’น๐‘’๐“ˆ๐“‰ ๐’ท๐“‡๐‘œ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡, ๐“Œ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐’ธ๐’ฝ ๐ผโ€™๐“‚ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“‡๐“‡๐“Ž ๐’ป๐‘œ๐“‡. ๐ผ ๐“…๐“‡๐‘œ๐“‚๐’พ๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐’ฝ๐‘’โ€™๐“๐“ ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐“Š๐’น๐“Ž ๐“‚๐‘œ๐“ˆ๐“‰ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“‰๐’พ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐’พ๐’ป ๐’ฝ๐‘’โ€™๐“๐“ ๐’ธ๐’ถ๐“‡๐‘’ ๐“‰๐‘œ ๐’ฟ๐‘œ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐“Š๐“ˆ ๐ผ ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“๐“ ๐“‚๐’ถ๐“€๐‘’ ๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“‚ ๐’ท๐‘’๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“‹๐‘’. ๐ผ ๐“ˆ๐’พ๐“‚๐“…๐“๐“Ž ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“๐’น๐“ƒโ€™๐“‰ ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’น๐“Š๐“‡๐‘’ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’พ๐“ˆ ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’ถ๐“Ž ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‰ ๐“ˆ๐‘œ๐“‚๐‘’๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘’ ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“ˆ๐’ถ๐“‚๐‘’ ๐“ˆ๐“‰๐’ถ๐“‰๐‘’ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“‚๐’พ๐“ƒ๐’น, ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ ๐’ถ๐“๐“ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“๐’ถ๐’น๐’พ๐‘’๐“ˆ ๐’ถ๐“ƒ๐’น ๐‘”๐‘’๐“ƒ๐“‰๐“๐‘’๐“‚๐‘’๐“ƒ ๐‘œ๐’ป ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐“‰๐‘œ๐“ƒ ๐’ธ๐‘œ๐“‚๐’พ๐“ƒ๐‘” ๐’พ๐“ƒ ๐’ป๐‘œ๐“‡ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’ ๐’ท๐’ถ๐“๐“, ๐ผโ€™๐’น ๐“‡๐’ถ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡ ๐“…๐‘’๐“‡๐’พ๐“ˆ๐’ฝ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐’ถ๐“ƒ ๐’ท๐‘’ ๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“‡๐‘’ ๐’ถ๐“๐‘œ๐“ƒ๐‘’ ๐“Œ๐’พ๐“‰๐’ฝ ๐’ฟ๐“Š๐“ˆ๐“‰ ๐“‰๐’ฝ๐‘’๐“ˆ๐‘’ ๐“ˆ๐’พ๐“‚๐“…๐“๐‘’ ๐“‚๐’พ๐“ƒ๐’น๐‘’๐’น ๐“…๐‘’๐‘œ๐“…๐“๐‘’.
๐’ด๐‘œ๐“Š๐“‡ ๐’น๐‘’๐“‹๐‘œ๐“‰๐‘’๐’น ๐’ป๐“‡๐’พ๐‘’๐“ƒ๐’น, ๐ธ๐“๐‘œ๐’พ๐“ˆ๐‘’.
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