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bwbatta · 3 years

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The five times James Potter asked you to marry him

(and the one time he meant it)

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Reader

Warnings: 18+, Sexual content, swearing

Word Count: 3.6K

A/N: I saw this done with Fred somewhere but can’t remember who it was that wrote it, so thought I’d do the same with our boy James. There is also a lil bit of smutty goodness within this so please don’t read if this offends you or if you are underage!

One

The first time James Potter asked you to marry him was when he first met you.

Quidditch season had begun and Gryffindor vs Slytherin was the first game, enticing everyone to the stands to watch the two rival teams battle it out. James was aware of the new team members he was playing against, but blissfully unaware of how one of them was you.

Their Gryffindor keeper had just saved a goal from your teammate, throwing the quaffle to James, only for it to be stolen from his grasp before he could blink.

“What the-”

His eyes caught sight of your green quidditch robes as you zipped away, throwing the quaffle for another goal and succeeding as it soared through. The Slytherin stands erupted into cheers, but James could barely focus on it as he was too focused on you.

Shaking it off, James pushed himself to focus on the game again, more determined to score, yet when you somehow stole the quaffle away from him another time, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Had Slytherin finally recruited a decent quidditch player?!

The sarcastic thought barely slipped through his mind before the quaffle vanished from his hands a third time.

“Prongs!” Sirius flew up beside him, pointing his beater’s bat towards him in an accusing way, “stop giving her the bloody quaffle!”

James just rolled his eyes before flying off towards you with the intent to nick it back.

Whilst you easily avoided a bludger that Sirius had hit towards you, James quickly pinched back the quaffle in the split second you were distracted. With a cheeky grin in your direction, he winked and flew towards the Slytherin goals.

After that, it became more of a game between the two of you rather than the actual match. Stealing the quaffle back and forth had you both snickering at the other when they lost it.

With the commentator suddenly breaking the information that the two seekers were in a battle to catch the snitch, James’ attention shifted for just a moment to watch, which was just long enough for you to steal the quaffle away once more, just as the game ended.

Noticing the quaffle no longer in his grip, his attention shot to you where you held up the ball with a grin, winking back at him.

Despite the two of you messing around with each other the whole game, neither of you had said a word to the other. Breaking the silence between the two of you, James couldn’t help but laugh, despite the fact Gryffindor had just lost after Regulus Black had caught the snitch for Slytherin.

“Marry me.” He grinned widely at you as you smiled back just as big.

“Not today.” You snickered, winking at him once more before flying down to join your team.

Sirius appeared beside his best mate with an odd expression on his face, having just witnessed the exchange.

“Am I missing something?”

James just chuckled, but his gaze stayed on you, watching as you cheered along with you team at the win. He wasn’t aware of who you were before the game, but he was very aware of you now.

Two

Despite the fact you were sorted in Slytherin, you didn’t get along with certain members of your house. The common room always seemed to be the hotspot for wannabe dark wizards who publicly shared their common views on blood status and who wasn’t worthy of studying magic.

It was something you didn’t agree with and so avoided as much as you could. This was why you sought your refuge in one of the alcoves off the third floor corridor. It was quiet and you didn’t get nearly as distracted as you would if you had stayed in the common room, or even the library for that matter.

Hearing a loud swear and then the sound of feet pounding down the corridor, you couldn’t help but be curious. Sticking your head out, you had to admit you weren’t surprised to see a panicked James Potter and Sirius Black running down the corridor towards you.

The loud shout from behind them, which could only have come from Professor McGonagall, followed them as it echoed down the hall.

The corridor came to a dead end and the two friends shared a look of dread. Before you knew what came over you, you stuck your head out and whispered to them.

“Psst,” their attention was immediately on you, “in here.”

Stepping out of your spot, the two boys clambered in as you walked down the corridor to come face to face with a furious Professor McGonagall.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she controlled her anger as she questioned you, “have you seen Mr Potter or Mr Black come down here?”

“The two Gryffindors?” You inquired, your face void of anything that would give you away, “not down here, no, though judging from the noise and smell of chaos, I think they went that way.”

Pointing down the direction of the opposite hall, the professor thanked you before turning and storming down it, turning the corner at the end and disappearing from sight.

With a snicker, you turned and headed back to find both James and Sirius with huge grins on their faces.

“Oh, you’re not just a normal Slytherin are you?!” James gleamed, stepping forward, out of the hiding spot.

“A normal Slytherin?!”

“Conniving, back stabbing, selfish.” Sirius listed off, “my entire family’s full of them, but you are different.”

“Glad I could break the Stereotype.” You shrugged a shoulder, before your attention shifted to James. “What did you two do anyway which set off McGonagall like that?!”

The pair of Gryffindor’s looked slightly sheepish suddenly as if they were reluctant to say.

“Uhhh, maybe because we set up a prank for some Slytherins’ to drop honey and feathers on them as they walked through the Great Hall, but McGonagall ended up walking through it instead.” James grimaced at the memory of how furious the teacher was.

“Well that was stupid,” you snorted whilst grabbing your bag from the floor, “she obviously just vanished it. Next time you should definitely add a sticking charm so they can’t just magic it away. Oh and get the right target. As far as I’m concerned, the Slytherin’s that are the biggest dickheads are fair game, deal?”

“Marry me.” James gazed at you like you just discovered the stars.

With a small laugh and a roll of your eyes, your attention was quickly drawn to a piece of folded parchment on the ground which you were sure wasn’t yours.

“What’s this?” You questioned as you caught sight of the front. “Messers Moony, Wormta- hey!”

“Nothing!” Sirius said quickly, snatching it from your grip and tucking it away.

“Yeah because if it was nothing, you wouldn’t just rip it out of my hands now?!” You snickered, “you know if you really don’t want it to be read, you should put a password phrase on it to at least make it look like it’s nothing.”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea.” Sirius grinned, “you know, you’re not that bad.”

“So I’ve been told.” You laughed back at him, completely missing how James was grinning at you with utter wonder in his eyes.

Three

After inspiring the Gryffindor duo with both the prank idea and how to further the map, you didn’t expect that James and Sirius would rarely leave you alone.

Because of this, you were introduced to Remus and Peter since both James and Sirius had determined you should be friends, especially when you could give them inside knowledge on which Slytherins to go after.

You weren’t sure how to feel about it at first, but after a while it became natural to sit with the boys for breakfast or dinner.

You also didn’t expect to see Amycus Carrow walk through the common room late one evening, mysteriously covered in honey and feathers after relaying a snide comment to you about your newfound friends.

The satisfaction you got from seeing Carrow try to explain there was obviously a sticking charm, preventing him from vanishing the sticky mess to his friends, was so much better than you could’ve imagined. You told the boys that very thing the next day.

It also wasn’t long before James took the plunge and asked you out to Hogsmeade.

The two of you had grown close despite your different houses, yet you both couldn’t deny there was a major attraction between you. (Something Sirius constantly commented on.)

Which was why you found yourself in the Three Broomsticks with James, laughing over butterbeers with story he told you.

“So then Remus enters the room to find it destroyed with Sirius handcuffed to his bed, naked, with only a pillow covering him. And you know what he said, like any other Tuesday? ‘I heard they’re serving Pie for dinner tonight’.”

“I’m telling you, those Ravenclaw girls are devious! Maybe even more so than us Slytherins!”

“Well if it’s any consolation, I would hate to get on your bad side.” James grinned at you, raising his glass.

“I’ll drink to that.” You snickered, clinking your glass with his.

“Well well, I wouldn’t have expected to see you in here with this riffraff, Y/N.” A cold voice was heard from behind you. “Then again, you did always hang around with the wrong sort, a blood traitor no less.”

Turning around, your eyes met the steely blue ones of Lucius Malfoy.

“Don’t call me by my first name like we’re friends, Malfoy. And for the record, at least I don’t associate myself with wannabe death eaters, like your friends.”

To further your point, your eyes flickered over to the group where Malfoy was originally sat, the group containing the Carrows, Mulciber and Snape.

Lucius’ expression was tight, yet both James and you could see the look of hate in his eyes.

“You should leave.” James stood to match Lucius’ height as he rounded the table, effectively putting himself between the two of you. The two men stared each other down.

“And why should I?” Lucius questioned back, his voice cold.

“Because it would be an absolute shame if anyone found out about your midnight visitor the other night. Right, Malfoy?” You questioned with a innocent look on your face.

Standing up and linking your arm with James’, Lucius’ eyes snapped to you as you held his expression with a stern one of your own.

“A Hufflepuff, wasn’t she? And a muggleborn no less. Which is weird because, aren’t you engaged to Narcissa Black? I wonder what her family would think, them being the ‘Noble House of Black’ and all?”

Lucius looked furious, but you held his glare firmly, only for him to step back a few moments later, allowing a space for you to pass. Pulling James along with you, you headed towards the door with a spring in your step like you hadn’t just blackmailed one of the Slytherin prefects.

“Ooh, can we go to Honeydukes? I need to stock up on chocolate frogs.”

James was stunned, captivated and slightly aroused.

Watching you take on Malfoy like it was nothing more than a brain training activity, made him laugh in wonder as the two of you exited onto the street.

You kept talking about the new limited edition sugar quills before you paused, realising James wasn’t really listening to you anymore.

“Hey, you alright?”

“Marry me.”

With a grin, you just linked arms with him again, the two of you heading in the direction of the sweet shop, a growing list of sugary items to buy.

Four

With a groan of pleasure, James pulled you tighter to him as you moaned out his name, your hands wound in his hair making it appear a lot messier than usual.

The two of you had graduated Hogwarts only a few months ago, and after dating for just over two years, James asked you to move in with him once you finished school.

The small flat the two of you shared was found in Diagon Alley, above the quidditch shop, which you wondered whether he had planned or not when he first suggested you view the place. Sirius and Remus had their own flat which the former had bought for the two with the money he had inherited from uncle, after being disowned from his family.

Your small group of friends supported him the best you could, which included Sirius moving in with James and his parents for a while as they finished Hogwarts. Yet, when they entered the final months of their seventh year at school, Sirius insisted he would look for his own place, not wanting to intrude longer than he already had, not that the Potters’ would call him staying with them an intrusion of any kind.

“Fuck, Y/N.” James gasped out as he quickened his pace, thrusting into you faster as you christened the different rooms.

You had both started in your bedroom before moving to the living room, kitchen and then the bathroom, before ending up back in your room once more.

His lips met your own as you pulled him by his neck closer to you, wrapping you legs around his waist tighter, effectively getting James to hit a spot deep within you, causing you to cry out in pleasure.

Quickening his pace, James used his expert fingers to bring you closer to your brink, before you gasped out loudly, quickly reaching your climax. The feeling of you coming around him had James grunting out, thrusting harder to chase his own release.

Gripping your headboard, he came with a groan, muttering your name over and over as he pulled you close to him, both of you basking in the bliss that came from the several orgasms you’d both experienced over the last few hours.

“Marry me.” James murmured into you hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Maybe later.” You chuckled, exhaustion now hitting you hard as you both relaxed back in bed. “Too tired now.”

James snickered as he pulled a blanket over the two of you, finding a comfortable position as you curled up together, both utterly content within that perfect moment.

Five

A lot had changed since you left Hogwarts and being inducted into the Order of the Phoenix was just one of them.

Your closest friends were also recruited which both reassured you and terrified you. As much as you were glad that you were fighting on the right side of the war with the people you could trust with your life, if anything happened to any of them, you don’t know what you’d do.

It was suppose to be a small mission, just quick enough to gain intel for the Order which was why Moody chose only a select few of you to complete it.

James, Remus and you, accompanied by Lily Evans, who you had been properly introduced to in your seventh year, were the four chosen for the task. This of course had annoyed Sirius to no end as he hadn’t been picked and constantly moaned about it the few days prior.

Accidentally setting off the taboo alarm, death eaters apparated before you causing the four of you to split into two’s, fighting back to back.

Quickly hitting the three death eaters before you with a stunning spell, you turned and shot another ‘stupefy’ at one who had their wand aimed at Lily. She successfully took out a couple more as she was back to back with you, sharing a grin at how well both of your training had helped you.

Glancing over at James unconsciously, you spotted one sneak up behind him as he was separated from Remus after one death eater blew up the floor beneath them.

With the first spell that flew to mind, you aimed your wand at the advancing threat, shooting a bat bogey hex at them, just as their killing curse missed James by inches, only for him to be hit by a weak confundus charm.

You were certain your heart skipped several beats due to the stress and anxiety as you dropped to your knees next to him on the ground. His nose was obviously broken from one spell shot at him and a dazed expression was present on his face.

Taking his face in between your hands, you quickly got a good look at him to check for more injuries as Lily and Remus stunned the last of the attackers and started to round them up.

“James, can you hear me?”

“Y/N,” he grinned widely, “what are you doing here?”

“Saving your arse from being killed.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile on your face at how dopey your boyfriend looked.

“You always save my arse, I think you quite like my arse really.” James snickered loudly like he had just told a funny joke. “I think you might want to marry my arse. Ooh, I think you should really marry me though.”

You chuckled at him, quickly fixing his broken nose and helping him up.

“It means you’ll have to actually propose to me then, with a proposal better than that, my love.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

James nodded, deep in thought before his eyes lifted to spot Remus and immediately he waved an arm to try get his attention.

“MOONY! I NEED YOUR HELP TO PROPOSE.”

Six

The truth was, as much as James joked about it, and as much as he said it within the span of meeting you, you did not expect it for one moment when he actually asked you to marry him.

Saturday started off as any normal weekend would.

With the promise from Dumbledore to call only if it was an emergency, your group of friends was given the day off and so a plan was set in motion to have dinner at yours and James’ flat. Despite popular belief, James could actually cook very well and so insisted on whipping up a roast dinner for you all, shooing you out of the kitchen when you tried to help.

Sitting around your dining table with your closest friends, you couldn’t have asked for a better day. It was the first in a while where everyone could relax slightly and take the time to enjoy themselves.

Remus and you were in a discussion about a book he had recommended to you, when James entered the room with the meal, putting it in the centre of the table. Whilst Sirius was avidly denying James could cook, Lily and you snickered between you as you watched the boys interact with each other.

The meal went by quickly, everyone enjoying their time together before Lily and you cleared the plates away as a compromise, after James cooked everything.

You didn’t suspect anything going on until you reentered the room to find the boys in a hushed discussion, giant smiles on their faces, jumping away from each other after noticing you return.

“Everything okay?” You asked slightly suspicious as the four boys shrugged off your concerns.

“Yeah, absolutely perfect, wanna sit down?” Sirius wrapped an arm around your shoulders, guiding you to the living room with the others following.

“You’re acting weird, Siri.”

“I am weird, honey, I was born into the House of Black.”

With a smile and narrowed eyes, you decided to ignore whatever secret it was the boys had, and focused on enjoying the time you had together.

It wasn’t until James stood and grabbed your hands, pulling you up from your seat, that you became slightly suspicious again.

“Y/N, if you don’t mind, I’d like to say something to you and all our friends.”

Wrapping an arm around your waist, he brought you closer to him, pressing a kiss to your head. Wrapping your own arm around his waist in turn, you cuddled close to him, feeling absolutely content.

“As we all know,” James began, catching the attention of the small group, “it had been an absolute shock for most of you hear today, that I can actually cook a meal and not poison anyone.”

A round of snickers passed around the group as James rolled his eyes at your reactions.

“We also all know that me being able to cook, is far from the most shocking thing to happen to us all. The biggest shock, was of course, the Gryffindor quidditch team losing to Slytherin when this little minx showed up and stole the show!”

“Here here!” Sirius agreed, lifting his glass of Firewhiskey in agreement.

“Another shock was also when I asked her on a date and she agreed, yet I think that was more Y/N’s mistake than anything.” James chuckled out, now looking slightly more nervous than he did before. “If we’re talking about biggest shocks throughout our relationship, her agreeing to move in with me was another, along with my shock when I discovered what she could do with her tongue-”

“James!”

“Ow! Okay, fine, no bedroom talk!”

The punch to his arm barely phased James’ smile though as he grinned at you so wholeheartedly, you think you might melt on the spot.

“Anyway, one thing that probably isn’t a shock is the countless times I’ve mentioned my intentions to you. Which is why...”

James unravelled his arm from your waist as he quickly caught something thrown at him by Remus, before dropping to one knee in front of you.

You were sure your heart had stopped.

“I’m now going to ask you again, legitimately this time.”

Opening up the small white box, a gorgeous diamond and ruby ring was readily positioned, shining up at you as your eyes flicked from the ring, to James and back repeatedly.

“Y/N, I know I’ve said this before, but please, marry me?!”

Throwing your arms around his neck, you must’ve repeated the word ‘yes’ over and over again as James proceeded to kiss you, before slipping the ring on your finger.

In that moment, surrounded by your closest friends and the man you loved more than anything, you felt the happiest you ever had and wished for nothing more than to live in that moment forever.

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highpope · 3 years

Text

pieced together pt. one

posting here too because not that many people have seen it also sorry for the weird spacing idk what’s going on

JJ Maybank x pogue reader - season 2 fic

spoiler warning!

You laid in bed watching the rain hit your windows, the radio downstairs faintly describes the fate of the world. You can’t make out complete sentences without straining, but you have heard enough from the last few days to know there were no updates about John B and Sarah. The radio has been on for days on end, your parents not wanting to miss any possible update about your friends or the storm that seemed never-ending. It was like it rained for years. It was a constant reminder of the night your two best friends were driven out into the storm and everything changed. You could hear Shoupe’s words in the back of your mind, “we lost ‘em' ' on a constant loop. You could see Kiara’s face and JJ’s hands and Pope’s heart shatter. Like all the stars had come falling down and you were the only one left to pick up all the pieces. You prayed this was all a nightmare. You could wake up and not only would they both be here, but you’d all be safe. You would give up the gold a hundred times over if it meant John B and Sarah would be home.

Both Pope and Kie’s parents had called your mom every night since that day. When she thought you were asleep, she would creep down the stairs and sit in the kitchen and cry, praying they had some good news. Something that could take away some of the pain you were in. But she couldn’t, no one could. You had to hear half the town talk about John B like he was a murderer like he kidnapped Sarah like he was some delusional kid from the cut. All while you knew the Cameron’s were roaming free and receiving sympathy for what they’re going through. It made you sick to think about. They had a private funeral for Sarah. People gave their condolences and spoke so kindly about her. They scoffed at her recent behavior and her newfound friendship from “those dirty pogues.”

Sometime around day two, your mom came into your room asking if you had heard from JJ. He had been with the Heyward’s up until that morning when he’d completely disappeared.

For a second, you felt something other than grief, knowing he had been with Pope and not his dad, but that was short-lived. You tried to imagine how peaceful it would have been under different circumstances, a world in which he was always safe. One where Luke Maybank had no control over his life. You wanted to get lost in that daydream, live in that alternative reality for a while. He wouldn’t have to keep a duffel bag full of clothes and cash under your bed for when things got bad. He wouldn’t have to know how to do stitches on himself or how to pop a dislocated shoulder back in place. He’d be safe. He’d be happy. She asked again if you had heard from JJ, snapping you back to reality. (you had not). You watched as her forehead creased and her lips straightened into a thin line, like something in her had broken too.

She hurts just as much as you do. At first, you contributed that to her not being able to take away your pain, which is part of it. But you later realized she’s lost a person, too. You had known John B since grade school, there were pictures of the group of you sitting on your swing set in your backyard at age nine. Ones of you, JJ, John B, and Pope asleep in your living room after attempting to build a fort. He stayed for dinners and birthday parties. She watched us grow up, every first day of school, soccer game, fishing tournament. Our families had somehow combined over the years. Not only does your mom hurt for you, but she lost a child. And that weight is heavier than anything.

You stopped crying by day three. Nothing left. You were completely and utterly numb but consumed by loss all at the same time. You hadn’t initially worried about JJ. He did this. He disappeared for a little, to clear his head, but he always came back. He never stayed away for more than three days. That’s how long it took for him to feel balanced again, maybe less, but never more. He said it was because he couldn’t get a burger as good as the ones at The Wreck anywhere else in the world, but you knew how much he loved the outer banks and the people there. You also knew that he’d never leave without you. And if he absolutely had to, he would at least say goodbye. He had to, he promised. You held on to that every time his phone went straight to voicemail. And when days four and five came and went and you still haven’t heard from him, you were worried. He should’ve crawled through your window in yesterday’s clothes with a few more scratches on his arm than he left with, but his eyes would glow a little brighter and he would still smile when you insisted he spends the night. So, when you cracked your window open and slept with your bedside lamp on (so that he could see the light from outside) and he still wasn’t there when you awoke, your mourning turned into something else. You sent a few texts, in case he somehow got them, but you were doubtful.

You didn’t know what it was like to live without him. There wasn’t a time in your life you could remember when you and JJ weren’t attached at the hip. Sometime around kindergarten, you two became inseparable, ultimately meeting John B and Pope as you got older and Kie when you all got to junior high. There was a weird couple of months around third grade where he decided girls had cooties, but it was short-lived because when JJ realized that meant you couldn’t be friends anymore he thought it was dumb and started coming over again. You couldn’t exactly pinpoint when your relationship changed, the lines between friendship and something more merging and becoming blurred. If you had to, for you it was the start of sophomore year. Something changed when you were together, even just sitting in silence was comfortable and exciting. Eyes started lingering, touches became more frequent, and then one day you were just together. It’s been the same since. You think back to the first time you kissed like a couple. It definitely hadn’t been the first time the two of you had ever kissed. You were sure there had been at least one during your childhood and you vividly remember a New Year’s Eve party and a couple of games of truth or dare. But this time it was different. There was something behind it.

You and JJ sat side by side in the hammock outside of John B’s. He was smoking while using his one leg to rock the two of you slowly back and forth. You were struggling to keep your eyes open and pay attention to whatever story was being told. JJ must have noticed because he wrapped an arm around you, inviting you to lay on his chest.

This wasn’t uncommon between you. JJ was always physically affectionate toward the people he cared about and you had no problem reciprocating. You stayed just like that until it was just the two of you left outside.

JJ shifted slightly under your weight causing you to wake up. “Shit, sorry. You okay?” he asked, tossing the tip of the blunt into the fire.

You nodded, “mhm.” You looked around, realizing how dark it had gotten, “You could’ve woken me up! It’s late.”

“You looked peaceful.”

You pretended to clutch your heart, “JJ Maybank being nice? Dare I say sweet?”

“Shut up,” he said, rolling his eyes. He was smiling at you like you were the funniest person in the world.

“ No, no. You care about me,” you joked, poking his chest with your finger, “you loooove me.”

“ Yeah?” he challenged, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” you said, your breath suddenly catching in your throat.

“What if I do?” He asked, but it wasn’t a question. His face was serious, a glimmer of hope in his crystal eyes.

You look slightly from his eyes to his lips. If JJ noticed he didn’t lead on. He just slowly bridged the gap between you, your noses brushing for a moment before your lips connected. It was slow and careful, not wanting to push too far, but all the same, wanting to completely unravel the other. His hand cupped your cheek, his rings cold against your flushed face as you leaned into the kiss.

You heard faint screams and cheers from inside the chateau and Pope’s “Finally!” echo out. You could feel him smiling and soon enough you were both laughing. You had finally come together and nothing would take that away.

On day six, the rain stopped and the world carried on as normal. You wanted to yell at every person you saw. How could anyone feel so neutral about anything that happened in the last week? The sheriff was dead, there was a murderer on the loose, your two best friends were gone, and your boyfriend was missing. But yeah, go ahead and go to the grocery store like any other Wednesday morning. Someone tell the earth, it’s not supposed to keep spinning after the world ends.

You were lying on your bed, staring at your ceiling as you tried to fall asleep, a breeze flowed through your window and your lamp illuminated the room. All you could hear were cicadas and the wind rustling through the trees until you heard your window creak and slide open. You tried to process everything all at once, your eyes scanning over every part of his body, trying to meet his eyes. He was wearing the same clothes he had on the last time you saw him. There was dirt under his fingernails and his face was puffy from crying. His lip was cracked and covered in dry blood and bruises littered his jaw and hands. You could cry at the mere sight of him. Before either of you could speak, you collided.

You held his head to your chest and placed kisses on his hairline. You tried to wipe your tears before he could see them, but it was no use. The two of you were a tangle of arms and legs, of broken hearts and misguided minds, so desperately trying to tell the other it was going to be okay without believing it yourself.

“I miss him so much,” he sobbed. Your heart fell to your stomach and everything you had pushed down the past few days came rushing back.

“Me too,” you breathed. JJ’s arms wrapped around your stomach and he buried his head into your neck. You stayed like this for what felt like hours, thinking that if you held on long enough the two of you wouldn’t fall apart.

You heard your door open slightly and you quickly turned your head to see your mom stood there, tears brimming her eyes. You can visibly see her shoulders relax as she lets out a sigh. Your door closes softly as if not to disturb you both. You hear her on the other side of the door, “he’s here. He’s okay.”

“My dad’s gone,” he murmured into your neck.

You can physically feel your heart break for the boy in your arms and the younger version of him, trying to find a space he belongs and mourning the only one he ever found. You want so badly to hold him together, paint all of his scars golden. To remind him how much people love him, how much you love him, but no words come out.

“Guess he finally picked up and left, son of a bitch” His voice wobbled, “I went back, uh, that night to find the necklace John B gave me.”

He pulled away so he could talk directly to you. You cupped his cheeks and swiped the tears with your thumbs before they could fall. He laughed dryly, remembering, “Climbed through my bedroom window and everything. It should’ve taken two minutes tops but it wasn’t on my dresser like I thought it was. I tore my room apart looking for it. And then my dad came home and heard me, uh he was not happy to see me, as you can imagine.”

“Did he hurt you?” you ask, moving farther away from him to make sure he wasn’t bleeding or worse.

He grabs your hands and brings them to his chest, “I’m okay, I promise.”

“Is that where you were? The past few days,”

He nods, “yeah. I woke up the next day and he was gone. I was just going to get my stuff and go, but I don't know. Something wasn’t right.” He pauses to gather his thoughts, “They all really do leave, huh?”

“Don’t say that,” you urge.

“I’m just-”

“No. Do not think like that. None of this is your fault. Your dad is a fucking awful person for not loving you like you need to be loved. Like you deserve to be loved. And John B-” your voice cracks, “John B would never leave us if he didn’t have to and, and you have me. I couldn’t ever leave you. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself

He kisses your knuckles, “I know, I know. He just has so much power over the way I think.”

“But you know. You know you are nothing like him.”

He nods, not meeting your eyes.

“These past few days, J. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, leaning his forehead against yours.

“Don’t disappear on me, okay?”

“Never.” He pushes his lips to yours, urgent and longing. You move your hands to his head, bringing him closer, trying to pour yourself into him.

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dreamwraith · 3 years

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DxS did actually develop in canon

Before I get started, I gotta be upfront, I don't ship it. I prefer to avoid it, in fact. My friends and I rewatched the series last year, though, and watching the episodes all together like that made something stand out to me. The criticism the ship gets about lacking development is...off point. It develops! Even in the third season, the growth is there and it's beautiful and subtle because it builds upon each episode so you really only see it when it's watched all together.

And I think part of the problem is the popular idea that Sam and Danny were crushing on each other before the series began or even just early in the first season, and, like, if you ship these two, please believe me, you don't want that. You don't want to start at the finish line, you'll have gone nowhere, and that is why people assume it didn't have any growth.

But you can see in the first instance when Danny and Sam are called a couple in Mystery Meat, Sam sounds and looks offended while Danny is incredulous. Even in Parental Bonding, Sam doesn't show a preference for Danny over Tucker, she just wants a friend to invite her because her ideals aren't going to let her go to "some stupid dance" unless she has the excuse she's doing it for someone else. The narration is obviously moving her and Danny in that direction, but they're not feeling anything yet. She and Danny dance, and there is none of the blushing you see in later episodes.

Why is this?

Because GROWTH

I don't think the romantic subplot really even starts to affect them until the fake-out-make-out happens in Shades of Gray. They're still only friends after it happens, it's incredibly awkward, they're cringing because they just crossed a line, necessary or not. If you watch the scene without any expectations for the coming relationship, Danny is very alarmed that Sam is kissing him. He’s freaking the freak out, he lost control of his powers (just as Sam had hoped) and he’s wide-eyed and pounding his fists on the ground. He did not expect this AT ALL. Any of it. And even when he sits up and he has that half-lidded look on his face, he’s not looking at Sam, he’s just looking off into space in a very “a girl just kissed me” boy daze. Congrats, Danny. He snaps out of it once Sam speaks, and then they both get this grimace on their face. I don’t think it has anything to do with secret feelings, I think it��s because people have been teasing them about being lovebirds and now they’re going to get mocked and teased mercilessly, and oh fudge.

So they don’t feel anything there, BUT the simple act of kissing gets them thinking. It must get them thinking because the next episode is Fanning the Flames.

The important detail isn't the love spell, it's how receptive Danny and Sam are to each other at the beginning of the episode. Last episode, they kissed out of necessity, and now they're blushing when they hold hands, smiling shyly at each other, giving compliments, staring at each other, blushing, blushing, blushing. It's as though that fake kiss flipped a switch and now they are aware of each other in ways they never were before. In fact, Sam is shown to be very taken with Danny flying in the sunlight, a very clear moment in the series where there's a shift in the shading, the angle of the camera, and we the audience are allowed to see through Sam's eyes as she looks at Danny and sees him in a different light in what might be to her the first time.

And quick aside here, you have probably heard the argument Sam loves Danny for his powers, but you may not have heard this isn't necessarily a bad thing. It's an expression of Sam's character to, not only delight in the unique and odd, but to appreciate action when it's called for. Danny is a half ghost hero who refuses to sit on the sidelines when someone is in trouble. These are things Sam values, and Danny being who he is and what he does is going to make her heart pound with admiration. He's her dream guy, but more than that, he's her friend. She knows his flaws and who he is as a person. There is absolutely nothing wrong with her loving his powers and how unique it makes him in addition to liking him. I see it a little bit like having a thing for drummers and then your friend develops an aptitude for drumming. It's not going to change the friendship, but you might notice him a little differently. The only problem here would be if she liked him for the powers and not because there is something more there. For Sam, I think, it’s not just the powers. Danny Phantom isn't a stranger who is half ghost and saving people, he's Danny, her friend. She has watched him develop into a hero, starting from episode one, when Danny decided to do something with his powers.

It's a wild, new perception of Danny that would be hitting her in this moment, and if Ember hadn't interfered, they may have actually gotten together much sooner. But she did. She placed a spell over Danny and threw into question everything they have been feeling and made things move too fast, way too fast, for Sam, who, as you’ll remember, couldn’t even admit she wanted to go to a dance a few episodes ago.

Idk if you guys have noticed this or if anyone else agrees, but I fully believe it's Sam who sets the pace. For all the clueless jokes and teasing, Danny has shown from the get-go he's receptive to the idea of him and Sam getting together. Just look at the way he smiles whenever something happens between them-- it's usually Sam who pulls away or ducks her head. Such as in this episode, when the love spell is broken and she, not Danny, makes an excuse for why they hugged for so long. If we focus on Danny in this relationship, the progression of his feelings aren't very linear. There are moments when he notices her or learns to appreciate her, but they aren't major shifts for him. Like he said in Urban Jungle, "I always thought you ruled, Sam." When I rewatched it, I didn't see Sam waiting for Danny, I saw Danny waiting for Sam. You might see it differently, tho, idk, I don't ship it :P But for this meta, I'm going to say it's her. She's not ready. And there's many reasons why.

For one, we saw in Parental Bonding she isn't comfortable admitting she wants the same things other girls want. Even though she really wants to go to the dance, she pretends she doesn't. It's important to her that she is different, even when it's an act. It's possible too then that she's not ready to give in to romance, especially one that others have been pressing on her. I don't think that would have stopped her in the long run, given how she was responding to Danny, but...Ember. That love spell. Idk what was fully intended to be going through her mind after that, but I believe it assured her it was best they stay friends, which is why she pulls back and makes an excuse. Danny's obsession under the spell was annoying, creepy, and it ruined what they had as friends. It's reasonable she wanted to take a step back. I think Danny looks like he understands? He was the one who caught on she wanted to go to the dance despite her denials, he must understand her pretty well on some level, so he probably recognizes that she isn't ready. He’s smiling when Sam makes the excuse. Or maybe he suspects that's the case. I might be basing a lot on his little smile and blush at the end there, but he also blatantly flirts with Sam at the end of Memory Blank and she's the one who smiles and ducks her head while he beams and raises his. They seem to be on the same wavelength here as far as his feelings and hers go, and it doesn't make sense for all these blushes and smiles between them to be something Danny... just... didn't pick up on when he's often responding to Sam's reactions. He's not clueless between these episodes, but he's not pushing her. He's not pushing himself. They're letting their friendship take priority.

So what changes? How does Danny go from knowing to clueless?

I'm thinking it was Reign Storm.

This, I think, is the moment Danny starts to think he had it all wrong. Since they've never actually spoken about how they feel, he can revisit the events of Fanning the Flames and the "Sam? But I thought..." "I thought too..." and start thinking Ember really did ruin things after all because at the climax of Reign Storm...Sam turned him down. Or she let the chance slip away. He didn't admit his feelings, but he indirectly asked her about hers, giving her a chance to say something before he faced his toughest fight to date, something she was afraid he might not survive, but she didn't say anything. She couldn't. She wasn't ready. Valerie had come onto the scene, and the burgeoning romance between her and Danny made Sam insecure. Valerie is beautiful, comfortable flirting with Danny, and Danny is responding to her. Valerie is what Sam isn't, but she isn't cruelly shallow like Paulina, there isn't an easy dismissal here. It's the first time Sam is faced with competition for Danny's affection and she... doesn't know if she wants to fight for it or not. She's hesitant to meet Valerie's challenge in that final scene, and whenever she opposes Danny's friendship with Valerie she uses Valerie's ghost hunting as the reason. It's a fair excuse, I just don't think it's the only reason. She's too angry and too hurt for there not to be personal undertones. But she can't admit it out loud, maybe not even to herself. It's the dance situation all over again, but this time Danny is distracted by Valerie and doesn't think Sam wants him back. Why would he? In a life or death situation, she didn't say anything. Silence carries its own words. Danny must have assumed she doesn't like him back after all.

Obviously, things come to a little bit of a head when Danny starts to get serious about Valerie. Events are manipulated by Technus, of course, but the feelings are Danny's own. Technus didn't make Danny stay up talking to Valerie all night; he chose to. Technus didn't make Valerie lay her head on Danny's shoulder; she chose to. So, when Danny responds to Sam's "Do you really think the universe wants you two to be together?" with "I don't know...I might." It's significant. Sam knows it too. Her voice actor did a great job putting pain into that gasp.

So Sam does what she has since Fanning the Flames; she puts her friendship with Danny first. If this is what he wants, she's not going to get in his way. Events may have continued apace in this fashion, with Sam silently pining as Danny explores a relationship with Valerie, BUT things aren't as simple as Danny or Valerie would like them to be. Misunderstandings and secrets undermine them from the start, and Sam's self sacrifice sees an immediate payoff when Danny trusts her with the ring he was going to give Valerie.

I...don’t really want to get into the WES ring thing, but Jack’s assumption here that Danny is dating Sam (not Valerie) is probably due to him seeing Danny dip and kiss Sam in the lab during Memory Blank. Sam wished for Danny to keep his DP symbol, so this whole scene probably still played out, and Jack likely still remembers he saw Danny kiss Sam, only now he remembers her name wasn’t actually Paulina.

Idk if I’m grasping at straws or not with this, I’m just trying to give meaning to Jack’s mistake haaaaa...

I'm not going to get into the WES ring thing, I'm sorry. It hurt my feelings and it has Butch vibes all over it. Tucker’s “What is this, the eighties” has me freaked because yeah and the fact that it’s Jack’s class ring and not Danny’s because Danny is too young to have a class ring? I don’t like it I don’t like it ahhhhh

But. That Sam tosses a ring that has her name on it into the air and yet calls Danny clueless is an ironic joke I'm forever going to snicker at. Well played. Even if the rest of it was a dick move.

Sooooo...Valerie has withdrawn, Sam is smugly triumphant, but Danny is still pining after Valerie. The relationship between Danny and Sam is at a standstill because Sam's preferred status quo is back, aside from Danny is now blind to her.

Enter Gregor.

Oh, this little shit...

My personal opinion on this episode is that it wasn't necessary to pull the jealousy angle on Danny when he already had established feelings for Sam in the earlier episodes, but it does let Sam explore romance without risking her friendship. That's really all it is, you can see it in the way she behaves with Gregor. She's infatuated, but there isn't anything deeper than attraction and shared interests (or so Elliot makes it seem). Gregor's color scheme probably played a part in catching Sam's attention by making her think of him (a stranger) in a positive light. It's Phantom's color scheme from top to bottom. I'm pretty sure the writers made him that way, not for Sam, but for Danny. "This could have been you" they're saying "you should be in his place."

Ahh jealousy...

While Sam is exploring her sexuality, the romantic parts of herself she's been denying for so long, Danny is losing his god dang mind. If I focus on Sam, I like this episode much better. Danny is an absolute dick here. Someone stop him, pls, omg. The jealousy arc in a friends to lovers trope is pretty easy to understand. This is meant to make him recognize he could lose Sam to someone else if he keeps chasing after Valerie, it's supposed to make Sam the focus of his attention again, to make him aware of his feelings for her, make her desirable, a possession, objectified ect., ect.. Jealousy is a bad look on all romances, please don’t do this

Sam, though, I like her potential here if I continue with the idea she's been afraid to open herself to the idea of dating until now. It's a little fast, given that she's crushing within five seconds of seeing the guy (Danny at least was given two episodes and death defying adventures), but that's sort of the idea? She's not thinking here. She's... taking a plunge of sorts. She's letting herself follow her emotions instead of trying to beat them down, possibly because Gregor is new to the school, possibly because he also claims to be Goth so there is a sense of community she's responding to. Possibly because some part of her is tired of tormenting herself over crushing on Danny, and Gregor offers a fresh new take on something that has, so far, only caused her pain. Idk. It depends on how you want to interpret her feelings here. In my mind, she jumped on dating him so fast there had to be something else prompting her to open herself like that. It's not very consistent with how she has approached relationships and feelings in general up to this point, so I have to assume it was some sort of breaking point.

Regardless, she snaps out of it when they kiss.

And she does kiss him back. Before it cuts to commercials, she closes her eyes and wraps her arms around his neck, he pulls her close, and that's when we zoom in on Danny's shocked face. I suppose this is the moment where he's meant to feel the most pain. Unlike Sam who put friendship over her feelings, however, Danny lashes out. He does come around when he's talking to Gregor in the locker room, though. Fair points to Danny, he does come around in the end. It's just a little too late.

I would feel bad for him, but he annoyed me a lot in the episode.

Sam already looked like she was rethinking the relationship with Gregor after the kiss. He smoothed things out after she shoved him away, but she still looks uncertain when they walk off. In my mind, she was cool with the relationship because it was fun and everything, but she wants Danny, and Gregor isn't him. When he kissed her, it felt good, but then it didn't feel right and she pulled back. The romance was fun for her in this episode, but I think this was the moment she committed to Danny as the one she wants, despite the risk to their friendship. She still defends herself from Danny and walks away from school holding Gregor's hand, she's not giving up on Gregor yet, but she doesn't seem nearly as into him as she did before. Him snapping at Tucker and revealing his true colors just made everything easier.

Bye-bye tacky Danny substitute.

Danny recovers some ground then by complimenting her as a person. Sam might be able to see his feelings for her shining through, I think. The whole moment just felt wholesome and gooey sweet lol.

They still don't talk about it, though. Poor Tucker. I would be screaming in his place.

That brings us to season three.

Sam and Danny have both committed to how they feel about each other at this point, they just haven't said anything. They don't know that the other feels the same, only that they really like their friend.

Mutual pining, fully engaged.

Danny, in particular, has gone full blown. He's not even trying to deny it anymore, he's just shy and nervous about it, trying to hide it because he doesn't want to get hurt. He's usually bold when it comes to matters of the heart, especially by this point in the series, so he's holding that ember pretty close to his chest like he's afraid someone is going to blow it out. He has reason to be. He's been crushed in Fanning the Flames and disappointed in Reign Storm. He's all in, now, and very vulnerable because of it. When Johnny and later his dad ask about his "girlfriend," he stutters and shies away. He's not confident about anything except how he feels. Sam hasn't shown him any indication at this point in the series that she feels anything for him outside of friendship.

Urban Jungle pushes things, but Sam is a puppet. Undergrowth is speaking through her, using Sam to bait Danny into a trap. He can't trust the things she says in that state, and, kindness points to him, he doesn't. They don't blush when he gives her the ice crystal; they won the day, and he let's her off the hook like she had for him back in Control Freaks.

No, nothing for them changes until Frightmare.

Frightmare is the most important episode for their relationship. It is, in fact, in some ways more of a climax than Phantom Planet. They have spent the entire series not talking about how they feel. Sam has kept her feelings for Danny so tightly guarded he didn't know she still felt anything for him. The dreamwalking let's him see what Sam has hidden for so long, and once it's out, it's out. Danny knows. Sam knows he knows. Sam doesn't know that Danny dreamt about the same, she's only responding to the idea Danny now knows about her feelings for him. And Danny's actions after he finds out is positive, accepting, encouraging. But not pushing. They're still waiting. They're balanced on a pinhead and comfortable and happy to be there again after all they've been through since Fanning the Flames.

You can see the change in their relationship during Claw of the Wild. They're acting off each other. They haven't spoken still, but they're working in tandem. Danny is confident enough to do that arm move, a far cry from the boy in Girls Night Out who was trying to hide how he felt.

Sadly, D-Stabilized happens after, and as everyone knows, canon ends there. How Danny and Sam ultimately get together (assuming they get together at all) is up to you :3

............

Okay fine...

Phantom Planet is a fanfiction given canon status, but it does fit into the development of their relationship fairly well.

Danny and Sam know how they feel and how the other feels, they just haven't made anything official yet. It's kind of a foregone conclusion at this point, and they're kind of acting like it, such as when Danny lays his hand over Sam's after he loses his powers. There's his confidence in romance again. You love to see it.

It is a bit rocky here. Danny isn't listening, Sam isn't communicating, there is a lot of passive aggressive shiiiiiit going down before Sam becomes overtly aggressive and Danny finally notices something is wrong. That idiot...

I don't remember the whole speech. I remember thinking there were undertones because they know how each other feels now, but I can't remember the words exactly. Sam was frustrated and Danny finally gets his head out of his ass and starts listening, and he starts to consider just what it was he lost. What he gave up. And for what? Sam makes him look beyond the immediate problems, and there is value in that.

Being dissed by Dash after he failed to save him might have been the final nail, though, to be fair xD

Sam obviously likes Danny's unique powers, but she was at her most thrilled when he started trying to be a hero again even without his powers. His attitude was what was frustrating her, and once he stopped caring only about himself, she forgave him.

I will still hold, however, the dialogue was not great. Her reaction to seeing Danny's ghost form again was something like "Danny, it's you! I mean it was always you, but you're you again!"

It wasn't great, combined with everything else. It's just not. Since she just saw him (almost) die, I might have had her go with "Danny, you're alive! Er, ish! Alive-ish!"

She's actually going to see him (almost) die again a few minutes after this too! Ahhhhhhhhhhhh! Poor girl.

I believe they hook up shortly after this in Antarctica. Idk. I blanked out on a lot of the movie. Sorry. I do remember, there wasn't a huge confession or anything. The only real, um, shock? Reveal? Was Sam noticing the ring had her name on it when she tried to give it back to him. They've known for a while how they felt, they're just finally (FINALLY) addressing it, so it's kind of low-key. Just. Finally giving voice to what they've felt. That must be so freeing. It wasn't a reveal, it was an acceptance.

(Does this play into Danny saying nothing is official until he gives [Valerie] the ring back in Flirting with Disaster? I think it might be.)

If you ship it, you can probably fill in the emotions of this moment better than I can. My experience was to laugh. I'm aro, lads, I did not give a hoot lmao. Can't help thinking now that the spinning camera angle, plus the 3D asteroid, is probably what tanked half of the third season's budget.

Urban Jungle's advertising got the other half lol

It was effective, though, I've seen how well loved that moment is for its fans. It was a long time coming, it took a lot of build up and courage to reach this point, well done you two.

And of course you got the hill scene. Sam's ring officially placed on Sam's ring finger (remove it this instant and put it on the correct hand, omfg, BUTCH, you had one job--The boyfriend's class ring goes on the right hand, ring finger, I'm screaming THEY’RE TOO YOUNG TO BE ENGAGED) and they talk! I don't fully remember what it was about, Danny coming to terms with his ghost half, probably, and how Sam has helped him accept himself. It was very sweet and cheesy lol. But the climatic moment for this ship during the finale was in Antarctica. It culminated what they've left unsaid for so long.

And then Danny lifts Sam into a bridal carry (gdi Butch) and they fly off into the sunset, and that’s the end of the show!

... my messy interpretation of Phantom Planet aside, hopefully this has helped you love your ship more, though I understand this is just my interpretation of things. I really wanted to write this for myself, to help me understand the ship better. I enjoy analyzing things as a writer, but with this ship, I often focus on the negative, not the positive, and I wanted to give it it's dues. It is a very sweet ship when taken all together.

I do want to talk about how canon failed this ship and just didn’t hit its full potential, but for this at least I wanted to focus only on what they did RIGHT. There was actual progression in the relationship, although it wasn’t always linear due to what I suspect was Sam’s hesitation to give up friendship for romance and Danny’s attraction to Valerie. In the end they worked things out, and I think the defining moment for Danny was a callback to Sam’s worth to him in Memory Blank, when he discovered she made him a hero, and then in Phantom Planet she did it again by pushing him to be more than your average citizen, more than who he was before the accident, and he was like alright, that’s it, it’s you. It has to be you.

#Danny Phantom #Sam Manson #Amethyst Ocean #Danny Phantom meta #I'm probably missing a few things but #I don't ship it #there are things in canon I have issues with but their development is not one of them

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twdeadfanfic · 4 years

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Daryl Dixon One Shots

SNOW: Daryl’s been away from the communities for years, after Rick died, and in those years, he met Y/N when she stumbled into his camp. She needed help and Daryl took her in… They ended up being friends and then more, and by now, they have been together for years. Y/N is with Dog at the camp, waiting for Daryl, who went to trade to Alexandria, when it starts snowing. Winter holiday vibes one-shot.

HOT COCOA: Pre-apocalypse with winter holiday vibes. Y/N is an elementary shcool teacher new to the town, and one of her students is little Dixon, Daryl Dixon’s nephew, Daryl has taken care of him for years, the kid’s mother out of the picture and his father seeming to be in and out of jail all of the time.One afternoon, as usual, little Dixon is the last kid to be picked up from Y/N’s extracurricular art class, since Daryl works long shifts at the town garage, and once he goes to pick up the kid, he might as well lend a hand to the kid and Y/N while they get ready some decorations for the school’s christmas play.

PERIOD: After months on the run without her period, it comes back once the reader is living safely at the prison, and with it some discomfort and of course, cramps. Tags: Stablished relationship. Daryl is asexual, I guess that’s not a problem. I hope you are not squirnish about periods either, because there’s fluff and blood in here.

WHERE’S MY MIND: Request, Reader has manic-depressive disorder, and she has run out of meds, which makes it hard to control it, and hard to control the way she feels and the way in which it changes, no matter Daryl tries to help. Angs, hurt/comfort, sad 3334 one-shot, inspired by the prompts Maybe you should fuck yourself” and “There’s nothing wrong with you”

HOPELESS: After losing everyone when the walkers attacked the quarry, reader can’t see the point on keep going, but then Daryl Dixon becomes her shadow, frustrating her attempts at being alone and end it all. She doesnt know why he’s doing it, neither seemed to know it himself, and neither does reader know if she’ll ever stop feeling like this, if that sense of hopelessness and lonelyness will ever leave her…Warning for suicidal reader. (4600 words one-shot inspired by the prompt “I saved your life”)

CAN’T HELP IT: Things with Daryl aren’t easy. Reader’s been with the Dixon brothers since the begining of the outbreak, after being resqued by Daryl in their town. Eventually, she discovered how big Daryl’s heart is…and how stubbor, reckless, harsh and infurating he can be too. That doesn’t mean they aren’t friends, though, becoming more than friends after the CDC, but it means that they fight day in day out…and in one of those fights the reader is going to find something about Daryl that she didn’t know, and which would break her heart. Inspired by the idea of Daryl flinching during a fight with the reader because she can’t help but think she’s going to hit him. Set in season 2, with flashbacks to season 1 to when reader and Daryl meet, and when they get together.

A SECRET WELL KEPT: The reader has two scecrets. A small one, her crush on Daryl. A big one, the abuse he endured at the hands of her parents. On his side, and after just having arrived at Alexandria, Daryl’s not doing good, making him snap easily. Dyring a fight between him and the reader, some secrets are going to slip.

WINGS: Little one-shot, set after season 9, Daryl’s vest is more than damaged, one of the wings torn and the other missing…and Y/N doesn’t like it, doesn’t like it at all…she wants to give the guardian angel his wings back.

MINE: Daryl’s girl is a pretty reserved person. She doesn’t talk much unless she really needs to. When Tyreese has Daryl pinned after finding Karen’s body, she reacts the fastest and aims at him,and this time you can bet she’s going to speak. Request.

EVERYBODY KNOWS Daryl has a crush on Y/N, his mind wandering to her at the worst moments on its own accord, making him unable to think straight with her arround, it’s frustrating and it’s embarrassing…little do he knows that it’s exactly the same for Y/N, who’s also unable to stop her eyes from wandering to him, her mind daydreaming. All their friends, seem to know, though…could them both going to a run finally bring them together? This was a request. Both reader and Daryl’s pov in third person.

SAD LOVE LIFE:The reader and Daryl share their sad love stories during late night watchs, until eventually they come out to each other as bisexuals.

DON’T LEAVE: Daryl and the reader used to be close, but with him leaving to the woods and her living in Alexandria, they hadn’t seen each other in a long while, until the meet again at Hilltop in 9x09.

AFTER THE BRIDGE: Imagine following Daryl after Rick blows up the bridge.

NOT THIS TIME : When the prison falls you find yourself alone with baby Judith, running away from the chaos to save the baby, your heart breaking at the loss of your home, your friends, your family, your love…You were once unable to keep your own baby safe, will you be able to keep Judith safe now? Inspired by a request.

SLOW: The reader is getting ready for Deanna’s party, even though it felts a bit silly, even though Alexandria feels strange, she wants to try. She finds Daryl outside Deanna’s house, he seems to want to try to, but it’s not easy for him. Needless to say, an invitation to Aaron and Eric’s house for dinner instead of staying at the party is more than welcome.There’s not much plot here, just a reader crushing in Daryl, and Daryl being awkward and shy yet sweet. I always thought that no matter what, I wouldn’t shave in the apocalypse. I never wrote it in fics because I didn’t know what people would think. But talking to some people here they thought the same, so that idea inspired this one-shot.

I ONLY WANT YOU: Prision-era, Daryl and the reader are together, but now that there’s more people at the prison and the reader spends more time with a new friend, Daryl can’t help but feel insecure and jealous. Inspired by a request.

SOMEONE TO TAKE CARE OF YOU: The Reader is sick and Daryl takes care of her, fluff, and pre-apocalypse. Inspired by a request.

IT MIGHT BE CHRISTMAS: Daryl Dixon x Reader, Christmas inspired one-shot, some holidays vibes in TWD word.

YOU’LL BE SAFE: The reader lost her camp and her people and is roaming the woods alone when a group of men find her, bad men. But a not so bad man showes up to help, though how can you trust a stranger after all you had seen, all you had gone through? Inspired by a request.

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryldixononeshots #daryl dixon/reader #daryl dixon

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itsclydebitches · 3 years

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I have to wonder how season 2 Crosshair is gonna start with anything other than him escaping execution. Dude murdered his whole squad with one known survivor who reports it to the General, who then says 'We were gonna kill him anyway, so just let him die here'. It's not like Crosshair has any sort of bargaining chip to justify the Empire not abandoning or executing him.

It may end up being important that (I think) the surviving squad member doesn't know that Crosshair killed his team, only that they're dead. She was off looking for Omega, came back, saw her dead teammates and the clones fighting droids, and (smartly lol) got the hell out of Dodge. I think her exact words were that Crosshair "lost control of the situation," which tells the Admiral that Crosshair failed, but not that he failed because of his own betrayal. Granted, I think she's also the one who approaches the Admiral earlier, saying she doesn't trust Crosshair's motivations when it comes to his former team, so there's already a precedent set that Crosshair's loyalty may be less than perfect. Still, the actual explanation of what went down doesn't reveal that Crosshair killed his teammates and outright betrayed the Empire, just that he failed to complete the mission.

So based on what stories have done in the past, I can picture a couple of different ways for him to return:

Using the above, Crosshair straight up hides his shaky loyalties and frames the failure as just that: a garden variety failure. Perhaps he implies, though does not outright state, that his team's death came at the hands of TBB. A "Let the Admiral think what he wants" situation that benefits him.

The above + Crosshair emphasizing that TBB escaped. You know what kind of threat they are, Admiral, and though I failed before, I'm still your best chance at capturing/killing them. You need me. Crosshair believes firmly in his own usefulness — that ego — and he's not above working hard to convince others of that.

Between now and the time of his return, the Admiral has, for whatever reason, reconsidered the benefit of having at least a few clones in his army and is thus pleased that Crosshair survived, no matter the iffy circumstances of that. Personally, my mind keeps focusing on the weird motivations here. Namely, this push to have a conscripted army when, as far as TBB shows, that's a bad option compared to what they've already got. We as the audience know that the Empire needs to reach the point where they've got stormtroopers with terrible aim (that's the OG Star Wars), but right now, outside of that meta context, the Admiral's choices come across as rather stupid to me. Gregor and TBB point out, "These are our replacements?" highlighting that conscripted soldiers just don't have the skill of clones who were bred for war. I can only assume that the Empire was spying on Crosshair's team the same way they did TBB when they were sent to execute the "insurgents," which means they would have seen that the clone, Crosshair, was the only one originally willing to follow their order of killing civilians. Crosshair had to kill the other guy/talk the rest of the team into following that command. And of course, that's largely due to the chip, circling right back to why the Empire would have removed his when it gives them perfect control over Crosshair, especially after bothering to enhance it in the first place. So say nothing of Crosshair's crazy skills, making him one of, if not the best, shooter in the galaxy. I feel like if they want the Admiral to come across as less foolish, all these points should resurface at some point like, "Yes, having an ally specifically bred for war, with a genetically superior makeup to enhance his ability, who can be put under literal mind control and who while in that state has already proven that he'll follow our commands when conscripted soldiers won't... that's actually a good thing for us evil people to have!"

The Admiral has totally written Crosshair off. Doesn't need him. Doesn't want him. But a new character is introduced who is interested and who, crucially, outranks him. So Crosshair is let back in as someone else's evil pet, setting up conflict within the Empire.

The above, but specifically through the lens of clones now being a rare and useful commodity. We know they grabbed Nala Se, so either she (if she regains some power) or her new scientist boss could insist that they keep Crosshair around as a genetic source/experiment/whatever. Especially since they don't have Omega yet. Could even be that Crosshair becomes a prisoner again, returning to fight for the Empire, but becoming their lab rat instead.

Crosshair deliberately does something to get back into their good graces. Something, something, saving the Admiral from a legit threat, or one of Crosshair's own making. A way to show off how useful he is.

OR we do get a near execution that results in the same basic thing: Crosshair escapes, shows off his skill, all his would-be executioners are dead, he's the last one standing, and the Admiral is like, "Well then. Welcome back." You know when Rex is on the cruiser and goes "This will do nicely," Tech points out that it's not sterile, Rex pushes back that they can go to Kamino instead, and within a second Tech is going, "This will do nicely!" too? Same idea. It's easy to accept Crosshair as the best/only option if he does something to make himself that option.

Ultimately, I think how this goes down will depend largely on whether they want Crosshair back in the Empire's clutches or not. He's told TBB he intends to stick with the big power, but that doesn't necessarily mean the plot will allow for that. If the story wants Crosshair to continue being a willing Imperial for a time, prior to his assumed redemption, then yeah, I think it would be relatively easy to get him back in the Empire's good graces. It wouldn't necessary be the smoothest transition of all time, but as we've already seen in Season One — I don't totally follow why conscripted soldiers are supposedly better than clones, don't follow why TBB isn't trying to rescue Crosshair, don't understand yet why Crosshair won't clarify things about his chip, etc. — motivations in Star Wars can be... messy at the best of times. So if they just went, "And the Empire let Crosshair come back for ___ reason, don't think about that reason too hard" I'd be fine with that. But, if they want Crosshair to start his redemption now, one of the easiest ways to do that would be to stick him with a third party. Someone else finds him on the planet, perhaps someone neutral-ish like another bounty hunter, and Crosshair is given the chance to technically be opposed to his brothers because that's where they left things, but not actively working with the organization hunting him down. Plot-wise it would be relatively simple to put him in situations where he wants to return to the Empire, but can't just now, for whatever reason — they need to travel there, he hasn't thought up a means of getting back in their good graces yet, he gets caught up in another problem he needs to solve first, starts hunting TBB himself to return with that incentive, etc. — and that time allows him to start reconsidering whether he actually wants to go back, now that he's been forced to survive without them. An in-between space that will allow him to work towards the Light side again... even if I'd personally prefer for that to come about through his brothers fighting for him.

#TBB #The Bad Batch #SW #Star Wars #Crosshair #mymetas

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fallen-in-dreams · 3 years

Text

Moving On

Also on AO3. Pairing: Sasuke/Hinata. Summary: Everyone was lying to her. Killing her with kindness. Shielding her from the pain they all know is coming. But now it was time for some hard-hitting truths. And from the most unlikely source. SasuHina.Post-war. Prompt: Day 25: The Season of Grief. Rated: T. Words: 7,566. Status: Complete.

Author note: Angst and Hinata POV as she slowly comes to the realisation that she can’t have the life she’d been planning for. The Season of Grief = The Five Stages of Grief. The grief of losing the love she used to have.

Warnings/tags: One-sided SasuSaku. One-sided NaruHina. Naruto/OC. Angst with denial, pining, and romantic existential crisis. But with a happy ending.

Thank-you so much @sasuhinamonth for hosting this. I'm later than I’d planned, sorry. Hope that’s okay. :)

“There comes a time when you have to stop crossing oceans for people who wouldn't even jump puddles for you.” – Unknown

Denial.

Life was a series of choices.

For example, Hinata Hyuuga could choose to accept the arranged marriage her father had planned for her, or she could refuse to sign on the dotted line and hold out for love. She chose the latter. She was sure that fourth cousin her father had in mind for her was a nice man, but she wasn’t interested. And after surviving the war and learning to defend herself better emotionally, the last thing she wanted was to regress into the dutiful daughter who never complained. She was finally in control of her own life.

And she was still waiting on Naruto-kun.

Hinata was tired of the sad looks her clansmen would give her when she rebuffed their advances. Centuries of marrying their third or fourth cousins had instilled it too deeply in them that they couldn’t live any other way. Naruto had taught her she could do better, and she was determined to do so.

All of her choices to move forward were the reason Hanabi had been named Clan Heiress. She was already being prepped for it before the war, but their father’s insistence on an arranged marriage was the final straw. Hinata had been officially removed from the running. She would’ve been concerned about being branded with the Branch’s Curse Seal if Naruto hadn’t been so vocal in his disagreement about the practice. The Leaf hero’s words resonated with the village, and Lord Hokage started negotiations to prevent further sealings. Kakashi had also made motions to have those who currently bore the juinjutsu to be released from it. It would take a few more years to fully circumvent it, as the seal hadn’t been designed to be removed, but it was a step forward for the clan. A hope for a better future.

Everything Neji had wanted.

Hinata couldn’t be happier. She only wished to share in that future with Naruto. He was her hero. And the love of her life. She just needed to be more patient with him. But it was frustrating some days. She tried to talk to him and only succeeded when they were alone. Around friends and in crowds, he was so distracted by everyone. One-on-one he became fidgety, but she just chalked that up to him not being very good with girls. He’d stopped asking Sakura out, and the two were nothing more than friends, and he hadn’t asked anyone out. He was just shy.

Hinata already had a plan in place to ask him out herself. She just needed to work up for her own confidence to do so. Someone had to get this relationship going. In the meantime, she daydreamed about how it was going to go. But her days were lonely right now. Waiting. Patiently. And never quite making that important step forward. She had her family and friends and teammates but wanted more.

Her heart could only take so much.

“I just need to be brave.”

Hinata wasn’t brave, emotionally. In dire moments and with important things and people on the line, she knew how to be brave. Adrenaline and determination got her a long way. But in the aftermath, she found herself succumbing to the fear of rejection and crippling shyness.

“Yes, you do.”

She started, realising she’d said that out loud, in front of her sister. She’d been so lost in her thoughts and forgotten where she was for a moment. Hanabi was sitting across from her, the low serving table between them, ignoring the servants as they poured the tea for her before turning to her older sister. Hinata’s sister was clutching a half-finished kimono to her lap and lazily sewing at the hem of it. For such a skilled fighter, her movements were surprisingly delicate.

This was a weekly thing for them. Every Sunday at lunch, when their father was too busy with clan duties to interrupt or overhear them, they would talk to each other about anything or anyone, and when the Hyuuga servants left, even gossip sometimes. Hanabi had been carrying that kimono around all week, taking her time with building on it. Hinata knew her sister well enough to know it was a project with no defined outcome. She was just adding to it at her own leisure. Who knew what it would look like when she was finally done?

Hinata delicately sipped at her tea as Hanabi continued to ignore her own; her eyes narrowing as she focused intensely on the needle and thread. Her sister had developed a habit of people watching, since the war ended. And her insight was far sharper than anyone that Hinata knew. It made her feel insignificant.

“Spoken to Naruto lately?”

Hinata nodded. It was a silent lie. But she could’ve easily ran into him a few days ago if she wanted to so she didn’t see the point in saying otherwise. He was very busy with missions and handling Sasuke. The Uchiha’s release from jail had come as no surprise, given who was Hokage now. Kakashi had always had unwavering faith that he’d return. Just as Naruto did. Sakura… Hinata had seen her waver. But she was more confident now than ever about their team returning as family. Hinata only hoped that when she started dating Naruto herself, that it didn’t upset their dynamic.

“You’re grieving.”

Hinata raised an eyebrow at that. “What am I grieving?”

Her sister smiled. “Love.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Naruto-kun isn’t the smartest person,” Hanabi said. “And I think you know that.”

“He doesn’t have to be.”

Her sister smiled. Again. A knowing smile that Hinata didn’t appreciate. But she said nothing of it and returned to watching Hanabi’s expert hands as she weaved the thread in and out of the kimono. This was a hobby for the younger sister. They’d both learned how to sew traditional garments as well as fix them, when they were still barely able to fight. It was second nature to them both. But Hanabi found a kind of peace to the process that Hinata never could.

“Father wishes you to marry soon.”

“And you?”

Hanabi shook her head. “A few more years, perhaps. When I’m ready to begin training to take over the clan.”

She was still too young to learn everything. Given that Hiashi was nowhere near retiring, it didn’t serve any purpose to put her through those rigorous trials just yet. But Hinata was surprised their father wasn’t thinking about grandchildren yet. At least not from his heiress.

Hanabi put the kimono down and finally sipped at her tea. “How do you feel about Naruto-kun?”

“I love him?”

It was immediate and instinctive, but it sounded more like a question than a statement. Hanabi didn’t react to the questioning tone of her voice. She just gave her older sister a look that told her she was questioning her for more than just curiosity.

“Are you sure, Oneesan?”

She had convinced herself so thoroughly that it was going to happen. Hinata brushed at the hem of the sleeve of her Yukata. Was she? Did she?

Yes.

She still loved Naruto-kun. Of course, she did. She’d gone through too much to just suddenly stop caring about him. He was in her heart. Just like Neji still was.

Was.

“I asked him out.”

“What did he say?”

“He said ‘let’s go to Ichiraku’.” He also said, “that bum Sasuke can pay for mine this time,” but she didn’t see how that was relevant. It was a date. And only two people could go on a date at the same time.

Right?

“Will the rest of Team Kakashi be there?”

Hinata opened her mouth to answer then shut it, her eye twitching in annoyance. She calmed herself and shook her head. “Of course not.”

She didn’t like the way this conversation was going. Hinata glanced at the clock on the wall. They normally took tea, and then lunch, all awhile talking of friends and goals. It was funny to her that they’d never done this until recently. What exactly was the point before now?

Hanabi placed her tea down, almost finished. “We should have the food brought in, before it gets cold.”

Hinata nodded mechanically and waited for the servants to finish setting the table before disappearing. They could not be overheard in this room by anyone who wasn’t already in it. The jutsu that allowed this privacy had been in place since long before either of them were born.

Hanabi started talking about a jutsu that their father wanted to teach them and Hinata calmly dug into her Udon noodles. Silence eventually fell until they were both done. After the servants retrieved the plates, Hanabi went right back to pressing and hemming the edges of the kimono in her hand.

“Sasuke-kun walked by the compound again this morning.”

“Hm?” Hinata sat up straighter at that.

“He’s been doing that a lot lately,” Hanabi mused. “But not last week when you were staying over Sakura’s.”

For Ino’s surprise party sleepover. Which was Sakura’s idea.

Hinata hadn’t slept in her own bed for two nights. It was a first for her, for a long time.

“Sasuke-kun looks in here too. Like he’s searching for something. It’s a barely noticeable glance, but I’ve been staking out the gates.”

“Do you like him?” Hinata was surprised at her sister as well as the strange clenching of her gut.

Hanabi scoffed. “No. But ever since I first saw him watching you training with your team after he got out of prison, I’ve been noticing he does that with you a lot.”

Hinata scoffed. “Don’t be silly.”

“Yeah, you’re right. He’s probably just plotting to kill you.” Hanabi ignored her sister’s worried expression. “Or wondering why you always look so sad these days.”

“I’m not sad.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not.”

Hanabi set the unfinished kimono down and stared her sister straight in the eyes. “Do you love him?”

“Who?” Hinata hated how her voice rose a few octaves.

“Naruto-kun.”

“Yes,” she said. “I love him.”

She would wait for Naruto. For him to come to terms with what had happened and realise they were meant to be together. Hinata would be the quiet voice he can’t block out because he loves her so much. No matter that he had already had numerous occasions to prove it to her. Even someone as clueless as him couldn’t not know how she felt. She just needed to give him a push in the right direction.

That’s what I have to do.

And she went right on back to pretending she didn’t see the pitying look on her sister’s face.

.:.

Anger.

The restaurant was noisy by the time Hinata arrived, dressed up and twisting her fingers nervously. She looked up into the colourful lights that decorated the restaurant of choice. Night-time made this place come alive in a way that surprised patrons that saw it for the first time. This was also one of the newer restaurants that opened after the war. So many things had changed, and so fast and it felt like Konoha was quickly becoming a very different village. Kakashi had authorised integral changes and Hinata could see the village one day becoming as large as a city. She was kind of nervous about that. Their population was steadily growing too, even only a year out.

She sighed and stepped forward in the waiting line. Naruto had said he’d come about seven and it was only a few minutes before. Hinata had spent the last hour already dressed for this date. Her stomach had twisted, making her throw up twice, before that. The line moved again, and she found herself at the head of it faster than her nerves could handle.

It’s finally happening.

“May I help you?”

Hinata cleared her throat. “Party for two. Under the name Hinata Hyuuga.”

The server looked through her list and her eyes widened in surprise. “I’m sorry, we were told that was a party of four.”

“A-are you sure?”

The woman turned the clipboard to show her. When Hinata had asked Naruto to make the arrangement, because she’d been called away by her father, she’d assumed he had made it just for the two of them. It was supposed to be a date… right? When the venue was changed from Ichiraku to The Sannin Sushi House she assumed this was finally going to be more intimate.

Hinata swallowed heavily. “I-I, uh. He must’ve made a mistake.”

The server nodded her head in understanding. “Yes, but unfortunately, we can’t change your table. There aren’t any spare ones tonight.”

The sound of the other patrons hit her then, reminding her of how loud and full the restaurant was. She just nodded and Hinata went along with it, hiding her disappointment. They would just have to do with a larger table between them. A voice in the back of her head scoffed at her.

Who else is coming tonight?

Maybe Naruto had misheard her? She didn’t understand how he could have but it had to have been a mistake. She shook her head, chastising herself for worrying over something so trivial. She was stronger than this.

“Thank-you,” she bowed to the server. “Where is the table?”

Hinata followed the woman and settled into the chair that gave her the best view of the restaurant entrance. She was already on edge, with the change in her plans, and worried that something else might sneak up behind her if she wasn’t careful. All the courage she’d learned from Naruto-kun had boiled off and she needed to get a hold of herself.

“Dining alone, again?”

Hinata gave a start at the familiar voice. “Sasuke-kun,” she said softly.

Why is he here?

Did this mean Naruto had invited him too? No, that didn’t make any sense.

The Uchiha slid into the chair across from her. This was one of the non-self-serve restaurants that had popped up in Konoha in the last twelve months and as a result the space between them, under the table, was minimal. His foot accidentally brushed against hers and she started again.

“A-are you here–”

“Hm. Naruto said he’d pay this time if I turned up early.”

They got dinner together a lot, then? Hinata struggled not to lose the soft smile she’d plastered to her face. It was only natural that Naruto would make time for his former teammate who was also his best friend. This didn’t mean he was avoiding her.

Of course not. Why would I even think such a thing?

“W-where is Sakura-san?”

Sasuke picked up the menu in front of him and lazily perused it, not answering her question. He didn’t look over at her when she repeated the question and began tapping the table with the menu absentmindedly. She wondered what was going through his head. After a few minutes, she’d had enough.

“Why are you here?”

Now, he looked up at her. “There are no more free tables.”

Is he making fun of me?

She assumed he was a joking. He had to be. This was supposed to be just her and Naruto. Sasuke was ruining everything. She didn’t want to burst that out at him, but it did really feel like he was getting in the way deliberately. Hanabi’s words to her the other day about Sasuke following her around popped into her head, but that was ridiculous. Everyone knew he was dating Sakura, just like Hinata hoped to begin dating Naruto. Why else would Sakura be so adamant something was going to happen between them?

“He’s just shy, Hinata,” the pinkette had told her yesterday. “And we’re going out tomorrow night anyway.”

Tomorrow night is tonight, she reminded herself. So where is Sakura?

A waitress sidled up to their table, giving Sasuke a once over with her eyes before asking them for their orders.

“Pork Katsu Curry,” Sasuke said. “With a side of Kani Salad and Green Tea.”

“Certainly, handsome.” The waitress turned to Hinata. “And you, sweetie?”

Hinata felt very uncomfortable under the stare they were both giving her. It felt like she was on a date with Sasuke, not Naruto. She didn’t know how to handle this. It felt like the world had just tipped on its axis. When she was this uncomfortable, Hinata usually just caved to whatever was expected of her. But she didn’t want to keep doing that with the important things in her life. However, this was too public and sensitive a venue for her to start putting her foot down without repercussions. Saying anything about her disappointment and desire to get rid of them both would only make her regret it later.

She blinked heavily. Uh, right. They were still looking at her expectantly. Though Sasuke’s eyes were occasionally drifting off to the side like he was embarrassed, but he still looked more bored than anything.

“Miso Soup,” she said finally, going with something she knew well. Hinata wasn’t hungry enough for a side, but she didn’t want them to think she was angry with them. “And M-Moyashi Salad on the side.” She cleared her throat. “And just some water, please.”

The waitress read their orders back to them then winked. “That’ll be ready in a jiffy. You two lovebirds let me know if you need anything else, okay?”

Hinata’s skin flushed crimson and she lowered her gaze to the table, not daring to see Sasuke’s reaction to that.

“How long until Naruto-kun arrives, do you think?”

Sasuke glanced over at her and shrugged, then leaned forward to rest his chin on his hands, now staring at her. It was making her uncomfortable, so she looked back down again. They remained that way, in silence, for a while. Hinata entertained herself by counting the tassels on the edge of the tablecloth. Over and over again.

“You…”

Hinata looked up quickly as Sasuke trailed off, the look on his face suddenly uncertain. Before she could ask him what he was going to say, the waitress returned with their orders. She felt herself turning beet red, realising they’d been sitting like this for at least ten minutes. The waitress was eyeing them curiously, like one would a couple of bugs under a microscope.

“Thank-you,” they both said at the same time.

Hinata sighed deeply as the waitress bowed to them. She was eerily silent this time and moved away quickly.

“I think we unnerve her,” she said softly.

Sasuke glanced at the woman’s retreating back before digging into his food. For him, it was digging in. Hinata had been in many group outings with Team Kakashi since the war ended and Sasuke was allowed free reign of the village. He ate like a nobleman; picky and proper. Not at all like Naruto.

She sighed again and picked up the bowl with her Miso Soup. If he wasn’t going to turn up, she might as well enjoy the night air and good food. They ate in silence and Hinata slowly settled her nerves, finding the quiet between them a comfortable surprise. The loud noises in the restaurant didn’t bother her anymore and she proceeded to escape into her own little world, just thinking about things.

Her father had been asking her about her future lately, instead of telling her what it would entail. She was finally having conversations with him in which taking part meant that she could approach the subject matter honestly. He’d even stopped asking her about her love life. (His attempt at a marriage of convenience notwithstanding.) Hinata put her bowl down and glanced over at Sasuke. It seemed nobody had a handle on their love life lately.

“Are you…” She hesitated when Sasuke put down his spoon and she suddenly had his full attention. “Um. I thought you were coming here with Sakura-san on a date.” He shook his head. “She, uh, said so yesterday.”

Was that a smirk? Whatever it was, it was gone a moment later.

“Sakura…” he cocked his head to the side. “She has different ideas on what an invitation out with friends means.”

Hinata understood what he meant but frowned softly. Everyone knew that Sakura was obsessed with Sasuke and saw any attention from him as evidence of their undying love. A simple invitation with Team Kakashi could set her off on a soliloquy about star-crossed love. But that didn’t explain why she wasn’t here. Her absence made even less sense than Naruto’s.

Sasuke sighed, obviously realising she wanted to know more. He sat back in his chair heavily.

“I… told her we were meeting at Ichiraku’s.”

“You…”

He told Sakura the wrong place on purpose. He had no intention of being honest with her. Was it a trick? Or just him being a douche? Hinata narrowed her eyes at Sasuke. A familiar feeling of annoyance rose up inside her and if she’d been paying attention to why this bothered her so much, she’d have realised Sasuke was giving Sakura the same kind of brush off that Naruto had done to Hinata.

But she couldn’t bring herself to yell at him either. She ground her teeth. “Take it from me, Sasuke-kun, you wouldn’t like someone you care about doing that to you.”

“Don’t call me Sasuke-kun.”

He hated honorifics.

“You have no idea.” He said it like he’d come to some kind of existential realisation.

“About what?”

“You’re quiet and shy and sweet to everyone. Always putting yourself down and picking up everyone else.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Sasuke continued, now leaning forward and pointing at her like he was her sensei, and she was a naughty genin who refused to listen.

“Despite having such a powerful dojutsu, you don’t even see what’s happening right in front of you. Naruto has obviously left you in the dirt, but you keep holding out hope he’ll come around.” She fidgeted as he continued to reprimand her. “Face it: he lied to you.”

“He was just trying to spare my feelings.” Her voice sounded hollow, even to her.

Sasuke scoffed. “By dragging the decision out.”

“What are you doing to S-Sakura-san?”

“That’s different,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “I’ve told her I’m not interested but she won’t take the hint.”

“Naruto-kun’s–”

“He’s a dobe. And he isn’t going to date you, no matter what you think.”

“How can you call him your friend and speak of him like this? I thought you cared–”

“I never said I cared about him.”

“I suppose you expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not the only one running away from the truth.”

“No, you’re perfect,” she said, spitting out the last word.

He smiled at that. Genuinely. Her frustration seemed to amuse him.

“Why are you saying these things to me?” She asked, clenching her fists and glaring openly at him.

“Because no-one else will,” he said, matter-of-factly. “Least of all the one person who should.”

But why did he have to be so rude about it?

He levelled her with the most intense non-glare stare she’d ever seen from him. “Kindness doesn’t seem to work on you.”

Damn. She’d asked that question out loud. Hinata couldn’t get a handle on the emotions bubbling up inside her. It was too painful. She’s waited for years. Held herself up high and given every inch of herself. But Sasuke knew Naruto better than she did. He said the blond had no intention of doing anything with her. He said that he was just a dobe who wasn’t telling her what she needed to hear. She was so furious now that Hinata couldn’t hear anything other than her own blood rushing in her ears.

How dare he?

“You are a low life.” Hinata could hardly believe the words were out of her mouth as she stood up, her body shaking with anger. Sasuke just stared back at her, not surprised or offended one bit. “Sakura-san could do so much better than you.”

“Tell her that.”

She desperately wanted to throw her untouched water at him. But she reigned in that emotion, not wanting to cause a scene that could get back to her father. She’d already embarrassed herself enough. Instead, Hinata huffed, rifled in her purse and threw down just enough money to only pay for her own food. Naruto had apparently promised to pay for Sasuke, and he wasn’t here to do so. But that didn’t mean that she had to do it in his stead. Feeling quite unlike herself, she scowled at him before storming off.

Hinata didn’t see the genuine curiosity on his face at her actions. The small smile of interest she’d sparked. She could only see red. It would be hours before she could calm down enough to realise, he’d been right.

.:.

Bargaining.

If only she’d been stronger. And more forceful, like Sakura, then none of this would’ve happened. Her life had spiralled out of control. Before that dinner with Sasuke, Hinata could just go along and pretend that one day Naruto would ask her out for real, or at least take her asking seriously. He wasn’t in a relationship of his own, though – to her chagrin – his fangirls were still as stubborn as ever. And that lack of a relationship had given her hope.

Now she had all kinds of thoughts about what was really going on. And the truth was, that Sasuke was right. Naruto-kun wasn’t interested in her like that. It was still hard to grasp since she’d held onto it for so long and it didn’t feel real. They’d shared a moment during the war, holding hands and promising to be there for each other. She’d taken it as a declaration of love while he’d been talking about friendship. Granted, the kid of friendship you kill and die for, but friendship all the same.

I’m as bad as Sakura.

Or maybe only almost as bad as Sakura, since the pinkette was still talking Sasuke up to everyone. He’d made a scene the day after that dinner date (and she could admit that, although accidental, it had been a date), which should’ve put Sakura in her place. Hinata hadn’t seen either of them since then, so she didn’t know if it worked. But she had bigger fish to fry.

Hinata needed to regain control of this chaos she’d created. Maybe she was still in denial though, and it would explain why she’d deliberately made her way to Ichiraku’s, knowing he’d be there. He always was at lunchtime. Everyone knew that Naruto got up at nine o’clock, had breakfast (sometimes in his apartment and sometimes at Ichiraku’s), headed over to the training grounds where he’d work out (and sometimes spar, if any of his former teammates were available), then practically skip to Ichiraku’s for lunch. He’d spend anywhere from half an hour to an hour there, depending on how hungry he was and how many fangirls slowed him down. Then Naruto would promptly return to the training grounds for a few hours before tracking down his former teammates to see who wasn’t busy and then bug them until they either kicked him out or he got bored. If the sun hadn’t set yet he’d wander through the village, waving at people, being waved at, and stopping to talk to other Konoha Eleven members.

Sometimes he spent the late afternoon with Konohamaru and his friends. Then he’d go back to the training grounds and use the dark to hone his sensory skills. Naruto would go at it until he dropped, then drag his arse back home, eat, bathe, and finally sleep until morning.

His schedule was a little different sometimes, depending on his mood and available friends (Kakashi didn’t send him on many missions because he was too overpowered for most of them) but the lunchtime and when he started night-time training were like clockwork.

When he would find time to do the things he’d always gone on about, she didn’t know. But Hinata knew his current schedule because she was a stalker. It was obvious to her now. Nobody else followed him around like this. She wondered if he’d ever taken the time to notice. She needed to get a hold of this before she wasted her life away.

But Hinata couldn’t stop wondering what could’ve been if she’d approached Naruto right after the war instead of waiting for him to get into a routine of ignoring her. Maybe she’d have shown him just how right they were for each other. And he’d finally listen.

This was why she was walking toward the Ichiraku Ramen stand. It was why she stopped next to a stall of flowers and pretended to be interested in them as she watched the ramen stand in her peripherals. And why she didn’t move away the moment she realised he was on a date. Her stomach clenched, but it was a milder pain than she expected. Even so, it still threatened to bring a fresh bout of tears to her eyes to watch him with this girl.

Naruto was the only member of Team Kakashi at the stall. He stood outside, laughing and joking with someone that Hinata didn’t recognise. The girl was really pretty. With short auburn hair and a petite figure that her clothes highlighted, and her makeup complimented. What made Hinata realise it was a date was not only how the girl was dressed to the nines (Naruto, too, for him anyway), but also how he reciprocated when she ran her hand along his arm. He was blushing and trying to pull of the cool guy act. If this was just another fangirl, he wouldn’t put that much work into it, surely.

They talked and laughed a few minutes more before clasping hands and ducking under the flap to take their respective stools in Ichiraku.

Definitely a date.

Hinata let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding and turned away from the flowers. The stall server was disappointed but quickly turned to another customer.

Story of my life.

A sudden flare of chakra had her spinning around and she found herself suddenly face to face with Sasuke Uchiha. Had he seen her stalking his friend? There was nothing but his usual aloof stare on his face as he silently appraised her. But she knew. He knew. And the shame of it made her body shake with both anger and humiliation. So, she did the only thing her body was willing to do in that moment.

Hinata ran away.

She took to the rooftops and pushed herself to her limit, trying to get away from Naruto. From Sasuke. Her tears dried on her face by the time she found herself at Team Eight’s old training ground. She wiped at them then found her favourite oak tree and sat down. Even under the shade, the sun was warm and comforting on her skin. She basked in it, closing her eyes.

This time, Hinata felt him arrive. But she didn’t feel childish enough to tell him to go away. She opened her bleary eyes and looked up at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. He looked radiant, with the curve of the blinding light almost silhouetting him. Sasuke moved forward to better block the rays and she lowered her arm.

“Why are you h-here?”

He moved out of the way of the sun and Hinata shaded her eyes quickly. Sasuke always did have a thing for being dramatic. She turned to look at him as he sat down on the grass next to her. He didn’t answer at first, staring up into the sun like it didn’t bother him at all. Nothing ever seemed to bother him. Finally, he sighed.

“I told you so.”

The floodgates opened. She broke down. Hinata couldn’t stop it. She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged herself, her face in her knees as she cried. She wasn’t upset at him. Only herself. Hinata didn’t react when Sasuke shifted his bum to press his side against her and gave her a one-armed hug. Her head lolled to rest on his shoulder as he pulled her closer to himself, but she didn’t relent on the tears. His hand was large and warm against her, making Hinata cry even more.

Eventually, she stopped shaking and sniffled heavily.

She hated that he could get over their argument so easily and yet she was still plagued with doubts about how she’d acted. How rude he’d been. Hinata gave herself a few silent moments to compose herself before sliding out of his grip and wiping her face. Hinata rose shakily to her feet and gave him a slight bow.

“Thank-you Uchiha-san. I can see myself home now. Good day.”

He watched silently as she walked away solemnly.

.:.

Depression.

She avoided every member of Team Kakashi for weeks. Hinata couldn’t avoid Kakashi forever however, as the Hokage called her in for a pep talk – his version, rather, which was to ask her if she wanted a mission outside of Konoha. “To get away for a while. You could treat it like a vacation.”

Did everyone know about her problems? Kakashi probably just knew because of the other members of his former team, but it felt like a spotlight was suddenly shining on her and the whole world had gathered to watch her humiliation. She understood his concern. Hinata would think less of him if he hadn’t been. But she couldn’t deal with being this exposed right now.

“No thank-you, Hokage-sama,” she’d said, bowing lower than usual. “I am expected to join father in a mission soon and it would be disrespectful of me to leave Konoha right now.”

He just stared back at her for a moment but eventually nodded his head slowly.

Naruto’s voice interrupted them, suddenly bouncing off the walls as if he was standing right there and making Hinata jumped. But the loud blond was actually just booming down the hall outside.

“Hang on,” Kakashi said, then stood and disappeared out of the room.

Hinata could hear them talking, and Naruto’s whining voice and something about Ichiraku. Naruto yelled out, “woo-hoo!”.

Lord Hokage is trying to get rid of him for me.

But it sounded like he was too excited to get the hint.

Hinata couldn’t stand the pity. The deep, painful feeling that churned in her gut and worked its way up through her body like acid reflux. Hinata stumbled slightly from the physical shock of it. Kakashi meant well and she understood this, but it just made her feel so small.

She couldn’t let people cover for her anymore. Hinata realised that was what people had been doing. Trying to help her by keeping them apart. But all that had done was blind her to the truth. She loved her friends, but this was not the way to moving on. She had to be braver than this. Steeling herself, Hinata pushed her shoulders back and pushed the doors open, leaving the Hokage's office. Kakashi looked surprised to see her come out. His former student went silent upon seeing her, then started fidgeting.

“Hinata…” Naruto trailed off, rubbing the back of his head.

But Hinata ignored him, her chin high and face resolutely forward. She would not give herself the opening to fall back into the comfort of lies. She would not regress. She was stronger than this, damnit! Nobody said anything else as she left the Hokage Tower. When she was out of sight, Hinata finally breathed, shaking her arms to release the tension. Fighting the tears that threatened to spill over.

“I need to go home,” she said to herself, shivering. A storm was on its way, and she didn’t want to walk home soaking wet. She picked up the pace and quickly entered the front gates of the Hyuuga compound. The rain started pelting down the moment they closed behind her, and she sighed deeply. The guards nodded to her, and she smiled at them with all the warmth she could muster.

The grounds of the Hyuuga compound were beautiful no matter what time of year it was. Even in the moist air they came alive. Hinata walked through the covered walkways between the houses, mulling over what she’d just done.

I ignored Naruto-kun.

She’d never done that before. And she had no idea how to deal with it. A part of her wanted to break down again. The other was feeling light as air. Free. Hinata could feel the emotion building up inside her again so hurried into her room and slid the door closed, before anyone could see her. She carefully placed her sandals on the shoe rack and pulled a coat from her wardrobe. The temperature had plummeted, so she sent out her chakra to get the attention of a servant and had them bring her a hot chocolate. Once she found herself alone, she sat on the window seat of her study and stared out through the glass window at the rain below her, hugging the hot chocolate to herself as she took tentative sips.

She was just daydreaming about figures dancing in the rain when she spotted something.

A figure walking in the rain. It was definitely male, his hands in his pockets and exuding chakra from his body to keep the rain at bay. She could sense it faintly, even from this distance. It reminded her of that mission so long ago when she’d been encased in crystal and would’ve died if she hadn’t expelled chakra from her chakra points. It was an easy thing for a Hyuuga to do, but this person wasn’t a Hyuuga.

They paused and looked up toward her. She couldn’t see his face clearly because of how hard the rain was coming down but Hinata was sure now: it was Sasuke. Hanabi was right. She kept watching as he slowly turned away and continued walking. Had he seen her? Did she want him to? Did it even matter?

Yes. Yes. And emphatic yes.

She had no idea why, but yes. Hinata wanted him to care enough to take the long way home that took him past the Hyuuga gates. He was the only one telling her the things she needed to hear. Even Hanabi’s questions weren’t as blunt as they should be. Sasuke was the only one not pitying her. She found she hated pity. She appreciated him so much in that moment. More than she’d appreciated him before.

Hinata swallowed heavily, palming her hand against the glass windowpane as his figure disappeared into the haze of the heavy rain.

“Sasuke.”

.:.

Acceptance.

All she felt now was exhaustion. She had just run a marathon and dragged herself through most of it, but eventually the energy would return. Her body would recover, and her mind would follow suit. She hoped. She had put so much of her energy into the life she’d imagined with Naruto.

Hinata was surprised she hadn’t snapped much earlier. Looking back, it was obvious this wasn’t going to happen.

He hadn’t left her for someone else. Because they’d never been an item. Her heart still wrenched at the thought of what might’ve been, but she was finally taking those steps to let him go. She had no business shoving him into her heart anyway. Hanabi told her, “You’re finally accepting your grief” when she told her and gave her the warmest hug she’d ever received. It almost made her break down again.

Then Hanabi asked her about Sasuke.

“Sasuke-kun?”

He looked up as she approached, seemingly surprised that she’d sought him out this time. Normally it was him hounding her. No, that wasn’t the right word. He didn’t hound her. He wasn’t some obsessed fanboy. She smiled at that. No, Sasuke was a good friend. She swallowed heavily at the weird sensation that sentence had induce in her gut.

Friend.

The word didn’t sound right either.

So, she’d tracked him down, only to find him in the Uchiha compound graveyard. She almost turned around and left right then, to give him privacy, but figured if he could interrupt her when she was doing something important then she could do the same.

“Hinata?”

He didn’t complain as she knelt next to him and offered a prayer to the headstone he was sitting in front of. It had his parents name on it. She closed her eyes and silently wished them well in the afterlife, then opened her eyes and turned to look at him.

“I was looking for you.”

“Obviously. Why?”

She smiled. “Why not?”

He scoffed, but she didn’t lose her smile. He stared back at her before finally relenting and offering up his own light smile. They both turned back to the headstone and silence reigned for a while. It was comfortable and companionable.

“I’m leaving Konoha.”

She was surprised. “Where will you go?”

“I have a mission.”

Hinata frowned. “Lord Hokage is letting you on missions outside the village?”

He pulled a face and she almost giggled. “Kakashi has little choice.”

This told Hinata that the mission was international. She was suddenly burning with curiosity, but held back because, likely, it was top-secret. And she wasn’t in the know on top-secret missions. The inner circle of the Hokage was always a tight, handful of people and this Hokage was no different. She had no doubt that the rest of his former team knew what he was going to be doing.

“It’s just politics,” he offered, sitting back on his bum now and pulling mindlessly at the grass. “Nobody but I can do it, apparently.”

He didn’t look happy about it. Hinata was quite enjoying his openness right now.

“And it’s for an indefinite amount of time.”

She nodded but he wasn’t paying her any mind. It wasn’t personal so she didn’t take it to heart. She wondered how long he’d be gone. If Hinata was honest with herself, she was going to miss him. Before he got involved with her problems, she wouldn’t have really cared either way. But things were different now. Every day since that evening, she’d seen him in the rain, she’d sat at her window and watched him walk by. Every time he stopped and looked up at her, she swore she could feel his eyes on her. Like he knew she was watching him too.

“What’s the mission?”

Why did I just ask that?

She’d held back because it wasn’t her place. Was she really this desperate to know all about him?

Sasuke stood slowly and stared down at her. “Agree to come with me first.”

“What?” She scrambled to her feet.

“Agree to come with me and I’ll tell you all about it.”

He was serious. She frowned. “But Hokage-sama–”

“Kakashi already offered you an out. He won’t complain about you finally taking it.”

“I’m not approved for the mission.”

“You don’t have to be.” He stepped closer to her, and she felt rooted to the spot. His eyes were intense on hers and in the back of her mind she realised she was seeing a side to Sasuke that few ever did. It was intense. The way he looked at her would haunt her dreams if she said no.

She shivered. If I take too long to answer, will he beg?

His comment had a “they don’t have to know” vibe. Like they were runaways. Star-crossed lovers. She felt herself flush at the thought of that. The idea of going with him sounded exciting if not terrifying. But the idea of staying here, not knowing when she would see him again, was worse.

“You can return to Konoha anytime you want,” he added, stepping impossibly closer. “To whatever life you think you will have back here. Or you can come with me, do some good for the village without having to deal with all the shit you’ve been going through.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. His verbal acknowledgement of her problems seemed so out of character for him. But she was grateful and offered a small smile, which he quickly returned, also to her surprise.

Who is this man standing in front of me, asking me to basically run away with him?

It would be a huge undertaking and she had no idea what she was getting herself into. But suddenly, the rush of the unknown wasn’t so scary to her. It would be an adventure. One with purpose. And perhaps, she could find a little of herself out there. With him.

Hinata widened her smile and nodded. “Okay.”

He was full of surprises, because the next thing she knew, Sasuke’s hands were cupping her face. Her mouth opened slightly in shock, and he licked his lips before slowly moving in toward her. He was giving her time to pull away and change her mind. Hinata didn’t take it, closing her eyes as his mouth gently pressed against hers.

She should’ve seen this coming. This was why Sasuke had even bothered to give her the time of day. This was what all their little moments had been leading up to. This odd feeling of belonging was reciprocated.

I am so blind.

The taste of salt mixed in with the taste of him as she deepened the kiss. But for once, they were happy tears.

.:.

#SasuHina #sasuhinamonth2021 #day 25 #the season of grief #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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mortalfaerie · 3 years

Text

To Fake an Engagement (M.F.)

part 2/?

matthew fairchild x (fem) reader

word count: 1904

synopsis: part 2 of this series. after james and cordelia marry, matthew is being a bitter idiot, and reader goes to talk some sense into him. later, they go to anna’s party and things get a little flirty. no coi spoilers.

You hadn’t expected the next year to amount to much. Certainly, Matthew would forget the deal, ask for his ring back, and probably wait for Cordelia to divorce James to try to romance her.

But, Matthew Fairchild surprised you. He had engaged you for walks, written you letters, and seemed to often hover to your side whenever you were in a room together. For the two months to follow, he even seemed to drink less.

However, after the wedding, he seemed to slump back, drink more, and refuse company. Finally, sick of his dramatics, you went directly to his house and demanded he see you. When he came down to the parlor after being called by Charles, he was disheveled and obviously hungover. He had flushed despite himself when he saw you.

You had glared over the rim of your teacup as he idly stared into his. Finally, he muttered, “I’m sorry.” You were frustrated, but managed to ask, “Sorry on what account?”

He shot you a glare briefly and replied, “You know what. Shall I spell it out? I disappointed you. I am a disappointment, Y/N."

You softened, and schooled your tone. “You are right that I am disappointed, Matthew, but that does not make you a disappointment. I am disappointed that you have neglected my letters, that you seem to have scorned my company. I am disappointed that you will not accept my attempts to comfort you when I have so freely given them.”

He nodded, not meeting your eyes. “I admit to that.” he replied.

“And I am hurt, because I have become so fond of your company in recent months and you have-” you shook your head in exasperation, “ripped it from me without ceremony.”

Your voice had broken on the last word, so you took a long sip of your tea and collected yourself. When you again looked up, he was looking at you with a soft, sorrowful look. “I am so, so sorry, Y/N.”

“I would prefer your commitment to change to your sorrow.” You said in clipped words. Mathew raked a hand through his golden hair, the light catching on the piece of silver on his third finger. Your family ring, still in place.

“I can make no promises.” He said finally, meeting your eyes again. He did truly look remorseful.

“Then promise me you will try, Matthew.” you said, gesturing to his disheveled state. “I am not asking that you quit your vices entirely, I can hardly say I am without vice myself, but I am asking that you try to control them.”

He was looking into his cup of tea when he replied, “I can try.”

“Thank you.” you breathed, and set your cup down. Matthew was seated across a small, circular table in the parlor, and you reached over to cover his hand with yours. He looked up with surprise, and you offered a small smile.

“I did not come entirely to schold you.” you said. Matthew smiled wryly, and it was good to see his face not in a mask of brooding and contemplation. “You came for Oscar, then?” he asked, and before you could respond, he lifted his free hand to his lips and whistled a high tone. You could hear a thump noise upstairs, followed by the patter and clacking of clawed feet on the floor, and saw a flurry of yellow fur bounding down the stairs and into the parlor.

You laughed, your hand still over Matthew’s and offered your other to Oscar, who happily sniffed and licked it. “Hello, old chap.” you cooed to the golden retriever, who thumped his tail of the carpet in approval. Eventually, he went to go curl himself around Matthew’s chair, comforting his person.

You smiled, but answered, “No, I do love to see Oscar, but not him.” you drummed your fingers on the table and continued, “I want you to come to Anna’s party with me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You want to schold me for my drunkenness and then have me escort you to a party?”

You playfully glared at him, but squeezed his hand to ensure he knew you were only kidding. “Yes, I want you to take me. I want to have fun with you and my friends. No flask, though.” you added. “I would not stop you from drinking Anna’s liquor, but you needn’t bring reinforcements.”

Matthew mock pouted but conceded. “Oh, very well. You shall have naught but gentlemanly propriety from me.”

He laced his finger through yours over the table, and tapped your ring finger with his free hand. “I see you still have my ring.” he commented.

You nodded. “I have upheld my end of our deal. I keep it in my pocket at home, as to not have my parents suspect you are courting me in earnest, but I wear it in private.”

He pressed a kiss to the ring, and said, “You wound me, Y/N. I am courting you in earnest. Was an engagement not the prize of our bargain?”

You blushed. “Well, if they are to think that, it will be when there is an engagement.”

Catching you in your words, he grinned. “When indeed.”

The night of Anna’s party, Matthew, regally and ostentatiously dressed as always, arrived on time in his carriage to escort you. Your parents had known Matthew to be a good friend of yours for 2 years now, and thought little of your sharing a carriage alone. Once inside the carriage, he pointedly showed you his pockets were empty of his flask, and you were pleased he had remembered.

You made an interesting pair upon arrival- you, dressed in an elegant but sensible blue party dress, layers of chiffon secured with a cinching midnight belt, and ivory lace sleeves and collar peeking out beyond the hems. Matthew, on the other hand, wore a brilliant purple waistcoat and evergreen colored blazer, which he quickly discarded in the heat of the party.

You both drank, though it was clear Matthew exercised effort to be moderate in his drinking, but it was enough for you both to lose inhibitions as he turned you about the makeshift dance floor in Anna’s parlor, you giggling when he dramatically turned you and to your surprise, lifted you off your feet. The two of you staggered away from the dancing couples, laughing, both red faced, as he pulled you against his chest and your laughter was muffled in his shirt.

He hummed to the piano music, where a vampire had seated herself and begun to play jaunty country dance music from the previous century, but to your surprise, he made no move to release you from his embrace. Neither of you did, really. When you had contained your laughter, you had contentedly rested your cheek against his chest and listened to him hum. He was warm, and the smell of him- clean linen, sandalwood, and the hint of wine that you both had earlier, was at once rich and comforting. You stood like that, lost in the rightness of the feeling of his arms around you, for probably 5 minutes before a voice caused you to jump apart.

“Matthew! Y/N! I take it you two are enjoying yourselves?” Anna asked, sauntering up to your corner of the room.

You blushed, and busied yourself with adjusting your skirts as Matthew, quick and cunning as ever, invented a story of how yes, you were enjoying yourselves, but you had a sudden dizzy spell and had to leave the dancefloor. He had been steadying you, he claimed, and you nodded along. Anna, an older sibling herself, was a master of seeing through invented stories and gave you a look that said she didn’t believe it for a moment, but it was all good fun. Her attention was grabbed by another partygoer, and she moved on quickly.

You shot Matthew an incredulous look when she passed, and he gave you a bemused smirk. “Horrible thing, corsets? Making girls everywhere faint and swoon.”

You scoffed and playfully nudged him, but he laughed in response. “I recall you were the one insisting we leave the dance floor.” You pointed out.

“Yes, because you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe!” he exclaimed.

“Because you-” you set in, but quickly realized you couldn’t remember what had started you two in laughing, and the both of you began laughing again.

Falling into a comfortable silence, the two of you leaned against the wall behind you, watching other couples dance, drink, and be merry. At some point, you leaned your head against his shoulder, but he didn’t move away. Instead, you felt him shift his weight and rest his head on yours. After a few moments, you yawned, and felt him chuckle beside you.

“Oh Cinderella, has midnight come so soon?” he teased, and you wrinkled your nose in mock disdain.

“I think it is well after midnight now, and you are hardly Prince Charming.” you retorted.

“Is that so? If I am not, why have you danced only with me all night? If this were a ball, people would say we are in love.”

You were glad then that he couldn’t see your face, because you felt the hot rush of blood invoked by his words. You cleared your throat. “Well, this isn’t a ball.” you pointed out.

“And thank the Angel for that.” he remarked, and drew an arm around your shoulder. “Otherwise, I’m sure you standing alone with me in a corner- and, touching, my Lord,” he feigned shock, and continued, “would be the scandal of the season.”

You laughed. “I think James and Cordelia took that honor already with her confession and their swift marriage.”

You felt him stiffen at the mention, and he replied, “Ah, yes. That would be difficult to beat.” and there was a hint of bitterness in his voice. Wanting to take his mind off of it, you turned out of his grasp and extended a hand.

“Dance one more set with me, and then you may take me home.” You said.

“Methinks the lady doth command boldly.” he said, an eyebrow playfully cocked.

“I believe it is the waltz.” You smiled and added, “And now you can hold me as close as you like and no one will breathe a word of scandal.”

There was a strange, momentary burst of color in his cheeks, but he nodded and took your hand, letting you lead him again onto the dance floor.

On the carriage ride back to your house, you were seated on the same bench beside each other, despite having room to sit opposite. You were drowsily leaning into his shoulder, and he was tracing patterns on your hand with his, when he again tapped the ring on your hand.

“I think you should hide this away before your carriage turns back into a pumpkin, Cinderella. Otherwise your parents will think I am courting you in earnest.” He mused playfully, echoing your earlier words. You yawned and deposited it in your pocket, immediately missing the feeling of it.

“Oh, yes. Thank you for reminding me.” You murmured sleepily. He hummed pleasantly, and then said, “You know, if you did become Y/N Fairchild, we could cause all the scandal in London and no one would be able to scoff.”

You laughed, and replied, “I will consider that when you make your proposal.”

“When indeed.” He remarked again.

#matthew fairchild #matthew fairchild x reader #the last hours #the mortal instruments #the infernal devices #the dark artifices #the shadowhunter chronicles #cassandra clare #chain of gold #chain of iron

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

Text

T H E

P A R I S

C H R O N I C L E S

Warnings: Smoking, drinking and smut in the other chapters. This is set in Nice in the 1950’s, I have never been to the French riviera and I wasn’t alive in the 50’s, so probably a very inaccurate description of the place (also at times simply just made up).

Summary: Newly divorced you decide to travel to the Riviera and spend the summer in the house you and Timothée have inherited. After a very successful art exhibition he comes down to join you. Things should be easy, but they aren't.

Themes: Artist!Timmy, period piece (1950's).

R E A D

P A R T

O N E

A N D

T W O

H E R E

***

Menton - July, 1953

Menton, the most easterly town of the Côte d'Azur, belonging to the Arrondissement of Nice. It is located practically on the French-Italian border, the influences of both countries clear in multi-coloured houses, the decorated windows and in the sixteenth century bell tower.

The beaches are rocky but wide, and in the summer season packed with vacationists looking for an escape from the city; to lay their bodies down and soak up some sun, breath in some fresh air and occasionally to dip their bodies into the ocean in an attempt to escape the heat and cool down.

There’s a village square, in the middle of which a fountain; made in a century in which people still believed in dragons. From Bentwood chairs you can sit back and enjoy a meal, or a simple cappuccino, al fresco; as you watch the occasional hopeful tourist throw a coin into the fountain, making wishes with sanguine smiles. Or perhaps play a game of chess with a stranger.

On a cobbled-stone street nearby a market is set up each morning in a belle-epoque building, inside of which cheese, fish and meat are sold, and outside vendors are selling fruits and vegetables on wooden tables covered by green cloths.

Away from the pastell-coloured village and the expensive resorts and hotels by the beach there are steep hills, where most of the Menton locals reside. Some houses small and quaint; others almost obscene in their obvious wealth.

One of these houses is called Villa Marguerite

***

From the villa you can see the ocean spread out in front of you, almost recklessly big and bold and blue. Behind the house; acres upon acres of lemon trees, the bright yellow and green hues creating sharp contrasts to all the surrounding blue. There’s a garden too, emerald green grass and cedar trees that with rain will spread its heady scent all over the property; some mornings it is the first thing you smell.

The morning sun shines upon the terrace and you lean back in your wicker chair and sip on your morning coffee. Music is coming from the kitchen radio, only a few meters away.

The day lay planned and untraveled in front of you with all its horrifying possibilities. In a few hours Timothée’s train will arrive at the station and the upcoming reunion fills you with equal parts anticipation and terror. You had offered to meet him there, as his train arrives. You can picture it in front of you, standing on the dusty station under the scorching sun, eyes on the railroad track before you, awaiting the first sign of the train. You’d wear something nice for him, a white sundress perhaps; to show him that you are still the young sweet girl he fell for in Paris – that the colossal weight of a wedding ring on your left ring finger has not left you changed. You can picture what he’ll show up in, paint-stained jeans and white t-shirt. It will be awkward at first, it must be after all these months apart. But you’d conquer your fear and you’d hug him, pull him tight against you and breath him in; the familiar scent of him, the irresistible and unplaceable mixture of turpentine and smokey whiskey and of Paris.

There have been nights you’ve woken up gasping for air, where your hands have searched in vain around you in bed, panic-stricken, looking for the familiar frame of a lost lover. Every time, upon realizing that he’s not there, you would fall back against the mattress, and with deep breaths force your lungs to accept air. You’d close your eyes tightly shut and perhaps it was a trick your brain played on you, some devilish scheme – but in those moments, when you needed him the most you could almost concoct his scent out of thin air, could almost smell him, almost feel him lay beside you. There were times you would have sworn on anything holy you could feel the warmth of his body beside yours.

You had suggested to meet him at the station, but he had turned your offer down so firmly it had bordered on rudeness.

In the passing months since his department from London you had shared two brief, silence-filled phone calls.

One of them early one morning in May, just as the lilac bush burst out in bloom outside your window, the scent of them heady and intoxicating, and the missing weight of a diamond ring on your left hand still a strange sensation. Still you lift the phone; asking the operator for a number in France. You had called up his studio to inform him that you had moved out of your soon-to-be former husband’s house and were now taking house in Mayfair, in case he needed to reach you. Timothée´s voice had been tense and hoarse, as if he had just woken up and was not happy about it. In the background a woman had laughed.

The second time he had called you, in the late hours of the evening mid-June, just as the magnolias had set in bloom. You had informed him that you were planning to go down to Menton the following week, to start with the process of going through your aunt’s possessions. He in turn had informed you that his exhibition was to finish up on the 15th of July, after which he planned to travel to Nice by train and thus arrive the following morning. You had then offered to meet him at the station, to show him the way to the house at his arrival, which he had turned down. The tone of had been curt and the conversation short.

And that had been your only contact since that day in London. Before coming to Menton you had gone to Paris, to sign some papers and go through a few objects in your aunts’ apartment. You had not informed Timothée of this nor had you visited him.

Now here you are, weeks later, awaiting his arrival; foot tapping nervously against the floor, eyes fixed without seeing, mind recklessly wandering. Soon he’ll arrive at the station and you try not to connect that fact with the terrible sense of doom that’s been growing stronger in your stomach these last few days. But it seems undeniably connected.

Doom, like things have already been set in motion, the faiths decided; beyond your control or demand.

You feel ungrounded, restless and unbound; like the light morning breeze can sweep you away at sea. Trying to get a hold of yourself you focus your eyes only to see the endless blue sky above you or endless blue sea in front.

The sense of temporariness, of insignificance, of irrelevance in the grand scale of things washes over you and nausea settles in the pit of your stomach. Sitting up straight in your chair, force your foot to stop stomping the ground, you close your eyes and inhale slowly.

From the open window kitchen, you can still hear Louise, your aunt's maid, playing the radio. The French pop tune playing is unknown to you plays but she signs along over the sound of cluttering plates and running water. Upon your aunt’s death had ended up unemployed and in search of a job. She had written to you in London, asking for a position, and you had taken her on.

A sea gull screams somewhere above and from your neighbour’s house you hear children playing.

The sun is warm on your skin; the stone floor warm beneath your feet.

Feeling calmer, you open your eyes.

but still all you see is blue.

***

Timothée travels to Nice by train with a third-class ticket.

The compartment is unbearably hot. He tries to lay as still as possible on the hard bunk bed, afraid that any movement will make him warmer. Trying to ignore the sweat forming on his brow he focuses on the rhythmic pace of the train moving underneath him, wishing it would lull him to sleep but all it does is leave him with a vague feeling of nausea. His fellow passenger in the bunk bed below is in the bathroom next door, violently vomiting and the retching sound is coming through the thin walls . The light above his bed keeps flicking, every other second leaving the already dim room, with its dark oak panels, in complete darkness.

And dying for a cigarette.

He’s hot and sweaty and he thanks his lucky star he turned down your offer to meet him at the station. The thought of seeing you again after all these months, no doubt radiant in the sunlight, like an angel in waiting for him; and then him, wearing sweat-soaked rags that’ll no doubt smell of bile and dust and liquor.

He’s glad he turned your offer down; wants to make a good impression on you, to show you that he has changed, that he’s no longer the penniless painter; that he has made a success out of himself. The exhibition had been an incomparable success, Le Monde had put him on the front page and Le Journal du Dimanche had written an entire feature on his use of the colour blue – which they had been dubbed “as revolutionary as Picasso’s blue period, making the viewer see the colour in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Never before have I’ve seen blue look so isolated and lonely”.

He wondered if you had seen it. He wants you to have seen it, to be proud of it; of him. To know, because you had to know, that it was all for you.

But lately fear had crept up on him. Like mold it had grown from a single thought; slowly and steadily until it covered everything, until it was a certainty he knew as well as his own name; a fact poisoning his every breath.

What if you didn’t love him anymore? What if, after all this time and suffering you found out that, actually, without all the hinders standing in your way you didn’t actually find him all that interesting.

He would be forced to go on his way, certain in the knowledge that you no longer loved him; instead of the current status quo of endless possibilities of the untraveled road, where anything can still happen. Where there is still hope. It had crossed his mind, the thought of just not going. To stay in Paris and paint and dream; safe in the knowledge that at one point the most beautiful woman in the world had loved him. Never having the possibility of that changing.

But it would be a cowardly thing to do, and whatever else he was he was no coward. But he also knew that there was no use pretending, he was not the same as he was when he met you. How could he be? He had been a planet, knocked out of its orbit, forced to find a gravity anew. And he had, it had taken time and pain and more self-discipline than he knew he had in him. He had dusted himself of and gone on with life. But when you left Paris the first time had felt safe in the knowledge that you loved him.

If you were to reject him now, it would only be because you found him lacking; disappointing.

The stranger retches in the bathroom again and behind closed eyelids Timothée can still see the flicking light. He pretends it’s a blinking star.

Lately he’s been reading less Hemingway, Fitzgerald and Dostoevsky; switched them for Nietzsche, Sartre and Aristotle. This new world of science and philosophy opening up a whole new world for him. It had set his mind to ponder about love and religion and of the whole galaxy too; about his place and role in all of these things.

Every day, several times over, he had wanted to call you. To tell you about his discoveries, read you abstracts from his books and ask your thoughts on it. He wanted to know what you made out of all these subjects, to hear where your opinions differed from his. He wanted to argue with you about them.

Yet every time he picked up the phone to call you, he had put it down again. He had felt silly, calling you about such mundane things. Didn’t want to bother you in your grief. He knew, had bought each new glossy copy of the Tatler with a shameful face, that you were going through a difficult divorce.

He didn’t want to complicate your life any further.

The stranger comes into the compartment again, groans loudly and shuts the door with a bang behind him before throwing himself down on the lower bunkbed.

“Fucking hate trains” he states.

“You don’t say” Timothée answers dryly. It’s stifling hot in the compartment and the other man has brought in the strong scent of bile back with him to mix with the stench of sweat.

The train takes a sudden turn and the man below groans loudly again. Timothée hears how he fiddles with something and then the click of a lighter. He asks the man for a cigarette and the he kind-heartedly hands him his entire package of Lucky Strikes. Perhaps as an apology for the smell.

The rest of journey is spent chain-smoking cigarettes until the late hour, the compartment a fog of smoke, until he finally falls into slumber somewhere after Lyon.

The next morning his travel companion, looking rather worse for wear but relieved that the train has stopped at last, helps him with his luggage as they depart the train.

A strange feeling of having been reborn settles over him as he blinks up at the sun, his eyes adjusted from the previous dark dimness of his coupé. The station is dusty and oven-hot but he strives forward through it, bag with his belongings slung over his shoulder. Just as he expected he’s arrived sweaty, with ruffled dirty clothes and a stench of bile and sweat lingers on him. It had most definitely been the right decision to turn down your offer to meet him at the station. And so, instead of looking for a taxi to take him to the great big house on the hills he makes his way down the cobbled streets in quite the other direction.

There’s nothing like the ocean to wash away the sense of filth. With a gasp he breaks through the water surface and forces large gulps of fresh air down his throat. The water is cyan in shade and the surface glitter under the sun. He wades his way through the water and back to the beach, sending a silent prayer that the posh hotel he’s snuck into won’t notice that he is in fact not a guest paying hundreds of Francs a night for the luxury of a private beach, complete with white sunbeds and linen-clad waiters ready to service your every whim, but in fact just a common free-loader.

The small rocks are scalding hot and under his bare feet but he makes his way through the white parasols and sunbeds, careful as to not disturb the suntanning guests, his shabby bag slung over his shoulder.

“I’ll be damned!” An American voice roars out and Timothée stops dead in his tracks, heart beating painfully in his chest; as if he was an animal, knowing he was about to be caught in the hunt. “If it isn’t my favorite painter!”

Slowly he turns around.

Underneath a white parasol, sprawled out on a sunchair; broad-shouldered, blond and suntanned, lay William.

Fuck.

William stands up and moves closer to him. “It is you! Man, what a surprise!” he bursts out in his thick American accent and claps him on his shoulder. Timothée just stands there, still with the feeling of being caught; trapped. William just smiles at him. “I was just going to grab an early lunch, care to join me?”

The hotel restaurant is situated on a terrace, making the most of the ocean view, azure blue sea glittering under the sun. The beach is full to the brim with suntanned bodies, sipping drinks under big white parasols. They’ve both changed out of their swimming trunks, William into a nice white day suit, freshly pressed of course. Walking behind him onto the terrace Timothée feels especially shabby in his worn linen trousers, albeit he’s currently wearing his only items of clothing not covered in paint splatters.

They are seated by the railings, a small white clothed table. They order margarita pizzas and beers. They small talk, filling up the blanks since they last saw each other.

Timothée tells him of his work, the successful exhibition, his newfound love of Nietzsche. About his reason for coming to Nice. William in turn tells him of how he changed his mind about returning to America, how he’s fallen in love with the Mediterranean, how life here has inspired him so much he’s taken up writing. In fact, he has already written most of his first book, and it is set to publish at the end of summer. He is now looking for a house, some permanency for the first time in his life. He will settle down here, he tells Timothée in a solemn tone.

Timothée well recognizes the signs of a man trying to escape from himself. He doubts very much if William is the type to ever settle, has no doubts in fact that next time they’ll speak William will have taken up an instrument set to join a band, or learn a new language ready to move country yet again. Timothée knows a drifter when he sees one.

But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to warn the other man about the uselessness of attempting to outrun oneself, doesn’t advise him to instead make peace with the past and himself; knows that there is no use, that he'll find this out for himself soon enough. So instead he smiles, lights the last of his Lucky Strike´s and orders them some more beers.

They drink and talk, dream really, far into the afternoon as the sky changes from bright blue to nuances of powder pink and lavender. They dream up scenarios for William’s future; a summer spent in sunny Nice soaking up the sun, before setting to Capri in the autumn to work on a new book. They decide he should take a break in the winter to go skiing in Saint Moritz before returning to Nice in the spring, to finish up his book.

More beers are ordered, and subjects discussed, but when a longer silence takes place William leans back in his chair, a shy look on his face that makes him look more boy than man.

“So” he begins, and Timothée’s interests are piqued. The terrace is full of people by now, taking a late lunch or simply enjoying an afternoon drink, waiting for the sun to set and the real party to begin.

“So?” he offers, pressing the other man to continue.

William clears his throat, cheeks flushed, and not purely from the day spent in the sun. “So, you’re going to see her now?”

Timothée is not surprised by his question, had expected it since he told him why he was here, had expected the subject of you to arise. It felt inevitable. The subject of you too big to ignore.

“Yes” he says, putting out his cigarette in the ashtray. They’d bought new ones from the waiter many beers ago, the crystal cut ashtray between them filled to the brim with stumped out cigarettes.

“Yeah should get going soon really, she was expecting me this morning.”

Silence for a heartbeat, as the sky turns red, the sun almost setting.

“And it is true, what they’ve written in the society pages? She’s getting divorced?”

Timothée, not knowing what to do with his hands, lights yet another cigarette; even though his throat feels too dry; too tight. “Yeah” he manages to get out.

Silence again. William is keeping his eyes on the setting sun, seemingly lost in thought.

“Mind if I tag back with you to the house?” he says eventually. The words come out almost superiorly. Yet Timothée senses the fragile vulnerability under the arrogance. “I’d just like to say hi to her” he then adds in a softer tone. “Our last goodbye…” he trails off for a second and something like regret flashes in his clear blue eyes, “Look, I treated her abhorrently and I’d like to put things right, it’s the least I can do”.

And who is Timothée to deny either one of you that?

The ground is slightly unsteady under his feet as they stand outside the hotel, waiting for the taxi the porter had ordered. He had, perhaps, had one too many to drink. He sways from one foot to the other. It is just past midnight and he should have gone home hours ago.

And maybe he shouldn’t arrive at your first meeting in months, the first meeting post-divorce, absolutely wasted. A knot ties somewhere in his stomach.

And, he thinks as he slides into the backseat of the taxi, maybe he oughtn't to bring your ex-fiancé with him to said meeting. An ex-fiancé who had broken up your engagement days before the wedding, left you pretty much at the altar to marry someone else instead. Your first love.

The knot tightens harder.

He watches the city, now dark and full of people, pass by outside the window. As the taxi goes up the hills he tries to focus on the ocean outside; now the darkest shade of blue. The moon is yet to make an appearance to light up the evening. They drive up a final curve and finally Timothée can see it. The white house atop the hill is large and neo-classical in style, with painted mint-green shutters, currently open wide to let in some evening air, and up the white walls magenta colored bougainvillea climbs.

The lights are on and Timothée feels light-headed. He blames it on the drinks. He blames it on the day spent under the beaming sun. He blames it on the long journey there and the fact he slept so badly on the train.

He blames it on anything other than the fact that he’s starting to wonder if maybe he shouldn’t have come here tonight. If perhaps he should have stayed at the hotel, sobered up and after a good night sleep come here; bunches of casa blanca lilies in hand and a forged reason for his lateness on his lips.

And he definitely shouldn’t bring William with him.

Something twists painfully inside him and he feels a bit sick. Because he knows William is your first love; but what if he’s your greatest one as well. What if the two of you after reuniting again, found that there were still love there. You both had divorces in your past now, you both had money, and freedom. What if William wasn’t just your first love, but your greatest one?

He definitely shouldn’t have brought him here.

He watches with regret settled deep in his bones as the taxi drives away, and William is walking up the pebbled path to the front door. So Timothée takes a deep breath, throws his duffel bag over his shoulder, and forces his feet forward.

They ring the door and surprise hits him for the second time that day, when the door opens and Aunt Marguerite’s maid Louise stands there, wearing the usual look of disapproval as she takes in the state of him.

She sniffs with disgust. “You are late” she tells him with a stern tone, before stepping aside to let him enter. “Madam is on the terrace”. He drops his bag on the floor as she leads the way through the house, William at his heel. His feet feel like cement, but he keeps forcing them forward.

The first thing he sees as he steps out onto the terrace is the moon, now high in the sky, casting its reflection on the water below. Then, on a sunbed with your face towards the ancient blue spreading out in front of you; not directed to him. He sees you in the moonlight, curled up underneath a blanket, a glass of red wine beside you. The only light on the terrace the moon and candles, lit up around you.

Without turning to look at him you say, in a voice painfully familiar, “was beginning to give up on you. Thought you’d missed the train”.

“Sorry” he says, and it surprises him how calm he sounds; because he’s pretty sure something is exploding inside his chest. “Got a bit distracted.”

You turn to him then, a half-smile on your face that freezes immediately upon seeing who is standing behind him. Painful silence falls between you, heavy like a wet blanket, while the ocean roars beneath, its waves crashing against the rocks.

“Wills?” Your voice sounds so vulnerable it makes him want to weep, to go hide; to ask something holy for forgiveness.

“Hi baby” William answers and Timothée nearly whimpers, wants to look away but can’t seem to turn his eyes from the scene in front of him.

Your eyes are big and glossy in the moonlight as William moves closer. Nausea rises in Timothée’s stomach as he watches William sit down on the sunbed beside you; hands clasped before him like a schoolboy in church.

“I’m sorry” he begins, “this must come as a surprise to you but…”

“Excuse me” you interrupt him, voice cold but your vulnerability clear as it. “I think I will retire to bed. You can stay over if you wish, Louise will prepare you a room. We’ll lunch tomorrow.”

And all either Timothée can do is watch as you stand up, spine all straight and head held high as you walk past him, not casting him a single look as he hangs his head in shame.

Timothée blinks slowly into the bright light; confused as to where he is for a moment. He blinks a few more times, his lasting impression; white. White sheets, white walls, white lilies on his bedside table, white wooden floors and white curtains moving in the breeze from the open balcony door; outside of which azure blue sky. Then,

Menton.

You.

He groans, burying his face in the pillow. The pain in your eyes as you walked past him the night before; eyes brimming with carefully held back tears. Why, why, why on earth had he brought William with him? Why hadn’t he just told him no? Surely it wouldn’t have been unreasonable to turn down his request to force his way back into his ex-fiancé’s life?

But he wanted you back. And Timothée had handed you to him.

“Fuck” he groans.

Despite his protesting, heavy limbs and sore head he stands up and moves through the room, to the gilded mirror by the antique dresser. Slowly he blinks back to his miserable reflection. A skinny man, with unruly, dark curls and anxious, wide eyes, dark circles like bruises underneath them. He thinks of William; tall and golden and broad shouldered enough to carry the weight of the world on them. And rich enough to own it.

He wants to hurl.

Instead, with the determination of the already damned, he moves through the room, knowing there is nothing left to do but face the day; and the consequences of last night. Finding a pair of clean linen trousers and white shirt he pulls them on with fumbling hands. Rooming through the pockets of the trousers he wore last night, carelessly thrown over a wicker chair, he finds the package of Gauloises he bought at the hotel the previous night. He puts them in his pocket, he is going to need them. Feeling like a man walking up to the gallows he steps out of his room.

Louise, who’s in the kitchen preparing breakfast, huffs in displeasure when she sees him.

“Yeah, yeah” he mutters, “I know”.

She pulls up her blonde hair and ties it in a knot in her back, seemingly doing her utmost to ignore him, but he’s pretty sure she’s just doing it for the opportunity to sneakily give him the finger.

Out on the terrace you sit by the table, reading. Wearing a white silky thing, your hair wet from a bath, pearls of water falling to the ground as you move to flip a page in your book. You are bathing in the morning light, covered by it; and maybe it’s just to Timothée’s eyes but everything else seems to fall into shadow.

Walking more assuredly than he feels, somewhat comforted in the fact that William is not yet up, he takes a seat beside you at the table. You flip a page in your book, and you don’t look at him. A seagull screeches in the sky, but otherwise the world remains quiet.

“What are you reading?” he asks, though feeling it is a trivial question in the midst of everything. He feels foolish, trying to ease into conversation with you, when all he really want to do is apologise; to take your hands and tell you that he’s sorry.

“The Odyssey”

“You like it?”

Your eyes don’t move over the page, but you don’t look at him either; instead fixated on the page in front of you.

“Yes” you say eventually. “But I find the prose hard to get used to”.

“Well” he says fishing in his pockets for his Gauloises, “personally I prefer The Iliad. There’s a feeling of doom in it that stays with you, like their fates are already set out for them and they can’t escape it. They’re left to just live their stories out”. He brings a cigarette to his lips but soon discovers he’s forgotten a lighter. He swears under his breath, the cigarette hanging from his mouth. Then something silver reflects in the sun, right before his eyes. You’re reaching out your hand to him, and in the palm of your hand lay a cigarette lighter. Gratefully he takes it and lights up.

“Thanks” he says, trying to hand it back to you, but you shake your head.

“No, it’s yours. Apparently, my aunt had it ordered for you before she passed. I was going to give it to you yesterday.”

Timothée feels as if he’s been punched in the stomach. He lays down the cigarette and looks down at the silver lighter. It’s beautifully crafted, old fashioned in a good way and thoroughly stylish. Marguerite through and through. He turns it in his hand and sunlight reflects from its perfect surface. Only then does he notice the engraved text, in cursive writing; “Fuck Picasso”.

He breaks out in laughter but feels a simultaneous need to cry. To lay down on the floor and weep. He misses her, would do anything to hear her scold him for his behavior again. To have her tell him that he is being defeatist and to keep trying; keep fighting for what he wants.

He looks at you, and he can see the same conflicting feelings reflected in your glossy eyes.

“Le petit dejeuner, madam” Louise says, putting down the tray with coffee, bread, brie and fresh fruit on the table between you. She sends Timothée a scorching look as she does so.

Once you’re both sipping on cups of coffee you clear your throat. “She did leave you the Picasso painting as well, you know”.

Timothée nearly drops his cup of scorching hot coffee in his lap. “Sorry?”

Reluctantly the corners of your mouth twist into a smile. “You never read the full version of the will, did you? She gave the Picasso to you. Said you were the only one who could possibly appreciate it”.

He snorts with laughter again, and again it comes with a sting of grief.

“You sure you don’t want it?” he asks, because a Picasso is no ordinary gift and he feels as if he’s stealing it from you; you who actually were related to the woman.

But you just shake your head, a small but sincere smile on your lips. “I got the Monet”.

“Bloody landscape artist” Timothée teases and you laugh. This is an old joke, an inside joke, one that has made you laugh before. Your laughter feels familiar and warm and he wants to pull you closer to him, feel your skin; warm from the sun, against his.

“You are just jealous” you tease back, and your eyes; the same colour as your aunts, sparkle in the sunshine. “You have never been able to paint a landscape”.

“No” he says, reaching for a stem or green grapes, “I’ve never found a landscape more interesting than a face” he adds, pulling the sweet fruit from its stem and placing it between his teeth; slowly biting down, relishing the taste.

He wants to say, ‘there’s nothing I’d rather paint than your face’, but swallows the words along with the fruit. He watches your face as you look at the sea; hair still wet against your now slightly rosy cheeks.

“Good morning” says a cheerful, though somewhat raspy, American accent.

Timothée turns and sees William walking towards you. He’s all tousled blonde hair, white dress shirt unbuttoned at the top; showing seamlessly endless amounts of suntanned golden skin. Styled with a Rolex watch and bare feet he’s all Hamptons; all American.

Timothée looks at him and thinks Paul Newman would be proud.

He picks up and finally lights his cigarette, using his new treasure.

William sits down by the table, leans back and sighs. “Gonna be a beautiful day” he announces to them, as if the weather was his to rule. Timothée watches him in the morning light, all golden and decisive. He thinks of Zeus, of power and of glory.

You gesture for Timothée’s cigarette package and he picks one out and hands it to you. Leaning closer, closer and closer still; your face so near that he can count each of your eyelashes if he so wishes, your arms nearly touching his. He lights you up. All the time he can feel William’s watchful eyes as he observes the two of you.

Louise comes out with another cup of coffee and places it in front of William before heading back to the kitchen. In the silence between them they can hear how she puts on the record player, the tunes of Chopin floating out on the terrace. Timothée meets your eyes and you both smile.

Flashes of memories from another life, you and him in Paris in his old studio. Dancing in the evening, hips pressed together as you’d swayed gently from side to side, your chest pressed to his, feeling so close it was as if you were sharing breaths. Or you posing on the carpet, naked in the afternoon light as he attempts the impossible; trying to recreate the loveliness and complexities of you. A Herculean task. All the while Chopin played in the background.

“So what are we all doing today?” inquires William and Timothée breaks eye contact with you. Maybe he is imagining it, but he thinks there’s a harshness behind Williams' forceful cheerfulness.

You enter into conversation with William, all small talk and politeness, as Timothée smokes his cigarette and looks the other way.

“Can I talk with you?” William asks, his hand around your wrist, holding you in place. “Alone, I mean.”

Your plates have been cleared, the coffee cups stand empty and William has reached over the table to take a hold of you. Timothée, who’d spent most of the breakfast in silence, his face towards the sea, playing with silver lighter in his lap, now stands up. “I’m off to explore the village” he says with a tone of indifference. But there is something strained about the way he’s holding himself, a tenseness in his shoulder, a frozen look on his face. It is in the way he refuses to look at either you or William as he walks away.

You watch him leave before gently pulling your hand away from William’s. “I must say, it is a surprise to see you here, Wills”.

William doesn’t hang his head in shame or embarrassment but keeps his clear blue eyes on yours.

“I didn’t know that you were here in Menton, that’s not why I came here. But I did go looking for you, in Paris”. His voice never shakes, neither does his hands. He is as steadfast as you remember him from school. Ha had been taller than everybody else, towering over them all. He could easily have been awkward, already standing out with his American accent. But he wasn’t. William had been born with a sense of self-assurance most could only dream of. Dubbed arrogant by some you had felt admiration.

Your school had been set up in two buildings, one for the boys and one for the girls, and separated by a field. Most classes were taken separately, the only times the genders had mixed was during meals and announcements, or on special sports days.

You can still remember it so clearly, when you fourteenth year old set your eyes on sixteen year old William for the first time. It had been on the football pitch during a friendly start of the term game. He was new to the school, a head taller than the other boys and no one seemed to be able to take their eyes off him. It was clear that he was unused to the game, having grown up mostly playing American football, but he soon got his head around the rules. You see it so clearly in front of you, how he had made his way through the defence, his long legs carrying him through in quick strides, before scoring his first goal; the whole crowd going wild. He was a natural talent, as soon you would learn, he was in most things. He took on the world with a natural ease, assured in his belief that everything would go his way.

At the end of the match he had stood there, arm slung around the shoulders of his fellow comrades, all grinning from ear to ear. They were the victors of the game; the heroes of the school. William in the middle, head slung back in laughter, almost radiant in the late September sun. He was and always had been golden, had always seemed more than human to you, almost godlike in being. The other boys had certainly found him so, the only exception being Freddie Fairfax and his friends, who never had a kind word to say about their fellow student. However the rest of the boys had soon made William their unelected leader. The king of god on mount Olympus. His eyes had met yours in the crowd of admirers and just like that - you were done for.

When he had asked you to the school dance, mouthed crooked in a smile and hands unstirred; so unlike the nervously trembling boys, you had said yes. The other girls had envied you and when you walked into the great hall with him he had taken your arm in his and kissed you on your forehead; told you he thought you were the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. You had felt chosen; blessed even.

And when he had asked you to marry him, down on one knee like a gentleman and with a hand that didn’t shake with nerves, you had said yes. Had thought that had settled everything. That you would marry the man you loved in front of all your friends and family, securing a financially stable future for your parents. You’d go on a honeymoon, a world tour perhaps, and later; children. After having found the perfect family home in Kensington, among all your friends.

Alas, that was not to be. No wedding, nor children or home had come along. Instead, heartbreak.

And you had fled, humiliated, to Paris.

“Yes” you say, feeling unable to look away from his blue gaze. “Yes, Timothée mentioned that. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet you, I had already left for London by then”.

“Yeah” he says, corners of his lips turned up in a smile, but his eyes filled with something more like pity. “To marry Freddie Farifax”. And then he’s on his feet, moving around the table and before you know it, in Timothée’s chair. He leans forward and grasps your hands in his. They feel warm and steady, whereas yours are cold and shaking.

“Babe” his voice is like a gentle breeze. “Babe, look at me”.

You look up from your clasped hands and back into his blue eyes, at the moment more serious than you’ve ever seen them.

“I should never have left you” he continues, voice sweet and tender and barely louder than the breeze. “I was bewitched. I know, I know it sounds stupid but I just lost my head about Linda. I was a fool, a goddamn fool. I realized as soon as we left for New York that who I really wanted was you. It was like waking up from a dream. She was just such a lovely thing, so carefree and - no please, listen” You had tried to remove your hands from his but he kept a firm grip around them. Slowly he moves one of his hands from yours, up to your face to cup your cheek. It’s tender, and it feels like it had always felt when Wiliam touched you - the same feeling you got when you lay sunbathing; kissed by the sun. A mild breeze through the trees and the scent of him, citrus and cedar, hits you like an embrace from the past.

At fifteen, a few months after you first set eyes on him, he kissed you. Calmly, with a hand cupping your face; just like now, he had kissed you until you felt tender and starry eyed. It had been in the library, in the row furthest down, a copy of Anna Karenina sticking into your back as he pressed you against the bookcase.

He had smelled the same then, as you stood on your tip-toes to reach him his arms surrounded you.

He had smelled the same in baronessa Digby’s guestroom during her annual ball. After hours spent dancing, pressed up against one another he had snuck you both in there and on the bed showed all there was to know about love in its physical form. Flashes of memories come back to you of his body above yours, muscles defined and body almost golden in the candlelight, pressing you down onto crisp white sheets. The scent of lemon and cedar everywhere.

He had been gentle and patient, moving in and out of you with steady, slow thrusts at first, deliberate and calm in all his movements. His hands were steady the whole way through but you were shaking all over.

“I should never have left you” he repeats, and you can feel the shame coming off him in waves, see the regret in his eyes and in the furrow of his brow. “You never should have had to marry fucking Freddie, the piece of shit”. Something thunders in his blue eyes.

“I’m not angry with you William. I felt hurt and humiliated when you left but it’s all in the past now, so if it is my forgiveness you’ve come here for you can have it”.

“It’s not,” William says, almost before you’ve finished speaking. “I mean, I’ll gladly take it but what I want is you.” All you can do in response is stare at him and he laughs, almost bitterly, before continuing “to think, that had I not made such a massive ass of myself we would have been married now. We would be happy. I can still make you happy, baby”. He makes the last word sound like a prayer. He strokes your cheek.

“Make me carefree?” you ask, and you swear, you can feel the ocean move in protest in your lungs.

“Yes, just give me a chance and I’ll make you the happiest being on earth”.

You look into his pleading eyes. Part of you wants to say yes, because part of you still loves him. Part of you is still that fourteen year old girl, enamoured by the school hero. But you know now, have come to realize with time, that William never has, and never will understand you. Not you as you as you really are How could he understand someone so different from himself? A godlike creature whose hands never tremble, who has thunder in his eyes and whose love burns bright; but also quick. Would you choose a life with him there would be other Linda’s. Other infatuations, there was bound to be, even if he would always make his way back to you.

But though Wiliiam’s hands never tremble they know nothing of steady.

“William” you say, finally untangling your hands from his, “Will I’m sorry but it’s too late. I have already moved on”.

William leans back in his chair, a deep sigh escaping him. “Yes, yes I was afraid of that. The painter boy seems to have stolen your heart quite thoroughly, hasn’t he?” You don’t answer and William digs in his pockets for cigarettes.

“I see” he mouths out round a cigarette, brows furrowed in concentration. He brings his own silver lighter to his mouth to light up and it reflects in the sun, like bolts of lightning. “Still” he adds with a voice smooth as honey, leaned back in his chair; breathing out smoke between you, “well, he might get to keep the real you but I won the painting. Quite the consultation prize”.

***

When Timothée steps back into the house, several hours later the clouds are dark and heavy with unshed rain. The world feels charged with energy, as is the way right before thunder. Louise greets him with her usual disapproval at the door before simply nodding upward, uttering the single instruction, “upstairs”.

He makes his way through the house, dark and quiet in the late hour, up the stairs and drawing room. It is a large room, with wallpapers of navy dyed silk on which several paintings in the modern style are set up. Heavy oak furniture outlines the room, decanters of whiskey and cognac and any other liquor that could be wished for on one of the tables and in the middle of the room two elegant white sofas facing each other.

On one of them you sit, a martini at the table in front of you, next to an enormous vase of casa blanca lilies. The whole room smells of them.

Not knowing what to say, where to start he walks past you, across the room, to make himself a drink. Pouring himself a generous measure of Laphroaig, which he drowns immediately, before pouring himself a new one. Dutch courage.

“William gone then?” he asks, staring down at the amber liquid in his glas, hating how casual he sounds.

“Yes, he went back to his hotel”

So the supposed love of your life was only temporarily missing then. Timothée squeezes his eyes shut, clutching his hands around the table, as if to stop himself from whimpering. He feels pathetic and weak. Opening his eyes again, the room dark around him he walks to the sofa and sits down opposite of you.

Outside he hears the first few drops of rain.

“So you two patched things up then?” There’s a forged cheeriness to his voice and he hates how disingenuous he sounds.

For a few long seconds he is met by a silence so intense it makes the hair on his arms stand up. Then it really starts to fall outside, the sky opening up with rain, the clapping sound of it as it hits the roof like thunderous applause.

“I’ve decided to let the past be the past”. You’re so calm and collected; so cool and unfaced. Yet he can sense that you are holding onto yourself with an iron grip, not letting go an inch of your own feelings or reactions. It reminds him of the way children clutch their hands around objects they know they shouldn’t possess, determined not to show what they are hiding.

He takes a sip from the whiskey, the smokey smell of it mixing with the heady scent of lilies. So this was it then. He had ruined his own chance of happiness by bringing William back to you. Timothée had not been to compete with Freddie Fairfax and his money and title, but he had always known that you had not married that man out of love, and that had made the blow on his feelings less hard than if you had simply preferred Freddie; chosen him. But with William it was a different matter. You did not need to be with him out of any necessity. If you had chosen him; then it was because you loved him.

“Well, good on you” he says, drowning the rest of his glas. “Sweet of you to forgive him, you know, after basically leaving you at the altar and humiliating you infront of everyone you know. Really, it’s big of you”.

“Yes, me and William had a lovely chat this morning” your voice is cold as ice. You’re on the sofa, spine straight and shoulders tense, taking a large sip from your martini. “He told me about a poker game the two of you had in Paris. How you paid your debts with a nude portrait of me".

Lightning strikes outside and for a brief second the whole world goes white, like the flash of a camera, before once again leaving you both in shadow.

Timothée is dumbstruck; can’t get out a single word. He wants to protest, to deny it, but there’s no use. He’s never been a liar.

“How fucking could you?” The venom in your voice feels lethal, as if he’s injected it like poison and it’s making its way through his system.

And here comes the thunder.

“I trusted you with that painting and you let him fucking have it! My ex-fiance has a naked portrait of me because of you. I knew I couldn’t trust you, I knew it! It was all too good to be true. You just wanted me because you knew you couldn’t have me, because you knew it wouldn’t last. I was just a conquest you would get a few nice paintings out of!” You’re shouting now; unbound and full of rage. Unable to stand still you’ve gotten up, pacing the room.

“You knew it wouldn’t last?” he answers with a sarcastic laugh, anger shouting through him as well now. “You made sure it you mean? You used me as some sort of escape fantasy because you felt lost and trapped! The princess and the penniless painter. Those were just roles we played. You just wanted to feel desired again and no one has ever desired you as much as i have, but as soon as Freddie fucking Fairfax came along you dropped me, and guess what? I could have lived with that. I understood it even. But you made your way back into me, gave me hope, and now you’re fucking leaving again with fucking William!" He’s on his feet as well now, standing just feet from you. "So yeah, I’m sorry I gambled away the painting, that was wrong of me but don’t make out as if I’m the reason this can’t last when you have always been the first to leave. You have always been the first to leave!”

Lightning like a flash, capturing the hurt look on your face, burning it onto his retinas forever.

“You can say that all you want but you've had one foot out the door for a while, haven’t you? You never called or wrote after you left London. And when I called you early that morning there was some girl fucking giggling in the background! I had to go back to Paris this spring to sort out some of aunt's things and I didn’t go to visit you because I knew there was gonna be someone else there!”

And here comes the thunder again, louder than before.

“Oh that’s it sweetheart, jealous are we?” his tone is low and mocking and your eyes are burning into his. They seem to sparkle in the dark and though adrenaline is shooting through his body he can’t help but he can’t help thinking; that this is the most beautiful he’s ever seen you; unbound and unleashed. Despite his anger he’d like nothing more than to lean in and kiss you.

But he is angry, and so he continues in the same, low tone, “and you accuse me of having one foot out the door? Ye get jealous of some model coming in to have a painting done - who I’ve never even touched - but I have to watch your husband parade you on his arm at the opera? And be a spectator as you and fucking Wills reunite?”

“You’re the one who brought him here!”

“I know!” he shouts. Both your chests are heaving with anger, the air loaded with thunder. He takes a step back from you, runs a hand through his hair in frustration and sighs. “I know” he repeats, defeated now. Walking away from you he crosses the room and throws himself down on the sofa, his head in his hands.

Outside it keeps raining.

You sit down on your old spot on the sofa again, hands in your lap, cool and collected once more. “I have not gotten back together with William. I’m sorry I made you believe that. I’ve simply decided to forgive him and let the past be the past. That’s all”.

Timothée lifts his head up, something like hope blooming in his chest among all the despair. “Yeah? Well I’m sorry about the painting, I really am. In my defence, I didn’t know he was your William until after”.

“I guess it doesn’t matter now. I asked him to get rid of it”.

“Nevertheless, I am sorry” he looks you straight in the eye as he says this, wanting you to know the sincerity in his apology. “Do you want me to leave? I can go back to Paris tomorrow”.

Silence, then thunder once again, though this time further away.

“No” you say in the end, still in that cold voice, but you sound genuine when you continue, “no please stay. It is your house just as much as mine. Stay as long as you want”.

“Please, let me paint you again?”

Rain in July is a rare thing in Menton. Nevertheless, a storm had raged the night before. You had often heard the expression the calm before the storm, however you had always found the aftermath of storms all the more fascinating.

“No” you answer him, flipping the page in your book; Anna Karenina this morning.

Timothée is standing by the barristrade under the golden mimosa tree, trying to capture the landscape beneath him. He wears a frustrated, nearly pained look on his face as he stares at the canvas. You can hear his groans of ill contempt.

“Fucking hate landscapes”.

“That is your vanity speaking. You know you aren’t very good at it and so you hate it. Like all men you hate the things that make you look less than average". On the page in front of you Vronsky has decided to pursue Anna, despite knowing that she is a married woman.

“I’m not vain” Timothée mutters, like a petulant child. “I don’t like landscapes because they are ever-changing, just when you’ve managed to get the precise shade of the sky it has already changed into something else entirely.”

“But faces change all the time too. I’d say there’s as much variety in a face as it is in a landscape” you argue. Looking up from your book you observe Timothée. The mimosa branches hanging down, it’s golden flowers framing his head like a halo, the impression strengthened by the morning sun shining through.

The sweet, succulent scent from the tree, reinforced a thousand times with last night's heavy rain, hangs around them like an invisible cloud.

“You’re just defending landscapes because your precious Monet couldn’t have enough of them”.

“He painted people too”.

“Yeah, but he wasn't as good at is. Maybe he too was vain”.

”Monet never used black, did you know that?” You say, apropo of nothing. “And for a while Picasso only used blue. Do you think this is how they’ll define you one day? In a textbook, a picture of a portrait of me - and underneath it written in black on white: Portrait of a girl unknown. For this period in the artist's life he refused yellow. Is that how they will define you?”

“I don’t refuse yellow anymore.” He’s stopped painting now, but faces away from you, looking out at the ocean. You see his fingers twitch for a cigarette.

“Maybe not, but you don’t see blue in the same way. Neither does anyone else if Le Journal du Dimanche, I saw what they wrote about your exhibition, congratulations by the way.” His back is very still and you keep going. “What was it they wrote? ‘As revolutionary as Picasso’s blue period, making the viewer see the colour in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Never before have I’ve seen blue look so isolated and lonely’?”

You can’t explain even to yourself why you are doing it, why you are antagonising him. It is petty and it should be beneath you but like a child you try to goad a reaction out of him.

“You made me look at all colours in a different light.” It is a quiet confession, sincere in its simplicity. His hands are clasped around the brim of his chair, like he’s trying to hold himself very still. “You made me listen differently as well, I could never hear the beauty of Chopin until you played it for me. And the scent of lilies will always remind me of you. You made me feel different too, different from anybody else. Like I had been reborn into a new body, with new feelings. A new purpose. Even the air in my lungs felt different; cleaner somehow.”

You don’t know how to respond to that; feeling as though all malice has been sucked out of you like poison from a snake. Perhaps there’s nothing to say.

“Let me paint you one more time”

“No. Why don’t you just hire a model instead?”

“I don’t want another model, I just want to paint you”

“Well William’s still at the hotel if you’re planning to gamble it away after”.

Maybe all bitterness hasn’t escaped her yet. Timothée takes up his brush and goes back to his canvas. For a few long moments everything is silent.

Then, in a quiet voice he speaks. “Why didn’t you go back to William? I saw how much you loved him, when you first came to Paris. I remember. But if you’ve decided to forgive him, and if there’s still feelings there, then why not?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you to be happy”.

You throw the book on the table, close your eyes and lean back in your chair. “I’ve always figured that the world can be split into two; that people are either like birds, or like trees.”

You can hear Timothée dropping his paintbrush again and had you had your eyes open you would see his curious eyes as he watches you with open adoration.

“You see,” you continue “some people are drifters, and other settlers. Some people grow roots where they stand, trying to reach as far down into the earth as possible in order to feel secure. They are steady and they grow but they never change and they never change their outlook on things. And when they have to move, they have to be ripped out by the roots and it hurts. Others, well others are like birds. They fly from branch to branch and sure, sometimes they build nests but they never stay for long. They need air beneath their wings, they need freedom.”

“And William is a bird?”

“Yes, William is a bird. A drifter. He will always move from branch to branch. In his lifetime he will have a thousand infatuations and sure, if we were to marry I think he would always come back to me but I cannot live like that. I would be a tree, trying to force my roots through concrete”.

“And that is the reason you don’t choose him?” His voice breaks slightly at the end and you can’t help but love his fragility, his vulnerability in this moment.

“That yes” you say, opening your eyes and feeling blinded by the sun. “That and the fact that I’m not actually in love with him anymore”.

Silence again, because maybe there is nothing more to say now. Timothée picks up his brush and you take up your book and continue to read your book; ‘There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness.’

An hour or so later Timothée swears under his breath and abandons the landscape by walking out. Further away you hear the heavy front door close and you know he’s left for the village. You stand up and walk over to the painting, inspecting his work. He has painted the scenery in front of him, but despite the golden mimosa tree there is no yellow to be seen on the canvas; only various nuances of blue.

****

August, 1953

A routine settles at Villa Marguerite.

Each morning Timothée wakes before you and makes enough coffee for two. He takes his cup and his brushes out to the terrace and he tries to paint the ocean. Some time later the radio in the kitchen is turned on as Louise begins to prepare breakfast. Later still he hears your footsteps as you come out to join him on the terrace, wearing the same white dressing-gown each morning.

“There’s coffee if you want some”.

These words are his timid confession, his quiet ‘I think of you each morning as I wake’. A kind of ceasefire has settled between you. You don’t argue with each other but then again, you hardly speak.

When you come back out on the terrace, coffee cup in hand, you sit down under the golden mimosa tree and Timothée wants to sigh but he doesn’t. He wants to sigh, because you are beautiful. Because in the morning light, dressed in a white dressing-gown, you look more angel than person; the golden mimosa flowers like a halo atop your head.

Each morning he wants to capture the moment, just like you this, on his canvas. Not because of the etherealness of the setting; but the domesticity of it. You, morning hair and a cup of coffee that he has brewed for you; bare feet and nightgown.

You’re both silent as you drink. It is peaceful. In the village church bells ring. He feels no need for church. Heaven, he thinks, are mornings with you. Anything else can wait.

The rest of his days are spent painting, trying to catch the colours and moods of the ever-changing ocean and sky in front of him. By lunchtime he’s grown tired of trying, and so he walks down to the village where he strikes up a conversation with whomever is available. Nice is in high season and the streets are full of tourists. During midday however, when the sun is high in the sky, most people are hiding in whatever cool space they can find or lay their bodies on the beach. But Timothée finds he doesn’t mind the heat,

He’s made some friends during his time in Nice, foremost a fellow Parisian his age named Nathaniel, and an elderly French-speaking Italian named Marco. If Marco, who owns a bistro in the square, is available they play chess and argue about politics. Marco always wins. When Nathaniel, who works down by the docks, goes on his lunch break he comes to join them, and they eat together, whatever Marco’s bistro has to offer for the day. They share glasses of wine and discuss jazz, the two younger men unsuccessfully trying to convince Marco to arrange a jazz night at his bistro.

When the other men go back to their work Timothée strolls. Sometimes he walks down to the beach, where sometimes he runs into William. They chat, and it’s not exactly comfortable but neither is it awkward. They both get through it.

Some days he spends strolling the village, watching the pastel-coloured houses, dreaming about the inhabitants' lives. Other days he goes to the ancient little library in town, where he spends his afternoon strolling through the book shelves. He picks up books, reads a few chapters of them; though never starting at the beginning, before putting them down. Like this he goes from book to book, never being able to commit to a single story.

In the end he re-reads The Odyssey - the first page to the last. He doesn’t know what to think about it; except maybe that if The Iliad left him with a distinct feeling of doom, the feeling that sticks with him after The Odyssey is a distinct sense of homesickness. Of nostalgia.

He returns the book at the desk, asking the librarian for more books on Greek mythology. She hands him one and with the book safely pressed against his side he strolls down to the docks and there, on a bench overlooking the ocean, he reads. He reads until the heat fades and seagulls stop screeching and the sky turns pink and until all the fishing boats return to the docks.

He walks back to the village, pays for a box of pralines and a bottle of fine red wine to share with you on the terrace after dinner, and moves his feet towards home. All the time he thinks of Helen of Troy, of Persephone, of Aphrodite.

You eat dinner together and talk. You discuss The Odyssey at length. Debate about what is worse, to feel homesickness to a place you cannot return, or doom for the future. You tell him of a new play you’ve gotten your hands on, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. You talk about the play in a way that has him enamored. He asks to borrow it from you and you lend it to him.

You share the wine and the pralines as the sky grows darker and the sounds of the waves crashing against the rocks louder. You drink and eat and talk until your eyelids grow heavy and it’s time for bed and Timothée thinks to himself that even if you are not his to kiss good night he can still have this. He counts it as a blessing.

Your bedrooms are located right next to each other and as he lay in bed reading your copy of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof in the dim night lamp light he can’t help but feel close to you, knowing that just on the other side of the room you lay sleeping. Like in all your books the pages are full of underlined lines scribbles, the corners of the pages dog eared and the spine cracked.

He turns the page and sees that you have underlined a sentence. ‘I’m not living with you, we occupy the same cage’.

He continues reading until the sun starts to rise outside, then he goes back in the story and underlines a sentence of his own. ‘One thing I don’t have is the charm of the defeated’.

Notes:

The last part will up up sunday/monday

also, please, if you've managed to get through this beast of a story please leave some feedback. I've been working on this for a very long time and I'd love to hear your thoughts.

So this was like… a year in the making? Honestly never thought it would be this difficult but here we are. Also, I don’t hate Picasso as much as it seems I do. Also, is the quote “There can be no peace for us, only misery, and the greatest happiness” in the book? Or is it just in the Joe Wright movie? My ex kept my copy of Anna Karenina and I can’t remember

Inspirations: Jenny Slate’s tweet about wanting someone to love her on purpose, my own quite frankly disastrous relationships, Johnny Cash saying paradise is “this morning, with her, having coffee”, Anna Karenina (I will defend the Joe Wright adaptation until death even though I know it’s no good, alright?), Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (OBSESSED with https://www.ntathome.com/packages/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof/videos/cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof-full-play version, highly recommend renting it), Greek mythology, The Blue Train adaptation by ITV Poirot (season 10 episode 1, watch it, every episode is individually based on one of her books so no need to see it chronologically) that has been playing on repeat and also the fact that for the last month I’ve been thinking of nothing else than traveling to Italy, France and Greece again.

#timothee chamalet #timothee x reader #timothee x y/n #timothée chalamet #timothee fanfic

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