from my in-my-head au, where not!bathsheba reader and gabriel are engaged before they go to readers newly inherited farm, but they'll be disguised as two people who are not engaged when they get there, so naturally they're upset abt it. but this is pure flirting. yes I'm in love w this man yes this is completely self indulgent no i have no regrets
Perhaps sensing the black mood verging upon the both of you, Gabriel interrupted, voice far too cheerful, with: "Do you know what I shall miss?"
You inclined your head in question. "Saying your name," he said. "And hearing you say mine."
"Yes," you said, frowning. You had quite forgotten that you would no longer be referring to him in such an intimate way—it would probably require some practice. Yet another loss.
"I remember how nervous I was, when you said that there was one more thing. Half-convinced you would reject me, and say all that had come before was just a laugh."
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself at the memory. You had been so terribly nervous yourself, when you first made that... request. Really, it had just been a whim, certainly not something you had thought of beforehand. Even for his supposed sincerity of affections—you still dreamt sometimes of how confidently he had said that he would never tire of you, not ever—your conditions had seemed to dampen his happiness, agree to them though he had. Really the purpose of that final request had been to return him to his former cheer. Show him some encouragement that was not hidden in ifs and buts. So you had asked, mouth faster than your brain: "that if we are... engaged. That you could perhaps call me not Miss Everdene, but... ___."
His answering smile had made it quite, quite worth it. "Then you must call me Gabriel," he had said, and you had smiled at each other for minutes like fools.
"I suppose we must have our fill of it now, then," you said, trying to remember the way you had felt then, and not that you were going to have none of that for the next months. "Of the saying and hearing both."
He hummed now, and you could clearly see the amusement at how very flustered you were, written in the twinkle of his eye. "As you say, ___" he teased.
You couldn't help the smile. "Quite so—Gabriel." He inclined his head, lips curled into what you had begun to recognise as fondness, and you leaned closer to him. "Gabriel," you began, "Gabriel. Gabriel, Gabriel, Gabriel..." and so on. Except that your playful tone with the first repetition could not last; the next came warmer, with awareness and fondness of the man you had come to know and like so well—then warmer still, and perhaps sadder, as your eyes sought to memorise each curve and corner of his features. Then shocked and laughing as he took your hand, surprising you; then softer, and growing slower, until you were all but whispering. For his part, he could be no more composed than you were. The faint amusement had faded as your own tone warmed, until he stared at you with the earnestness that had first won you to him, and behind it a hint of something else.
"Gabriel," you finished, voice almost inaudible. Your heart thudded painfully in your chest, loud enough that he could likely hear it. It was a small carriage—and one that now felt tense and filled with heat.
Gabriel hummed, voice reverberating through you. "Is it my turn yet?" he murmured. You nodded your assent, breath held as though the sound might make you miss it. Then Gabriel leaned closer, and you forgot about breathing entirely. "___," he began, a rough whisper into your ear.
You would not have thought it possible, but your heart rate quickened. You raised your head, and found him staring at you.
"___," he said again, warmer and with feeling, before pulling away. Blood rushed to your face at once. Had your mouth always been so dry? His thumb stroked a slow trail around the back of your palm; you tightened your hold. Gabriel's eyes shot down once, before rising again to your face, to your lips. "___," he said, now softer.
How could a man have the power to tear your composure apart thus, with only your given name? Your breath came more broken than it should, and seemed to whisper along Gabriel's skin, you were so close. His other hand rose to hold your face, fingertips barely touching your jaw. You leaned your head into it. "___," he all but groaned this time.
"Gabriel," you whispered back, and—unable to help it—leaned forward to press a kiss to the curve of his lips.
Even as you pulled away, cheeks blazing, he chased your mouth... but only for a moment, before you could do something foolish such as let him follow. Then he left you, head hanging down, hand leaving your cheek to rummage through his hair. You inhaled, pressing two fingers to your lips. You had never kissed anybody before—and you wouldn't have him, either, no matter how many times you'd thought of it, if it hadn't been for this. It would be months now before you had the chance to... to be his fiancee again, and not only Miss Everdene who owned the farm. It wasn't proper, but—well, you did not regret it. It gave you something to look forward to, as well as something to remember when you were lonely and missing his presence.
But when he didn't rise, your confidence gave way to nerves.
"Gabriel?" you asked, fingers perched just above his shoulders. He looked up, half a smile on his face, and shook his head. You withdrew your hand quickly.
"You... are a cruel tempter," he said, but teasing.
Your worries melted away, in that way only he had perfected. "I thought I was sweet?"
Gabriel straightened, still shaking his head. "It's your sweetness that tempts." His voice was rough with—with something. Something you wanted too. You shivered in place, but when you met his eyes, they were full of promise. "___."
Months. It was only a matter of—a few months.
I shall do one thing in this life - one thing certain - that is, love you, and long for you, and keep wanting you till I die.
Far From The Madding Crowd, Dir. Thomas Vinterberg
Who wore it best...?
[and will you have this man to live wedded husband with avenge him and serving, love, honor, and keep in sickness and in health and forsaking all others keep the only until him, so long as we both shall live?]
Get you a man who saves your hayricks not once but twice
Far from the Madding Crowd (2015)
Matthias Schoenaerts, in Far From the Madding Crowd
💕💕💕 Dear Gabriel 💕💕💕
Gabriel Oak Far From the Madding Crowd
Image Source: somuchtotellyou.blog
Recalling fondly that in 1889 J.M. Barrie was as much in love with Thomas Hardy's Gabriel Oak as I am when he reviewed Far From The Madding Crowd. "Having the manners and ways of the most homespun country folk at his finger end, so to speak, he can play upon them as easily as Bathsheba thrummed her much-discussed piano, but it is another matter to catch a rustic young and make a man of him as Mr. Hardy does with Gabriel Oak...Oak is the hero whom novelists try to draw eternally, the good fellow with a head as well as a heart, and where nearly all are unsuccessful Mr. Hardy triumphs...A manlier Englishman was never drawn. Gabriel is the true growth of Wessex soil ".
Gabriel Oak >>>> Mr Darcy
“Don’t take on about her, Gabriel. What difference does it make whose sweetheart she is, since she can’t be yours?”
“That’s the very thing I say to myself,” said Gabriel.
—Far From the Madding Crowd by Thomas Hardy
Carey Mulligan and Matthias Schoenaerts attend the World Premiere of "Far From The Madding Crowd"