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lavenderfluorite14 · 3 years

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Such Sweet Delirium

Reiji Sakamaki x Fem!Reader

Summary: Laito Intrudes on an experiment gone wrong. Reiji loses his cool.

Explicit, 18+ |TW: Dubious Consent/Non-Con, Drugged Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Slut Shaming, Blood Sucking, Ownership Kink, Female Reader, Breast Worship, Hickeys, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Begging, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, Possessive Reiji, Light Edging, Canon Typical Reiji Cruelty, I couldn’t just write porn I had to write a character study too lol, Slight Laito x Reader, Tagging non-con for the consent issues surrounding drugged sex, Reader is conscious and responsive but very high

Word Count: 2331

A/N: Please be mindful of the tags! This is the most explicit thing that I have ever written lmaoooo 🥂

Read it on AO3!

Reiji’s lab spun in a nauseating carousel of color. The last thing you remembered was drinking a beautiful, shimmering liquid that Reiji said he had brewed himself. It fizzed all the way down your throat, an insistent warmth quickly spreading throughout your body. Now sprawled across his sofa, you surrendered to dizzying oblivion. Somewhere above you, Reiji scribbled furiously in a black notebook, tutting irritably.

“Tell me what you are feeling. Be specific.” You swallowed thickly at the order, begging your tongue to move.

“The…...the room…..the room is-”

“Spit it out, I don’t have all day.”

“S-spinning. The room….is spinning” you slurred.

“How fast?”

“Fast.”

“I said how fast?”

“I….I can’t….”

Reiji tsked angrily, snapping his notebook shut. Flinching, you tried to turn away from his sharp gaze but a cold hand pinned you flat against the couch. Your delayed reaction time was no match for his vampiric strength.

“I can feel your heart racing from here,” he said, curling over you, pinning your wrists above your head. “Had I known you were such weak prey I would have given you a smaller dose. It isn’t as fun when you can’t fight back.” You wriggled underneath him, jerking weakly against his cruel grip. Reiji laughed, amused at your feeble attempts to escape.

“Although, I don’t hate this delirious expression,” he murmured, lowering his face towards yours. You squeezed your eyes shut, overwhelmed by his hungry stare. “I suppose this isn’t bad every once and a while.” His rich baritone rumbled in your ear, his proximity making you tremble.

“I didn’t think I’d interrupt this so soon,” interrupted a dark chuckle. Laito lounged against the doorframe of the lab, eyeing your entwined forms. “You must really like this one, Reiji,” he teased. Reiji’s iron grip tightened around your wrists and you whimpered pitifully. “It’s rude to enter someone’s room without knocking,” Reiji spat imperiously. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer!” Laito insisted, his eyes glinting with mirth. “But now I can see you were a bit distracted.” You lolled your head to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Laito’s smirk widened.

“Christ, what did you do to her?”

“Such language is atrocious. You shouldn’t speak that way.”

“You fucked up the dosage, didn’t you?” Reiji shot up quickly at the accusation, swiping his notebook from the couch as he crossed briskly back towards his desk. Laito’s smirk cracked into a grin.

“Do you need something, Laito?” Reiji asked coolly. As Reiji began tidying his work space, Laito sauntered over to the couch, his green gaze boring into you. Crouching down, he gently brushed his fingers across your cheek. You shivered under his cold touch. “I came for the aphrodisiac you promised me,” Laito said, trailing his fingers down your neck. He stopped to trace the hollow of your throat, caressing it with his thumb. “But if you don’t have it, I’m sure there are other ways we can pass the time inst-”

“Of course I have it,” Reiji scoffed. Plucking a vial of blue liquid from his stores, he crossed the room and offered it to Laito. “Now please take it and leave.” Reiji’s words hung in the air like frost. Laito rose languidly, like a cobra rearing back to strike, then swiped the vial from Reiji’s gloved hand.

“Maybe next time, Bitch-Chan,” Laito said, winking at you. “And Reiji,” Laito called, pivoting in the doorframe for one last jab. “I know it can be hard to control yourself, especially this close to a full moon, but try not to tear this one up like the last one, ok? You should save some for the rest of us.”

“Get out!” Reiji snarled, storming across the room. Laito darted off, disappearing as quickly as he had come. Reiji slammed the door behind him.

The ceiling swam before you in lethargic swirls of periwinkle. You had no idea what Laito meant, but you could feel Reiji fuming in the doorway. What was he talking about? Reiji never lost his cool. You couldn’t imagine him doing something like that. “You let him touch you,” Reiji seethed.

“Reiji, I...I didn’t….I didn't want-”

“Please be silent.Your behavior today has been dreadful.” Reiji prowled towards the couch, his long shadow casting a dark pall across your face. You closed your eyes, terrified to meet his furious eyes. “You couldn't do a thing?” He queried, towering above you. “You couldn’t cry out? Or swat him away?” His voice was ice.

“I…..I froze….”

“I suppose that’s to be expected from a woman like you,”

“I’m so-sorry,”

“How should I punish my little harlot?” Finally bending down towards you, Reiji cupped your face firmly with his gloved hand. “Your pupils are still so dilated. I doubt you’d feel my whip at all.” The thought made you shiver, and not completely out of fear. Reiji thumbed your lip idly as he thought.

“Suck….my blood?” He tsked at your suggestion.

“You ask for it so brazenly, sometimes I think you enjoy it. Hands up.” You heaved your arms up over your head as Reiji smoothly rolled your top up your body, tossing it aside once it was completely off.

“I suppose it’s my fault. I’ve been too lax with you,” he mused, settling firmly on top of you. You were particularly aware of his pelvis, pressing insistently against the cradle of your thighs. He cupped your face, drawing you close. “I need to teach you exactly who you belong to,” he said, his gaze drifting down hungrily to the column of your neck. “I’ll remind you so thoroughly of your place that even a dumb whore like you will be able to remember who owns her,” he promised, sinking his teeth viciously into your throat.

Reiji’s first bite was hard and precise, the sharp pain briefly thrusting you into lucid panic. But soon you were left with the warm afterglow of pleasure in the wake of its pain. It never stopped hurting, not entirely, but his bites always left you with a fluttering warmth. Reiji’s mouth was on you. You couldn’t help but enjoy it.

Reiji began a fast, desperate rhythm that pulled blood from you quickly, sending you reeling. You whimpered as your world whirled impossibly faster. When darkness began to flicker at the edges of your vision Reiji pulled away, burying his face into your neck. “You bring out the worst in me,” he sighed. Mouthing along your throat, he continued downward towards your collarbone. You braced yourself for another bite, but recoiled sharply when Reiji placed a delicate kiss upon your chest.

“Look at me, jealous of that pervert.” He kissed your chest again, skimming his fingers across the delicate skin of your décolletage. “Arch your back.” Curving your spine upwards, your body brushed against Reiji’s lean frame. You trembled as his hands ghosted along your back, making their way towards the clasp of your bra. Reiji unhooked it with quick ease then tossed the lacy fabric away, greedily cupping your naked breasts. A thin, breathy gasp escaped from you as Reiji dipped between them, kissing your soft curves. You tangled your hands in his hair, humming your approval. In response he tweaked your nipple harshly, sending a jolt of pain through your cloud of pleasure. You yelped at the enticing contrast.

“Let me remind you of your place. You are nothing more than food to me,” he said, pinching your nipple again with a renewed vengeance. You drunkenly brought your hands back to push him away, but he easily pinned them back above your head. “You are meat. Your blood is the only worthwhile thing about you.” Reiji sunk his teeth into the swell of your breast, drawing deep from you. Crying out, you tried to ignore the pleasure his bite ignited in you, trying to focus only on the pain.

“I can taste your arousal,” he groaned between mouthfuls. “Does your masochism know no bounds?” Reiji’s insults didn’t last as he dove back down again to litter your chest with angry bites. He’d kiss you, so tenderly it was almost painful, then pierce your sensitive skin with his sharp, pointed fangs. Once satisfied, he’d lick, suck and kiss the abused spot until an angry mark began to form. He left bruises everywhere in his wake, a garden of purple hickeys blossoming across your breasts.

The drug made it nearly impossible to meaningfully fight back but you didn’t really want to. Reiji’s words stung, but you so rarely had his attention like this. Was it because the full moon was close? You knew vampires had trouble controlling their urges when the moon was full. And Reiji so desperately wanted control: of his brothers, of you, of himself. Was this frenzied beast the real Reiji, or was his protesting, rigid persona the real him? Impossibly, you knew he had to be both. Both enraptured and repulsed by his own desires and completely unable to hide it. That was really why he was mad. Reiji’s wet tongue interrupted your musings as he lapped against your sore nipple, sending a shudder through your entire body. Unable to remove your wrists from his grasp, you retaliated by wrapping your legs around his hips, trapping him against you. Now it was Reiji’s turn to shudder, rutting himself against your core. He was hard.

“My, you really are out of it,” he murmured, grinding himself against you openly. “It’s the only explanation.”

“Explanation for what?” You panted, trying to match his thrusts. Reiji released your wrists, propping himself up on his left arm. Delicately biting the fabric across the tip of his pointer finger, he slid his glove from his hand. Ripping it away, Reiji’s bare hand skimmed down your body and over your curves. Flipping up your skirt, his fingers slid between your thighs.

“For this,” he says, tracing your wetness through your panties. Your eyes fluttered shut. “Reiji,” you breathed, arching towards his fingers.

“Say my name,” Reiji ordered softly, dipping underneath the fabric and rewarding you with long, firm strokes. You called his name again and he moved up towards your clit, circling it once before quickly pulling away. You whined at the loss.

Reiji begins a vicious rhythm, rubbing your clit with firm circles, then backing off when your pleasure mounts. He only returns to your clit when you beg him to, crying out for him. Fisting your hands in his shirt, you whine in frustration as a needy ache builds inside you. Reiji just smirks down at you, enjoying your torment. When tears start building in your eyes, he finally slides a slender finger into your heat. Beckoning upward along your inner wall, he firmly massages your g spot. Mindlessly, you grind down on his fingers, chasing your pleasure.

“Who makes you feel this good?” he asks, his ruby eyes alight with lust.

“You do,” you gasp.

“I asked you who,” he demanded, cruelly massaging your inner wall. You jerk at the pressure, almost cresting over the plateau.

“Reiji! Reiji Sakamaki!” you cry, desperate for release.

“Good girl,” he smirks, thumbing your clit. You gasp in delight, the rough, consistent circles of his fingers finally hurtling you towards your peak. “You don’t deserve this,” he growls in your ear, his deep velvety voice bewitching you. “But when I see you like this, I can’t stop myself. You’re mine.” Your orgasm hits you hard, squeezing Reiji’s fingers in hot contractions. Pleasure washes over you in a wave, your entire being gently pulsing. Reiji smugly guides you through your orgasm, only stopping his ministrations once your twitching has ceased. You sigh, melting back into the cushions of the couch. Above you, a belt buckle clinks.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Reiji says, gripping your thighs and yanking you forcefully back towards him. As he settles above you, he presses the tip of his member against your eager entrance. Pushing forward, Reiji sinks into you with ease. “My little harlot is so wet for me,” he teases, before setting a ruthless pace.

Reiji fucks you selfishly, chasing his own pleasure now that he’s satisfied yours. You lay back, still enjoying the lingering effects of his drug. His thrusts pull soft, pleasured moans from you as he plunges desperately into you. Closing your eyes, you revel in the sensations, happy to let him use you. Occasionally he’ll sheathe himself all the way inside of you and grind desperately against your cervix, trying to get as deep as he can.

“I can’t believe you like this. That you like me,” he pants softly, definitely to himself. Reiji lets you pull him down so that he is completely flush against your body. “I do. I like you, Reiji.” A groan rips from him and he stills, spilling himself inside of you.

You stay that way for a moment, holding each other tenderly in the afterglow of your love-making. You wish you could stay like this, enjoying the feeling of his body as it presses you into the cushions, gently stroking his back as both of your breathing returns to normal. But Reiji recovers faster than you do. “I’ll clean you up,” he offers, his tone clipped.

Reiji cleans you thoroughly with a warm wet towel, which feels strange but is not unenjoyable in your impaired state. It’s deeply intimate in a way that is definitely uncomfortable, but you think it’s his way of taking care of you. You close your eyes, pliant. His large hands drift over your body, tugging your top back over you and righting your skirt. Once he is finished you curl on your side, completely spent and ready to sleep. As you begin to drift off, you feel something warm and soft envelop you. A blanket? Maybe. Where did he get a blanket?

Reiji watches as you snuggle into the blanket he has recently taken to keeping in his desk, a genuine smile flickering across his stern features.

#reiji sakamaki #diabolik lovers #reiji x reader #Reiji Sakamaki x Reader #my little harlot #the night shift

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stusbunker · 4 years

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What Lingers Within: Four

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini Series

Featuring: Past Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Summary: Sam gets a voicemail, a flashback and our reader faces off with Katelyn.

Word Count: 1397 (I’m sorry it’s a short week)

Written for: @thisismysecrethappyplace

Warnings: Grief, attempted manslaughter

Beta’d by: @itmighthavebeenintentional

Beta’d and Aesthetic by: @thoughtslikeaminefield

Series Masterlist

^*^*^

Dean was pissed with Cas; he hadn’t responded to any of their messages. Which also meant that he hadn’t bothered to contact Y/N about her memories. Which suddenly was a bigger offense than dodging him and Sam for weeks on end. Dean didn’t realize how badly he wanted to have her look at him again, really look at him. He wanted her to rip him a new one, or something. Anything that could ease the thrumming loss of her touch. He felt like an addict who had just been exposed to his drug of choice after years on the wagon. His veins called out for her.

Dean bent over the steering wheel, watching the clouds in the sky as a personal threat to his baby. Sam was on his phone beside him, annoying his brother by just breathing.

“Huh,” Sam said, bringing his phone to his ear. “Michelle called.”

“And?” Dean pressed.

“And I’m listening to my voicemail,” Sam rolled his eyes. “I guess she took her to work to clear off her desk, but that was thirty minutes ago and now she’s not answering Michelle’s texts.”

“She might have been sidetracked? You know people butting in after everything.” Dean tried downplaying it.

“Office busy-bodies. Sure.” Sam flipped his hair toward the window as he hit redial. Dean couldn’t hold onto logical indifference for long. “Just keep driving. Michelle? Sam Winchester. Where is she—-And how long has it been since you saw her? Alright, don’t go into the office we don’t know who’s in on this—- We’re about an hour away.”

“At this time of day, it’s closer to two, Sam,” Dean growled, throwing the car into an illegal U-turn. Sam nodded in agreement as he listened.

“Alright, keep us posted. We’re on our way. Yeah, bye,” Sam ended the call.

“Goddamn it!” Dean hit the steering wheel and floored the gas.

“Hey, we’ll find her,” Sam bullshitted reassurance.

Dean didn’t respond, just inhaled and locked onto the road ahead.

^*^*^

She didn’t know how Dean got there without getting himself or someone else killed. His eyes held at half mast and he smelled like a tavern dumpster. She knew it was bad, but she couldn’t know how bad. The worst, in fact.

She manhandled him up the back steps and onto the couch. Letting him sleep it off, not bothering with the state of him until he could get himself into the shower. She never believed in babying him. She pushed open the curtains around noon, letting the sunshine pelt over every inch of drool and whiskey stink he had on him. The day moved forward on grunts and her brusque replies, always a notch or two too loud. She pushed him out of his misery into a hungover rage, but at least it meant he was talking.

Dean couldn’t even get pissed, he was so broken. He yelled because that’s what she was expecting him to do. But what was the point? The fight had left him. He dropped down onto the kitchen chair and buried his face against the table and cried. He didn’t face her, he barely even flinched when she snaked her arms in and held him. Finally, she could start to understand.

Sam was gone. The world spun on, but Dean couldn’t. Not yet.

^*^*^

Brain damage is more severe the longer someone is unconscious, that was your first thought upon waking up. You had been knocked out twice in four days; that couldn’t be good. At least this time it was a drugging, somebody had gotten you on the street in the middle of rush hour. Your nasal passages stung with the aftermath.

Slowly, you realized you were in a type of basement or service tunnel, surrounded by concrete with no discernible exit. They hadn’t bothered to tie you up, which would have made you laugh if you weren’t in danger of being murdered at any moment. You took quiet breaths, trying to figure out where you were in reference to your captors and what you were going to do once they came back for you. God, why had you ever taken this stupid job?!

Suddenly you remembered that Michelle had texted you and you worried that she was in danger somewhere else, or if she was still waiting in the timed parking spot for you to walk out with the meager belongings from your desk. A mix of fear Michelle had gone looking for you and something not quite hope she called Dean or Sam cascaded through you as Katelyn strutted back into your line of vision.

“Well, looks like somebody is up and at ‘em,” was her obnoxiously obvious greeting.

You didn’t reply, just glared at her superior expression as she walked closer. The whole space was grimy, and you tried not to dwell on the smell, beyond mildew there was a gaseous odor that made you feel on edge. Maybe it was just side effects from the drugs. You tried not to gag.

“You’re probably wondering where I’ve got you— hoping your asshole con men will come to your rescue?” Katelyn goaded.

You stood up, facing her pointed features and rolled your shoulders. “Not really. I’m just wondering where your muscle wandered off to.”

As she started to chuckle, looking to the shadowed service door she had slinked out of, you dove for her. She let out a short shriek as you tackled her, using your momentum and what strength you had to hold her down. You palmed her mouth, trying to keep her from calling out for help. She squirmed against you, but your weight on her chest left her out of breath and pinned in place. You ignored her fists as they struck out at any part of you they could reach. Her nose flared with the effort, and you looked into her eyes with satisfaction at the fear you found there amongst the threaded lashes and botox.

“You are seriously the worst. And I hope you rot in hell,” you spat, slamming her head into the damp floor.

Somehow you had no qualms with battering her skull until she passed out, she was capable of anything at this point and you needed to neutralize her before you could escape. You had no idea where the rage with a side of tactical logic came from, but with the urge to win was stronger now that you had your hands on the bitch; you leaned into it.

Forcefully, you pushed into her sides with your knees, reinstating your tight hold before reaching your freehand up to pinch her nose. You weren’t sure the time difference between unconsciousness and death, but this was the least brutal thing that you could do. You stared straight ahead, beyond her and what you were doing.

If you didn’t watch, you couldn’t remember doing it.

An eternity later, she went limp. You counted to twenty and let go of her face. Katelyn remained still. Closing your eyes against what you had been driven to do, you slowly peeled yourself off of her body. Your legs protesting as your circulation evened out once more.

It stung to take in air, the sour taste in your mouth only amplified by the stench. If still she had back up, you hadn’t seen or heard them since you had come to. Was escape even possible at this point? Frantically you looked around the room, with nowhere to hide and only one exit it seemed inevitable. You needed to move, especially if Katelyn was going to wake up. You needed to get help.

You needed a phone.

Naturally, yours was nowhere to be found, but that didn’t stop you from tentatively searching Katelyn’s pants for hers. Thank whoever, it was there and it was unlocked. You went to messages and at the top of the list of conversations was one with an unread message. Ignoring the temptation, you dialed your own number hoping someone heard it in the alley, wishing you still knew phone numbers by heart so you could call Michelle directly.

Actively avoiding calling 9-1-1 went against everything you had been taught, but you had just potentially committed manslaughter. Besides, after Katelyn’s release you had started to doubt the system more than ever before. When the phone rang through to your voicemail, you shoved your hand in your back pocket only to find your salvation.

^*^*^

Series tags: @tiggytaylor @vicmc624

Gen SPN tags: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @thoughtslikeaminefield @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @princessofthefandomrealm @wingedcatninja

^*^*^

Read On: Chapter Five

#what lingers within #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #amnesia #dean angst #suffocation #flashback #dean winchester x reader

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darkwing-katy · 7 years

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Second Chance - Part Eight

Guys, I’m posting this from my new home in Florida! Whoot-whoot!

Thank you so, so much for your patience with me. My life has gotten incredibly hectic, and it’s taken me a while to be able to update. But it’s finally here, chapter eight of Second Chance! It will be a while before chapter nine comes out since I’ve got to unpack and apply for jobs and get settled in here. Thanks to all who have commented on this fic or messaged me--I still jump for joy when I get a notification that someone’s said something about it! Let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming chapters! Special thanks to @sannvers who is busy with band camp and still managed to edit for me.

Title: Second Chance

Pairing: Eventual Gaston x Fem!Reader

Rating: T

Words: 7,466

Summary: You try to stop Gaston from shooting the Beast and falling to his death, but you arrive too late to save him. As you sit there, sobbing, the Enchantress offers you a second chance to save him.

Tagging: @i-wished-upon-a-star-one-night @with-a-hint-of-pesto-aioli@hobbithorse19@leah5684 @princessbelgoof @captainskyline @theoncergames@geeky-girl-394@were-allstoriesinthe-end084 @brooke-supernatural16@certainasthesvn@jordyhaley @superlokidwholock @smilesnjh @prongspower@bitchingqueenoferebor@scarletdarkholme @hemmingbaes @bae-kage @areuslow@lovelylpevensie@uknwwhttheysayboutthecrzy1s @moonbeams-and-pie @17gnomes-in-a-trenchcoat @superwholockedrosx @panda-reads-stuff @ultimatetrashlord@elenawrit@the7thsilence @blackxthexbeast @rainwing-galaxy @arkhamsnight @imoyu-trashblog @martapetrovic @ciaprincess @juggernaut-jones@fangirlx26@fangirlx26 @epicfallenismine @izzymaria1994 @loveablelulu13 @malfoy-milkovich-royalty @kylorenlover15 @banana-cat @withouthannah @stone0502 @shiroyuki18 @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag @lainris @banana-cat @samaxraph99 @honey-badger-dont-give-a@daisiesflower @afairytaledreamer @flufycorn384 @lovelyturtle36 @kairi73 @aerondrage @softbcky @pnchingwalls101 @chalatea @crowleysfavoritehuman @afairytaledream @silverwingedfox @asymmetrical-flower-child @my-whataguythat-gaston @elyza-jeanette @migirl323 @soulgirl518 @betterlattethennever @bonemarrow-writes

Previous Chapter

“I still don’t understand why you wouldn’t let us take a carriage,” Adam grumbled, though he was only half-serious.

“You’re enjoying this just as much as (Y/N) and I are, so stop complaining,” Belle replied, rolling her eyes.

It was a bright morning, with not a cloud in sight. For now, a gentle breeze cooled you, but you knew that come afternoon, it would be quite warm in the direct sunlight. You leaned forward and patted your horse’s neck; you were going at a slow enough pace that you felt comfortable doing such.

The three of you were en route to Villenueve to officially announce the engagement of Prince Adam and Belle, and also to invite the whole town to the wedding celebration. The happy couple had decided they didn’t want to wait too long, so the wedding was to be held in the beginning of August. Today marked the beginning of July, which meant you had a month to plan the festivities.

It was a bit daunting, but considering Adam had dozens of servants, you were fairly certain it could be done. In fact, tonight, you, Belle, and Adam were to have a meeting after dinner to start discussing the details.

You allowed your thoughts to drift to Gaston, whom you’d visited briefly before leaving. He’d been asleep deep enough that your approach hadn’t woken him, and you’d decided to let him continue sleeping. You had left enough food for both breakfast and lunch with him, since you weren’t sure if you would be back at the castle until evening. He hadn’t stirred, not even when you accidentally set the tray down too fast and the plates had clinked together. Macbeth was sitting next to him, a piece of straw marking his place.

Remembering the sight brought a faint smile to your lips, at least, until you thought about his uncharacteristic behavior last night. Your smile faded at the memory of the depressed man who hadn’t even bothered flirting with you. LeFou will have an idea of what to do, I’m sure. Although should I even bother cheering him up? Maybe this is the slap in the face he needs to realize his faults.

“…right, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head and looked at Belle. “What?” you asked.

Belle smiled. “I was just telling Adam about how I thought we should have doves released from behind us once the priest declares us man and wife,” she replied.

You frowned. That didn’t sound like Belle at all. “Really?”

“No!” Belle shook her head at you, her eyebrows creasing as if she was disappointed in you for believing her. “Are you alright? You’ve been awfully quiet this morning.”

“I’m fine.” One of her eyebrows raised in doubt. “Really, I am!”

“Did something happen last night?”

“No! Everything is fine!” you insisted. You met Belle’s eyes with your own in the hopes that she would drop the issue. She squinted a little bit, as if trying to peer past your defensiveness, but you met her gaze steadily. You could handle Gaston; she had a whole wedding to plan.

She blew a tuft of air out her nose and turned back to her fiancé, knowing that you were just as stubborn as she was and that if you didn’t want to answer her properly, you weren’t going to. The small victory made you smile internally, though you were careful to not let it show on your face.

Adam must’ve sensed the rising tension, as he suddenly cut in with a, “I think I’ll ask Lumière to be my best man.”

Both you and Belle smiled at him, the momentary tension dropped. “Oh, he’ll enjoy that,” Belle grinned. “He’ll be singing about it for days before and after the wedding, just to annoy Cogsworth.”

Adam winked. “I’m almost counting on it.”

You imagined the tall man you’d met yesterday dancing around the older servant and laughed, catching the prince’s attention.

“Will you be alright dancing with him for a song or two, (Y/N)?” he asked, turning his blue eyes on you. “Plumette won’t mind.”

“Who’s Plumette?” You remembered hearing her name a few other times, but you’d yet to meet the woman.

He thought for a moment before replying. “You’ve seen the Madame and the Maestro, haven’t you?”

You nodded.

“Plumette is Lumière’s love. She’s one of the maids in the castle, and Lumière is utterly devoted to her.” Adam glanced at Belle as he said that, prompting a soft smile from her. You blushed at his words and actions, feeling once more like you were intruding on a private moment between lovers.

“If she’s his lover, then are you certain that she will be okay with us dancing?” you asked slowly.

Both Adam and Belle nodded. “Oh, yes, I’m positive of it,” he affirmed. “But I will say, Lumière is quite the dancer. Are you up for that?”

You and Belle started laughing at the seriousness on his face. He scrunched up his face in confusion. “Your highness, I enjoy dancing,” you said, still laughing. “I just don’t get the opportunity to dance very often.”

A sudden vision played in your mind’s eye: you, in a cream-colored ballgown, surrounded by many, many other couples in similar colors. Maestro Cadenza sitting at his harpsichord, the beautiful Madame de Garderobe next to him, arms outstretched as she sings a marvelous aria. You with Lumière, smiling at each other; the feeling of floating as you glide around the grand ballroom that you so admired. A bow, another spin, a partner switch. You look into green eyes that smirk at you, matching the expression on your new partner’s lips. Firm hands grasp you, one around your waist, the other holding your hand out as you begin a waltz. The rest of the dancers fade away, leaving only you and Gaston and the music. He’s wearing a red vest over his usual ruffled shirt. His hair is perfectly coiffed into its usual ponytail, a red ribbon tying it back. You let him lead you in the steps, fully trusting that he knows what he’s doing.

The vision vanished as quickly as it had appeared, only lasting a few blissful seconds.

“Well, I’m sure he’ll be happy to have a partner like you,” Adam said, eyes twinkling. You nodded at him, and the conversation turned to food. You paid attention and chimed in when you felt like you had a worthy comment, but for the most part, you let the engaged couple discuss the meal. After all, it was their day.

By the time you all but reached the village, the meal had been decided upon as well as a general idea of decorations. During the last few moments before entering Villenueve, you noticed Adam sitting up even straighter, his casual demeanor still there but somewhat diminished as he made himself more…princely. He looked calm to your eyes as you rode into town, but when Belle put a gentle hand on his arm, you realized he must be nervous. After all, hadn’t you heard yesterday that he’d used to tax the villagers heavily? The poor man probably felt guilty for his pre-curse self’s actions.

A crowd gathered around you three as you went further in. You felt uncomfortable with the amount of attention on you, even though you were certain everyone was watching the royal couple more than you. Why couldn’t we have simply had the town crier announce it? you allowed yourself to wonder as you tried to sit up straighter. It would’ve made this much, much easier.

But you knew part of the reason, at least, was Adam’s guilt. He wanted to show that he was no longer the man who would let a village suffer to pay for his pleasures. He wanted to demonstrate that he was approachable, a prince that they could rely on and trust. It was all an effort to fix his image, although you were also certain that even if the villagers all hated him, he would be content as long as he had Belle’s love.

Would Gaston do the same? He clearly felt some guilt for his actions, based on the conversations you’d had with him. He might not apologize out loud for what he did, but showing remorse counted. Well, in your mind it did, but only because you were sure that his pride would never allow him to fully apologize the way he should. It bothered you, but you shrugged it off. After all, you win some, you lose some.

You scanned the crowd for LeFou but didn’t see him. The three of you continued through the marketplace and stopped at the washing fountain, where you all dismounted. The crowd followed you and stood there, muttering to one another about the reasons why the prince had come to town. Adam sucked in a deep breath as Belle tucked her arm around his. You looked for LeFou again and spotted him in the middle of the villagers, Tom, Dick, and Stanley standing by him. He gave you a small wave that you reciprocated. Suddenly you felt a lot better about everything.

“People of Villenueve, I have a very important announcement to make,” Adam began, his voice silencing the curious murmurs. “I know I haven’t been the best prince in the past, and for that, I am deeply sorry. I promise you, it will never be like that again.” All eyes were on him and Belle. “As part of my amends, I would like to invite you all to a royal ball next month. It’s not just any ball, though.” He looked at Belle, who beamed at him. You heard a couple close to you whispering, but you couldn’t make out their words.

“It will be a ball of celebration—celebration of a curse being broken, celebration of families being reunited, and, most importantly, the celebration of Belle and I’s marriage.”

It felt as if everyone was holding their breath in the seconds that followed his announcement. Then someone began to clap. The lone clapper was soon followed by cheers and shouts and even more clapping as the whole town joined in. Even the Bimbettes and the schoolmaster, who hated Belle, were whooping at the announcement. You grinned; the clapping had started from the part of the crowd you’d seen LeFou in.

You looked back at the engaged couple. Belle was laughing and covering her mouth at the sight before her. You looked closer and saw that her eyes were watering—the town who called her ‘funny’ and practically ostracized her at times was now cheering for her with genuine joy. She didn’t need their acceptance, but you could see that it still meant a lot for her.

You couldn’t deny a perverse sense of pleasure at the scene. You hated it when everyone had made fun of your friend and her kind father (and you, occasionally). Now that she was marrying a prince, they wouldn’t dare speak against her so openly. She wouldn’t have to worry about Maurice being called ‘crazy’ or thrown into an asylum (granted, that was more Gaston’s fault than anyone else’s, but still). She could finally stop worrying about what Villenueve thought of her.

A man—Monsieur Ames, who often sold eggs in the market and flirted with Madame Charee—stepped forward, his arm raised. Adam nodded at him. “Congratulations, your highnesses,” Ames said, bowing to both him and Belle. “I just—did you say we were all invited?”

Belle laughed. “Yes, of course! There’s room for everyone who wants to come,” she replied with a kind smile.

Ames’s dark eyes widened in pleasant surprise. “Thank you, your highnesses! Let me know if you need any eggs!” He bowed again and turned to step back into the crowd.

“Actually, we wanted to let everyone know that you are all welcome to participate in our preparations,” Belle added. “We’ll need help to get everything ready on time.”

All of a sudden, everyone began throwing their arms up with shouts of what they could volunteer to the wedding. Some of it was unnecessary, you knew—Belle was planning on working with Garderobe to design her wedding gown, so she wouldn’t need the seamstresses, and you were fairly certain that Lumière would be insulted if someone not of the castle cooked the meal. But there were many offers to help get the grounds ready, and you knew that would be a task that would require lots of teamwork to get done.

You caught another glimpse of LeFou in the crowd, and this time, he made eye contact with you. The both of you smiled, and he pointed towards the tavern. “Meet there?” he mouthed—or maybe he said it, but it wasn’t like you’d be able to hear him. You gave a nod of affirmation, hoping that he’d understand it might be a while. With a grin, he spun around and headed in that direction.

You sighed. You were eager to talk to him, but first things first. You returned your gaze to Adam and Belle, who were already talking to villagers about what they could do to help. Oh, yes, it was definitely going to be a while.

You slumped down into a chair and let your head slide to the table. Lefou laughed. “Long day?”

“You have no idea,” you mumbled against the rough wood. He laughed again, and you slowly lifted your head up. “And they’re still at it. I have no clue how they do it.” You’d talked to maybe a third of the villagers before eating lunch with Maurice, then you’d left Belle and Adam to continue talking to the villagers on their own while you met LeFou. Their patience and politeness had no end, it seemed.

Then again, Belle would probably say the same about you if she knew the depth of your interactions with Gaston.

Before you could bring up the captain, Stanley, followed closely by Tom and Dick, walked up to your table. He had two mugs in hand, as did Tom (or was it Dick? You never could tell them apart). “Brought you another drink,” he said easily, setting both mugs down. “There’s one for you, too, mademoiselle,” he added, sliding one mug to you.

At first you were confused by his actions, but then you saw that Tom (at least, you’d decided you were calling him Tom) also had two mugs of ale, one of which he gave to Stanley. “Thanks,” you said, grinning at the man. A little beer would be nice right now. I’ve earned it, you thought, grabbing the handle and taking a gulp. The bitter liquid made you splutter; you didn’t drink often, and you were unused to it. The men chuckled at your reaction, but you could tell it wasn’t out of meanness. With watering eyes, you choked down the drink and gave them a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

“Maybe next time you shouldn’t take such a big gulp,” Dick said helpfully.

“Yeah, good idea,” you muttered, pushing the mug away from your body. After shaking your head, you sat up to better face them all. “So…erm…” Well, this was awkward. How on earth were you supposed to ask LeFou about Gaston with them around? “How are you?”

Great, (Y/N). Engage them in conversation. That’s the way to get LeFou by himself.

“Good,” Tom replied. Dick shrugged in agreement.

Stanley’s eyes flicked to LeFou and back. “Good,” he agreed quietly.

You opened your mouth again, but before you could ask another generic question, LeFou leaned forward and spoke: “We’ve been asking around about Gaston,” he said in a low tone.

You flinched at Gaston’s name. Wait, did he tell them the truth? you wondered, feeling suddenly nervous. You’d trusted the shorter man—surely he wouldn’t betray your trust like that!

“Yeah, LeFou mentioned that you were helping him plan the funeral, so we helped him ask people to attend,” Dick said after taking a gulp of beer.

You felt a wave of relief at his words. LeFou hadn’t told them the truth. The secret was safe (for now, the dark voice in your mind muttered). “How did that go?”

From the looks of the four men in front of you, not well. “It seems that most of the townspeople are still mad about the whole storming the castle and unwittingly leading them to destroy their loved ones,” LeFou explained.

You winced. Well, when you put it that way…I can’t really blame them. “Fair enough. And that’s everyone, you said?”

“Pretty much,” said Tom.

“Except maybe a few,” Stanley indicated the table.

Dick waved a finger. “And a few that are not currently present.”

“Such as Jean and Ames and Stanley’s sisters—” continued Tom.

“Sisters?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“You know, the triplets?” Tom looked at you like he was genuinely surprised you didn’t know.

“Wait, the Bimb—the triplets?” you exclaimed in disbelief. You looked at Stanley, who lifted his mug in acknowledgement. “Those girls are your sisters?”

“Yes, they are,” he sighed and took a drink.

Well, there’s something you don’t find out every day. “Well…it’s good that not everyone hates him,” you said, more to yourself than to the rest of the table.

“Not that it matters,” interrupted Dick, “since he’s dead.”

“To Gaston!” declared Tom, who’d somehow almost finished his mug and lifted it up. Dick and Stanley echoed him also raising their mugs for a drink.

You felt warmth creep up your neck at their sadness. You knew it was for the best that they didn’t know of his survival right now, but you still felt guilty that they were mourning their friend.

LeFou sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I need some air,” he mumbled, playing along with the dampened mood. You took that as your cue and stood.

“I’ll come with you. I need to go back to the castle soon, anyway.”

“Will you be alright?” Stanley asked the stout man as he rose from his chair.

LeFou patted Stanley’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Thanks.” He smiled at him, and for a moment, you felt like you were missing something between them. You gave yourself a mental shrug, chalking it up to their friendship. After all, you and Belle could sometimes speak without words.

“Goodbye,” you told them, giving a small wave. They all raised their mugs in farewell of you and LeFou, and you both made your way outside.

“Sorry about that,” LeFou said once you’d exited the tavern. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d take, and they’ve been staying close to me ever since Gaston’s…death.” He sighed.

You shook your head. “No, you don’t need to apologize. It’s good that they care enough about you to be concerned.” You automatically started walking towards Belle’s home, but LeFou pointed in a different direction.

“May I?” he asked, clearly having a place for you to talk in mind.

“Of course.”

You walked in silence for a few moments before he spoke again. “So, uh…how is our friend?” You could hear his eagerness at news. You felt a soft smile forming on your lips. LeFou truly was a good man.

You sighed, letting the smile drop. “Well, it’s odd,” you began, stepping around a mud puddle, “but he’s…different, I think.”

“Oh?”

“Was he ever depressed with you?”

LeFou stopped in his tracks. “Depressed?” he asked, tilting his head in confusion.

You nodded. “Yes. Depressed.”

“How so?”

He resumed walking, and you saw that you were going to a part of town you’d never really gone to before. The shops were sparse, instead replaced by a few small homes. Ahead of you was another archway that led out of Villenueve to the woods. Where are we going? “Well, Adam proposed to Belle yesterday evening, and apparently he saw it from the cell, and when I visited him last night, he was, I don’t know…sad. He kept going on and on about how he’d thought Belle was the one for him and how ‘of course, she’d marry him’—‘him’ meaning the prince—and he was much more introspective than I’ve ever seen him.”

The wind blew gently, rustling the leaves of the trees. You caught a glimpse of something in the woods. Is that a house?

“Has he been sleeping?” LeFou asked, almost sharply, like he was more concerned than you’d expected him to be.

“I would assume so,” you replied, frowning as you tried to recall if Gaston had seemed like he was getting enough sleep. “He was when I brought him food this morning.”

LeFou let out a short whoosh of air. “Good,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?” You were now almost certain that you could see a house in the woods. It was close enough to easily walk to and from town, but far enough that it earned a bit of comforting isolation.

“He has a history of not getting enough sleep,” came the shorter man’s hesitant reply.

“What?”

LeFou sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. “We were in the war together, you know? We fought and survived, but it was hard on him. He had nightmares about it almost every night for the first few months back.”

“I thought he loved the war? He told me it was glorious and fun.” You could make out the outline of the house and wondered if it was perhaps were LeFou lived.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have nightmares. You can love something and still be afraid of it.”

I suppose.

LeFou continued. “That’s how he was with it. I followed him back here after it ended, and he let me move into his home with him. That’s how I know about the nightmares. That’s also where his mood swings come from, I’m almost positive of it.” He stopped, and you wondered if he was done with his statement. “Did he talk to you about it at all? The war?”

Alright, maybe he wasn’t done. “A little. We were up late one night and he told he about being chased for three days.” That was the first night he asked me to stay.

“That was a hard three days…but he never once lost his grip, you know? He was always in control, always in command, even without sleep.” LeFou’s voice had taken on a wistful tone, like he was mentally reliving those days. “He was amazing.”

You felt yourself blushing at his reverence. You knew that LeFou loved the man, but it almost felt like you were intruding on his memories.

A comfortable silence fell between you two as you made your way to the small cottage. LeFou, ever the gentleman, opened the door for you and let you enter first. It was a bit dim inside as the sun was slowly setting and most of the windows faced the east rather than the west, but you could make out a few details: there was a black bearskin on the floor, a lavish wooden armchair sitting in front of an unlit fireplace, a simple table with benches, and there were odd shapes on the wall around the fireplace. As you observed your new surroundings, LeFou walked to the other side of the house and pulled back a piece of cloth that covered a few of the west-facing windows, illuminating everything. You saw that the odd shapes were simply animal heads—a buck rested directly above the fireplace, a smaller bear head to the left of it and a boar head to the right.

My God, there’s a lot of antlers here, you thought. Antlers crisscrossed over each other on the mantle, there were antlers hung on the wall, antlers inside a large wooden tub on another table. There was a small chandelier hanging from the ceiling—well, you say chandelier, but it was made of, of course, antlers and probably other bones.

“Yeah, Gaston really loves using antlers in his decorating,” LeFou explained, joining you and offering a cup of water. You took the offered drink and nodded, eyes wide at the overabundance of antlers.

“So I noticed.” There were also furs abound, most likely from all of the animals he’d hunted. There were also a few pillows, some of which had simple embroidery and others which had more elaborate designs. There was a large trunk against one corner of the wall, no doubt filled with more furs and blankets for the cold winters. “Did you make the pillows?”

LeFou scoffed. “I wish. No, those were all done by Gaston’s mother, the Madame Legume.” One in particular caught your eye—a faded red pillow with a black fleur-de-lis encircled by cream deer antlers. It was odd to see a fleur-de-lis here, since they were only for royalty to use in designs. Along the edges of the pillow were cream swirls and lines. “That one’s his favorite, too,” LeFou said quietly, following your line of sight.

“It’s not what I’d have expected from his mother,” you replied. “Did he ever talk to you about her?”

LeFou shrugged and motioned for you to sit in one of the chairs. “Not really,” he said, taking a seat next to you. “He doesn’t like talking about his family.”

“He told me his mother died in childbirth and that his father was a hunter, but that was about it. I got the impression that he and the Monsieur Legume didn’t get along.” You set your cup on the table and leaned back against the chair.

“I’m surprised he even told you that much.” The shorter man leaned back as well, his fingers dancing across the armrests. “He told me bits and pieces of his childhood when I served under him, usually when he was drunk. Then, when we came here and he invited me to move in with him, he revealed a little more.” He exhaled deeply and glanced at you. “I think his father blamed him for the death of his mother. A few times when he got really, really drunk, he rambled about never being good enough, never living up to her. For a while I thought he meant a woman that he’d loved and lost somehow, but then I realized it was his mother.”

You sat in silence, absorbing all of this information as he spoke. That sounds horrible. At least Papa never said anything of the sort to me.

“I think that’s why he’s so…himself, you know? He always wants attention because he never got it from someone he cared about.”

“He’s still trying to prove himself,” you murmured, not intending to interrupt LeFou but doing it nonetheless.

His brow furrowed. “What was that?”

You pursed your lips, trying to find the right words before elaborating. “If his father always told him he wasn’t good enough, maybe he was constantly doing things in order to prove himself. That’s why he became the best hunter. That’s why he joined the war. It might even be why he protected the town from those invaders years ago. He’s got a hero complex, but it’s not borne out of narcissism, however he may act like it is. It’s out of a desire to show that he is good enough.” And that in itself is sad. It doesn’t excuse his actions, but it explains them. All of the pieces of the puzzle that was Gaston were slowly falling into place the more you learned about him.

You could almost picture a young Gaston trying to earn his father’s favor by rallying up the villagers against the Portuguese. Afterwards, he might’ve gone up to the elder Legume and announced that he’d defended Villenueve, and the older man would’ve ‘hmmph’ed in response. So what could he do? A few years later, when the war presents the ultimate opportunity to prove his worth, naturally, he would join.

He said his father died during the war, though. So that means he must’ve come home, ready and eager to be commended at last for his status as Captain, and learned that he was dead, along with any chance of redeeming himself in his father’s eyes. Merde, that’s awful.

You suddenly wanted to embrace Gaston, and unlike previously, it wasn’t due to your crush. You sympathized with him.

“You said no one seems too upset about his ‘death’, right?” you asked, frowning.

LeFou shook his head. “Most of the villagers are still angry at him.”

You sighed. “Can’t say I blame them. He was horrible that night.” You sank your head into your hands. “What are we going to do? How are we going to let everyone know he’s still alive if they hate him?”

“If we could convince everyone else to give him a second chance, then the wedding would be a perfect time to announce his survival.”

“But what good will it do if everyone decides to riot against him?”

“Would they?”

“I don’t know!” You lifted your head and slammed your arms against the table. “Maybe that’s a worst-case scenario, maybe it’s not, but it doesn’t make a difference because I’m going to have to tell him that the people he wanted to adore him actually despise him!”

LeFou winced at your violent reaction. “That’s not gonna be fun at all,” he muttered.

“No, it’s not!” You inhaled and exhaled, trying to expel your frustration. It didn’t work, and you looked at a window to calm yourself down.

The sun had begun its descent, giving the outside a gold hue. You’d spent more time here than you’d meant to, and now you had to go back to the castle to give Gaston dinner. And possibly tell him about how many people hated him. And then plan a wedding.

“You seem frustrated. Are you okay, (Y/N)?” LeFou asked, concerned.

You considered faking a smile, then realized that he was too shrewd to let that fool him. “No,” you admitted. “It’s just…sometimes it’s hard, doing all this.” You returned your eyes to him, secretly appreciating the way he was leaning forwards, showing his genuinely concern for you. “It helps that you and Belle and the Prince know, but there’s just all this responsibility on me to take care of him and I wouldn’t change it for the world (Use it wisely echoed Agathe’s voice in your mind, conjuring up a mental picture of golden haze) but sometimes it’s just so damn hard.” Your voice cracked at the end of your rant, and you felt tears prick the corners of your eyes.

“Take deep breaths,” LeFou said gently, using his hands to illustrate inhaling and exhaling. You followed his movements, breathing in and out for a few minutes until you felt better. Once you let out a deep sigh, he took your hand in his. “It’s going to be alright, (Y/N). You did a good thing, and you did it for the right reasons. That doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy, but if you can convince an Enchantress to turn back time, then I think you can handle this.” He grinned at you. “You’re strong and smart, and if anyone can figure this out, it’s you. And I mean, I’ll help. And so will Belle!”

You felt yourself smiling at him, and this time, it wasn’t forced. “Thanks, LeFou. You’re amazing, you know?”

He laughed. “I try.”

You laughed, too, and sighed again. “I need to go. But thank you for everything—you’re right, we’ll figure this out.” You scooted your chair back and stood, stretching. “I’ll see you around, okay? And you’re always welcome to come to the castle and visit, even if you don’t want to visit him yet.”

“Thanks, (Y/N).”

You waved goodbye to him and opened the door. The outside air was still warm, but it was pleasant. Perfect weather for a slow evening ride back to the castle.

If you rode slowly enough, you could use the time to mull on your conversation with LeFou. He’d given you a lot to think about.

You took your time going up the steps to the cell. Not because you were reluctant—rather, you were eager to see Gaston—but because you were still mulling. You felt certain in your conclusions about the captain; they made a lot of sense in regards to his personality and actions.

I don’t know if I could ever ask him, though. Would he even trust me with that kind of intimate knowledge? He only told LeFou when he was drunk, and LeFou’s his best friend. Still…I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like growing up. No wonder he craved attention from the villagers.

Gaston didn’t acknowledge you when you entered the cell. He was once again leaning against the wall of the open door, but he didn’t ooze charisma the way he normally did. If anything, you felt as if he was angry: his entire body seemed stiff, and when you walked over to be across from him, you saw his mouth twitch.

“I see you’ve finally deigned to visit. Apparently I’m not worthy of your presence anymore,” he said, venom lacing his words.

You flinched at the harshness of his tone. Where the hell is this coming from? “I’m sorry?” was all you could think to say as you slid down the wall to the ground.

He let loose a sardonic chuckle. “It’s been a whole day, a whole day of me sitting in this godforsaken prison, with naught to keep me company save for this book.” He picked up the copy of MacBeth and waved it at you before throwing it across the cell. You flinched again. “What am I to you, (Y/N)? A pet? A toy? Someone to talk to at your own whims when you don’t feel like talking to Belle?”

You frowned. This was a much different Gaston than you’d seen last night. Last night he’d been quiet, melancholy. Tonight, he was on the offensive, attacking you viciously with words.

Your lack of response only spurred him on. “Nothing to say? Of course. You only care about conversation when you’re in control of it.” He sneered at you. “Typical.”

All of your confusion suddenly flared into anger. “Excuse me? That’s not the case at all! You steer the conversation just as much as I do!”

“Is that what you think? I know how you work. You lure me with acts of concern and compassion—you pretend to care about my injuries, then you act as if we’re friends, and then you vanish!”

“Gaston!” you exclaimed, feeling heat surge up your cheeks and down your neck. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He slammed his hand onto the floor, making you jump. “Don’t try to deny it, woman,” he growled.

You blinked, then felt your own face form into a snarl. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight? Why are you acting like this?” Without thinking about it, you stood, needing to be taller than him.

“Oh, don’t pretend like you actually care!” he scoffed, jumping to his feet as well.

“I do care!”

“And why would you?” he shouted, gesturing to himself. “Why would you care about me?”

You threw your arms up in disbelief. “Because that’s what friends do! They care about each other! They express concern when one of them is acting like an ass!”

“We are not friends, (Y/N).”

Those five words cut into your heart, as did his green eyes, glaring at you. You tried to think of something to say, anything at all that could hurt him as much as he’d just now hurt you. Nothing came to mind, leaving you standing there, fuming. As you stood there, mouth agape, you began to notice things about Gaston: the dark bruises under his eyes, the way his hair had gotten unusually tangled, the fact that he seemed almost jittery as he glared at you; his fingers twitched against his legs, and he was swaying where he stood. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.

Something’s wrong.

As upset as you still were, you forced yourself to swallow your anger. “Gaston, what is wrong?” you asked softly, hoping that maybe a quieter tone would calm him down. “You haven’t been yourself since last night.” Instinct told you to take a slow step towards him, so you did. “I just want to know why.”

His eyes darted from your face to your feet and back to your face, but he didn’t say anything.

You continued. “Even if you don’t think of me as a friend, I think of you as one. And as your friend, I’m worried about you.”

Gaston wouldn’t look at you. He stood there, no longer glaring, but his fingers were still dancing along his calves. They alternated between tapping and curling up on themselves, almost as if he was making a fist and then abruptly deciding not to. “We’re not friends,” he repeated, this time in a low voice that lacked the previous harshness.

“Yes, we are,” you replied. You cautiously reached for his arm. When your hand grazed him, he flinched, but he made no move to stop you. “What’s wrong?”

He tossed his head, but it was slow. Finally, he sighed. “I’m tired.”

You gently tugged down on his arm. He followed your cue and sat, with you sitting next to him. It was as if the fight had disappeared from him. “Why are you tired?”

“Because I haven’t slept,” he mumbled.

“What?” you couldn’t help but demand. He leaned his head back against the stone wall. “But you were sleeping this morning!”

“I was trying to sleep, but it wasn’t working.” Gaston sighed and placed his hands in his lap. “I couldn’t do it.”

You frowned. “Why not?”

He sighed again. “Nightmares.”

You felt the minnow of fear swim into your stomach. LeFou had mentioned this. “How long have you been having them?”

“Since the night I told you about the war.”

The minnow doubled in size and you realized just how long ago that had been. “Gaston, that was three nights ago. Are you saying you haven’t slept in three days?”

He grimaced. “That sounds about right. Feels longer, though, but that might just be me.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

He hesitated, then sighed again. “Can you just…stay and talk?” He sounded so defeated, so vulnerable. And he was looking at you with those eyes, pleading with you to just stay with him.

How could you refuse? “Of course,” you whispered. He patted your thigh, but it didn’t feel like he was trying to flirt. It felt like camaraderie, like he was relieved that you weren’t leaving him yet again. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Anything,” he muttered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back once more. “Just hearing another voice helps.”

“Alright. Well…once, when I was about six or seven, my cousin Amèlie convinced me to sneak into her stables and ride my aunt’s horse bareback. I’d never ridden a horse before, so you can imagine how well that went.” You didn’t know where to go from there; it felt too stiff of a conversation. “Umm…I used to love pretending I was a pirate queen. My father didn’t think it appropriate for a good Christian girl, but my mother would indulge my imagination. She would find sticks or brooms and we would pretend they were swords clanging together.” This story felt a little less awkward. “Sometimes she would hide things around the house and make a little map for me. It wasn’t anything too difficult, of course. At first they were drawings that told me where to go. Then, when I began learning to read, she would write destinations that I could sound out. As I got older, she began writing little clues that I’d have to solve, and while I would search through the house Papa would sit at the table and watch. Sometimes he would roll his eyes, sometimes he would smile.” You grinned at the memories of the game. “Once or twice, Mama managed to convince him to play along. He would be the King, kidnapped by some nefarious enemies, and I, the Pirate Queen, would be the only one who dared to save him.” You paused for a moment before continuing. “I guess it didn’t occur to me that had a pirate actually rescued the King, then she would still be hanged, regardless of her good deeds.”

Gaston snorted, and you took that to be a good sign.

“Mama is the one I got my imagination from. She always wanted to be a writer, but that’s not something that her parents thought proper, so she was never allowed to publish. Nor would she be able to, if she’d been allowed, I don’t think. I think I told you that she taught me to read. ‘Reading is living a thousand other lives,’ she once told me. ‘Lives that you’d never be able to experience any other way.’ Her favorite book is The Adventures of Arabella, which she gave to me before I moved here. It’s my favorite, too.”

“I see.”

As you continued to share tales of your life, you noticed that Gaston made fewer and fewer noises to indicate that he was listening, although he did eat some of the food you’d brought. It seemed that having someone to listen to was exactly what he needed in order to relax. You wondered if LeFou had done this for him before—stayed up late just talking.

A thought occurred to you as you ended your latest story. “Gaston?” you asked.

“Mmm?”

“You threw a dagger at me yesterday afternoon.”

“Yes?”

“You told me you haven’t slept in three nights, correct?”

“I suppose.”

“You threw a dagger at me when you hadn’t slept in two days?”

He flashed you a grin, that grin you felt like you hadn’t seen in days, and shrugged. “I never miss my target. I should think you should be impressed.”

“Impressed? How about I stay awake for two days and throw a sharp, pointy thing at you? Then we’ll see who’s impressed!”

You gave him a light punch to the shoulder, which earned an exaggerated ‘Ow’ from the man, but both of you were smiling. “I could teach you, if you want,” he offered.

“Deal.”

Then he did something unexpected: he leaned his head on your shoulder. You blushed at the action, although you knew he was doing more because he was so tired than for any other reason. Or so you think. Maybe it’s because he wants a pillow, maybe it’s because he likes you, that taunting voice whispered in your head.

“You can keep talking,” he mumbled.

You leaned your head forward a bit to see that he’d closed his eyes again. “How about I read?”

“Mmm.”

You took that to be his approval, so you shifted forwards to reach for the book. Your movement made him lift his head (was he pouting or were you imagining that?), but the moment you’d grabbed the book and sat back against the wall, he replaced it. You smiled to yourself and opened the book to where he’d marked his last stopping point.

“Scene six. Forres. The palace. Enter Lennox and another lord. Lennox speaks: ‘My former speeches have but hit your thoughts, which can interpret further, only, I say, things have been strangely borne…”

As you read aloud to Gaston, you yourself started to feel a little tired. But you’d promised that you would stay, so you ignored your own feelings and kept reading. By the time Lady MacDuff and her son had encountered the murderers looking for Lord MacDuff, Gaston was snoring softly. You yawned; it had been a few hours since you’d come up, and now it was late at night.

You glanced at the sleeping Gaston, his head still resting on your shoulder. In order to make himself more comfortable while you read, he’d scooted closer so that your shoulders were touching. His body radiated warmth in the coolness of the cell, and you were glad of it. The blanket was crumpled up within arm’s length of you, so you grabbed it and spread it across both yours and his legs. Then you marked where you thought he’d fallen asleep at and continued reading the book to yourself. Without realizing it, you felt yourself drifting off, the words on the pages blurring together so that you had to reread a few sentences over and over again.

Malcolm: Well, more anon—comes the King forth, I pray you?

Doctor: Ay, sir, there are a crew of wretched souls That stay his cure: their malady convinces The great assay of art; but at his touch— Such sanctity hath heaven given his hand They presently amend

…they presently amend…

…they presently…

…amend….

#second chance #gaston #gaston x reader #gaston imagine #kate writes #beauty and the beast #batb

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