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standbyyourmantis · 6 years ago

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Bottle Episode -- Chapter 2/4

Part 1 | AO3 | FFN

Eli watched her vanish into the bathroom and, once the door was locked, began to take in his surroundings. He took a quick survey of her kitchen before moving the dishes to the sink. He washed them along with the pan and her mug before pouring himself another cup of coffee. She was still in the shower, so he wiped down the counters quickly before running completely out of things to do to keep himself occupied. He took his mug and tried to find something to distract himself with. His first impressions of her hadn’t been wrong about her love of books – her small living room area was overrun with them. Aside from three bookshelves which were all packed full, there were a couple stacks spread between end tables and the coffee table, as well as what could politely be referred to as a pile underneath the sofa. There were no Christmas decorations, but he knew the library itself was well decorated.

He started looking through her shelves to start. The books themselves ran the gamut from literature to romance novels to hard sci-fi. She didn’t seem to have any particular favorite genre, or at least not that he could determine. There were also mementos, too – snowglobes and postcards from tourist destinations and framed photos. He was fully snooping now, but he could still hear the shower running so he had time to do it. There were photos that seemed to be from Belle’s whole life. In one, a little girl smiled on a beach somewhere and in another, the same little girl sat in a restaurant sandwiched between a man and a woman who were presumably her parents. Later photos showed Belle as a teenager posing with friends, and then as a young woman standing under a sorority banner with another set of girls. In what seemed to be the most recent photo, she was on a boat with a young man who was largely cropped out by the frame, but his hand was on her thigh and he was conspicuously absent from any other photos. Tellingly, in that picture a ring sparkled on her left hand where it rested in her lap. Curious.

He heard the water shutting off and quickly grabbed a book off the shelf and flipped it open. The book turned out to be a very nice edition of Finnegan’s Wake. He was flipping through the pages when Belle finally emerged from her bedroom in a pair of plain leggings and a long sweater.

“Has there been anymore news about the storm?” she asked. He absolutely had not been paying attention, and didn’t want to admit it.

“Nothing yet,” he replied. “I was just admiring your collection. You’ve read Joyce?”

“Some of his work, yeah. But that one was actually a graduation gift. Have you read it?”

“No, I’ve tried a few times but never got through the first chapter.”

“Yeah, we read Ulysses in one of my lit classes in college and I liked it, so I guess my aunt thought this one would be a good present. I still haven’t worked up the courage to attempt it myself, at least not without a professor there holding my hand. It sure looks nice on the bookshelf, though.”

Belle couldn’t think of what else to say. The conversation had tapered off and they were just standing there awkwardly by the books. She glanced to the bookshelf in the hopes of finding something to smooth this over, but all she saw were the same damn photos that were always there. She really needed to get rid of that engagement picture, but it had turned out to be such a good photo of her.

“Did you want to take a shower?” she blurted out before turning back to him. “There’s still hot water and I have shampoo and everything in there.”

“Oh, yeah, that would be nice,” he replied, returning her copy of Finnegan’s Wake to the shelf. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll see if I can find you something to change into.”

He smiled quickly and headed towards the bathroom before she remembered her manners.

“Oh! Wait!” she called after him, hurrying ahead of him to the bathroom closet. “I have clean towels.”

She handed him the towels and accepted his thanks before scooting past him back out of the room. This was so weird. She felt like she was running a hotel, or at least a bed & breakfast. Whatever, she was never, ever going to try to have sex ever again because this was just way more trouble than it was worth. She was sure she had a pair of Gaston’s sweatpants she’d stolen because they had been super comfortable in a drawer someplace, and combined with an old sweatshirt from college it would have to be good enough. She folded both and left them outside the bathroom door leading into her bedroom so he’d have some privacy to get dressed.

The radio was still just playing the same announcement from earlier in between pop songs, so she turned it down a little bit and started going through her stuff looking for something to do to entertain him even though to be honest she really just wanted to spend the day on her laptop or curled up with a book. But her grandmother would have smacked her for being rude if she’d even thought about it, so here she was. Luckily, she had a few board games someplace. Or at least she had Scrabble, Life, and, weirdly, a deck of Uno cards. That was going to have to do.

She heard the door to the bathroom crack open and he poked his head out.

“I left some clothes for you on the chair in my bedroom,” she said before he could even ask about it. He quickly shut the door and she heard the one between the bathroom and bedroom open and a few minutes later he emerged in the clothes she’d laid out. She’d cut a few inches off the sweatpants, so they weren’t super long anymore but he still looked a little out of sorts. Hopefully at least it was more comfortable than the suit he’d been wearing the night before, though.

“I found board games,” she said with the brightest smile she could muster given the circumstances.

“I don’t think I’ve played any of those in ages,” he replied. “I doubt I even remember half the rules.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I have all the instructions. And if not, we’ll just have to make it up as we go.”

He looked a little bemused as he came to join her in the living room and picked up the Life box.

“God, I haven’t played this since my son was little.”

“I honestly don’t even remember buying it,” she replied as she started unpacking the game. It was silly, but she was actually kind of excited about playing the game. It had been awhile since she did anything like this, college at least. Back when she was in California, for sure.

They quietly picked their car colors – she had blue and he had red – and assembled the board. Both decided to go through college, though he was slightly ahead of her getting through to the chapel to get married, though she caught up quickly.

“Hopefully this one goes better than last time,” he quipped as he popped the little pink figurine in next to his blue one.

“Fingers crossed,” she replied. “I’m not really sure how it could go worse, though.”

He did a double-take before focusing back on the game in front of him.

“You were married?” he said with a studied casualness that belied how awkward he clearly felt to be asking the question.

“Legally? No. It was annulled, so technically it never actually happened.”

She watched to see his reaction to this little truth bomb, but to his credit he never flinched. Her marriage wasn’t really something she liked to talk about, even though it was really more of a wedding than a marriage. They hadn’t even made it as far as the honeymoon. Still, though, he’d owned up to his divorce she could at least offer this little anecdote of her own.

“So how long have you lived in Storybrooke?” she asked when he didn’t press for more of the sordid details of her doomed marriage.

“A little over twenty years now,” he replied.

“What brought you out here?”

“Well, I’d gotten married and it was time to start a family. We could stay in a city and work too much and pay too much in rent for someplace where our son would never have a yard to play in, or we could move to a small town with a big house and I’d be home every day before dinner. It was an easy choice.”

“It is a good place for starting over, isn’t it?”

“Is that what brought you here? Starting over?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” she replied. “I was living just south of San Diego and it was just...I wanted to be as far away from there as I possibly could be. This was the furthest place from where I was living that offered me a job.”

He twirled the spinner and started counting out his moves before drawing a card.

“That’s as good a way to start over as I’ve ever heard,” he said. “Sometimes it’s good to just get away.”

“Yeah, and honestly I just needed a fresh start.”

He nodded, and she liked that he didn’t push too hard right now. He just seemed to accept her reasons without pushing to understand them. She didn’t want him to understand them, didn’t really want to think about it too much. It had been the worst few years of her life that brought her to Maine, and reliving them was just going to put a damper on the rest of the day. They were actually sort of getting along so why ruin that just to reflect on her tragic past?

Eli had to fight not to let her win – the last time he’d played this game, Bailey had been in elementary school so Eli hadn’t exactly been trying his hardest to win. He was fairly sure that taking a similar strategy with Belle would be the wrong tactic if he didn’t want to offend her, which he very much didn’t. He liked her, he hadn’t thought that he would but she was clever and nice enough to put a good face on the situation. But more than that, she’d been daring enough to move across the country just because she had needed a change. He respected that, because he knew how hard it could be to start over.

The fact that she’d had an annulment rather than a divorce seemed to imply a more interesting story than his own failed marriage. He and Milah had simply grown apart, and their marriage had been over for years before she finally pulled the trigger on leaving him. It had been painful, but also terribly bourgeoisie. A middle class divorce to match the middle class life they had both aspired to early in their marriage.

He was far too focused on thinking about his ex to pay enough attention to the game, so she ended up beating him handily despite his early lead.

“Congratulations,” he said as soon as her little car crossed the finish line.

“Why thank you,” she replied a little smugly. “I’ll remember your magnanimity when I’ve crushed the rest of the world beneath my heel.”

“That’s quite benevolent of you, I can’t wait to see your plans for government reform.”

She smiled prettily at the tease and began sorting through her stack of game pieces, separating them back into the piles they had come from.

“Did you want to play again?” she asked as she counted her fake money back into the tray.

He didn’t particularly want to, but there weren’t that many other options. Besides, he was enjoying her company. He definitely didn’t have another round of Life in him, though.

“A different game, perhaps?”

“Sure,” she replied, packing away the rest of the game and retrieving the Scrabble box from one of the book piles and setting it down on the coffee table in front of them. “I think I’ll make some tea, though. Would you like some?”

“That sounds perfect.”

She nodded and left him there while she retreated to the kitchen. He watched as she set the kettle on the stove and started pulling mugs out of the cabinets. He shouldn’t watch her too intensely – it was weird and off-putting. Instead, he opened the game and set out the board and the little letter trays, and then pulled out his phone to check his email. It was nothing too interesting, although there was a text from his son. Apparently, all was well at home and if Eli needed to stay out an extra day that was fine with Bailey. He was considering how best to respond when Belle interrupted from the kitchen.

“Milk or sugar?” she called out, and it took a moment for him to remember the tea.

“Sugar, please,” he called back, locking his phone and returning it to his pocket just in time for her to emerge from the kitchen with two mugs of tea and a sleeve of cookies tucked under her arm. He felt like an asshole, because he’d absolutely have gone into the kitchen if he’d thought about it, but she was setting his mug down in front of him before he could even get to his feet and then she set the other down across from him along with a package of shortbread cookies.

“It seemed like a good time for a snack,” she said before he could even say anything. “Now, are you ready to get your butt kicked again?”

She dropped to sit on the floor across from him and shook the bag of tiles, so they could start drawing them and he realized for the first time that he might actually be in a little over his head with Belle French.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #mantis fic #bottle episode

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iwritekpopthings · 7 years ago

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You (Ch. 4)

Characters: Misun (OC), Jung Daehyun, B.A.P, other side characters Word Count: 1258 Genre/ Warnings: Fluff, romance, slow burn

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

“Hey, are you waiting for Himchan hyung?” A voice asked, startling Misun and causing her to look up from her phone. Daehyun stood there next to her with a gentle smile on his face. Misun just nodded, not really wanting to strike up a conversation right now. “He wanted me to tell you that he’ll be here soon, do you mind if I keep you company?”

“Yes, I mind…” “No, go ahead.” Misun said the opposite of her actual thoughts, not wanting to be blatantly rude. Daehyun hadn’t done anything wrong and she knew that he didn’t deserve the cold shoulder that she was giving him now. But it felt different interacting with him here as opposed to in the comfort of her own home. It was a cool autumn day and Misun had been passing the time outside. She had admired the changing colors of the leaves for a time before going to her phone to take some pictures. But she stopped once Daehyun joined her.

“Cool, thanks.” He sat down on the bench next to Misun, just far away enough to not be touching her. “So… Have you started the designs for the play?” He asked as a way to start up a conversation.

Misun looked up in confusion for a moment before she figured out what he was saying. “Oh, yeah. I have pretty much everyone’s outfits planned out.”

“Really?!” He practically yelled in his excitement, startling the girl for a moment. She nodded in reply, not sure how to react to such an extreme tone. “Can I see?”

“No.” “Sure…” She leaned forward reluctantly and grabbed her sketchbook from her backpack. As she sat up, Misun brushed her hair back and away from her eyes. Careful to hide her other drawings, she quickly flipped to the pages with the outfits drawn out and colored. They were performing ‘Beauty and the Beast’ so most of the outfits didn’t need to be different from the Disney movie version. Without letting the book leave her hands, she turned it toward Daehyun for him to see the pictures.

“Waaaah~ They’re so good!” He said, excitement in his eyes. “Where’s mine??”

“Ah, well your’s is the hard one.” Misun told him, flipping to the next page. “Beast is going to have at least two different outfits. But I wanted them to be cooler than what the plans originally called for because I think you could pull it off-” Misun blushed and stopped herself from going any farther when Daehyun looked up and met her eyes with a surprised grin on his face. He enjoyed the sparkle in her eyes as she talked about something she’s passionate about.

Scratching the back of his head, he decided to confide in her. “Really? I’m not sure I’m ready for a lead role like this, though. I’ve actually asked the club president to consider someone else. Partly because I don’t want to be with Sooyeon for the whole production, but mostly because it’s just such a big role.”

Misun raised her eyebrows at this, which Daehyun misunderstood. “Don’t get me wrong, Sooyeon is great, but she’s a little… clingy.” He said, looking away.

“I don’t care about that.” Misun said in a flat tone. She wasn’t going to even try to defend her old friend anymore. “But what do you mean it’s too big of a role? You’ll do great. At least, I think you will..” She trailed off as the blush rose up higher on her cheeks.

Daehyun showed her a brilliant smile. “Thank you~ Oh, can I see some of your other-”

“Daehyunnieeeeeee~” The unmistakeable voice of Sooyeon echoed across the courtyard as she ran over to the bench that the other two were sitting on. Daehyun tried unsuccessfully to hide the distaste from his expression as he looked at Misun apologetically. Sooyeon practically tackled Daehyun, throwing her arms around him aggressively. She pushed him over into Misun, causing her notebook to go tumbling out of her hands. Half of the book landed in a mud puddle at the girl’s feet. It lay open to a quick sketch Misun had done of one of the scenes from the play where Daehyun and the actor for Gaston were fighting.

For a moment, no one moved as they stared at the pages soaking up the water. Then Misun stood up. With a trembling hand, she picked up the book.

“Misun, I’m so sorry. I’ll get you a new book.” Daehyun said, looking at the girl with worry evident in his eyes. He brushed Sooyeon off and stood up as well. Misun still couldn’t look up as she closed the book. She wanted to make sure Daehyun didn’t feel guilty about what had just happened..

“N-no, it’s o-”

“It wasn’t your fault, Daehyunnie. She should have had a better grip on the book.” Sooyeon interrupted, patting Daehyun on his arm comfortingly.

That was all Misun needed to snap. She looked up, her most vicious glare showing her anger clearly on her face. “You….” She didn’t even have any words for this girl anymore. She tossed the book onto the bench, moved forward, and grabbed Sooyeon by the straps of her backpack. Daehyun tried to pull Misun’s arms away, but the girl just shrugged him off.

“MISUN, STOP.” She heard Himchan’s voice and that was the only thing that kept her from punching Sooyeon in the face. He ran up to the group as Daehyun looked on in surprise. Himchan quickly pushed the two girls apart and took Misun into his arms. “You don’t need to do that.”

“But she-”

“I don’t care what she did. It’s not worth getting a suspension.” He told her reasonably as he stroked the back of her head. He looked over at Daehyun with a questioning look, to which the younger boy replied with a nod of his head toward the wet notebook lying on the bench. Himchan hugged Misun tighter, but she still didn’t hug him back, angry that he had interfered.

“Let go, oppa.” She said, her words muffled against his chest.

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He replied with a small grin. Then Himchan turned to look at Sooyeon. “I think you should get going before I actually have to let her go. She needs to cool down.”

“Whatever. Some friend she turned out to be anyway. She’s barely talked to me all week. You both shouldn’t waste your time with her.” Sooyeon said.

“What do you know?” Daehyun asked, his tone surprising all of the others present. “It’s not like you were that great of a friend to her. Just go.” Sooyeon looked at him with a shocked expression but followed his command, turning on her heel and walking away as fast as her stilettos would let her.

For the next few moments, everything was quiet. Once Misun’s heart rate had returned to normal, she gently pushed Himchan away. She looked at his chest as she spoke quietly to him. “I’m sorry for the trouble, Himchan oppa.”

He ruffled her hair before picking up her backpack from the ground. Daehyun grabbed the sketchbook and followed along as Himchan wrapped his arm around Misun’s shoulders. “Anything for you, Misunnie. Now let’s go get ice cream since we didn’t get any yesterday.”

As Daehyun walked behind them, he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of Himchan. He was so close and Misun trusted him to a level that was almost scary. What would he have to do to get that close to her…

★☆★☆★☆

#baplibrary #oc x daehyun #kpop fanfic #slow burn #fluff #jung daehyun #'You' story tag

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smartgirlsaremean · 7 years ago

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The Wedding Planner - Chapter 10

Fandom: OUAT

Pairing: Rumbelle

Rating: N/R

Summary: Wedding planner Alan Gold doesn't have much faith in romance, and little to none in marriage. A chance encounter with sweet librarian Belle French has him almost reconsidering his beliefs until he receives a nasty shock: she's the bride in the most important wedding of his career.

AO3

Chapter 10: In which Gold has yet another unexpected conversation, and Gaston proves he’s not quite as dumb as everyone thinks he is.

Saturday, June 3 - 13 days to go

When Gold awoke the next morning, he did not at first remember what had happened the night before. The pounding in his head was a hint, but it wasn’t until he saw his jacket and tie still thrown across the chair and the glass of water sitting on the end table that his memories came crashing back. With a groan, he fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and dialled Jefferson.

“‘Lo?”

“Bucket.”

“Rumple? It’s only eight-thirty.” Jefferson didn’t bother to mask his yawn. “What’s going on?”

“Would it be at all possible for you to finish Miss French’s wedding gown?”

“What?” Jefferson sounded fully awake now. “Why?”

“It would be unwise for us to work together any further,” Gold said, rubbing at his aching forehead.

“Ah. I see.” Jefferson was silent for a moment. “Of course, Alan. I’ll take over from here. You’ve still got everything else, right?”

“Yes, I…” Gold broke off as someone began pounding on his front door. “One moment, Jefferson, there’s someone…”

“Goldie? Are you there?”

“Is that Lefleur?” Jefferson asked in a hushed voice. “Aces and spades, Rumple, what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Gold hissed. “I have to go.”

“Don’t hang up! What if you need a witness?”

“A witness?”

“In case he’s there to…”

Growling, Gold rang off and approached the door. Gaston’s bulky silhouette hovered, distorted through the wavy glass, and for a moment Gold regretted not taking Jefferson’s advice. He was most definitely no match for Gaston physically. But the boy’s voice did not sound angry, so he opened the door carefully just as Gaston raised his fist to knock again.

Gold tried not to stare. The groom-to-be looked terrible, a day’s worth of stubble peppering his jaw and his eyes bloodshot and ringed with dark circles.

“Mr. Lefleur, what can I do for you?” he asked. “Weren’t you supposed to be in Tokyo for another week?”

“Yeah, I came back early.” Gaston shifted on his feet. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Some of the tension left his body as he stepped aside. A jealous, irate fiance would not ask for permission to enter. Whatever this was about, his secret did not appear to be it. Gaston paced the perimeter of the living room, bouncing on the balls of his feet and occasionally running a hand through his hair. “Is everything alright?” Gold asked at last.

“No,” Gaston said. “No, it’s not.” He stopped pacing and looked at Gold, his eyes wide and wild. “I can’t do this. I can’t get married.”

Ah. The “cold feet” speech. This Gold could handle. “Of course you can,” he said soothingly. “I know it seems intimidating, but marriage is a rich, rewarding experience.”

“I was sitting there in this board meeting in Tokyo.” Gaston did not appear to have heard him. “I was supposed to be listening to a presentation and giving feedback but all I could think about was this wedding, and Izzy, and...I mean, Izzy’s great but...is she the one? The only woman I’m ever going to want to be with for the rest of my life? Did you know she reads all the time?” Gaston began pacing again. “I don’t mean when she’s got nothing else to do, I mean constantly. While she’s cooking. While she’s vacuuming. While she’s eating, and while she’s brushing her teeth, and while she’s walking. The only reason she doesn’t read and drive at the same time is because she hasn’t figured out how to do it without, y’know, dying.”

Gold felt the corners of his mouth give an unwilling twitch.

“And she’s a terrible singer. I mean she is awful, and she sings in the shower and it sounds like a million nails on a chalkboard. And those crazy shoes of hers - I don’t think she even owns a pair of tennis shoes and it’s like, what kind of person wears heels all the time?”

“Mr. Lefleur…”

“And the sex is good, don’t get me wrong, but…”

“Mr. Lefleur, please.” Gold raised his voice.

“Oh. Sorry.” Gaston stopped and suddenly collapsed in an armchair, his head in his hands. “What do I do?”

“First of all, there is no such thing as the perfect woman,” Gold said calmly, taking a seat on the sofa. “Or the perfect man, for that matter. Everyone has flaws, and you will always find something to annoy you, no matter who the person is.”

“It’s not just that stuff,” Gaston said, cutting Gold off. “I was thinking about - when we went to the vineyard. Remember? And Izzy got lost? I didn’t even notice. For a second it was almost like I forgot she was there. It shouldn’t be like that, should it? We were touring the place for our wedding and I forgot about her.” Gaston scrubbed a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up on end. “And I started thinking about it some more and...she hasn’t liked any of the decisions we made. She went along with it because she’s the sweetest person alive, but she hated the park. And she doesn’t like jazz, either, and I know the five hundred guests were freaking her out and it just occurred to me that she doesn’t like any of this stuff. And...and so I started trying to picture what she would do for a wedding and I...I...I couldn’t.” He looked up at Gold, his eyes lost and sad. “I don’t even know what flavor cake she likes.”

“She bought the hazelnut cream,” Gold said, as if that would solve anything.

“Was that the one she liked best?”

No. Gold opened his mouth and then closed it again. Gaston sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

“She wants you to be happy,” Gold said.

“Well, I’m not. And neither is she.” Gaston stood again. “I have to go talk to her.”

“Don’t be hasty, son,” Gold said, rising. “If you love her, and you throw away the chance to be with her, you will most certainly regret it.”

“See, that’s the thing,” Gaston said. “I’m not sure I do love her. Not like I should.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “And I’m not so sure she loves me.”

Gold was speechless.

“I need to go,” Gaston said. “Thanks for the talk.” The young man strode from the house, and Gold ran a shaking hand through his hair.

That had been unexpected.

Monday, June 5 - 11 days to go

Gold limped to his office at eight o’clock, trying very hard not to think about the fact that in an hour, Belle would be downstairs in his studio trying on her completed wedding gown. No doubt by now she and Gaston had resolved their issues and agreed to go ahead with the wedding. She would hand Jefferson the check signed by her future in-laws and walk out with the dress bag over her arm. In a week and a half she would say her vows and that night the two of them would whisk off on their glamorous honeymoon…

He stopped short just inside his door, blinking. Esther Blue sat at his desk, her face a calm mask, her eyes glinting malevolently.

“Ms. Blue,” he said, turning to push the door closed. It did not quite latch, but that was the least of his worries. “What can I do for you this morning?”

“You can give me an explanation,” Esther said primly, folding her hands in front of her. “I received a phone call from Thibault Lefleur yesterday evening. The Lefleur-French wedding has been cancelled.”

Never in his life had Gold been more grateful for his cane. His head swam and he thought he might faint. “Surely…there must be some mistake.”

“Mr. Lefleur asked me to make sure all reservations were cancelled, and to salvage what deposits I could.” Esther pressed her lips together. “The payment for our services is, of course, nonrefundable, but this will still represent a substantial loss in revenue, not to mention our standing with many of our vendors. Do you have any idea what caused this change of heart?”

“I…” His heart was pounding against his rib cage, and he could scarcely hear his own thoughts. “I knew that both the bride and groom were harboring some doubts, but…”

“You knew?” Esther stood, and although her expression did not change, he could feel anger radiating off of her like the heat of a flame. “What did you do to salvage the situation?”

“What I always do,” he defended himself. “I’ve never had a cancellation before, you know that.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied him. “Perhaps you were growing complacent, then. Perhaps you were thinking too much of that shop you plan to open and neglecting your duties here.”

“No, of course not! I’ve lived and breathed this wedding from the first meeting,” Gold snapped. “I’ve taken considerable time from my personal schedule and bent over backwards to make sure that everything was exactly as they wished it. If, in the end, Belle and Gaston decided marriage was not for them…”

“Belle and Gaston?” Esther’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Surely you mean Miss French and Mr. Lefleur.”

“I...ah…”

“Were you friends with these clients, Mr. Gold? Did you bond with them? Did you, perhaps, develop a tendre for one of them?”

Gold stared helplessly at her, and she shook her head.

“I suppose there is nothing to be done now,” she said. “I will have to think very carefully before I assign you your next contract, however.”

“My next contract? There is no next contract!” Gold exclaimed. “We agreed…”

“Yes, we agreed that after this wedding, we would go our separate ways. As there is to be no wedding, our agreement is null and void.”

“But you got the contract. You were paid for services; you just said that was nonrefundable,” Gold said, spreading his hands. “Anything beyond that is out of my control. I can’t force people to get married if they decide against it!”

“You’d be surprised what people can be persuaded to do,” Esther said coldly. “I’d have thought you’d learned that by now.”

“You can’t do this,” Gold said weakly. “I upheld my end of the bargain. You have to let me go.”

“Oh, do I?” Esther smiled. “It was a verbal agreement, Gold. You are still my employee. If you attempt to leave my employ, not only will I make certain that you receive no pension or severance pay, I will ensure you never work in this town again. I have considerable influence, you know. What on earth will brides want with an ex-pawnbroker with a questionable legal history?”

Gold began to feel that he really might faint. “You can’t…”

“I can.” She studied her immaculate manicure. “Consider your position carefully before you make any hasty decisions.” She walked from behind his desk and headed for his office door. Pulling it open, she gave a gasp, and he turned to see Gaston Lefleur leaning against the frame, his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised.

“Wow,” he said. “You sure do hear some interesting things in a wedding planning agency.”

“Mr. Lefleur,” Esther said sweetly, “what a pleasant surprise. Dare I hope that you and Miss French have reconsidered and will be celebrating your marriage with us after all?”

Gaston snorted. “Nope, still not getting married. Thanks for the offer, though.” He glanced past Esther and met Gold’s eyes, then grinned very slowly. “I don’t guess you know what I do for a living, Ms. Blue?”

“You’re a partner in your father’s law firm,” she said immediately. “The firm has quite the reputation; your father must be very proud.”

“Oh, he is. Do you know what area I specialize in?”

Neither of them had any idea. Gold knew that they had international clients, and that the firm had several partners with various specialties, but what Gaston himself did he didn’t know. He scolded himself for this lack of research.

Gaston’s smile grew. “Contract law,” he said.

Esther had frozen in place, and Gold could just imagine the look on her face. He wondered where Gaston was going with this, and wished he knew a little more about the legal system in general.

“I’m pretty curious about this contract Mr. Gold is under,” Gaston continued. “What are the terms, exactly? Did he get a chance to run it by a lawyer before he signed it?”

Esther was silent; behind her, Gold shook his head. “I - I couldnae afford a lawyer at the time,” he said.

“Hmm. Interesting. So...what are the terms?”

“That is none of your business.” Esther had apparently regained her voice. She stood a little taller, straightening her shoulders.

“You’re right, it’s not. My mistake.” Gaston straightened and walked past her to Gold. “Hey, Goldie, how’s it goin’?” he said, holding out one hand. Bemused, Gold shook it. “Hey, weird question, but any chance you need some legal advice?”

“Ah...I’m afraid my circumstances are a bit straitened at the moment,” Gold said. “I’ve put a down payment on a commercial space, you see, and…”

“No problem. For you, I’d work pro bono. You were pretty great to Belle and me. Or if you’re uncomfortable with that, we can set up a payment plan.”

“I, uh...yes. Alright.”

“Great.” Gaston turned back to Esther and crossed his arms. “I’m his lawyer now. So? What are the terms of the contract?”

Esther pursed her lips.

"Aw, that’s okay. I’ll guess.” He jerked a thumb at Gold. “This guy’s not from around here. Maybe he snuck in, maybe he overstayed a visa. Doesn’t really matter. You hired him and paid for his green card, and he owes you for that. Maybe for some other stuff too. You told him if he got my wedding contract you’d call it even.” He glanced at Gold over his shoulder. “How am I doing?”

Gold nodded.

“Cool. Okay, so you know it’s illegal to indenture people, right?” Gaston said to Esther. “Like, super, super illegal.”

“Mr. Gold is not an indentured servant,” Esther said stiffly. “He is a private contractor.”

“Uh-huh. So all that stuff I just heard - threatening to withhold his pension and severance even with proper notice, threatening to blacklist him - none of that was coercive, huh? You definitely weren’t planning on punishing him for leaving the company?”

Esther was silent.

“Good. Glad I misunderstood. ‘Cause y’know, things could get really ugly if I thought you were blackmailing, threatening, coercing, or otherwise mistreating my client.” He looked around the office. “I wonder how many other workers here have the same - uh - agreement you and Mr. Gold have.”

Esther’s face went white. “None,” she said quickly. “Mr. Gold was...a special case.”

“Hmm. Good to know. Because getting arrested for something like indentured servitude would really put a damper on your profits.” He looked back at Gold. “I think Ms. Blue here has some important things to do all of a sudden. Mind if I stick around? We can talk about that payment plan.” At Gold’s nod, Gaston grinned. “Great. See ya around, Ms. Blue. We’ll be in touch.”

Esther opened her mouth as if to argue, glared at Gold, and then turned and scurried out of the office. Gaston closed the door behind her and then turned to face Gold, who was staring at him in disbelief.

“I gotta admit, that was kinda fun,” he said. “You okay?”

Gold nodded once and then, to his horror, felt a lump form in his throat. “I, uh...I can’t…”

“What’d I say, Goldie? Pro bono. Look, I can’t stay long. I just wanted to thank you for everything you did for me and Belle. Our break-up wasn’t your fault - you were a champ.”

“Belle?” Gold asked.

“Uh, Izzy. I stopped calling her that because she…”

“...prefers Belle,” Gold murmured.

Gaston looked at him strangely. “Uh...yeah. Anyway, we talked on Saturday and agreed to call it quits. Our parents were pretty disappointed, but we know it’s the right choice.”

“And you and Belle - are you…”

“We’re okay.” Gaston shrugged. “I mean, there were some things that kinda hurt to hear, but we were honest with each other, and that’s what counts. She’s still my best friend, and I know they say you should marry your best friend, but...I don’t think she’s the best best friend I’ll ever have. If that makes any sense.”

Gold nodded, wondering what on earth she’d told him. If she’d told him.

“Anyway, so Belle’s gonna go on our honeymoon - those are the only reservations I asked Ms. Blue not to cancel.”

“She’s always wanted to see the world,” Gold said without thinking.

Gaston gave him another strange look. “Yeah. You guys got to know each other pretty well while I was gone, huh?”

Gold looked away to hide his reddening face. “Occupational hazard, I’m afraid.”

“Uh-huh.” Gaston was quiet for a moment, and Gold could feel the boy’s eyes on his back as he hung up his suit jacket. “Hey, just out of curiosity...remember that date you went on a couple weeks ago? What movie did you see?”

“ The Good, the Bad and the Ugly ,” Gold said. “Why does that…”

“Holy shit,” Gaston said. “You’re the movie guy.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle au #the wedding planner

18 notes · View notes

darkwing-katy · 8 years ago

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Second Chance - Part Seven

Well hello everyone! It’s been quite some time since I updated, but as I’ve said before, I have no intention of not finishing this. I doubt I’ll be able to update every week, especially since I’m moving to Florida in a month and I’m slowly packing/applying for jobs/trying to spend time with all my Missouri peeps. I will finish this fic, though. It’ll happen. (Probably not for a bit since I’ve apparently chosen to go with a slow burn. Way to go, Kate.) Thank you to everyone who’s been commenting and liking and messaging me! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in upcoming chapters!

Special thanks go to @sannvers for beta-ing and my housemate Anna, who doesn’t have a tumblr but still deserves to be recognized (she’s the one who sat me down and made me draw a plot map for this story so I’d know exactly where I need to go when I write each chunk).

Title: Second Chance

Pairing: Eventual Gaston x Fem!Reader

Rating: T

Words: 10,378 (holy guacamole that’s a lot)

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 @admerxin13@fangirlx26 @epicfallenismine @izzymaria1994 @loveablelulu13 @malfoy-milkovich-royalty @kylorenlover15 @banana-cat @withouthannah @stone0502 @shiroyuki18 @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag @lainris @withouthannah @banana-cat @samaxraph99 @honey-badger-dont-give-a @daisiesflower @afairytaledream @flufycorn384

Previous Chapter

The next morning saw you awake just as the sun was beginning its ascent. You watched the sky change from navy to a pale yellow to a gold that matched the accents of your room. As the gold deepened into an orange that formed around the blinding sun, you rose from your position at the window and dressed for the day. You pulled your hair up into a messy bun and tied it tightly. Then you rummaged through your satchel until you’d found the recipes that you’d discovered yesterday.

Today is a day to cook.

It was odd—you never truly liked to cook, though you didn’t complain about it. Yet here you were, looking forward to it. It was amazing how living in a castle had changed your outlook on chores.

You glanced back at the sun, which had fully risen above the horizon. With a contented sigh at the sight, you turned and left your room and made your way to the kitchen. As you made your way through the hall to the stairs, you kept stumbling over nothing. Then, when you reached the staircase, you bumped into the bannister.

Obviously, you were not quite awake yet.

Once you reached the surprisingly empty kitchen, you examined the recipes. One was for a delicious meat pastie (you loved those handheld pies), another for a stew, and the third for a pastry dessert. You tucked the recipe for the stew into your pocket; you wouldn’t need that one today.

Okay, so first off, I need to make the puff paste. Fun.

Your eyes scanned the kitchen, searching for any obvious ingredients. You found flour and salt easily. It took a little longer to find a jar of fat. Once you’d gathered those ingredients together, you grabbed a bucket and began to search for a pump of some sort. You found it (apparently princes could have pumps built into their castles if they so chose) and filled the bucket with fresh water. You set the bucket down next to the other ingredients and stood for a moment, hands on your hips, staring at them.

It’s been so long since I’ve made a pastie…

“Alright. Let’s get started.”

You grabbed a bowl and mixed water, salt, and flour together until they made a sticky dough, which you then kneaded on a countertop that you sprinkled with flour. Slowly but firmly, you pressed your knuckles into the dough, working the flour into it and getting it less sticky. As you worked, the servants of the castle began to file in. You smiled at them before returning to your kneading.

After the dough was done, you set it aside and began rolling out the fat. A strand of hair fell from the messy bun into your eyes.

“What are you doing, dearie?” you heard Mrs. Potts ask from somewhere behind you.

“Making a pastie and possibly a dessert,” you replied, shaking your head to clear the hair. It worked for a moment before it fell right back over your eyes, prompting a ‘hmmph’ from you.

Mrs. Potts chuckled. “I imagine it’s quite odd to have other people doing all your work for you, especially if you’re used to working in the village.”

You allowed yourself a short pause to look at her while you replied. “Yeah, no offense, but it’s a little boring.”

Mrs. Potts gave a full laugh at your words, which made you smile. “None taken, dear. You just do what you want. Don’t let an old woman like me stop you.” She gave you a wink before turning to go to a cupboard, which she opened to reveal dozens and dozens of teacups.

You used the back of your hand to push your hair back up and resumed rolling, soon adding the dough underneath the fat and folding and rolling them together. It took a little over an hour to make your first batch of puff paste, after which you took a short break to drink some tea. Then it was back to work, which meant chopping meat and vegetables to add to the pastie. As you sliced your way through vegetables and mutton alike, you found yourself indulging in a familiar habit: daydreaming.

It was easy to imagine yourself doing this exact same thing in a small home. Right now, you pictured your own cottage, although there were subtle changes: a bearskin decorated the wooden floor, a new quilt rested upon a finely crafted (and also new) wooden chair in a corner, and there was a set of small antlers adorning the fireplace mantel. You could almost smell the fire that was burning, filling your home with the delicious scent of burning wood.

In your fantasy, you were wearing the same dress, but you had in an apron of your own rather than one you’d borrowed from one of the servants. You sprinkled salt and pepper onto the chopped meat and veggies and set them aside, returning to the dough, which you cut into a wide circle.

Two strong arms wrapped themselves around your waist as you began lining a ceramic pot with the dough. “That looks absolutely delicious.”

You grinned, both in the fictional setting and in reality. “Is that what you think? Feel free to have some. You know, before it’s actually baked and everything.”

Gaston (because of course that’s who you were married to in this) chuckled. “Don’t tempt me. I’m starving.” You felt him rest his head against the top of yours. “Since I’ve been out hunting and doing all the hard work.”

You scoffed and turned to face him, your bodies now separated by a few centimeters. “You think cooking isn’t hard? Is that what I’m hearing?”

He smirked. “I cooked for myself in the war all the time. It’s not that difficult.”

You stepped out of his grasp, maneuvering around him and giving him a push forwards. He bumped into the counter and gave you a perplexed look. “Fine. You can make the pie, then, and I’ll go hunting.”

Gaston leaned against the counter, his hands getting covered with flour. “And if I can successfully make a pie, what do I get?”

You began to walk away, taking care to sway your hips. “My undying amazement that the great hunter is a master chef as well.”

“What is the meaning of this?!”

The abrupt and loud voice made you jump, shattering your fictional bliss. You felt heat shoot up your face as you placed a hand on your chest and worked on catching your breath.

“Mademoiselle, this is entirely inappropriate! You are a guest here; you should not be working in the kitchen!”

You spun around to see an older man decked out in elaborate gold clothing that established his superiority over the other servants—the majordomo of the castle. He was staring at you, hands on his waist which made him look as if he was puffing up to scare you into obedience.

“I’m sorry, Monsieur…?”

“Cogsworth, at your service.” He gave a small bow, but he was still obviously angered at your presence.

“Ah. Well, good morning, Monsieur Cogsworth.” You gave him a little curtsy. “I woke up this morning and wanted to make a few treats for today.” You gave him your most winning smile. “I’ve been spending a lot of time doing nothing, you see, and I’m not used to that. I wanted to do something.”

“Ahhh, Cogsworth, let the girl do as she wants!”

Both you and the majordomo turned to see that several other servants had gathered around the kitchen to watch the scene. You spotted Mrs. Potts’s face amongst them, and she smiled at you. The servant who had spoken sauntered through the kitchen and threw an arm around Cogsworth’s shoulders. He glanced at you and winked. “She is a guest! We should not be stopping her from doing whatever it is she enjoys doing.”

“But-but-but it’s not customary for a guest to spend time in the kitchen!” Cogsworth spluttered, shoving the man’s arm off and glaring at him.

The other man shrugged. “Would you stop her if she was Belle?”

Cogsworth’s face turned a deep pink. “Well, no, but that's—”

“Then why must you dissuade her friend, who is not only a guest, but an honored guest?” He gestured towards you. “Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten you name, mademoiselle.” He grinned at you.

You couldn’t help but be charmed by his easygoing demeanor. “(Y/N),” you replied with a smile.

He gave you another wink. “What a lovely name! I am Lumière, maître d of this castle. Please forgive my friend here.” He nodded his head towards Cogsworth, who’s face was growing more and more red by the second. “He tends to get angry when the normal routines are interrupted, but he’ll get over it.” Lumière spun away from Cogsworth and towards you, peering over your shoulder to see what you were making. “Why, mademoiselle, is that a pastie I see?”

“Yes, it is!” you replied, suddenly wondering if the cooks were also in the crowd of servants and were spotting all the flaws in your meager meal. Oh well. I’m not a professional by any means, you thought, giving yourself a mental shrug. “It’s my grandmama’s recipe. I woke up this morning and I really wanted to try cooking for the first time in a while.”

“I think that’s wonderful, dearie,” Mrs. Potts said, walking up to your side. You smiled at her. She smiled gently back, then glanced back at the other servants who were still watching. “Alright, what’s everybody standing about for? We’ve all got work to do!” She nodded at you as well, giving you the sign to continue with what you were doing.

Right away, everyone began to bustle about, and the kitchen was soon filled with the sounds of people chattering, pots clanging, and stoves being fired up. Lumière nudged your shoulder with his elbow, grinning cheekily.

“See, mademoiselle? All is well! You are a guest here, and you may do whatever you please. Don’t worry about that old spoilsport!”

“A-hem. That old spoilsport is still right behind you, you charismatic buffoon.”

You stifled a laugh. The old man was actually pouting at Lumière. You’d never expected to see such an expression on his aged and mustached face, but there it was. Lumière took a step back and threw his arm around Cogsworth’s shoulder once more. “Ahh, Cogsworth, learn to have a little fun. Not everything has to go as normal.” He turned the majordomo around and started leading him away. “Why, Belle interrupted our daily routine when she came to the castle, did she not? And did you complain?”

“Yes, yes I did—,”

“Oh, hush now, we needn’t get into all the details…”

You snorted before returning to your pastie, only to notice Chip was now standing by you, staring at the uncooked veggies and meat resting on the dough. “Good morning, Chip,” you said with a smile.

He gave you the largest grin you’d seen from him yet. “Good morning, (Y/N)! I was wondering…” His smile faded and he leaned in close, as if suddenly struck with shyness. You thought it was adorable the way his eyes darted around and how he’d gone from acting like a child to being more respectful. “I asked Mama but she said I needed to ask you…would I be okay if I helped you cook for a while?” His voice grew softer as he added, “Please? I really, really don’t wanna do laundry today.”

The desperation in his eyes only added to his cuteness. How could you refuse such a sweet boy? “Of course you can, Chip!”

Upon receiving the answer he’d hoped for, Chip immediately returned to his normal, upbeat self, beaming at you. “Yes! Thank you so much, (Y/N)!” He clapped his hands together and rubbed them before looking back at the food. “So…what do we do now?”

You laughed. It looked like you were going to have an entertaining morning for sure.

You were a little later than usual with your breakfast for Gaston, but you managed to make an excuse for Chip to leave your side while you did so. You were still smiling as you walked up the stairs—he was a sweet boy, filled to the brim with curiosity about your cooking as well as other aspects of your life. He’d asked non-stop questions about Villenueve, which you’d gladly answered to the best of your abilities, and at one point there’d been a flour explosion, so you were covered in the stuff.

“Someone’s had a busy morning,” Gaston commented when you arrived at the door.

“You could say that,” you replied, opening the door and stepping in. “I can’t stay for too long now—we’ve got a couple pasties in the oven and I’m not sure how much attention Chip is giving to them.”

Gaston rose slowly from his seated position and stretched before taking the tray from you. “I don’t suppose I can request one of those for lunch?” he asked while examining the food. He grabbed a few grapes and, while balancing the tray on one hand, began to toss them into his mouth.

Show-off, you thought. He saw you watching him, which earned a smirk, then he held up a grape.

“Want one?”

Giddy from the morning’s fun, you gave a playful shrug and nodded. Gaston popped the grape into his mouth and set the tray down, this time picking up the bunch of grapes rather than a mere handful. However, instead of simply offering another grape to you, he took a few steps back. “Catch,” was all he said.

You barely registered the single word before a grape was thrown at you, bouncing off your forehead. “What?” you asked, more to give yourself time to process what he was doing than because you hadn’t heard him.

“Catch!” he repeated, still with that stupidly handsome smirk plastered on his face. He threw another grape.

This time you were better prepared. Your hand reached up and snagged the small fruit from the air, earning a tut-tut from the imprisoned man. “What?” you demanded, this time out of confusion.

“Don’t use your hands.” His green eyes glittered with mischief. “Anyone can catch things with their hands. Impress me.”

Alright, then. You felt a smirk emerging on your face at his challenging (and slightly commanding) tone. Challenge accepted.

He threw another grape, which you tried to catch with your mouth but failed. Three more followed, and Gaston was getting more and more amused at your failures while you got more and more frustrated.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). I expected better of you. You’re making me waste precious grapes here.” He chucked another, which landed on your head and fell to the ground.

You were seriously tempted to just pick up all the dirtied fruits and start hurling them at him. You were fairly certain he was throwing them all in a way so they’d hit different parts of your face, purposefully embarrassing you. Not this time, you mentally snarled.

He threw the fruit, and this time, your eyes managed to stay on it. You took a step backwards, tipped your head back, and the small grape actually landed in your mouth. Your eyes widened at your unexpected triumph, and you threw your arms up in the air, lifting your head back up so Gaston could see that you’d succeeded.

“Ahh, took you long enough,” he said, grinning.

A flare of annoyance surged in you. That’s it? That’s all he has to say? “What!” you exclaimed through your teeth. He shrugged in response. You ate the grape quickly so you could continue expressing your annoyance. “That’s all you have to say? No, ‘You did it’, no ‘Good job’?” You bent down to gather the fallen grapes. “Not even a ‘I knew you could do it if you tried hard enough’?” You began pelting him with them, stepping closer and closer as you spoke. “What. A. Rude. Thing. To. Say!” Each word was punctuated with a grape. Gaston managed to duck the first two, but as you got closer he had no choice but to let the grapes hit him. You threw the final grape at his face, which he avoided by tipping his head down so that it hit his hair instead. Your ammunition now spent, he started to laugh, a deep belly laugh, one you’d never heard from him, even prior to his imprisonment.

You couldn’t help but be pulled along with a laugh of your own. This entire situation was ridiculous! Never in all of your life had you imagined you’d be standing in a prison cell, throwing grapes at a handsome but boorish war captain!

Gaston’s face, flushed with humor, was suddenly quite close to yours. While the rest of his body radiated laughter, his eyes, now boring into yours, had something else in them. You couldn’t help but stare, even as you felt your own humor start to die down. He was standing so close to you, close enough that he could easily pull you into an embrace if he wanted. And to be quite honest, you weren’t sure if you’d resist that much.

In fact, now that you were aware of it, you wanted him to do just that. You wanted to feel his strong arms wrapped around you, the warmth of his body pressed firmly against yours. You wanted to place your arms around him, to feel that muscular back again. You could even go so far as to say you wanted him to press his lips to your own, to tangle his hands in your (h/c) hair while you tangled yours in his.

He’s getting closer! you realized with a small burst of panic. As much as you wanted all of that to happen, you were terrified of following through. What if he was using you? What if this was all an act? What if LeFou had been wrong in his assumption that Gaston might actually care for you?

You took a step back. “I-I have to go. The food. Burned. I have—” You took another step back, breaking eye contact, “—it could be burning. Chip. Uhm, right.” Your face was burning, but you couldn’t do anything about that. You turned around, trying very hard not to sprint as you rushed to the door. “I’ll be—I’ll be back later. After burning. I mean, after the food burns. After the food is not burned. I’ll be back.”

Why are you still talking? you screamed at yourself. Just stop already! You passed through the door and it slammed shut, making you jump. “Sorry!” you practically shouted before fleeing down the stairs.

Once you’d reached the bottom, you leaned against the wall to give yourself time to calm. It wouldn’t do to be returning to the kitchen with a face as red as a ripe tomato. As you took deep, calming breaths, you mentally berated yourself.

Well, that went smoothly, (Y/N). Surely he knows of your affections now, if he didn’t already! Why do you have to be so obvious? Why can’t you just act normal for once? As your heart rate slowed, your thoughts sped up. He’s probably going to mention this when I bring lunch. Or tonight. Or even tomorrow—he could bring this up at anytime and I’ll just get flustered again and, oh, damn, what have I done? Why did I think this was a good idea?

“(Y/N)?” you heard Chip call, startling you from your internal monologue. You sucked in a breath and exhaled.

Okay, (Y/N). Chip is looking for you. You have to remain calm. The last thing you need is an inquisitive 10-year-old noticing that you’re acting odd. You closed your eyes and repeated your breathing exercise a few more times. Your face felt like it was cooling, so you deemed yourself ready. Just act normal. Go finish cooking. It will be okay.

“(Y/N)!” It sounded like Chip was getting farther away.

You opened your eyes and stepped out of the doorway. “I’m coming!” you called back as you walked down the grand staircase.

I can do this.

Two more flour wars (and their subsequent clean-ups) later, you and Chip had finished for the day. You were content with what the two of you had created—even the head chef had offered to show you how to make other pasties and desserts. You’d agreed to the idea, but only if Chip could be your sous-chef. He’d brightened so much at that declaration and ran off to tell his mother, leaving you to bring lunch to Gaston. You were dreading it, but it had to be done.

You grabbed two of the three pasties you’d made, leaving the third for Chip to enjoy later. You didn’t get grapes this time, but instead grabbed a few oranges along with bread and cheese.

When you finally got to the cell, Gaston was sitting in the open doorway, his back against the wall on your right and his left leg tapping the opened wall across from him. His right leg was bent up, with his arm resting on it as he turned the page of Hamlet.

You were struck by the sight of him sitting there, reading, the summer sunlight basking him in a warm glow. Seeing him doing something so unlike him was more attractive than you’d imagined (and you’d imagined something similar to this quite a lot).

He didn’t act as if he’d heard you, although he must have. You tried to be quiet as you entered the cell, wanting to prolong the sight of the great hunter actually reading. Oh, wait until I tell Belle about this.

“Is Hamlet mad?” Gaston asked after a few minutes of silence.

You shook your head. “No. He’s pretending to be mad in order to hide his plots for vengeance.”

“I cannot deny the brilliance of his actions.”

It’s happening. Gaston is having a conversation about a book. Belle’s not going to believe this. “What’s happening now?” you asked, slowly walking over to him. He set the book aside, folding his hands over his stomach and looking up at you.

“I believe he’s at a funeral of some sort?” His eyebrows lifted slightly, as if asking for confirmation.

You wracked your brain to figure out whose funeral it must be. “Oh, Ophelia’s?”

He frowned as he thought, then gave a small nod. “She’s the one who was in love with him, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes. Her brother…” he chuckled lowly. “Her brother is not happy at the moment.”

You shrugged. “Most people aren’t after someone drives their sibling to suicide.”

Gaston pulled his leg back and turned so that both legs were now dangling over the edge of the open door. He looked over his shoulder at you and motioned for you to join him. “Come, come sit.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think so.”

He snorted, insulted. “And why not?” You gave no answer. He glanced down at the stairs below and grinned. Damn that smile. “I won’t push you, I promise.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to just believe you?” you replied, setting the tray down and placing your hands on your hips.

He laughed at your sardonic words. “You don’t trust me? Still?”

“And why should I, after everything?”

Gaston scooted himself back around, facing you fully. “Really? You want to know why you can trust my word?”

Why do I have a bad feeling about this? You stood firm despite the sudden butterflies that erupted in your stomach. He was still staring at you, that familiar cockiness radiating from him. He knew the answer, and he wanted you to figure it out. You thought about it for a moment before waving a hand vaguely towards the door. “Is it because you haven’t tried to escape?”

He scoffed. “No, although that is a good reason.” He rose from his seated position and dusted his pants off. “Haven’t you noticed anything about me?” He gestured to himself.

Your eyes scanned his body for some sort of clue, but while you appreciated the excuse he’d given you to examine him (those pants were very form-fitting, indeed), you had no idea what he was talking about. Even the bruise on his face was fading. “Besides your overconfident attitude and the lack of poof in your hair?” you replied sarcastically.

His hand automatically went to his hair, earning a smirk from you and a frown from him. He shook it off, though, and took a few steps towards you. “Look closer.” His grin was almost mocking now. “I don’t mind.”

You refused to give in to his bait. “Gaston, just tell me,” you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest.

His sneer grew, and he leaned in close. “You’re not as observant as you think, (Y/N),” he whispered, his warm breath making you shiver. You had no doubt that he noticed, but you kept your expression stoic. With an air of disappointment at your refusal to play along with his flirtations, he stepped back. “Stubble,” he replied, giving a brisk wave to his chin.

Your eyes looked to his face before widening in realization. How could I have been so stupid? “You have stubble,” you said softly.

Gaston slowly bent down and reached into his boot. You watched as he pulled out a slim knife, protected from his calf by a leather sheath.

He could’ve used that at anytime to threaten me into letting him out—and then he could’ve used that as a means to escape the castle. Your eyes wandered from the knife to his face and back to the knife. So why didn’t he?

“I have to say, I’m surprised at you, (Y/N). I’ve been in here for what, four, five days now?” Gaston slid the knife out of the sheath as he spoke, and you couldn’t help the minnow of nervousness that swam into your stomach at the sight. “You’ve spent some time with me each day, and you never once noticed that I didn’t have a beard beginning to grow.” He began to swing the knife around in his hand. The sunlight glinted off the edge, making you flinch. He noticed your uncomfortableness and stopped swinging it. “Normally, I wouldn’t care that much. But I wanted to see if you’d notice.”

“Obviously I don’t pay that much attention,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. He heard you, though, and frowned.

“Obviously not.” He studied the knife for a moment, then returned his gaze to you. Something in his green eyes gave you a bad feeling. “Hold up that orange.”

You blinked. “What?” you asked dumbly.

He grinned. “The orange. Hold it up for me.”

The bad feeling expanded. “Why?” you asked, drawing out the word.

“Please?” The look he gave you shifted from mischievous to childlike.

“Well, since you said ‘please’…” You had a sneaking suspicion of why he was asking, but you so rarely heard him say ‘please’ that you were willing to play along. If he’s doing what I think he’s doing…then who’s more of a fool—him for doing it or me for letting him? You grabbed the orange and tossed it up in the air a few times.

“Excellent. Now go to that way.” He pointed, and you sighed but walked to the opposite end of the cell as directed. “Put the orange on your head.”

“WHAT?” you shrieked. “I am not letting you throw a dagger at my head!”

Gaston scoffed. “I won’t hit you.”

You imitated his scoff mockingly. “Somehow, that’s not reassuring,” you hissed.

“Oh, come on, (Y/N). Consider it an example of trust.” The knife was spinning lazily again. He was clearly an expert when it came to weapons, but that didn’t mean he could throw a damned knife at you!

You glared at him in the hopes that he’d back down, but he simply continued to play with the knife and watch you. You both stood that way, neither backing down. Finally—

“Why not?”

“Are you whining about this?” You held the orange out in your hand, away from your body. “This is an orange. It’s small and round and you want me to put it on my head so you can throw a knife at it in the pretense of a crazy trust exercise that is, in actuality, just an attempt to prove your masculinity and arrogance and I, for one, am not—”

Faster than your eye could see, Gaston flicked his wrist, and the weight of the orange disappeared from your hand. You heard a thump! as the fruit hit the wall and another as it fell to the floor. You gaped at your now-empty hand for a few seconds, long enough to allow your disbelief and shock to turn into fury. When you turned your glare back to Gaston, he was smirking…until you rushed at him, fully intending to kick him in the shin and maybe punch him again. At the sight of you racing towards him with murder in your eyes, he dropped the sheath and held up his hands in a defensive position.

“Now, (Y/N), remember what happened the last time you hit me—ow!”

One shin kicked, one more to go. You started hitting his shoulder repeatedly, knowing it wasn’t doing any damage but making you feel better nonetheless. Gaston flinched and took a step back, which made you step forward. He took two more steps away from you, but you followed suit, and a full-on chase began.

Of course, it wasn’t like there was a lot of running space in the cell, and Gaston didn’t seem to be concerned about your desire for vengeance. In fact, he seemed more amused than annoyed. He was laughing at you as you continued to attack his shoulder. “(Y/N)—(Y/N), there’s no need for tha—(Y/N), it was funny, I don’t see why you’re so—ow, that actually hurt!—there’s no reason to be so angry at me!”

You finally ceased, crossing your arms over your chest with a huff. Gaston took one look at you and began to full-on laugh again, which almost made you start hitting him again. You spun around and prepared to stalk out, but your eyes landed on the orange that was on the ground, the knife solidly embedded in it. You picked it up and slid the knife out. For a moment, you contemplated throwing it at Gaston. Bet he wouldn’t think it’s funny if it was him. However, knowing your luck, you’d probably just miss and he’d make fun of you for it.

Which was why you simply dropped the knife into your skirt pocket and continued on your way out, leaving both meat pasties for Gaston to eat. You heard Gaston move behind you.

“(Y/N), where are you going? And that’s my knife; you can’t just take it.”

You exited the cell and slammed the door shut before Gaston could stop you. He frowned at your coldness. “(Y/N), I don’t understand,” he whined, placing both hands on the barred door and leaning his forehead on against it.

Don’t answer him. If he can’t figure out what he did wrong, that’s his problem, you thought, turning away from him.

“Can I at least have my knife back?”

You ignored him as you stomped back down the stairs.

Contrary to your outside actions, you weren’t truly as mad as you wanted Gaston to think you were. Yes, you hoped he’d realize that it was not appropriate in any way to randomly throw a knife at anyone, but you were impressed with his skill level. Impressed and intrigued and a little aroused, if you were being completely honest with yourself. You found yourself wondering—could he teach you to do that?

Now that would be interesting.

“(Y/N), just the woman I was looking for!” Adam announced, running up from a hallway and clasping your shoulder. You looked at the prince. He was wearing a green vest over his white shirt, but had on no overcoat, which seemed a little unusual for the regal man. An air of jitteriness hovered around him, but his grip on you was as warm as ever.

“Is everything alright?” you asked tentatively.

He smiled at you, but the corners of his mouth twitched several times, as if he was having a difficult time keeping calm. “Yes. Quite so. Perhaps as good as it could ever be.” He removed his hand and clapped both hands behind his back. “Would you mind walking with me for a moment?”

You raised an eyebrow but nodded.

Together, the two of you made your way outside. “How are you today?” Adam asked as you exited the castle and walked down the steps.

“I’m well. Made a couple of pasties this morning.”

“Yes, I recall Cogsworth mentioning something along the lines of that when he gave me a report on the castle this morning.” Adam grinned. “He was rather petulant about the whole situation.”

You gave a sheepish shrug. “Sorry?”

“Oh, you don’t need to apologize!” You passed the first group of hedges and waved at a servant who was trimming them. “Cogsworth is a wonderful man. He just gets a bit…”

“Cantankerous? Persnickety? Grumpy?” you supplied with a smile.

Adam laughed. “All of those and more,” he agreed. “But I’m told Lumière jumped to your rescue.”

“More like danced, but yes, something like that.” You tried to keep your gaze on the prince, feeling like it would be rude not to look at him while speaking, but you hadn’t walked the castle grounds before. You’d ridden through it on horseback multiple times, but this was the first chance you’d had to really examine it.

Whether Adam noticed or not, he didn’t seem to find your lack of attention offensive. “And how is our friend?”

It took you a moment to realize he meant Gaston. “Oh, he’s…as well as can be, I suppose.” You thought back to the dagger incident and suddenly remembered it was still in your pocket. Whoops.

“Not giving you any trouble, I hope?”

“What? Oh, no, not aside from neverending flirtatious remarks.”

“Good, good.” You walked in silence for a little bit. You enjoyed the silence, using it to breathe in the fresh summer air and to marvel at how green the topiary was. And the castle grounds were simply huge! There so many fountains everywhere!

You both went to the left, towards the nearest fountain. “Where’s Belle?” you asked, abruptly realizing that your best friend and Adam’s other half was nowhere to be seen.

Adam looked up to the castle behind him. “She’s in the library, doing research for an invention idea she has.” He returned his gaze to you, and once again, you sensed the air of nervousness that hovered around him. “She’ll be in there for another couple of hours, I warrant. Which is just enough time to discuss something of utmost importance with you.”

You pointed to yourself. “Me?” you repeated, confused.

He nodded. “Yes, you.” His eyes darted around, as if ensuring that nobody else was within earshot, before he lowered his voice. “You see, today I finally received a very important package.”

You leaned closer to him, playing along with his secretiveness. “And that was?”

He put a finger to his lips, then reached into his pants pocket and procured a small wooden box. He opened it slowly, and the sight of the ring inside made you gasp. It was beautiful—the gold band was made to look like a flower stem that blossomed into a rose. Within the rose petals was a diamond, small and sparkling in the sunlight.

You looked at the prince, eyes big and mouth wide open. “Is that—” you whispered before stopping, the joy of what this meant working its way through you.

Adam nodded happily, reminding you of Chip’s reaction that morning to being allowed to help you cook. You covered your mouth in an attempt to hold back a squeal of excitement. “When?” you managed to squeak.

Adam glanced back at the castle. “This evening, I hope.” He closed the box and returned it to his pocket. “I had it commissioned almost immediately after becoming human again. It was just today finished and delivered here.”

“That’s wonderful! I’m happy for you both.” You looked towards the castle before sitting on the marble ledge of the fountain. “I’m assuming you’ve already talked with Maurice about it?”

Adam sat next to you and folded his hands together. “Yes. We spoke when he came to the castle a few days ago. I honestly expected him to refuse after what I did to him, but he gave me his blessing eagerly. ‘You make her happy,’ were his exact words.” He sighed, and you noticed that his foot had begun tapping the ground. “Do you think she’ll say yes?” he asked softly.

For a moment, you saw how truly worried he was that Belle might refuse his proposal. Not only was his foot tapping, but his eyes kept going back and forth between the ground and the castle, and the longer you went without responding, the more his thumbs began to fiddle. On the outside, he looked like a prince, but he was just a man. A man who was in love and feared that he might lose it.

You placed your hand on his shoulder, hoping that it was okay to touch him so casually. He stilled at your touch. “Do you know how worried she was for you when the mob was coming here?” You spoke quietly, hoping that whatever you were about to say would be what he needed to hear. “She was terrified, and that made her determined. She left me behind because she wanted—no, she needed—to get to you and make sure you were safe. And then she saw you get shot, and it broke her heart.” You tried to recall the way she’d explained her tale to you all those days ago, when you were both in the ballroom. “She loves you, Adam. It’s in her eyes when she looks at you, in her smile when she sees you, in the way she talks and laughs and playfully bickers with you.” You smiled. “She’ll say yes.”

Adam’s entire demeanor changed at your words, with him seeming to light up from the inside. His foot stopped tapping and he sat up straight. You withdrew your hand, knowing you’d said the right thing. “I made her a book,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve been keeping a sort of diary since the day we were saved, and I turned it into a book for her.”

“That’s a wonderful idea!” You dipped your fingers into the fountain water and swirled them around, relishing the coolness against your skin. Your bruises were almost gone by now. “But why are you telling me all this? It’s not as if you need my approval to marry her or anything.”

“You’re Belle’s friend. You’re important to her, and that makes you important to me.” You could hear the sincerity in his tone, giving you a rush of warmth. “I don’t need your approval, but I would like it nonetheless.”

You lifted your hand out of the water and flicked them to get stray droplets off. “Well, not that you need it or anything, but I can say with complete certainty that you have my approval.” You grinned at the man, who jumped up and extended a hand to you.

“Excellent! Can you be by the roses by 7 o’clock?”

You accepted his hand and allowed him to pull you up. “Of course!”

While his nervousness was gone, he still had a frantic energy about him. “Excellent!” he repeated. “I’ll have to tell Lumière to prepare a special dinner for tonight, and I need the rose petals, and (Y/N), I need you to keep Belle occupied until I come for her. Can you do that?”

You gave him a mock salute. “You can count on me!” He released your hand, which you then punched forward triumphantly. “To the library!” you declared, running that direction. Adam snorted (a rather un-princely sound) at your enthusiasm.

“Don’t tell her!” he called after you.

“I won’t!” you shouted back.

Belle’s getting married! She’s actually getting married! Well, she has to say ‘yes’ first, but she will. And then she’s getting married! But I can’t tell her. I have to be calm.

“(Y/N)? Why are you skipping up the stairs? What are you so happy about?”

You froze at the sight of Belle, a large book in hand. “Oh, Belle! I didn’t see you there!” You grabbed her arm and started to lead her back towards the library. “Come on, let’s get you a book.”

“I already have one.” She held up the thick novel.

“Oh, that thing? You’ll have it done in an hour. You need a thicker book!”

“It’s over a thousand pages long…”

Oh, this was going to be a challenge.

You managed to keep Belle occupied, though you’d been correct in your thoughts that it would prove to be difficult. You’d caught her up on Gaston (with the exception of telling her about the knife incident—more for Gaston’s protection than hers; she wouldn’t take too kindly to the news that he’d thrown a knife at her best friend, after all), including his apparent reading of Hamlet. Then she’d helped you pick out another book (Macbeth) that you could subtly leave in the cell in case he was bored enough to keep reading.

Mrs. Potts had brought some tea and toast at one point while you were both reading, and given you the news that Mr. Potts had arrived at the castle and asked to move in with them. The two of you were overjoyed at this announcement and hugged the older woman, who left to go help him unpack. Belle offered to help, but both you and Mrs. Potts insisted that she needn’t.

Then Belle had wanted to grab something from her room, but you convinced her she didn’t need it. She’d also asked where Adam was and tried to go searching for him, but you managed to bring up the subject of her latest inventions and successfully distracted her.

Was Belle suspicious of your obvious attempts to keep her in the library? Probably. But you had a job and by God, you were going to do it.

Finally, finally, around quarter-past six, Adam came to the library, arms clasped behind his back. You let out a sigh of relief, which he noticed. He raised a blonde eyebrow towards you, and you tilted your head towards Belle and scrunched your face to convey just how appreciative he’d better be of keeping his soon-to-be fiancé confined without revealing anything. His eyes twinkled at your exasperation, which earned an eye-roll from you.

“Belle, I have something for you,” Adam began. Belle uncrossed her legs in order to stand from her chair, but he handed her a package.

You started sneaking your way out of the library, using Belle’s curiosity as a distraction. You heard the paper crinkle and Belle’s gasp when she saw it was a book. “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. “But why?”

“Turn the page and read it,” Adam encouraged her.

There was a soft rustle as Belle turned a page. “Once upon a time, in the hidden heart of France, a handsome young prince lived in a beautiful castle. Is that you?”

Adam chuckled. “Keep reading.”

You slowed your walking, curious to hear the rest of the book.

“Although he had everything his heart desired, the prince was selfish and unkind. He taxed the village to fill his castle with the most beautiful objects, and his parties with the most beautiful people. Then, one night, an unexpected intruder arrived at the castle, seeking shelter from the bitter storm. As a gift, she offered the prince a single rose.” She paused, then laughed, “Is that supposed to be a rose?”

As Adam muttered something about how being a prince doesn’t mean you’re an artist, you had an epiphany. This must be how he got turned into a Beast. It’s Adam’s story.

Evidently, Belle realized that too. Her laughter stopped, and her reading slowed, though her voice was steady. “Repulsed by her haggard appearance, the prince turned the woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for beauty is found within. When he dismissed her again, the old woman’s outward appearance melted away to reveal a beautiful enchantress.” She paused, giving you time to imagine Agathe appearing before Adam the way she’d appeared before you.

“The prince begged her for forgiveness. But it was too late, for she had seen that there was no love in his heart. As punishment, she transformed him into a hideous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who loved there.”

You slipped out of the library then, feeling like staying any longer was intruding. So that’s what happened, you thought with a frown. I’ve always wondered exactly how he got cursed. And why did Agathe punish the servants as well? It wasn’t their fault if he was selfish.

You were so lost in thought that it seemed like mere minutes before you’d reached the roses. No one else was there, so you sat down on a stone bench next to a tree and allowed yourself a moment to breathe in the evening air. The smell of roses mixed in with the occasional scent of the water from the nearby fountain every time the wind blew. The world is quiet here, you found yourself thinking as you examined your surroundings. Your eyes wandered from the stone archways that resided around you to the castle, and you found yourself looking at the bridge where you’d rescued Gaston. You stared at the bridge, then allowed your eyes to move to the tower that he was currently being held in. Can he see me? you wondered, squinting. You could see nothing through the open doors and windows—it was too far.

You began humming to yourself as you continued to watch the tower. It was a song your mother had taught you when describing a ball she’d gone to and showing you how to dance. “Nous n’irons plus a bois, les lauriers sont coupés. La belle que voila, la laiss’rons nous danser?” You pulled your legs up and wrapped your arms around them. “Entrez dans la danse, voyez comme on danse. Sautez, dansz, embrassez qui vous voudrez…”

You sang your way through quite a few lullabies as you waited. Finally, you heard someone running towards you. You jumped off the bench and tried to find a place to hide, assuming it was Belle. Before you could, however, Adam emerged. You had enough time to notice he was now wearing the matching jacket to his vest, which made him look quite handsome.

“(Y/N)! You’re here!”

“Yes?” you replied uncertainly, suddenly wondering if you’d misheard his instructions.

He grinned, his face one of boyish delight. “She should be on her way in about ten minutes.” He pulled the ring box out of his jacket pocket and examined it, as if to make sure he hadn’t lost it. “How have you been? Was it difficult keeping her occupied?”

“Yes. Yes, it was. I’m certain she knew something was up. She’s quite clever, you know.”

“It’s one of my favorite things about her,” he replied in a loving tone. You smiled.

“So is the book you gave her your story?”

“Yes, essentially. I attempted to illustrate it as well, but…” he gave a sheepish shrug, “I’m not as talented in drawing as Belle or her father, I’m afraid.”

You laughed. “How bad is it?”

He gave you an embarrassed look. “Fairly horrendous,” was his response.

You laughed again. Adam’s cheeks flushed, but he maintained his princely atmosphere. “I’ll have to examine them later, then.”

“I’m sure you will,” he grumbled, but you could tell he was joking.

You decided to spare him further teasing (for now, at least) and pointed to an archway that was behind you. “I’m going to hide, then.”

“Yes, please do.”

You rolled your eyes and went behind the smaller stone wall. It was just big enough for you to hide behind if you crouched; it was too thin for you to stand behind. You kept your ears peeled for the sound of Belle’s approach, occasionally peering at Adam. As you both waited for Belle, Adam plucked a rose from a bush near him. He pulled out the ring and, after a moment of hesitation, pulled the navy ribbon holding his hair back out, which he then used to tie the ring to the rose.

That’s beautiful, you thought. And to think, this all happened because of a flower.

“Adam?” Belle called, snapping you and Adam to attention. You ducked, but covertly peeked at the prince. She entered the small clearing, the book still in hand.

“Belle.” He took a few steps towards her, his hair falling forwards to frame his face. She watched him, curious, but you saw the realization occurring in her brown eyes. She knew what was happening.

Adam continued. “So now you know what happened to me. How I was the one who had it all. How I was cursed. How I fell into despair and became reclusive, bitter.” He indicated the roses around them, glowing in the orange of the now-setting sun. “A rose served as my damnation…and as my salvation.” He took another step towards her, nearly close enough to embrace her.

You felt yourself blushing at the intimacy of this moment. You knew neither of them minded, but still…it felt like you were intruding.

“You stood up to me. You saved my life.”

When did that happen? You wondered.

“You showed me how to be better, and you made me want to change. I wanted to change for you because…” he swallowed thickly. “Because I love you. And I don’t want to be without you. Your wit, your stubbornness, your compassion and warmth—I love everything about you. I love you, Belle, and I know you don’t need a man to take care of you. You’re quite capable of doing that yourself.”

You covered your mouth to stifle your laugh. He’s got that right.

“But if you’d let me, I want to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you’ve made me.” Adam held out the rose, kneeling as he offered it to her. “Belle…will you marry me?”

Belle didn’t even take the rose before she threw the book aside and jumped on him, effectively knocking him to the ground, and kissed him. You felt your face grow redder at the passion in her actions. When they finally broke apart, she was repeating one word tearfully over and over again. “Yes. Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

You turned away as they began kissing again, but stopped when you heard Adam call your name.

“(Y/N), you can come out now!”

Belle made a sound of surprise. “(Y/N)?” she exclaimed, turning towards you as you emerged from behind the wall. Her eyebrows creased in thought, then, “You were in on this! That’s why you were keeping me in the library!”

You grinned at her. “Yeeep,” you drawled, popping the ‘p’. She shook her head at you, but the huge smile on her face let you know she wasn’t mad in any way. She rushed to you and enveloped you in a tight hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“I didn’t do anything,” you whispered back, feeling your own tears start to fall. “It was all Adam. I just helped a little.”

The two of you broke apart with a giggle, which gave Adam the chance to offer Belle the rose once more. She took the flower and untied the blue ribbon that wrapped around it, which allowed her to take the ring off the stem and slip it onto her finger. “It’s perfect,” she declared, looking from her hand to her fiancé and you. Happy tears trickled down her face.

You threw your arms up. “My best friend is getting married!” you announced jubilantly, your voice cracking a little.

“Yes, yes, I am!” Belle agreed, once again wrapping you in a hug. You saw Adam grinning at the sight of you two and motioned for him to join in. He did so, which, for some reason, made both you and Belle start laughing again. He started laughing as well, and by the time the three of you separated, your cheeks were pink from laughing so hard. Belle wrapped her arm around his waist and gave him a quick peck on the lips before turning to you. “(Y/N), will you be my maid of honor?” she asked.

You thought your face was going to split in half from how huge your grin was. “Yes! Of course! Definitely!” Apparently one word wasn’t enough to express your agreement to such a crucial role. “Absolutely! Positively! Unequivocally! Yes!” You and Belle hugged for the third time in less than fifteen minutes.

When you’d finally pulled apart, Adam held out both of his arms to you. “Well then, shall we eat? I’ve a special meal planned for tonight.”

You and Belle made eye contact and started giggling again, earning an eyeroll from Adam. You took Adam’s right arm (making sure to grab the dropped book) while she took his left, and together, the three of you made your way back to the castle, the sunset behind you lighting your path with gold.

Indeed, it was a special meal, at least, for you and Belle. There was lamb and roasted chicken and beef ragout and cheese soufflé and by God, were you full by the time you’d all finished eating. Lumière had opened a few of their best bottles of champagne, and Adam had invited the whole castle in a toast to his and Belle’s engagement. To both your and Belle’s pleasant surprise, Maurice had been there at the table, waiting when you all returned. It seemed that Adam had planned this moment out far more than you’d been aware.

There had been much discussion in regards to the upcoming nuptials, which meant that you weren’t able to bring Gaston his dinner until later than usual. You tried to hurry up the stairs whilst keeping all the food on the tray, knowing that he was probably fairly hungry by now.

When you reached the cell, you saw that he was sitting down at the open door, his legs dangling over the edge. For a brief and panicked moment, you thought he might jump as you entered the cell, that he’d been waiting specifically for your return in order to maximize the emotional damage that would surely follow.

He didn’t, though. He simply sat there, staring out the open window, and waited for you to join him. You were tentative about sitting down next to him, but after an internal debate, you slowly sat down next to him and let your legs dangle over the edge.

You genuinely expected him to make some sort of comment regarding your lateness. At the very least, you thought he’d immediately grab the tray and start eating. He did neither, earning a mental frown from you. You decided to be the one to incite conversation rather than wait for him.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” you said, watching him carefully for any acknowledgment. He gave none, prompting you to try again. “We had a long dinner, but I managed to get you some variety this time. There’s lamb, ragout, even a few pastries.”

Still nothing.

Starting to get a little bit concerned now, you thought.

“Gaston? Are you okay?” You lifted one hand to set on his shoulder, then pulled it back when you saw his lack of reaction. Instead, you placed your hand on the floor next to the tray. Yes, now I’m a little more concerned.

You followed his unwavering gaze to the darkened courtyard. Your eyes adapted soon enough, and you could pinpoint the location of the earlier proposal. You stared at that spot. It was so tiny from here, yet that didn’t make it unidentifiable. Your eyes moved from there to the fountains, the water shimmering in the pale moonlight. The stars shone bright above the castle, and you could make out a few familiar constellations. It’s beautiful, you thought, a temporary peace coming over you.

“I thought I could make her happy,” came a soft mutter from the man on your right, drawing your attention.

“Hmm?”

Gaston continued to look outside as he spoke. “Belle. I did everything in my power to make her mine. But instead, she falls for another man.” His shoulders slumped as he let loose a sigh. “She wouldn’t marry me, but she’ll marry him.”

You felt your eyebrows crease in confusion. How on earth did he know about the proposal? Surely he couldn’t have seen what was happening from this far away!

“I saw it, (Y/N). I saw it all.”

So much for that. “But you can barely see where it happened from here!”

He scoffed, but it felt half-hearted. “I’m the greatest hunter around for a reason.” He nodded his head slightly towards the courtyard. “I recognized your dress when you went out, and then I saw the prince and Belle. I didn’t need to hear to know why she was reacting like that.” As he spoke, his tone grew bitter. “Not to mention I heard the whole castle cheering downstairs.”

You bit your lip, unsure of how to respond to this. It was clear that he was upset, and while you sympathized, you also felt like he was seeking pity, which you had no intention of granting.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he added, lifting his chin to see the stars. “Of course the woman I love would choose someone else.”

Alright, that’s enough of that. “You didn’t love her,” you replied with a hint of frustration. Gaston finally deigned to look at you, his green eyes duller than you’d ever seen them. “She was a challenge, the only woman who dared to say ‘no’ to you. That’s the only reason you wanted her.” You locked eyes with him, willing him to realize you were speaking the truth. He opened his mouth, but you cut him off. “Admit it, Gaston. Belle was nothing more than a prize to be won, something you could use to stroke your ego with if you succeeded.” You crossed your arms and twisted so that you were leaning against the wall, although your legs still hung over the edge.

He didn’t even have to decency to act offended by your harsh words; he just continued to stare at you with that blank look in his eyes.

“Perhaps,” was his only reply.

You raised an eyebrow, daring him to say more.

With a deep sigh that turned into a yawn, he mimicked your position. There was silence between the two of you as you sat there, watching each other. You were still confused by his lack of appetite and made a mental resolution to just leave the food there when you left for the night. Which needed to be rather soon—you’d gotten up early today and were feeling drowsy after all the excitement. We need to let Villenueve know tomorrow, and that’ll be loads of fun. And then there’s officially inviting people, planning the decorations, the dresses, the jackets and the meals. Oh, maybe I can see how LeFou’s doing with asking everyone how they feel about Gaston. Yes, I need to make time for that somehow…

“Not the only girl.”

“What?” you asked, your mind still caught up in listing everything that needed to be done tomorrow.

“Belle’s not the only girl with the gall to stand up to me,” he repeated, giving you a pointed look. “You interrupted me nearly every time I was with her.”

The corner of your mouth twitched when you saw a spark of something returning to his eyes. He seemed to be waking up from whatever self-pitying mood he’d been in. Good. I wasn’t planning on putting up with that for long.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” You tilted your head at him, thinking back on all the various times you’d intervened. Remembering them made you smile to yourself. “It’s the duty of a best friend to prevent unsolicited romantic advances.”

“Is it?” His voice had faded back to the melancholy tone that you were unused to.

Somehow you sensed that any further conversation would continue in this stilted manner, and you, tired as you were, felt no need to remain there when you could be getting rested for the coming day. You rose and dusted yourself off before turning to leave.

“Must you?”

Is he asking me to stay again? You hesitated. Why would he ask me to stay if he wasn’t planning on talking?

Maybe he just wants company, the other voice, the one that usually encouraged your darker thoughts, reasoned. He’s lonely. And there are lots of things you can do in each other’s company…

Yet when you looked at him, you felt no flirtatious overtures coming from him. It was a stark contrast to the cocky Gaston you’d grown used to, and whether it was due to his loss of Belle or to tiredness, it was unsettling. You were surprised to find that you actually missed his bold attitude. You missed the banter, the sly comments, the intense looks you shared. In such a short period of time, he’d changed so much from the man who’d thrown a knife at you that afternoon.

“Get some sleep,” you encouraged quietly as you walked away. You took a moment to set down Macbeth on the stool by the door in case he wanted to read. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He didn’t reply but resumed staring outside, looking up at the stars. You frowned at his back. Maybe LeFou will know how to cheer him up. I’ll ask him tomorrow.

Now you just had to wait until then.

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

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