yes those are goats on the roof

anonymous asked:

Gaston reader where they put Gaston jr to bed and gaston wants another child. Smut or no smut.


My command is your request (reference and pun intended). 

“And then all his toes fell right off!“ You ended your tale with a grand arm gesture, making sure to give your son a fright.

“All because he didn’t eat his vegetables?” Little Gaston gasped, pulling his blankets up towards his mouth in horror.

You nodded solumnly.

“That can’t be right, can it Papa?” Your son asked as he looked towards his doorway where your husband stood, his arms crossed and an amused smile quickly disappearing from his face.

Gaston nodded with a shrug, “Unfortunately, Little Me, it is,” he sighed heavily. “In the middle of a dance in the tavern a few years ago, saw it myself. All eleven fell clean off.”

“Don’t you mean-”

“A big toe sprouted from his heel because he didn’t eat his fish,” Gaston shook his head sadly. “Poor man, Jacques was such a good dancer.”

“Jacques with the limp?

"We’re only trying to protect you, honey,” you leaned over Gaston Jr’s bed to tuck him in. “Promise Maman and Papa that you won’t end up like Jacques?”

“I promise, Maman!” Little Gaston huffed, saluting to his father just as he was taught.

Taking hardly three paces across the room, Gaston leaned down and kissed his son on the forehead. “Good lad,” he affectionately mussed his sons hair before kissing him again. “Good lad.”

You said your goodnights to Gaston Jr and made your way to your room. Gaston washed his face in the mirror basn beside the bed while you got comfortable in bed.

“I want another child, (Name),” Gaston announced as he pattced dry his cheeks. “Little Me is almost six now, that’s too long without a sibling.”

“Darling, I’m hardly 25,” you laughed, looking to your husband with a raised brow. “We have the time.”

Walking towards you, he nodded quietly. “Yes, but you forget, the war has aged me, I’m not the young stallion I once was.” Gaston crawled into bed beside you, allowing you to rest upon his bare chest.

Raising a brow, you trailed a finger along his sparse chest hair. “I beg to differ,” you tease in a flirtatious voice. “You were quite… youthful just yesterday.” 

“I have my moments,” Gaston snickered, smirking cockily at your praise. 

“Moments that last for hours,” you sighed dreamily, tracing your fingers down his torso and up again. “And hours, and hours.” Looking up coquettishly to your husband, you batted your eyelashes. “Why, Gaston Desrochers, you hardly let me get any sleep.” You puffed out your bottom lip in a pouty huff, letting your palm flatten against the bottom of his stomach, your fingertips barely grazing the hem of his pants.

There were moments when Gaston questioned why he chose you out of all the women in the village- like this morning when you hit him over the head with a wooden spoon because he wouldn’t stop picking at the food as you were cooking- but now was most certainly not one of those times. 

There were moments when you questioned why you agreed to marry Gaston in the first place- like yesterday when he decided it was a good idea to take his son up on the roof of the chicken coup and throw eggs at the neighbors goat- but as your husband growled out a laugh and crawled atop you, you remembered exactly why you said yes, yes, yes and oh god yes.