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snowbellewells · 5 months

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Self Promo Sunday: "Bless What is Given You"

I realize that it's time to roll out the Christmas-y fics, but I had one more Thanksgiving story, and I didn't want to leave it out. I hope you will still enjoy it, even in December. There’s a nod to a missing moment from 3x19, but then it jumps to post s6 in Storybrooke, to all of them in their happy beginning… Most of this is also written in Robin Hood's point-of-view, so there is some Outlaw Queen in amongst the larger Swan Jones Charming Mills family fluff, if that is a deal-breaker for anyone...

** Also available on AO3, if that is your preference **

by: @snowbellewells

“Do you mean to tell me you think you know better than a queen?” Regina’s haughty voice practically dripped disdain from each clipped, precise syllable she spoke. The perfect arch of her sculpted brow rose in question, disbelief and disapproval clear on her challenging, flawless face, even if her tone had not made her opinion more than apparent. “My mother was Rumplestiltskin’s most prized pupil; he sought me out himself to train me as well, chose me to cast his precious Dark Curse… Do you honestly think the fact that you can scare off a few monkeys with your arrows and you’ve been squatting in his deserted castle makes you a better judge of...of…” Even though she spoke the “you” as though her mouth was swallowing something foul and her face scrunched up accordingly, it seemed that the formerly Evil Queen was at a rare loss for words to express just how ridiculous the very idea was.

Unfazed, the scruffy archer gazed right back at her cheekily, seeming more than a bit amused by her ruffled feathers and inability to continue. “Not sure that is quite the distinction you’re making it out to be, Milady,” he offered with a smirk.

From across the way, Snow couldn’t seem to resist chiming in with the outlaw who had once befriended a princess on the run; who, in what now seemed like another life had helped her fine-tune her skills with a bow and advised her on spots in the forest where one could most easily hunt game to eat without encountering Regina’s guards. Though Snow had long since made the choice to put their painful and sordid history in the past, there was something that teased a warble of delighted laughter up her throat at the sight of this bandit who once graced “Wanted” posters by her side agitating Regina to the point of losing all her icy, polished reserve. “It is a bit of a dubious honor, Regina, you have to admit.”

Charming beside her dipped his head to hide the chuckle rumbling in his chest as well, reaching across their round council table’s polished surface to squeeze her hand. The shepherd-prince consort would have been lying if he refused to admit there wasn’t a part of him who enjoyed watching her Majesty flounder for her unaffected poise. It went without saying that the curse they were speaking of had ripped he and Snow apart and taken their daughter from his arms almost the moment she was born; consigning them all to 28 lonely years of misery. The truth was that plain and that simple, but he wisely held his tongue. At least since his recent pirate friend had gone off on his own after their arrival back in their land, Robin was someone with whom he could break a bit of the tension and who might lighten all of their dark and despairing moods once in a while.

As they returned to discussing the plan to raid Gold’s castle here in their home realm, knowing Zelena had holed up in the Dark One’s stronghold - with Rumplestiltskin himself still prisoner - it became clear it was really the only method they had left to try, to hope that the man who always knew so much more than anyone else would also know some way out of this mess, some way to stop Regina’s rage and envy fueled half-sister. Belle across the table looked pale and strained, her lips pressed together in a thin line but determined, needing to help in whatever way she could. Even if they couldn’t free her True Love, even if his mind were already too fractured by his near death, the half-possession that had held his son’s mind within his body as well, and then that son’s violent loss, he wouldn’t want things to continue as they were; with him under Zelena’s control and bent to her will. Belle had to cling to that truth if nothing else.

Seeming to sense her flagging spirit, Charming saw Leroy sitting next to her place a clumsily large, ax-calloused hand over her slender, tiny one and give it a reassuring squeeze. The dwarf leaned over to whisper encouragingly to the petite beauty, and the prince realized that even within his inner circle of friends and allies there were deeper friendships, and stories leading to them, that he didn’t know, as Belle’s petite frame relaxed and her tense shoulders lowered slightly at the stout little man’s clearly welcomed assurances. The former shepherd thought he just made out the kind, if gruffly voiced, words, “Hang in there, Sister, the battle ain’t over yet.” Charming smiled; that might as well be a mantra for all of them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robin of Locksley, otherwise known in the Enchanted Forest these days by his more colorful moniker of Robin Hood, simply could not seem to help it. He knew something about him - be it his cavalier attitude towards risk and danger, his leisurely and rather lax methods of ruling over his crew (Can he help it if he’d trust them with his life and has never had cause to question their loyalty or skill?) or perhaps it was just his very form and person she objected to. Whatever the case may be, he couldn’t help goading her Majesty, rattling that posh control of which the woman seemed so proud. Behind the cool and haughty veneer Regina Mills carefully wore, he sensed something injured - fragile, even - though she would be appalled at the thought that any weakness showed, he had no doubt of that. The irony, of course, was that bit of a chink in her flawless armor was the one thing that kept him from dismissing her as another selfish, cruel royal stepping on the backs of those less fortunate to get ahead. Her tiny show of pained humanity, the loneliness hidden behind those large dark eyes, beguiled him no matter how hard he tried to resist; drew his empathy where otherwise he would have had only scorn for her past actions and the villain she had been.

They were in the Dark Castle; seemingly, hopefully, having escaped Zelena’s notice so far, but stymied by a large door into the chamber where Rumplestiltskin had to be imprisoned. They had searched the entire rest of the castle and found it empty. None of them were foolish enough, however, to assume that the fact that they had not yet seen the Wicked Witch meant that the way ahead was safe or that she had not laid hidden snares for any intruders. Particularly not if this door were the barrier beyond which she was hiding the powerful being she meant to both use and prove herself to. There had been no other closed doors until this one, after all.

With a huff of impatience, as if she couldn’t be bothered to waste another second of her time - even with safety - the former Queen reached forward, her perfectly manicured hand nearly to the golden inlaid handle despite the Princess Snow’s warnings for caution and the Lady Belle’s wise suggestion that they wait. What appeared as bold unconcern and decisiveness radiated down her spine of steel, held ramrod-straight, but there was a slight tremor in those pale fingers, one he would have missed if he hadn’t been seeking it, just before they closed around the polished metal.

Some strange shiver of foreboding knowledge borne of a life in the forest, in the shadows, constantly on the move, pursued and on the run, made some more-than-tangible knowledge run through him, and Robin’s limbs and muscles were reacting before his mind issued a conscious order. Knowing the proud woman plowing ahead would not heed any words he called out anyway, he had silently reached over his shoulder, pulled an arrow from his quiver, nocked it to his bow, and let it fly before another moment passed, startling Regina enough as its course whistled past her ear to make her jerk back several steps.

The feathered missile embedded in the heavy oaken portal with the solid “thunk” of a shot ringing true, but to the horror of all, rather than remaining there, vibrating from its landing, the arrow was lost from sight as the entire door was engulfed in instantaneous flames.

Watching the blaze which would undoubtedly have devoured her as well had he allowed her to pull open that door before loosing his arrow, Regina paused for mere moments before whipping around, dark eyes flashing, to arrest him angrily. “That arrow nearly took off my head!” she barked, voice as sharp as jagged glass.

Robin shot back, unable to keep himself from rising to the bait. Her lack of gratitude didn’t even surprise him by that point, but he hadn’t intended to be chastised for his quick-thinking aversion of danger either. “Where I come from a simple thank you would have sufficed.”

The regent’s black eyebrow rose in eloquent derision, making her opinion of where he came from quite clear without speaking a word. Yet, despite that hateful, snarling facade he could see the slight tremor he had previously noticed in her pale hands become a full-body quivering that, while still not plainly visible, had to be making it hard for her to remain standing, much less glaring at him with such vitriol. Her full, blood-red-painted lips trembled minutely as well until her perfect white teeth bit into the lower one, stilling it and making him swallow heavily with some reaction he couldn’t explain. She was shaken; that much he knew. But he could understand refusing to admit fear, not being able to let it show for the sake of those who follow, who must see strength to stay their course.

Thankfully, the clearly magical blaze soon expired and the way before them was as clear and unbarred as all the previous entryways they had encountered. Not without a bit of trepidation, but also as brave and determinedly as he had long since learned their hero contingent to be, Prince Charming and Snow pressed forward, followed anxiously by Belle (whom Robin’s heart panged for as she clearly ached to find the man she loved still able to recognize her and navigate his own mind) and the rest of their group. Regina just to the side, looked for all the world as if she were in no particular hurry to enter and see her former mentor, but could instead care less one way or the other. Hanging back, the outlaw of Sherwood Forest made sure the others had passed through the door and into the other room, well out of hearing, before he stepped up to Regina’s side, drawing almost nose-to-nose with her. He then leaned forward practically brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured. “There’s no need to pretend you’re made of stone, your Majesty…” He put precise emphasis on the title which she had let him know in no uncertain terms she preferred upon their first meeting in the forest. “In fact, with the present company, I believe you might get much further by letting them see that you have doubts and fears, just as they do. I know I like you much better seeing you as more than the Evil Queen.”

At her sharp intake of air with his last pronouncement, he pulled back quickly, half expecting a slap to be stinging his skin at any moment. Instead, he found color rising hotly up her neck, her chest rising and falling strenuously in that ridiculously low-cut corseted gown, and her generally looking more flustered and affected than he had ever seen her before.

She opened and closed her mouth soundlessly for several seconds until her tart tongue seemed to return to her, then spit out a quick, “Insolent bandit,” before moving to brush past him and follow the others.

Something in Robin snapped and surged to life in answer to her challenge; not allowing her to push him aside, he grasped her upper arm firmly and held on, her back to the wall and crowding in close to her, until their breaths were mingling in the same air, their faces were so close. Even as his pulse pounded and his heart rate skyrocketed, Robin wondered what had come over him. The woman had maimed and killed, schemed and plotted for her own selfish ends, and stood for everything he had devoted himself to toppling. She was nothing like his beloved Marian had been; someone with whom he would not have imagined sharing a thing in common - and yet he couldn’t fight the pull he felt. The need to imprint upon her not to put her life at risk so needlessly again.

Sweeping forward, he dove into an all-consuming kiss, taking her mouth with his and giving no quarter, delving further instead, and swallowing the whimper and hum that escaped her throat unconsciously, despite her best attempts to remain unaffected.

Regina’s hands grappled blindly at his biceps as if trying to steady herself. She scrabbled for solid support before helplessly melting against him, opening for his questing mouth and giving herself over to the heated embrace. When they finally broke for air, she was breathless, and he huffed out a winded chuckle himself when she managed, “Well, Thief, that really was quite pleasant… Even if you do still smell of forest.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Several realms, curses, and years later, in Storybrooke

The three men and their half dozen offspring of various ages creeping through the woods on the border of Storybrooke out near the town line are quiet and intent, completely and unabashedly focused on their prize. Up ahead, atop the small rise of a hill as the sun climbs fully into the cold, clear November morning sky, their prey struts proudly, stopping occasionally to offer its warbled call or peck at the rough ground beneath its feet. They have been tracking the large turkey for some time now, since before day fully dawned, and the time to strike has come at last.

Briefly, the thought flits through Robin’s head that this could be the same tom that had escaped himself and his Merry Men in this same forest years ago, when the hunt had been interrupted by the nightmarish interruption of a winged simian attacker and LIttle John’s subsequent transformation. To this day, the large and otherwise unflappable man stays far away from this particular section of the forest and refuses to go anywhere near the town line on foot. A quick glance at David and his preteen son to the right, then Killian and his little girl and second son to the left, gives him the hint from both men’s expressions that they are also remembering that rather ill-fated day, as bows are readied and last instructions offered.

He can only hope they will face nothing so unexpected this fine morn. The turkey before them has been promised to grace the main table of the large community Thanksgiving feast, and between the three men and their brood of adventurous junior hunters it is a matter of pride that they not return empty-handed today. Roland was promised the first unobstructed shot, and the young man, just barely a teenager but already capable and thoughtful as an adult, has already taken aim and is readying his shot to fly, much to his half-sister Margot’s displeasure as she stands just behind her big brother at Robin’s elbow. She is as untamed and mischievous as Roland is quiet and serious, and was much put out at the decision that Roland as the oldest child should get first chance, arguing rather heatedly that Roland might be biggest but she was the best shot. His blond-braided, green-attired second child is one of the best shots he’s ever seen at barely ten, but if she doesn’t learn to keep her temper and her slightly spoiled younger sibling petulance under control, he is certainly in for further trials in a few years.

Even in the few silent moments afforded him as they all hold their breaths, Rob feels the gratitude and love he has for his children, and the friends and adopted family surrounding them, surge through him with new strength. He had so very nearly left this world, numerous times over, as had the men on either side of him, and the women each of them loved. It was part of the heavy mantle they wore when standing against the Darkness in the world and fighting it back from the light and good time after time. Still, what better time than the present holiday to give thanks for the fact that they are all still standing and present to celebrate together?

Roland lets out a soft breath and then releases the arrow, just as a sharp cry rings out to the left. His son’s aim is true, but the bird is startled from its perch just in time to have the shot glide by beneath its talons as it takes flight. David on his right is already directing Leo to adjust his aim quickly and get off a second shot, even as Robin’s eyes sweep to where Killian is righting Hope from a tumble over a jutting tree root, brushing off her dark leggings and checking her for injury as she clearly struggles to hold back embarrassed and disappointed tears.

What he hasn’t banked on is his daughter’s inability to wait her turn or hold back any longer. Quick as whip, Margot lets fly, striking the bird right as she intends and sending it toppling from the sky. Mouth falling open in surprise at her audacity and her skill in equal measure, Robin can’t help the surge of pride at his daughter’s prowess, even if he knows he should admonish her for taking Leo’s moment from him and wondering if he should be making certain Roland doesn’t feel overshadowed. However, his eldest spares him the trouble when he whoops and claps Margot on the shoulder, crying out “You got him on the fly, Sis! Nice one!”

When the whole group converges together, he decides to let the lecture about abiding by the rules and taking turns slide for the time being upon noticing that Leo looks rather relieved that the pressure to prove his mettle before their quarry escaped has been taken off of his shoulders. Instead, he claps his little girl on the shoulder, squeezing with gentle affection until she looks up at him, beaming. Like her brother before her, she is growing much too fast, turning into a young lady before his eyes, and so for a moment, he lets himself revel in the fact that she still wants to spend time out in the woods with him and wishes to make him proud. Her papa won’t hold the favored spot in her heart forever, so he may as well savor it while he can.

He thinks Killian’s youngest, barely old enough to be tromping around out here with them in truth, looks a bit teary at the downed and unnaturally still bird before them, so he hurries to bag their prize for the journey homeward and puts it out of sight over his shoulder while Killian picks his tired youngest up off his feet and begins asking him how many different types of trees he can recognize from their leaves on the way back. That seems a bit difficult for a five-year-old until little Liam David begins happily babbling (suitably distracted thankfully) and pointing out oaks, maples and scotch pines as the pirate’s unerring sense of direction leads their whole troupe out of the forest toward the main road where they’ve left their trucks, Margot takes his hand, and Hope her grandpa’s, and Roland and Leo fall in behind talking amiably and carrying the bows. Apparently they have a budding naturalist in their midst as well, and Killian Jones - as usual - knows exactly what he is doing.

When he, Roland, and Margot trail back into the mayoral mansion some time later, discarding their muddy boots by the door, but still scattering crumbled leaves and dirt in the entryway, Regina stands in the hall shaking her head, and directs the children toward the laundry room to discard their outerwear before heading up to wash for dinner. She looks at him, trying to muster exasperation, but unable to do so. That flawless Queen is long gone; she has come a long way since they snapped and snarled at each other in self-preservation back in their home realm, neither wanting to fall in love and risk heartbreak again.

Snatching his jacket collar and pulling him in close, Regina nips at his lips playfully before murmuring against his scruffy cheek, “You still smell like forest,” she mocks, “but somehow you’ve managed to steal my heart.”

He shakes his head, offering back words she’d stunned him with once long ago, “That’s not quite the way I remember it. If I recall, your heart was given to me,” he whispers, emotion taking over the jest, “and a person can’t steal what’s been given to him.”

All in all, he’s been given much more than a simple archer from Sherwood Forest could have ever hoped.

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @searchingwardrobes @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @xarandomdreamx @booksteaandtoomuchtv @kazoosandfannypacks @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @stahlop @anmylica @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @winterbaby89 @spartanguard @therooksshiningknight @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @the-darkdragonfly @bdevereaux @thislassishooked

#self promo sunday #ouat thanksgiving ff #ouat canon divergent oneshot #bless what is given you #thanksgiving ff #outlaw queen #swan jones charming mills family ff

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tickletorso · 4 months

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Finding the Fun - RSS 2023 Fic

Hello @of-princes-and-savages I am your Secret Santa and damn was this a labor of love! The flu almost stopped me, but I said "not today infectious demon, I have a gift to complete." So without further ado, I hope you enjoy this kinda angsty, mostly fluffy, with just a hint of smut Rumbelle fic.

I will also post it to Ao3, but probably not until tomorrow and I wanted to make sure I got this to you today. So, feel free to read it below....

Summary: Belle and Rumple are settled in Storybrooke with two year-old Gideon. One night, Belle has a mishap and it inspires the couple to try and bring back the fun into their relationship.

Notes: This is a little bit AU, because after Gideon is turned back into a baby, the family stays in Storybrooke instead of traveling realms. So magic exists and all of the characters' history is the same but I’m glossing over the whole “Rumple needs to break his Dark One curse” thing. Also, I researched it and baby deer walk 7 hours after being born. - That’ll make sense when you read it.

Finding the Fun

Well, this wasn’t the oddest position Rumple had ever found Belle in.

There was the time in the Dark Castle when he’d found her perched high up on a ladder tugging on the window curtains trying to let light into the room. He’d been about to chide her, because it was called the dark castle for a reason, but she’d lost her balance and fell right into his arms. There were many other “Belle mishaps” (as he liked to call them) to choose from, but the ladder was his favorite. He’d ended up with his arms full of a beautiful woman, the sun shining down on him like a spotlight and she hadn’t looked at him with repulsion. Instead he saw curiosity and kindness in her bright blue eyes. He didn’t know it then, but that was the beginning of his love for her.

Currently, he was leaning against the doorframe of their son Gideon’s room. The hallway light behind him cast a luminous glow over the scene inside. Belle was fast asleep propped up by the headboard of their two year-old son’s bed. Gideon was cradled in her lap, equally fast asleep, his head resting against her bosom. He could tell even from across the room that Gideon’s breathing was a bit labored, and he could hear the occasional sniffle from what was undoubtedly a stuffy nose.

Ah, Gideon finally caught a cold from one of the other children at daycare. Well it was bound to happen at some point. An autumn chill had recently swept through Storybrooke and with it inevitably came runny noses and germ-laden hands.

But his beautiful wife comforting their son wasn’t the ‘odd’ part of this tableau. It was what she was wearing. Rumple’s eyes trailed up her legs. They were covered in sheer black stockings and just a peek of a garter belt could be seen high up her thigh. He could just make out a pair of matching panties trimmed in scallop lace before Gideon’s little body hid the rest from view. His gaze continued to drift upward to her top. It was a thin and rather ragged sweatshirt with the words Storybrooke Library stamped upon it. It even looked like she’d done her makeup more than usual. Her eyes were darkly lined with a winged effect and her lips were a luscious merlot color.

He tried to bite back a chuckle. Belle had sent him out for a bottle of wine and there had been a wicked gleam in her eyes. It appears Belle’s plans for a seduction had been rudely and quite suddenly interrupted by Gideon’s head-cold.

Rumple gently closed the door and made his way to their bedroom where he was met with more evidence of Belle’s thwarted seduction. Hanging off the side of their bed was a black corset covered in a black scallop lace just matching her panties. The drawers of their dresser were all pulled out with clothing spilling out of them and several items strewn across the floor. The male part of him groaned at the missed opportunity. The rest of him had a good laugh while he cleaned up the room.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Belle stumbled down the hallway like a baby deer fresh from the womb. Her legs had fallen asleep while keeping Gideon propped up on her lap. Poor little Gid had woken up crying and panicked because he couldn’t breathe through his nose. He didn’t understand that it was just a cold, and he kept pointing to his nose crying “no no no.” Once she was able to calm him down they’d sat in the bathroom with the shower steaming to help loosen his stuffed sinuses followed by a small dose of cough medicine. He still hadn’t been able to sleep without Belle propping him up making it easier for him to breathe. Thank gods toddlers don’t care what their moms look like as long they’re there, because Belle looked very different than usual.

The house was already dark so it must be late. It was always disorienting leaving Gideon’s room after sleeping with him. It felt like his room existed outside of time and space; the white noise machine, the complete darkness he needed for sleep (he must get it from Rumple), the cozy warmth of his body when he insists on snuggling until he drifts off. It all effectively shuts out the world. So when Belle tiptoes out the door, it always takes her a long time to orient herself to the sounds, the light, and the cold of the real world. She has absolutely no idea what time it is. It could be tomorrow for all she knows.

She makes her way into the kitchen trying to quietly make some tea before she puts herself to bed. The feeling is back in her legs because she definitely felt the chair she just knocked into which, of course, clattered to the floor. The sound echoing throughout the first floor of the house. With a great huff she slouched against the kitchen counter. So much for quiet.

“Well well well. What do we have here?”

Belle jumped with a little shriek turning around to meet the very amused eyes of Rumple.

“Rumple!” She pressed her hand to her heart, “You scared me.”

He shrugged and swaggered towards her pulling her into his arms. He was dressed for bed in his deep blue silk pajama set with a matching robe. The contrast in their attire was very apparent. Most of Belle’s makeup was rubbed off and her hair was a frizzy, tangled mess from the shower steam. She looked up to see Rumple biting back an amused smile. The glee on his face made him look like the imp she’d known during their time in the Dark Castle together. Despite her embarrassment, she found her heart chuckling inside of her along with him. It had been a long time since she’d seen him find something funny other than from sinister irony.

His voice was quiet and laughing when he asked, “Would you like to tell me about your evening?”

“Only if you make me some tea.”

“Deal,” he said, and with a peck on her forehead, left her arms to tend to the kettle.

Belle picked up the chair from the floor and settled herself into it. She pulled a leg up under herself, and the silky slipperiness of her stockings made her grimace. The stockings weren’t made to withstand a steam bath and restless toddler feet snagging on them. They were designed to carefully encase each leg and then dramatically shown off in a big reveal that raises blood pressure (in addition to other things), maybe a short session of eye-fucking, and then finally are peeled off in favor of more naked activities.

“I should get changed,” she muttered to herself.

“And deprive me of the sexy sight before me?”

She snorted and rolled her eyes. “Obviously this was not what I was going for. Gideon woke up with a cold and it all went downhill from there.”

Rumple set the tea tray on the table, and reached for her clasped hands. “I’m sorry sweetheart. Is Gid ok?”

“Yeah he’ll be fine. I think it scared him more than anything.”

Rumple sat across from her still holding her hand. “I suppose you can’t really explain to a two year-old what a head cold is.”

“Not really.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you. The situation is just….”

“Funny.” Belle supplied with a smirk. “I know. It is. It really is.” She fiddled with Rumple’s finger while trying to shake off the feelings of disappointment and frustration. With his free hand, Rumple began to fix their tea trying to pour hot water into the teapot without spilling. When Belle noticed his adorable attempt to make tea one-handed she released his fingers and clasped her own together in her lap.

For two years they’ve been trying to heal together. They are both in individual therapy and in couples therapy. Even little Gideon went to play therapy once per month. Now that he is starting to develop his own sense of self they wanted to make sure Gideon had extra support in case their were residual effects from his time in the Dark Realm and…well, from everything else that had happened to him. Because so much had happened. Sometimes it felt like too much. All of the curses, all of the betrayals, and secrets. There were times early on when Belle couldn’t imagine their little family ever being happy together.

Now, she sees glimmers of hope everywhere. In the way Rumple holds onto her hand even if he needs it back to make their tea; in the way he packs extra snacks in Gideon’s daycare bag “just in case he’s hungrier than usual;” in the way he tells her every single time he has a craving to misuse magic, and instead they talk together until a non-magical solution can be found.

So tonight she had wanted to create something special for him — ok, for them. Not that they hadn’t had sex in the past two years, but this was intended to be different. She wanted to play and have fun. It had been such a long time since they’d just had fun. She thought bringing that playfulness into the bedroom would in turn bring it back into their relationship on a whole.

Rumple sat her teacup in front of her and she grabbed his hand before he could pull away. He looked up a bit surprised at her earnestness.

“I….” She started. “I….” She sighed. She didn’t know how to say it. How to explain what she had imagined for their night together. The simple explanation was not so simple anymore. She closed her eyes and tried to remember what Dr. Hopper had coached.

The emotions behind a simple situation make it feel complicated. Un-complicate it by first stating the facts out loud.

Belle’s blue eyes pierced into Rumple’s. He could see her internal fight, but was mystified as to what it was about. His first instinct was to jump into the conversation and try to fix it, but he knew that wasn’t what she needed. He has a penchant for trying to fix everything and anything for the ones he loves. After hundreds of years and lots of therapy he’s finally curbing that instinct.

You don’t have to fix everything. You just have to be present, listen, and then, if Belle asks for your help, you can work together towards a solution .

Finally Belle blew out a long breath and an even longer stream of words.

“After Gideon went to bed, I sent you out for a bottle of wine even though we have a full wine cellar. I went to our room, put on makeup like Lacey used to wear, and then started changing into some sexy lingerie that I bought specially for tonight. Then everything with Gideon happened — ” she pulled her hands apart and spread her fingers wide as if she could grab Gideon’s untimely cold from the past and show it to him like a picture book at a children’s story hour.

Once the facts are stated begin listing your feelings. Don’t go into the cause or the reasons for the feelings. State just the feelings.

“— and I am frustrated, disappointed, annoyed, embarrassed, and exhausted. Ok, I don’t know if ‘exhausted’ is technically a feeling but if it’s not it should be.”

Rumple brought his teacup to his mouth gently blowing over the hot liquid’s surface. A bubble of quiet contemplation settled around the table. He and Belle had been diligently working to keep their family together which meant they lived a sedate and routine-oriented lifestyle.

“Sweetheart, not that I’m complaining, but may I ask what brought this on?”

Belle groaned internally, because of course that was his response. Any sane person would ask that question. Except most people would say something like ‘why did you suddenly decide to act out a cheesy seduction on a Wednesday night?’

Belle fiddled with the tiny handle of her teacup while her mind swirled with words creating half-explanations none of which would make sense to anyone outside of herself. Several times her mouth opened to say something but all she could accomplish was looking pleadingly at Rumple with big pitiful eyes. He grasped her limp hands and held them tight.

“Belle…is there something -”

“-I’m bored!” She blurted out.

They blinked at each other both surprised for very different reasons.

“Oh”

“No, not in that way. Not bored of our relationship. I’m not unhappy. I cannot stress that enough.”

“…ok.” To his credit Rumple’s grip on Belle’s hands didn’t lessen. “But you’re bored.” He stated it like it was one of the many facts of their life together; Gideon doesn’t like peas, Rumple is the Dark One, and Belle is bored.

“I miss the fun part of our relationship,” and even as Belle said it she winced, because in truth there relationship history wasn’t riddled with lighthearted moments. “I want there to be a ‘fun’ aspect to our relationship.”

“Fun.” Rumple repeated it like it was the first time he’d ever said the word in his life. “Well, I’m not entirely certain what to do about that. Should I do something?”

Belle face glowed with warmth and happiness. The Rumple from only a few years ago would’ve never asked if he ‘should’ do something. He would’ve spent days and weeks plotting and planning without consulting her, and then revealed something ‘fun.’

“Let me try to come up with something and if it doesn’t work out then you can take a crack at it.”

“If its any consolation, what you came up with looked like it would’ve been spectacular.” Rumple placed a kiss on her hand and leaned in close, “Parental responsibilities simply got in the way.”

“So much for spontaneity.” Belle leaned in bringing her lips to his intending for a quick kiss, but the forward momentum of her body kept their lips locked together. She opened her mouth ever so slightly and Rumple’s fingers cupped her chin keeping her steady while the tip of his tongue gently caressed and coaxed hers. She exhaled and sank deeper into their kiss enjoying the comforting familiarity of it, and grateful that even after all these years her lips still tingled with excitement when he kissed her. When a natural break from the need to breathe inserted itself, Belle leaned back in her chair feeling cautiously excited about this new endeavor.

———————————————-

This. Is. So. Horrible.

Belle wished it was physically possible to impale herself on the tiny dessert fork before her. The shiny object was sitting next to a plate of pears gorgeously poached in a spiced red wine reduction, and yet the only thought running through her brain (aside from suicide by fork) was her gratitude that the dessert course had finally arrived.

Gusteau’s was one of the newer restaurants that popped up in Storybrooke after the Black Fairy had been defeated. A quiet curse-free existence seemed possible for the first time and many of the town’s citizens were investing in their hopes and dreams again. Resulting in many new businesses and restaurants opening their doors.

Gusteau’s was the prime example of a fine dining experience. Heavy beautifully carved furniture was spaced evenly throughout the restaurant and crisp white linens covered the tables. Each tabletop was adorned with a low vase of roses and a miniature lamp that cast just enough light that one could comfortably gaze upon their dining companion. The room on a whole was swathed in heavy, rich fabrics and carpeted to dampen the foot tread of the wait staff as they hurried from table to kitchen and back again.

Belle thought, at the time, it was the perfect idea for a fun night out. Gideon was enjoying a play date at the Nolan’s house. Their little boy Neal was a few years older, but he played well with Gideon always making sure to keep their games at a pace suited to a toddler. He had the sweet nature of his namesake and seemed to favor Gideon especially. More importantly, it meant their own house was unoccupied. While preparing for their evening out, Belle had visions of an elegant dinner enjoying sumptuous food and good conversation accompanied by just a tad too much wine. Maybe they would take a stroll in the crisp evening air by the water. She loved the mystery of the sea at night. It was a thrilling contrast, hearing the water churning against the docked boats, but the black night obscuring it from view. Once they were thoroughly chilled to their bones they would warm each other in front of their fireplace finding bliss in the comfort of their own home.

But now…..

She just wanted to go home, throw on some leggings, and crawl into bed until the morning when they would go retrieve Gid. Hopefully he was having a better night.

Rumple was twisting the stem of his glass of port between his fingers. They’d both given up trying to keep the conversation from stagnating. It hadn’t occurred to her that after hours of talk therapy they wouldn’t have anything to talk about. They started off the evening talking about Gideon - that was inevitable - and then Rumple’s shop and the library, but once those topics had been exhausted, neither of them knew where to direct the conversation next. They were in each other’s lives every day. There wasn’t much more to say that hadn’t already been said at the breakfast table that morning. And Rumple tried, he really did, but gods help them at one point he even commented on the weather. It’s colder than usual for this time of year…. That was it. It hadn’t even been something substantial about the weather that Belle could verbally latch onto and run with.

So now she was left staring at her dessert like it was the saddest sight in the world. Resolutely, she picked up her dessert fork and (choosing life) cut into one of the pears. As the warm flavors of cinnamon and nutmeg burst in her mouth, she tried to think of something to say.

“How is the port?” She reluctantly let the question escape her lips, but before Rumple could answer, a cheerful giggling from the adjacent table captured their attention.

Squinting, Belle could make out a very young couple, in their teens, not-so-secretly passing a silver flask between them under the table. Each time the girl took a small sip she laughed producing a delightful jingling sound and the boy looked at her like she was the sweetest thing on this earth. They were tucked together at the table experiencing their first foray into ‘adult’ dating and all that it entails — soft candlelight, fancy food and clothing, and hushed serious tones. But like most teens their natural enthusiasm for being unleashed on the world could’t be tamped down. They awkwardly held hands and fussed with their cutlery as they waited for their next course. They talked just a bit too loud.

Belle’s mind jolted with memories, but she quickly realized they weren’t her memories. They were Lacey’s. Like a book she read long ago and could only recall small portions of the story, Lacey’s memories were vague and full of feeling more than specifics. However, in this moment, she could recall ‘memories’ of Lacey as a fresh teen going to parties and playing drinking games with her peers. She could feel the thrill of drinking alcohol like an adult. Mostly she remembered laughter. Laughing while a bottle spun round and round between her circle of friends; anticipating the person it would choose for her next kiss. Laughing when she proclaimed “Never have I ever…” and watching her friends sheepishly drink a shot and admitting to some embarrassing deed. Lacey’s nights out as a teen were a strange mixture of vulnerability and….fun. Belle could confidently guess that Rumple’s cursed memories didn’t contain anything like Lacey’s shenanigans, and she was positive he’d never participated in even the simple games children played in Fairytale Land.

She reached across the table and took the glass of port from Rumple’s fingers. Gaining his attention, he seemed dazed like a schoolboy caught daydreaming during his lessons, Belle took a big breath and smiled at him. It was time to breathe some life back into this half-dead date.

“Let’s get the check and then I want you to come with me, but before you do, I need you to promise me one thing.”

Rumple’s eyebrows raised at that. They tried not to practice in promises. They were still learning their own limitations as a couple and making promises could be dangerous.

“Belle, sweetheart, are you sure?”

“Trust me. Promise that you’ll keep an open mind.” She tried to infuse her smile with as much assurance as possible.

“Ok, darling” Belle almost missed the sigh that accompanied it, but she wouldn’t be deterred. This was a situation of her own making and she needed to fix it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The rush of wind was wonderfully refreshing. It was just what they needed after the heavy warmth of the restaurant. Belle had insisted on walking through town. They could get the car later. Rumple had never been happier to be cold, because it meant Belle was snuggled tight into his side. The small table at which they’d been seated at Gusteau’s made it feel like he was trying to hold a conversation with someone on the opposite side of a football field. No matter how hard he’d tried to keep the flow of conversation going it was inundated with long pauses and stilted answers. It’d been excruciating. He’d felt like he was failing Belle with each course serving more awkward pauses than the last until finally dessert was served with outright silence.

Another gust of wind blew back the flaps of his coat, and he tugged them closer around him and his beloved Belle. They stood by the harbor looking out into the vast darkness of the sea. Belle was practically molded to him. He buried his face in her thick auburn tresses, once darker and curly they had straightened into waves with age, but it didn’t matter. He loved her no matter what. After all, he had changed too - his hair had been chopped short by his own hand. He was sometimes self-conscious of the change he’d made, but as if she could read his thoughts, at those times Belle would take the opportunity to gently massage his scalp letting her fingers slip and slide through his shorn greying hair. How he loved her. It was the reason he was so panicked about their lackluster evening - she was bored. She wanted to have fun, but honestly Rumple wasn’t sure he was capable of such a thing. His life hadn’t exactly been built on the idea of carefree joy. His parents had abandoned him and, until Belle came along, so had everyone else either by death, circumstance, or outright choice. What did he know about fun?

Belle turned in his arms nuzzling the smooth skin of his jawline which then turned into small kisses and nibbles. The biting cold and Belle’s amorous affection had him fighting for breath.

“Is this the part where I’m supposed to ‘keep an open mind’?”

Chuckling, Belle murmured, “Not quite.” She pulled back a fraction so she could see his face, “Have you ever heard of Truth or Dare?”

Rumple faltered for a reply. “Uh…yes, it’s some kind of game teenagers in this realm like to play.” He couldn’t keep the perplexed look off his face.

“Yes!” She hugged him tighter and he could feel her jump up and down a little. “I think we should play it.” His comically stunned face urged her to add, “I’ll even go first.”

“Why. Why do you want to play Truth or Dare? Darling we’re a bit old for such things.”

“Nonsense.” Her prim response was accompanied by a tug on his tie. “I think it’s just what we need.”

At Rumple’s raised eyebrows, she continued, “I think we are talked out. We need something fun to do. And unless you want to suddenly become more social and do a…” she floundered for an example, “a pottery class together or some other group activity, then I think playing some silly games together is just what we need!”

Rumple still looked unconvinced.

“Please, Rumple. Try. For me.”

And that was the straw breaking the camel’s back. They both knew he couldn’t deny her this. She never asked for much in their relationship, and how could he say no to a simple game? Even one that was excruciatingly juvenile. A great huff escaped him and after one long exaggerated groan, that made her giggle, he said, “ok ok. But you go first.”

Belle straightened up expectedly. “Ok, ask me!”

With an endearing smile, Rumple muttered, “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth!”

Rumple moved Belle to his side and kept them walking along the pier. He pursed his lips and swayed his head playing at putting some serious consideration into the devious question he would ask. The question she would have no choice but to answer with complete honesty. Rolling her eyes at the theatrics, Belle waited with bated breath.

“What is the last lie you told?”

Belle snapped her head up in surprise. She really should’ve known that the infamous Rumpelstiltskin, wordsmith extraordinaire, would’ve chosen a question meant to disarm her. The look of smug satisfaction on his face made her want to kiss it right off him, but that could wait.

“Hmmm I don’t lie very often.”

“Well you’re a saint, darling, but try your hardest to think of something.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, Belle answered, “Last week at Granny’s, Snow and Red were arguing about how often a couple should have sex. I happened to walk in for a cup of tea, and somehow got trapped in the conversation.” At this Rumple snorted and Belle elbowed him in the ribs, “Anyway,” she said pointedly, “Snow was saying that after a couple has children, they’ll be lucky to have sex every few months! She expected me to agree, and well….clearly she and David are going through a dry spell and I didn’t want to make her feel bad…..so I just kind of smiled and didn’t disagree with her.”

“That’s it? A lie of omission?”

“It’s still a lie.”

“Barely.”

“Oh please, it counts and you, sir,” she pointed a manicured finger at him, “are filled with glee to know that we’re having more sex than the king and queen.”

Rumple chuckled and played at trying to bite her finger.

“Your turn! Truth or Dare?” The sparkle in Belle’s eyes made playing this ridiculous game worth it.

“Dare”

“I dare you……to sneak into Granny’s Diner and leave three hundred and fifty dollars in the tip jar. You mustn’t be seen and you can’t use magic.”

“Absolutely not.”

“You have to! That’s the game.”

“What makes you think I have that large amount of money on me.”

“…….”

“Ok. I have that amount, but I don’t see why I should give it to — wait. Is it possible Granny is having trouble making rent this month?”

Belle arranged her face into what she hoped was the picture of innocence. “Life is full of possibilities.”

“Uh huh, only you my dearest Belle could take what’s supposed to be a devious game and turn it into a tool for good deeds.”

“It’s a gift.”

“I only have hundred dollar bills on me. Do you have change?”

“No, but I’m happy to amend the dare from three fifty to four hundred.”

“How flexible of you.”

Belle grinned and grabbed the collar of his coat pulling him down for a kiss designed to leave him breathless. She pressed her body against his and sunk her fingertips into his hair pulling on the short locks. When she let him up for air, she whispered, “Complete your task and, maybe afterwards, I’ll show you just how flexible I can be.”

Without giving him a chance to blink, she pulled away and walked ahead of him. If she hadn’t been wearing such high heels he was certain she’d be skipping. Rumple just stood there reminding himself how to breathe and with a shake of his head thought, So this is what it feels like to know you’re being manipulated and not care in the least.

— - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In the end, the dare was quite easy to accomplish. At that time of night Granny’s only had a few patrons, thankfully the kind that liked to keep to themselves, and the only people working were a short-order cook and Granny herself. The plan had been to wait until Granny went into the back, and then Rumple would quietly walk through the front door, slip the money into the tip jar, and continue out the back door where Belle would be waiting.

But as Rumple waited just outside the front door for the opportune moment, a giant crash could be heard and Granny went running to the back of the building.Before Rumple could register what was happening, he saw Belle scurrying down the street and Granny in the back yelling something about “damned raccoons.” Knowing it was now or never, Rumple whipped open the door, ran towards the tip jar sitting innocuously next to the cash register, and it wasn’t so much that he stopped at the counter rather that the counter stopped him—his custom-made Italian shoes weren’t made for quick movements on freshly mopped floors. So after slamming into the counter, he hastily shoved the cash into the jar, and hightailed it back out the front door.

Miraculously, no one saw him.

He found Belle hiding next to the pharmacy doubled over with snorts of laughter muffled by her hands. Her feet were bare and she was holding onto only one of her shoes. She tried to explain between giant huffs of laughter, but Rumple simply held up a hand and said, “Belle mishap.” Before Belle could ask what that meant, he gathered her in his arms and snapping his fingers *poofed* them back to their house in a cloud of magic.

Belle was still giggling as they stumbled into their entryway kissing and pawing at each others clothing. Rumple wasn’t one to let other’s emotions effect him, but Belle’s joy swept them up creating an elation he’d never known before. They landed in front of the fireplace which had magically been lit and several fluffy blankets and pillows spread out before it.

Smiling like a fool, Rumple pecked kisses over Belle’s body as more and more skin was revealed to him. Her lingerie was nothing like the black corset ensemble he’d missed out on. Instead she wore a sheer forest green bralette with matching hip hugging panties. It was staggering in its simplicity, highlighting the fairness of her skin and giving her curves freedom to move. He delighted in it; kissing and biting and even tickling the spots he knew were most sensitive. Between breathy laughs Belle managed to divest Rumple of his own clothes, and they took their time reveling in each other.

Their previous lovemaking had been permeated with an intense need to show their love and devotion with their bodies. Trying to make up for all the past hurt by clinging to each other while they physically connected as close as possible for two humans to be. But this time was about joy and happiness. Their was no rush to reach their bliss. It would most certainly come, but this was about loving each other with light not darkness. Belle found a few of Rumple’s ticklish spots and for a moment lovemaking was paused in favor of a naked tickle fight until one of Belle’s legs ended up hooking over Rumple’s shoulder putting them in a delicious position that neither could pass up. With mirth in their eyes, a wordless conversation passed between them about Belle’s promised flexibility.

They rocked together at a rhythm they both knew so well. The familiarity was far from boring. Instead they loved each other with gratitude as deep as their kisses. They were so lucky to know each other this well and for this long. The happiness on Belle’s face was mirrored by his own. It felt like sunlight surrounded them and clear blue skies were reflected in Belle’s eyes. Rumple realized that this was what fun was - it was turning your face towards the sun even on a cloudy day. It was actively finding joy and laughter, and if you can’t find it, you make it. Just like Belle did.

Afterwards, they lounged by the fire enjoying lazy kisses and caresses. They teased each other about the horrendous dinner they endured, and Belle told him about Lacey’s memories saving their date night.

“So what other games does little Lacey remember?”

Belle thought for a moment before ticking off her fingers, “Well there’s Spin the Bottle, Seven Minutes in Heaven, Never Have I Ever-”

“Hmmm group games,” Rumple grumbled.

“We could play Two Truths and A Lie.”

“You would dare play a game that requires deception with words with Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Oh I think I could manage.”

Rumple tutted and pinched her side making Belle squeak, “Ok, but you go first.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle secret santa #rss 2023 #finding the fun #prompt #two truths and a lie

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peacehopeandrats · 2 months

Text

In Class

Belle glanced at the piece of paper taped to the craft store's window and squeezed Rumple's hand. "Why don't we give it a go?"

He blinked at her, tipping his head back in surprise before making a gesture at the shop and then the sleepy city around them. "You want to give up our evening stroll for painting?" Mirth mingled with the words, making each become a sound of pleasant disbelief.

"And why shouldn't we?" Belle thrust her hands to her hips and tilted her head to the side. It had been a while since she and Rumple had time to be on their own. Even longer since they'd had an evening stroll like the ones they used to take in Storybrooke. The atmosphere only served to fuel her playful banter. "Unless you think you couldn't do it."

"Of course I can do it." Her husband wrinkled his nose as he would have back when she first knew him. The mask didn't stay on long, however. After a breath, his eyes had softened. "I just don't want to take away from our limited time together."

Belle gave him a warm smile. "We can hire more sitters for Gideon," she reminded him. "All you have to do is ask."

He looked at the store, eyes narrowing at the activity happening beyond the glass. "I suppose we could see if they are still taking students."

With a giggle, Belle reached for the door and gave it a gentle tug. It responded with a rattle so loud that every head within the craft store turned their way.

One woman, brows knitted tight, strode forward and pointed at a sign in the window opposite to the one the Golds had been focused on. "Sorry. We're closed."

"We were hoping it wasn't to late to sign up for the lesson," Rumple called out kindly. "We're traveling through town this week. We'd be willing to pay full price for whatever you have left to teach tonight."

A thoughtful hum could be heard on the other side of the glass while several of the students leaned close to whisper to each other. Eventually the lock clicked and the door swung partially open.

"I think we could allow that exception."

* * *

The golds learned a lot about the town that night, and a lot about Miss Lanette, their instructor. They also learned a lot about each other and themselves.

It turned out that Rumple was the better painter, which had surprised him, but not Belle, who insisted that his talent came from years of flourished hand gestures. Belle was much more capable of sketching, making short work of copying the form of the flamingo they would be working on. Deciding to work together on one piece meant that they were able to catch up to the rest of the class quickly and were soon as comfortable with the others as if the class were taking place in Storybrooke.

"Now, these lighter feathers should pick up a little of the darker color, but not much. We want a brief, gentle blending, not something muddy."

Belle tucked her lip in her teeth and studied the work they'd done so far. It looked good, or was at least recognizable, but what she liked most about it was the true blend of technique. It was obvious that the painting was a collaboration. Her strokes clashed in look with Rumple's. Yet the spread of their work, the way her strokes and his gently alternated, made it beautiful.

"I'm going to ruin this," she said.

Rumple shifted position so that he stood beside her and reached out to take her hand and the brush in his own. He pressed close and murmured into her ear. "Then we'll do it together."

"I think we found a new hobby," Belle whispered as he helped her make the first, careful stroke.

Her husband's chest vibrated as he let out an approving hum. "Perhaps we have indeed."

* * *

"Where'd that come from?" Alice pointed to a painting of a pink flamingo leaning against the wall. It clashed so horribly with the rest of the house that she couldn't imagine it had ever belonged in it.

Gideon turned to see what she was pointing at and his eyes instantly clouded over, filling with memories Alice would never know. "My parents brought that home after one of their dates. I was too little to remember everything, but I know we were in a small town and they found someone to watch me while they were out. When I woke up the next day it was in our hotel room and they couldn't stop looking at it."

Alice imagined Rumple, the way he would melt at the mere thought of Belle. She could easily picture that expression again; a man dissolving at the thought of whatever romantic moment caused the purchase of such an interesting item that was not at all his style. It was harder to picture Belle exactly, but she could piece together something from all the stories Gideon had told. She would be sipping tea, elbows on the table, one arm brushing Rumple's. As Gideon munched on his morning oatmeal, his parents would lean into each other until their heads touched and stare at the haphazard feathers that made up their bird...

And everything would be whole in their universe.

Based on the flamingo and city at night images at the Monthly Rumbelling post here:

#rumbelle #ouat #sunday shorts #prompt

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threepwoodmarley · 4 months

Text

The Sweetest Dream

Merry Christmas, @peacehopeandrats! I’m your Secret Santa! I hope you like your fic and that you will forgive me for taking at least part of your prompt in a way that I’m sure you didn’t intend!

Prompt: Coco, fire, fresh snow, bakery

Summary: Ever since Belle French opened her bakery in Storybrooke, Frank Gold has looked forward to the days she brings free samples to the townsfolk. Her kind heart always includes him in her rounds and he cherishes the moments they spend together, bonding over cookies and cake.

Title from Muppet Christmas Carol

Read on AO3

“Good morning, Mr Gold!”

The tinkle of the bell above his shop door accompanied the lilting voice of the woman who had just stepped through. Frank Gold looked up from his ledger to greet his visitor, noting the covered tray in her hands and the wide smile on her face.

“Miss French, a pleasure as always.” He placed his pen down to give her his full attention. “What gastronomic delights bring you to my shop today?”

“It's Christmas!” She held up the tray as if that explained everything.

“It's November.”

“Exactly, I'm already behind!” She practically bounced over to set her tray down on the counter and lift the lid. “I'm about to start on our seasonal menu and wanted to get your opinion on which flavours you like best.”

This was not an unusual occurrence. Belle French owned and ran the local bakery, Storybrookies, which she'd opened earlier that year, and often went around town handing out samples to drum up business. His shop must have been on her route as she came in most days to give him a taste of her latest creations.

He moved his gaze down towards the counter top and eyed the various confections there. “So this is market research?”

“Exactly! Got to give the public what they want!” She pointed to each cookie in turn as she rattled their names off. “We have mint choc chip, chocolate orange shortbread, and cinnamon and basil.”

Try as he might, Gold couldn't stop his lips curling in distaste at that last one. “Whatever happened to good old-fashioned gingerbread?”

“We'll have that as well, of course, but this is my bakery's first Christmas and I wanted to offer something different, maybe be a bit adventurous. All I will say is don't knock it till you've tried it.”

“Hmm.” Tentatively Gold picked up each cookie, carefully tasting them one at a time as Belle looked on eagerly. He could see how important this was to her, so he closed his eyes and opened his mind to better savour the different flavours, wanting to give each a fair chance.

“Well?” Her patience had apparently run out as she prompted him for his opinion, her voice strangely breathless. He opened his eyes to find her own fixated on his face, her pupils blown wide with her eagerness for his answer.

He carefully placed down the remains of the final cookie that was still in his hand. “I'm afraid you haven't convinced me that cinnamon and basil is in any way a reasonable flavour combination. However I am fond of the first two, the shortbread in particular."

Belle beamed. “I hoped you'd like that one. I know that shortbread is Scottish and chocolate orange is more of a popular flavour over there so combining them seemed like a good idea...” she trailed off with a blush that Gold didn't understand.

“It was,” he agreed. “But as you say, it's a flavour that's more popular over there than here. How has it gone down with the other people you've asked?”

“Oh. Um, you're actually the first person I've shown these to.” Belle looked down and began fiddling with the tray, picking up the half-eaten cookie that he'd left. “I value your opinion, you see. And I know you'll give me honest feedback.”

Gold felt a strange warmth in his chest at her words. “Well, I'm glad you feel you can rely on me. However, as I'm sure you're aware, a sample size should be as large as possible to most accurately reflect public opinion.”

“Of course.” She put the cookie down again before replacing the lid on the tray and lifting it into her arms. “That's why I'm on my way now to canvass the town. Who knows, maybe cinnamon and basil will reign supreme.”

“Knowing some of the inhabitants of this town as I do, that wouldn't surprise me.”

Belle laughed as she carried the tray to the door, walking backwards until the last possible moment and throwing a parting glance over her shoulder as she left. “See you around, Mr Gold.”

~*~

“Good morning, Mr Gold!”

“Miss French,” Gold felt himself smiling as the bell chimed and the familiar voice met his ears. It had been a few days since she had graced his shop and he found himself missing her presence.

“I'm sorry I haven't been around for a while, but the bakery has been so busy. We started selling the chocolate orange shortbread last week and it's been a huge hit.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“And to thank you for your invaluable input I thought I'd bring over some of my festive hot cocoa.” She reached into her bag to produce a thermos. “It's spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg and star anise.”

He watched as she brought out two mugs, pouring an equal share into each before handing him one.

“Thank you.” He gave the concoction a cautious sip, relishing in the initial taste before taking another longer one. The perfectly spiced chocolate slipped over his tongue like velvet and he had to use all his willpower to prevent a rather unseemly moan from escaping his lips. He took a few seconds to compose himself before speaking. “Another triumph, I would say. I imagine this must be one of your best sellers too.”

Belle took a sip from her own mug before shaking her head. “I don't sell this at the bakery. It's my own personal recipe.”

“Oh.” Gold looked into his mug and felt his heart flutter at the thought she would have made something personal especially for him. He ruthlessly tamped that idea down before he could get any fanciful notions in his head. She was thanking him for his help, that was all. She probably made the same thing for everyone else in town whose opinion she had sought out.

“Well I thank you for sharing it with me. Do you mind if I ask how you came up with the recipe?”

“It was my mother's.” Her voice took on a melancholy twinge and he instantly regretted the question. “We used to make it together every Christmas. It was our holiday tradition, no matter how hot the weather was. Dad thought we were mad having cocoa in summer but I loved it.”

Her eyes had taken on a faraway look as she cradled her mug carefully and he thought he knew the answer to his next question but felt compelled to ask anyway. “Is your mother...?” he trailed off, unsure how to finish.

“She died.” Belle brought her eyes back to him and smiled sadly. “A few years ago now. I still make the same recipe every Christmas though. It's a lot more seasonally appropriate now I've moved here, but I must admit that sometimes I miss the incongruity of sitting in the bright sunshine with my hot cocoa. That probably sounds silly, I know.”

“Not at all. I used to...” he trailed off, unsure whether he wanted to go where he'd been about to. His fingers twitched and he put his mug down before he dropped it.

“You used to?” She looked at him with such an open and honest expression he felt almost helpless in the face of it. Something about her compelled him to speak about things that he'd kept locked up inside of himself for years.

“I used to make paper snowflakes with my son. My ex-wife hated them, said that they looked cheap and tacky, but we had fun. It was the time spent together that was special.”

“You have a son!” Belle's face brightened, then quickly fell as something seemed to occur to her. “Is he...?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” he was quick to reassure her. “He's alive. He lives in New York with his wife and a son of his own now. But we did have a falling out a few years ago. It was a bad one and all my fault, of course. I didn't hear from him in so long I feared the worst so many times.”

“I'm sorry.” She placed her mug down and reached out to cover his hand with hers where it rested on the counter. His breath caught at her touch and he kept perfectly still for fear of losing it. “But it sounds like you've heard from him since?”

“Yes. He got in contact with me not long after Henry was born. Said he finally understood how terrifying it was to be a father. We had a long talk, I apologised and he forgave me. I didn't deserve it, but then he's always been a better person than me in every way.”

“I think the kind of person he is is a reflection of the man who raised him.” She squeezed his hand gently. “Is he coming for the holidays?”

“No.” He sighed. “He said they want a quiet Christmas at home this year. I don't think he's ready to completely trust me yet and I can understand that. I just wish we hadn't lost all those years we could have spent together due to my stupidity.”

“I think you need to stop beating yourself up about it. The past is the past and all you can do now is move forward. Your son is alive, he's forgiven you and you'll have many Christmasses in the future to spend together, I'm sure.” She leaned towards him, her eyes locked on his while he stared at her dumbly. Apparently he was silent too long because she blushed and pulled away from him, lifting her hand from his. “Sorry, I'm probably overstepping here. Please tell me to shut up and go away.”

“Never,” he breathed, before clearing his throat. “No, I mean, you're right. As usual.”

He reached for his cocoa once again and brought the mug to his lips, grateful for both the shield it provided and the warmth it brought back after the loss of her touch.

They finished their drinks in a companionable silence, as though any further words would break the spell that had fallen over them. Sooner than Gold would have liked, Belle began packing their empty mugs into her bag and made to leave.

Walking to the door, she turned and looked as though she wanted to say something else but thought better of it, deciding to go with her usual parting instead.

“See you around, Mr Gold.”

~*~

“Good morning, Mr Gold!” Belle's cheery voice betrayed none of the heaviness of their previous conversation and Gold was glad for it. He had been half afraid she would be put off visiting him again after the revelations of the other day.

“Good morning, Miss French.” Gold looked up and felt his eyes widen. “What on earth do you have on your head?”

“They're reindeer antlers!” She shook her head to make the attached bell jingle, and he was momentarily mesmerised by the way her curls bounced around her shoulders. “Do you like them? I could get you a pair if you like.”

He shuddered. “That's very thoughtful but I think I'll pass, thank you.”

“Are you sure? I think you'd look very dashing.”

“I highly doubt that. They look far better on you than they ever would on me.”

Belle's radiant smile nearly blinded him and it took him a second to realise she had moved forward and was now holding a paper bag out to him. “Here.”

“What's this?” He took it from her outstretched hand.

“It's a 'good old-fashioned gingerbread man.'”

He peeked into the paper bag and raised an eyebrow. “Since when do gingerbread men wear suits?”

“That's what makes him so old-fashioned.” Belle laughed, tilting her head and leaning forward on the counter almost conspiratorially. She looked out the window and sighed wistfully before turning back to him. “Do you think it's going to snow soon?”

“Probably,” he grumbled. “We've been lucky so far but I can feel a chill in the air. At least we're spared the worst of it being this close to the sea.”

She lightly slapped his arm and he looked at her hand in surprise as she admonished him. “Oh humbug Mr Gold, don't tell me you're a snow-hater.”

“Live in Maine long enough and you will be too,” he responded drily.

“Well, I love it. We never had snow when I was growing up in Melbourne. Then I moved here and I can still remember the first morning I woke up to a snowy day. It was like the world was covered in a pure white blanket, glittering in the sun. I thought it was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen.”

“And did you still think that when you had to shovel three feet of the stuff off your driveway? Or when it felt like your fingers were going to fall off from frostbite? Or when you slipped on hidden ice and nearly broke your neck?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know about that?”

“Lucky guess,” he deadpanned.

“Well, it was just the one time and I learned my lesson.” She held up a finger accusingly. “High heeled ankle boots may look cute but are not practical for icy weather.”

With deliberate slowness Gold peered over the counter. He was not at all surprised to see a pair of red heels at the end of her shapely legs.

Before his brain could go in a dangerous direction he forced his eyes back up to hers and raised his brow in silence.

She blushed. “Hey, it's not icy yet. I have a pair of snow boots at the bakery just in case though.”

“As long as you're prepared.”

“I am.” She gave him a wide smile which dimmed slightly as she caught sight of the clock behind him. “Oh, shoot. I have to head off now. I told Ariel I'd be there by ten, so this has to be a flying visit.”

Gold felt heart sink in response, but kept his face neutral to hide his disappointment. “In that case don't let me keep you. And thank you once again for the gingerbread man.”

“You're very welcome and I hope you enjoy it.” She walked to the door and turned back to him with a twinkle in her eye. “Maybe I'll bring you a matching gingerbread lady tomorrow. See you around, Mr Gold!”

~*~

The implied promise in Miss French's words meant that Gold started the next day in an uncharacteristically good mood, hopeful that he wouldn't have to wait too long before another visit from his favourite baker.

That good mood soon faded upon his arrival into town and the sight that greeted him there. The entrance to one of the roads was blocked off and he was just about able to catch a glimpse of flashing lights through the crowd of people gathered by the roadside. Spying David Nolan among their number, he quickly parked his car and grabbed his cane, walking over to the group as quickly as he could.

“Mr Nolan.” He waited for the other man to turn and acknowledge his presence. “What's going on?”

David looked surprised. “You haven't heard? No, I suppose you wouldn't have since the bakery isn't one of your buildings.”

“The bakery?” Gold's stomach twisted as his eyes moved from scanning the scene to focus all his attention on the man next to him. “What about the bakery?”

“There was a fire. Last night. Looks like the whole place has been completely destroyed.”

Gold felt as though a cold vice had gripped his heart. He could barely breathe except to stutter out a single word. “Belle?”

“Oh, don't worry. Belle's fine.” David waved his hand, apparently unaware of the magnitude of his words. “I mean she's devastated, obviously, but no one was inside the building at the time.”

David's gaze moved from Gold's face to somewhere over his shoulder, leading Gold to turn his head to follow his line of sight. Belle stood near the edge of the crowd, her arms wrapped around herself as though for protection against the world.

Barely aware that David was still speaking to him, Gold turned the rest of his body and set out in her direction. One of her friends, the grumpy one, was standing nearby and appeared to be attempting to provide support but Gold paid him no mind as he approached Belle.

“Miss French.” The greeting felt woefully inadequate, but it was all he could think of in the moment.

“Oh, Mr Gold, hi.” Belle turned to him, lifting a hand to wipe away the tears that were still clearly visible on her face. “I'm sorry, I don't think I'm going to have any gingerbread for you today.”

He watched as the corners of her mouth turned up in a weak approximation of a smile before her entire face crumbled again.

“Don't worry about it.” Gold flinched, mentally kicking himself for such an inane response. He scrambled for something better to say before settling on what he should have started with in the first place. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she huffed quietly before visibly steeling herself and meeting his eyes, “but I will be. Nobody was hurt, which is the main thing. It's just... hard. To see everything I've worked for, everything I've put my heart and soul into, be destroyed so completely.”

“I'm sorry.” His fingers itched to comfort her but he wasn't sure he'd be welcome, so instead he just continued to stand ineffectually at her side, wishing he had something better to say. “You have insurance, I assume?”

“Of course.” She nodded. “But it's going to take weeks to sort it all out and then even longer to rebuild. There's no way I'm going to have a bakery in time for Christmas.”

“Perhaps you could use one of the empty properties in town as a temporary base. I happen to know there are a few available.”

“That's very kind of you, Mr Gold, but until the insurance pays out I'm not going to be able to afford to rent anywhere, let alone buy the equipment I'm going to need.”

“I could pay for anything you...”

“No.” Her face was resolute as she cut him off. “I mean, I appreciate the offer, I really do. It's just that I don't want...”

“It's all right, Miss French. I completely understand.” It was his turn to cut her off and he tried not to let the sting of rejection hurt too much. “Perhaps a fundraiser then.”

“What, like charity?”

“I prefer to think of it as community. The bakery is such a beloved part of this town, I'm sure the townsfolk would be more than happy to help you get back on your feet. It would be in everyone's best interest to have you back in business as soon as possible.”

“Really? My bakery is beloved?” Belle had the first real smile he'd seen on her face all day.

“Of course. You've said yourself how busy you've been.”

“True, I guess. But I'm not sure, I wouldn't feel right taking people's money when I'll be getting the insurance payout eventually.”

“As you said, that could take weeks. Would you really deprive Storybrooke of your baked delights for all that time?” He could see she was still unsure, so went for an angle that he knew would appeal to her. “And when you do receive the insurance money you could take whatever amount the town raised for you and donate it to another worthwhile cause. Pay it forward, as they say. I know the library is always struggling with their budget and would be very appreciative of funds to purchase new books.”

That caught her attention, just as he'd suspected it would, so he continued, “and if you're worried about the appearance of impropriety you can always ask the town council to organise it. Keep everything above board.”

“Thank you for the suggestion, Mr Gold,” she said, and he was pleased to see a thoughtful expression on her face. “I'll definitely think about it.”

Gold nodded his farewells and took his leave. He felt confident that Belle would be all right in the company of her friends. The grumpy one was still hovering protectively, and he'd seen the Lucas girl pushing her way through the crowd heading in their direction.

He made his way straight to his shop but didn't open for business right away, opting to retreat to the back room while he made some calls. He had arrangements to make.

~*~

A few days later Gold stood at the side of the road, watching as Belle and her friends set up her new premises.

He hadn't talked to her in a while, but she looked happy and he was glad for that. He was so focused on watching her that he didn't notice David Nolan approaching him until it was too late.

“Hey, Gold”

“Mr Nolan.” Gold inclined his head and made to move away, but David refused to let him go.

“You know, this was a good thing you did.”

Gold blinked. “I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Making this place available for Belle. Marco told me that it was an empty shell last week, yet somehow it's been brought up to code and ready to rent in just a few days. I can't imagine how much that would have cost you.”

“I don't know how it goes in your line of work, Mr Nolan, but in the landlord business it's always better to have an income than to not. Investing money into a property in order to rent it out is what I do.”

“Uh huh.” The man had a smug look on his face that Gold didn't like one bit. “And, where is this rental income coming from exactly? The money the town raised with the fundraiser?”

“How should I know?” Gold flicked his hand dismissively. “All that matters to me is being paid the money I'm owed. The source of the funds is not my concern.”

“Really? You don't care at all? Because, you know, there's a funny thing about that fundraiser.” David looked around and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Mary Margaret told me that while a lot of people were willing to donate, they weren't able to give all that much. Certainly nowhere near the amount necessary. Apparently almost all of the money raised came from one, extremely generous, anonymous donor.”

“What exactly is your point?” Gold snarled, baring his teeth.

“Why don't you just tell her that you like her?”

“Excuse me?”

“Belle. Tell her that you like her.”

“You're being ridiculous.” Gold tried again to move away, but David refused to let up.

“Am I? Because I've known you for years and in all that time I've never seen you do anything without some ulterior motive.”

Gold's mouth twisted. He knew what people thought of him, of course, but to have it laid out so baldly, and from someone he almost considered a friend, still stung. “I see. And you think if I tell Miss French that I donated the money to help her bakery then she will feel so grateful she'll have sex with me.”

“What? No!” David seemed flustered. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that this is the first time I've seen you do something nice for someone just because you wanted to help them. She must be pretty special.”

“Yes, well. It doesn't matter.” Gold felt his fingers twitch remembering their previous conversation. “Miss French made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with me.”

“Are you sure about that?” David looked over his shoulder in confusion. “Because she talks about you a lot. And it sure doesn't seem like she wants nothing to do with you.”

“Perhaps you don't know her as well as you think you do. Good day, Mr Nolan.” Gold finally managed to make his escape, barely resisting the urge to look back and attempt to catch another glimpse of Belle as he did so.

~*~

One of the advantages of a reputation such as his was that people didn't generally seek him out if they didn't have to, which meant that his evenings at home usually went undisturbed.

That's why the knock on his door, coming not long after his return, was such a surprise to him.

The sight of the very woman who had occupied his thoughts most of the day stood on his front porch was yet another surprise.

“Good evening, Mr Gold,” she greeted him with a soft smile on her face.

“Miss French.” Gold stared at her dumbly. “What are you doing here?”

Her smile faltered at his rather unwelcoming response, but she pressed on. “I wanted to talk to you. Can I come in?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He stood back to allow her entry before closing the door behind her. “May I take your coat?”

She seemed relieved at this indication that he wasn't going to kick her out immediately and smiled again, placing her bag down as she removed her overcoat, passing it into his outstretched hand for him to hang up.

When he turned back around he saw her reaching into her bag and pulling out a small box, which she handed to him.

“Here. I, um, I brought some cookies. The first batch made in my new bakery. I wanted to say thank you. For everything”

“It's no matter.” He shrugged, trying to downplay his involvement, as he led her into the kitchen, placing the cookies down on the counter. “The place was sitting empty. This way we both get something out of it.”

“Right.” She bit her lip before taking a deep breath. “See, the thing is... David told me. That you donated the money too.”

Gold made a mental note to have words with Mr Nolan about the consequences of gossip. “He shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry. I know you didn't want me involved and I hope you're not too upset...”

He was cut off by the sudden pressure of her small body crashing into his. Her arms wound around his back and he could feel her breath on his neck. Gold felt his heart stutter in his chest at the contact and he almost missed the words she whispered into his skin.

“I'm not upset.” The quaver in her voice gave him pause, and he pulled back slightly. Belle mirrored his actions, but instead of letting him go she tilted her head, bringing her lips close to his. Ice ran through his veins as he understood her intention and he pushed her away more roughly than he meant to, taking a step back and planting his cane in front of his feet like a shield.

“Miss French, please. I don't know what Nolan told you, but you don't owe me anything. And even if you did I am most certainly not the kind of monster who would expect...that.” The fact that she thought him capable of such things hurt more than he could express and he hoped she would leave soon so he could drown his sorrows in scotch.

“You're not a monster at all,” she cried, moving forward to close the distance between them again and placing her hands over his on his cane. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have done that. And I shouldn't have refused your kind offer the way I did. I hope you know it was never because I was afraid you would hold it over me. I know you wouldn't. I just didn't want you to think I was only interested in you for your money.”

“You... what?” It was an inarticulate response, but his mind had gone blank and he couldn't quite comprehend the meaning of her words.

“Because it was never about that and I wouldn't want you to think it was. I should have known better, I see that now, but I was so afraid of ruining what we have. I'd just lost my bakery and I couldn't bear to lose you too.”

“You're... interested in me?” He felt like his world had been turned upside down in just a few seconds and he never wanted it to right itself. Could she really be saying what he thought she was?

“Of course,” she laughed. “Why do you think I was always at your shop bringing you baked goods?”

“I just thought you were giving out free samples to everyone.”

“Mr Gold, if I gave out as many samples to everyone else as I gave to you I'd have gone out of business months ago.”

“But... why?”

“Because I like you. I like spending time with you. I like talking to you. And I thought...” Here her expression flickered. “I thought maybe you felt the same.”

“I do,” he was quick to reassure her. The last thing he wanted was yet another misunderstanding between them. “Your visits are the highlight of my days. I just never imagined it was possible that you could reciprocate my feelings.”

“Well I do.” She smiled shyly. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to reach across that counter and kiss you. Speaking of which… may I now?”

“By all means,” he breathed.

This time when she moved closer to him he didn't resist, instead bringing his hand up to stroke the side of her face, sliding it around to cup the back of her head as their lips met.

Gold felt tempted to pinch himself, half-convinced that he was having the most wonderful dream. Belle's lips were soft and sweet, moving gently against his as he responded in kind. The kiss was undemanding and delicate, but he could feel the potential for more passionate ones in the future bubbling under the surface.

When they pulled apart he rested his forehead against hers, delighting in sharing her breath as they smiled at each other.

“Would you...” he broke the silence. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Miss French?”

“I would love to.” Her smile widened even further. “And I think it's about time you call me Belle.”

“Belle.” He spoke her name like a caress. “You can call me Frank.”

She pulled back a little and raised an eyebrow. “Your name is Frank Gold?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “And yes, I was called 'Incense and Myrrh' every Christmas throughout all my school years.”

She giggled slightly, “I'm sorry. But that's adorable.”

“I'm glad you think so.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the kids at my school called me Jingle Belle.”

“Actually, it does.” He blinked, wondering what to say next when movement in the darkness outside caught his eye. “Huh.”

“What?” She turned and he could see the moment she noticed what he had as she pulled away in excitement. “Oh wow, it's snowing!”

“Apparently so.” They moved closer to the window to better see the thick white flakes. “And it looks like there's going to be a lot of it.”

“It's so beautiful,” she sighed, leaning into his side. For once he didn't feel like disagreeing. “But I should probably mention that I didn't bring any snow boots with me.”

She looked up at him with a mischievous grin that he returned, before glancing down at her heels. “I suppose you'll just have to stay here then. Those shoes are definitely not appropriate for this weather.”

“I suppose so.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I did bring the ingredients for my festive cocoa though. I thought we could make it together.”

His breath caught as he comprehended the magnitude of what she was offering. “I'd like that.”

~*~

Christmas Eve, Five Years Later

“Good morning, Mr Gold!” Belle's cheerful voice rang out through his shop as she stepped through the door. Gold smiled at the familiar sound as he raised his head from his ledger to greet her in return.

“Good morning, Mrs Gold.” He put his pen down as she skipped over to give him a quick kiss. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to remind you that we both need to get home by four at the latest if we're going to have the festive cocoa ready by the time Bae and Emma arrive. You know as soon as they get here Henry's going to be having you make paper snowflakes with him all evening.”

“I remember.” Warmth spread through him as he thought about having all his family together for Christmas again this year. “You didn't have to leave the bakery to come and tell me that, I'm sure this must be a busy morning for you.”

“It is,” Belle admitted, “but Ariel and Astrid have it under control. And... I wanted to give you this.”

He took the paper bag she held out to him and reached inside, pulling out two gingerbread figures. One was clearly a man, decorated with a suit that matched the one he was currently wearing. The other was a woman wearing a dress the same colour as Belle's, but with a far more prominent waistline than his wife had.

He looked up at her, watching the way she bit her lip as the meaning of the gift dawned on him. “Are you...?”

“I am,” she confirmed, placing a gentle hand over her stomach. “It's still early days so I don't want to announce it yet, but I wanted you to know. Of course this does mean we'll have to come up with a reason why I'm not drinking any of the eggnog tonight.”

Gold laughed in delight, hurrying around the side of the counter as quickly as he could to throw his arms around his wife. Just when he'd thought his life was as happy as it could possibly be, she went and proved him wrong. She'd always been good at that.

Belle returned his hug, her own arms tight around his back, before pulling away and looking into his eyes, tears in her own. “Merry Christmas, Frank,” she whispered, her face moving towards his.

“Merry Christmas, Belle,” he replied, closing the distance between them and capturing her lips with his own.

#rumbelle secret santa #peacehopeandrats #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #ouat #my fic

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iamnotoriginalphil · 2 years

Note

So I listened to the phantom of the opera soundtrack. Fucking hell "All I ask of you" would probably make a great Rumpelstiltskin imagine. Like if Y/N remembered life before the curse with him.😍😍😍

So this went in a bit of an odd direction, but I hope you still enjoy it. If you ever have any other requests or Rumple suggestions please let me know. I'm loving writing for him.

Walking down the street, the sun was shining down on you. It was a good day to live in Storybrooke. The air tasted sweet when you stopped on the corner, closing your eyes to breathe it in. You smiled to yourself, basking in the warmth.

You jerked back when you opened your eyes. Mr Gold, staring at you, was standing almost toe to toe with you. You took a step back, your heart thudding loud in your ears. You couldn’t understand how you’d missed his approach. He was hardly silent.

“Mr Gold, I’m so sorry,” you said, tripping over your words.

“No, no, it’s quite alright,” he said, “my fault.”

“Well.” You gestured to allow him to pass by.

He took one step past you then turned.

“Actually, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said, “would you mind helping me out with something in my shop?”

“Oh, uh” Your eyes darted away. Something about this man unsettled you, “if you need help moving something I’m not exactly strong.”

“No, no, I need help with something more detail oriented,” he said.

“Oh.” You couldn't think of a plausible excuse in time, “I guess I could lend a hand.”

You turned around, following him back the way you’d come, your fingers fidgeting together. You let your eyes rove over the back of him, from the brunette hair turning a distinguished grey, to the well fitting suit, down to his shiny shoes. That familiar flutter in your heart you’d always attributed to fear happened again, watching him walk.

The bell above his door jingled. He held it open for you, letting you enter the shop, your footsteps thumping on the wooden floor. He shut the door with a quiet snick, his footsteps following you across the floor. You turned, watching him approach.

“So what did you need help with?” you asked, hoping this would be quick.

“It’s just through here.”

He led you into the back. He bent over the bench, keeping his back to you. You took a step towards him, hesitant, beginning to feel this was the kind of situation you’d been warned about by your mother.

He turned, clutching something in his closed fist. Your eyebrows drew together. He lifted his hand, blowing some kind of dust into your face. You spluttered, coughing as whatever it was sunk into your lungs. You closed your eyes, stumbling back from him, your back hitting a cabinet behind you.

A sharp pain started up in your head before it cleared. You blinked your eyes open, shaking your head. Two lives lived simultaneously, two people inside your head, two histories, together but separate.

“(Y/N)?”

Your eyes came back into focus. Rumplestiltskin, the same but different, stood before you, hope blooming on his face. Choking back a sob you flung yourself at him. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as he sighed. You pressed your face to his shoulder, holding back your tears as you breathed him in. The same old Rumple was there, ready to catch you the moment you needed him.

“The curse,” you whispered, “it worked.”

“Just as we knew it would,” he replied.

You drew back, your eyes darting over his face. He was smiling, relief in every crease. You cupped his face, unable to stop staring at him. 28 years was a long time to be without him, like this, together.

“Does this mean the saviour is here?” you asked.

“She is, although she doesn’t know it yet,” he said.

You lent forward, capturing his lips in a soft kiss. He was there, he was real, and you remembered. All those years in the enchanted forest together exactly like this. The way you fell for the dark imp, dragging him along with you. He sighed into the kiss as you melted against him.

“You woke me up,” you murmured when you drew back.

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I couldn’t leave you under the curse.”

“My hero,” you whispered.

“I’m no hero, love,” he said, drawing away from you.

“You are,” you insisted, holding onto his hand tight enough that he couldn’t leave, “you’ve always given me my freedom. No matter the cost.”

“Something so lovely should not be caged for other people’s pleasure,” he said.

“I feel free with you,” you admitted.

“Oh, my love.’

He bundled you up in his arms again, kissing you with a sweetness unmatched in your existence. To think there were people who thought this man was incapable of love or kindness.

“But what about Regina?” you asked him.

“What about her?” he growled.

“What’s she going to do when she finds out we’re awake? That we remember?”

“She’s never going to find out.”

“But-”

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you again.”

You searched his eyes, looking for the truth. It’s not that you didn’t trust him to protect you, you did, and always had, but you didn’t trust what Regina might have in store. She’d never made it a secret that she hated you. You’d always assumed it was because of Rumple, his love for you, but still, it scared you. Especially knowing she’d cast the curse leaving you afraid of the one man who had only ever made you feel safe.

“How can I make this better?” he asked.

“Just… just love me,” you asked, “that’s all I ask of you.”

“I do,” he replied, “I do love you.”

“And you’re not going to leave me?” you asked, needing the reassurance.

“Never,” he said, “I will never leave you.”

“And you’re always going to love me?”

“Always.”

#rumplestiltskin #rumplestiltskin imagine #rumplestiltskin x reader #mr gold x reader #mr gold imagine #ouat imagine

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whimsicallyenchantedrose · 8 months

Text

Season 2 Rewatch Drabbles--2x22 And Straight on Til Morning

Summary: A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my rewatch of season 2 of Once Upon a Time as an attempt to finally jump start the muse again. There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season. Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on the very beginnings of Captain Swan’s epic love story, as soon as a certain dashing pirate makes his appearance.

Word Count: 766 (why did I think I could stick to a word count again?)

Tagging a few people who may be interested (Let me know if you want to be added or taken off the list): @sailormew4 @annaamell @flslp87 @emmateo26 @bethacaciakay @ultraluckycatnd @effulgent-mind @ilovemesomekillianjones @kat2609 @brooke-to-broch @missgymgirl @galadriel26 @the-lady-of-misthaven @charmingturkeysandwich @jennjenn615 @laschatzi @kimmy46 @snowbellewells @iamanneenigma @daxx04 @nickillian @gillie @britishguyslover @ginnyjinxedandhanshotritafirst @kmomof4 @linda8084 @golfgirld @captain-swan-coffee @searchingwardrobes @hollyethecurious @laughswaytoomuch @allyourdarlingswans @winterbaby89 @facesiousbutton82 @therooksshiningknight @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @anmylica @booksteaandtoomuchtv

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (17.5) (18) (19) (20) (21-22)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Emma stared in horrified disbelief at the calm waters that had only moments before been a swirling portal which had swallowed up Greg, Tamara and Henry. The panic threatened to drown her. Not only did she have no way to get to her son, no way to save him, she didn’t even know where he’d gone.

Oh God, what was she going to do? What was she going to do?

So far today, they’d discovered Regina missing and found her in the cannery, Tamara had killed Neal and then sent him through a portal to who knows where, Regina had dropped the bomb about the failsafe that was about to literally kill them all, Hook had returned to help them, Hook had screwed them over, she and Regina had stopped the failsafe, Henry had been kidnapped and dragged through a portal by a pair of psycho idiots, and now she, her parents, Regina, Gold and Belle stood at the dock looking out to sea without the first clue what to do next.

So basically your average Tuesday in Storybrooke.

Why couldn’t they ever get a break? Ever?

“What is that?” Emma looked up at Belle’s question and followed her finger pointing out to sea.

Her stomach swooped and her heart raced as she saw the tell-tale sails and rigging of the Jolly Roger. “Hook,” she said, feeling hope for the first time in hours.

He was coming back to them, coming back to her.

Hook had changed alliances so frequently in the time that she’d known him that it nearly gave her whiplash. She should write him off completely. What kind of a fool trusted someone like that?

But she’d been speaking the truth when she confronted him back in the diner an hour ago. “You and I, we understand each other. Look out for yourself and you’ll never get hurt.” She knew him. She understood. She’d known from the moment they climbed the beanstalk together that he was a good man who had lost his way after who knows how many tragedies.

He was a villain by circumstance, not by nature, and she knew he could turn away from the dark side if only he opened himself to become a part of something.

A part of something with her?

Emma mentally shook herself as the ship pulled into the dock and Hook slowly limped his way down the gangplank. No. She could trust him to help them find Henry, but she knew better than to trust him with her heart.

Even if she’d instinctively felt she could and wanted to ever since the beanstalk.

“I thought you didn’t care about anyone but yourself,” she said, her tone deliberately biting.

He looked deeply into her eyes as he placed the magic bean in her hand. She saw his earnestness, the absolute sincerity in his cerulean eyes. “Maybe I just needed reminding that I could.”

There was that swoop of her stomach again, the leap of her heart. She ruthlessly pushed the attraction aside as she followed him onto the ship. There would be plenty of time to think all of this through once they had Henry back safe and sound. (Well…maybe not plenty of time; knowing this town, they’d have approximately forty-five minutes before the next crisis.)

For now all that mattered was finding her son.

#once upon a time rewatch drabbles #season 2 rewatch drabbles #2x22 and straight on til morning #emma swan #captain swan #my fanfiction

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kelyon · 8 months

Text

Contract

Before beginning a new BDSM relationship, Belle French and Mr. Gold hammer out their written agreement.

Read on AO3

Belle French sat primly on the edge of one of Mr. Gold’s dining room chairs and read the page in front of her. At the other end of the long table, Mr. Gold also had laid out a collection of papers. Both of them had the same document, but he wasn’t reading his copy. He held the handle of his cane in both hands and looked at her the whole time.

She felt his eyes on her as she tried to read, which made it impossible to concentrate on the words. Maybe this was a bad idea. Everyone knew not to sign anything without having a lawyer read it first, and that went double for any agreement made with Mr. Gold. All over Storybrooke, he had written contracts that gave him the advantage and left the other person with no options but to do exactly what he wanted. He was a ruthless, heartless son of a bitch, everybody knew that.

But what he had proposed to Belle, what they were now about to negotiate, was an offer too intriguing for her to dismiss.

The contract wasn’t a legally-binding document, Gold had made that clear. It was just an agreement, an understanding. Before they moved forward with their new relationship, it was important that they both know what to expect.

Besides, Belle didn’t know any lawyers. Even if she did, she couldn’t imagine asking a legal professional to sign off on the sorts of things she and Gold were talking about doing.

Crossing her ankles under the table, she looked up from the contract. She tapped a clause with the pen Gold had provided.

“I’m glad this is on the first page,” she said. “The mutual consent and authority to revoke.”

“Of course,” Gold was quiet. His face didn’t have much expression, but his eyes were fixed on her. “I’m not interested in trapping you, Miss French.”

He really did have lovely eyes. Dark and intense, often cold. What would those eyes be like once Mr. Gold heated up?

“And the renegotiation after a period of thirty days, I like that.”

He shifted in his seat. “I thought it an appropriate interval. Enough time for both of us to get our bearings, then see if anything needs to change. Or if you want the relationship to end after that period, that’s fine too.”

According to the revocation clause, either one of them could walk away at any time. But he had given them a mandatory expiration date. In case she wanted to stop.

“You don’t think you might want to end things after the one-month trial period?”

“No,” he looked into her eyes. “I know what I want, and I know I want it from you. The only question is whether you want the same thing.”

Belle’s face went hot and her pulse jumped up a few beats per minute. “And if we both do want to continue after thirty days?

“We can negotiate for a longer period at that time. Perhaps ninety days, or six months. I also understand if you want to keep it month-to-month.”

“You really are a landlord, aren’t you?”

Gold grinned. “My tenants are bound to a yearly lease. What I’m asking you to undertake is much more serious.”

“Right.” Belle turned over the first page and began to look at the second. “Let’s get into that.”

“Before we do,” he raised one of his long fingers, “I’d like to review the second clause on the first page, about confidentiality.”

Belle flipped back to the first page and looked at it again. “Oh right. What’s a sex contract without a gag order?”

She’d meant it as a joke, but Gold sat up straight and looked away, like he was insulted.

“I mean, I understand,” she said as an apology. “You have a right to privacy. I know this is just making sure I don’t blab your deep dark secrets to everyone in Storybrooke. I don’t mind at all.”

“It’s not that,” he said quietly. He brushed something off of the polished wood tabletop. Probably a bit of dust that wasn’t really there. “My reputation around town is already so besmirched, nothing you might reveal could possibly lower people’s opinions of me. And don’t forget that I chose you for this position, Miss French. You wouldn’t be at this table if I didn’t already have considerable trust in your discretion.”

“So…?”

“So the confidentiality clause is for your benefit. Your good name doesn’t need to be damaged by any association with me.”

“The contract mentions developing a ‘mutually agreed-upon cover story.’”

He nodded. “That way you can answer anyone who asks why you might come to my house, or be seen conversing with me in a public setting. I thought you might pretend to be my housekeeper.”

Belle’s lips quirked. His plan made sense. And if she told people she was working for him, that would also explain why she suddenly had more cash than usual--though it would be a very well-paid housekeeper who had the kind of salary Gold was proposing.

“Are you married to the idea of a housekeeper? Could it maybe be something less menial? I mean, if I told my father I was coming over here to clean, he might ask me why I’m not wearing something practical for work. Unless you want me to come over in jeans and an apron?”

Gold shook his head. “No, no. God forbid anything keep you out of skirts and heels, Miss French.”

Belle snorted, and felt her face flush at the same time. Maybe it was silly, considering what they were here to do, but a part of her was still surprised to hear Gold compliment her fashion choices. It forced her to know that he had noticed her. Without her knowing, he had been looking at her, looking at her clothes as well as her character. Long before he came to her with this offer, he had considered her. He had decided that he wanted her, but he had never told her about it until now.

She took a breath, and got her thoughts back on track.

“We could say I’m doing clerical work, maybe. Helping you catalog all the antiques?”

“Whatever you like,” he said. “We can decide what the story is later, just so long as we both say the same thing.”

“Sounds good.”

In the margins of the contract, Belle wrote a reminder to come up with a cover story. That settled, she smacked both hands against the glossy wood tabletop. She did it without thinking, a sort of ‘back to business’ gesture.

At the sound of the impact, Gold’s eyes fluttered shut. His mouth opened, just a little. The reaction was almost a flinch, but there was no fear in it. All of a sudden, the dark room seemed warm and stuffy.

Belle took a breath. She listened to her heart beating. Then she allowed the moment to pass.

When she looked at Gold again, his face was as expressionless as before.

“Okay,” she said softly. She flipped through the pages, to the meat of the contract. “Now, you understand that I don’t have a lot of experience with this sort of dynamic, right? Like, I’ve played with people, but it’s never been anything this formal or this intense. Is that going to be a problem?”

“Educational materials are listed in Appendix A,” Gold said briskly. “Over the years I’ve amassed considerable research on the topics you’ll need to be knowledgeable about in order to perform your duties. I assume you won’t mind reading a book or two on the subject?”

She grinned at him. “I’ve read a book or two, Mr. Gold. My point is that theory isn’t the same as practical, physical knowledge.”

“Of course,” he nodded. “I understand that, and I’m more than willing to guide you through your first ‘hands-on’ experiences. Or there are educators listed in the appendix as well. We can call them for one-on-one sessions.”

Her eyes ran down the list of names and phone numbers. She recognized some of the authors and sex educators. “These are all people you know personally?”

“In some cases, quite personally.”

“Huh.” She set down the papers. “I have to say, you seem pretty established in the world of kink, Mr. Gold. What do you need a novice like me for?”

He straightened the cuffs of his suit jacket. “Well, you’re local, for one thing. Confidentiality is a small concern compared with the hassle of driving to Boston several times a week.”

Wait a second--several times a week? Belle flipped over to the clause about frequency. There it was: Three evenings a week, with the option of staying overnight, and at least four eight-hour sessions per month broken up between Saturdays, Sundays, or bank holidays. It wasn’t quite a full-blown 24/7 power exchange, but it was a commitment. Was Gold really going to need her this much? How much pain was it healthy to inflict on a person in one month?

“I’m, um, looking at the section on ‘expectations per session,’” she began.

“I tried to keep that area open for now. Lots of room to experiment. We can learn how we want to do things. What’s best for us.”

She tried not to notice the lingering satisfaction Gold put on the word us. For all that he had most of the power in this situation--in every situation--Belle knew that he was actually a very lonely man. More than the money, that knowledge had influenced her choice to hear out his offer.

“Right. I just… it’s a lot of time,” Belle said. “I know BDSM scenes can be lengthy, but--”

“Oh, I don’t expect every moment of our time together to be a scene,” he said. “If that’s what you thought, I--I’m glad you brought up your concerns.”

“Okay,” Belle sat back a little in the plush chair. “So a session isn’t a scene, that makes sense. In that case, what is a session? Like, we have a scene and aftercare and what else?”

“I’d like to eat with you.” For the first time, Gold’s eyes weren’t on Belle. He stared at a nondescript spot in the center of the table. It was like this was the first part of their conversation where he didn’t have absolute confidence.

She leaned forward. “Do you want to go out to dinner with me?”

His eyes flashed toward her for just a second, the whites of them a blaze in this dim room.

“That won’t be necessary.” Gold cleared his throat. “Confidentiality clause.”

The clause he’d set up for her protection, not his own. How much did he really want this to be a secret?

“We wouldn’t have to eat anywhere in Storybrooke. You could take me out of town. Somewhere nicer than a diner.”

“Really?”

It was a whisper, a breath, a half-spoken hope too small and weak to bear the crushing weight of reality.

Belle waited until Gold dared to look at her again, then she gave him a slow smile.

“Really.”

Something loosened in him. His posture relaxed by a hundredth of a percent. He wasn’t smiling, but the grim lines around his mouth had softened.

All these minuscule reactions stirred something in Belle. It was clear to her now that Mr. Gold was wound up tight. If she signed this contract, she would be able to get him to relax.

“What else would you want to do?” she asked. “Like, not strictly BDSM stuff, though I’m sure we can find ways to incorporate the lifestyle into everyday things. I just--I’m getting the impression that you want some non-kink, non-sexual activities with me. What would that look like?”

Gold shrugged. “It could look like anything.”

“So… monster truck rallies?”

He winced at that. Belle snickered at her own joke.

“If such events are your desire, Miss French, I would appreciate you indulging in them on your own time.”

She snorted. “Sounds good. But seriously?”

“Seriously?” He looked at her for a long moment. “Seriously, I would like to go on dates with you. I’m not much good at dancing and I detest modern movies, but, well… There’s theater, concerts. We could go to museums together. There are some beautiful parks and gardens in Boston that I’ve always wanted to show someone. I have a cabin out by the lake where we could stargaze. I could take you to every bookshop on the Eastern Seaboard.”

“See, if you had started with bookstores, you’d have me for all the kinky fuckery you wanted, no negotiation necessary.”

He shook his head. “That’s why I didn’t start with bookstores, Miss French. I’m not trying to turn your head with luxuries. I want you with your full faculties. Before we do anything, you need to understand what you’re getting into with me.”

The way he said it made it sound like he was secretly a monster. She didn’t think he was. Biting her lip, Belle looked down at the pages of the contract that outlined expected behaviors for the Dominant and Submissive.

“The whole contract is opt-in, right? We’re doing this like Subway instead of McDonald’s?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Belle couldn’t help but smile. When was the last time Mr. Gold had gone out to a fast food restaurant? She explained the metaphor:

“Some restaurants make your sandwich to order. They have all the ingredients laid out, but they’ll only put on what you specifically ask for. Other places have a standard sandwich and you have to ask for things not to be on there. You have to tell them you’re allergic to tomatoes or you don’t like mustard or whatever. Sometimes they put up a stink about making a special order. Me personally? I’m a much bigger fan of getting a custom order that gives me exactly what I like and nothing I don’t want.”

“Well, I‘m a fan of giving you what you like, Miss French.”

She could tell.

“So only things that are in the contract are on the table, right? We won’t be dabbling with, like, age play, pet play, watersports?”

“No.”

He seemed definite, which was fine for Belle. The contract as it was included more than enough kinks to keep them busy, at least until the thirty-day renewal.

“I’m going to insist on specific negotiations before every scene,” she said. “And that consent can be revoked at any time for any reason. Not just for the contract as a whole, but any particular act or attitude. Even if we’ve done something before, headspaces can change from day to day. Sometimes from minute to minute. This contract is extensive, but no piece of paper can cover every eventuality.”

Gold shrugged. “The contract as written says everything I want it to. In my opinion, further negotiations won’t be necessary until the mandatory thirty-day renewal. That being said, your opinion on the subject matters. I’m willing to yield to your point.”

“Good.” Belle made a note in the body of the contract. “Specific acts to be negotiated at specific times before the start of each scene.” She set down her pen. “Cause listen, if one of us is having a bad day or is feeling sick or something, I don’t want to be held to the rules of a best-case scenario. You know?”

He nodded. “I understand your point, Miss French. Though I maintain it won’t be necessary.”

“But you’ll abide by the revision?”

“Of course.”

He had better. Especially while they were still learning each other’s tics and moods and limitations. Until they developed an unspoken dynamic, they were going to have to say things out loud, very plainly, every time. It was a matter of safety.

“I don’t see anything about safe words in all this.” She looked up from her pages. “Don’t tell me you’re the type that doesn’t use them?”

For a long minute, Gold didn’t say anything. He didn’t look at her. He just rolled his pen back and forth between his fingers.

“I understand why someone like you would think safe words are necessary,” he said evenly. “And of course we can add their use into the terms of our deal. However, my motto has always been caveat emptor, let the buyer beware. If someone isn’t willing to be hurt, then why are they engaging in dangerous activities?”

“Because it’s simulated danger.” This should be obvious, especially to someone with as much experience as Gold. “You go to a haunted house to be scared, not to have your limbs torn off by a machete.”

He kept looking away from her. His voice was distant when he spoke. “For some people, the machete is the goal.”

Belle bit her lip. She was going to have to fight him on this, wasn’t she? Fine.

“Safe words are a must,” she said. “For everything. Especially pain. Because this section on pain play is, respectfully, insane. And sanity is another must in my kink.”

Gold made a dismissive face. “It’s not that bad.”

“There’s a sub-section here on wounds requiring stitches.” She held up the paper and pointed at the words. “Is this medical play? Are we trained nurses? Because I am not comfortable with that level of risk. If you’re not willing to back down on some of this, I’m gonna have to walk away.”

He took a deep breath, clearly trying to maintain his iron-clad composure. His thumb rubbed against his first two fingers. His mouth twitched with unspoken words.

“You have every right to revoke,” he said stiffly. “But I must state my case: For me, this is the heart of the contract. Of the entire relationship. Even more than the sexual components.”

Belle read over his list of desired activities. “Spanking, flogging, even impact play is fine, but burning?” She knew how horrified she must look. “Are you serious about this?”

He waved his hand. “It��s temperature play.”

“I’ve done temperature play. I’ve done wax play. Those are fine. This is something else.”

Gold began to protest, but Belle found another objection.

“What can you even do with a sledgehammer?”

“That’s mostly for intimidation. A haunted house, as you said. BDSM is about bringing participants to the edge of their mental limits as well as physical.”

“But it’s not about hurting people!” Belle blurted it out without thinking, then waved away the obvious counter. “You know what I mean. The point is, I’m not comfortable with this much pain play. Especially three times a week and especially if you’re noncommittal on safe words. I’m not here for edge play, and I want it out of the contract.”

For a moment, Gold scowled. Then he seemed to give up. He gestured towards her pen and she took that as leave to start scratching out parts of the section.

“Shall we go through it line by line?” he asked. “Or would you rather remove the entire section? We could replace physical pain with the psychological torture of attending amateur comedy shows.”

Despite herself, Belle snorted. You could tell a lot about a man by how he reacted to the word ‘no.’ If Gold was letting her remove a sizable chunk of his favorite kink and he was still able to have a sense of humor about it, that was a good sign. She wanted to do this with Gold, but she wouldn’t play with someone who didn’t respect her limits.

“I’m just crossing out the stuff that’s too extreme for me.”

“Can we keep knife play?” Gold asked. “I’ve got this dagger I’m quite taken with.”

“We can cut clothes but not flesh.” Belle wrote that down. “I’m not a complete wimp.”

His face was soft when he looked at her. “No, of course not,” he murmured. “I believe you’re very strong indeed, Miss French.”

Her cheeks went warm again. His confidence in her was flattering and encouraging. She did want to expand her kink experience. Gold seemed like a promising teacher. But they had to take things step by step. They had to build up to the metaphorical machetes and apparently literal sledgehammers. Eventually, both of them would get what they wanted. Both of them would give what they were comfortable giving. That was the whole point of having this conversation before they started.

“We’re using safe words,” Belle insisted. “Check-ins are absolutely mandatory during a pain scene, and tons of aftercare when it’s done.”

“Fine, fine,” Gold muttered as he wrote. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Since we’re on the subject of things I don’t like.” She pointed at the next section. “We need to talk about humiliation and degradation.”

“Don’t you like dirty talk, Miss French?”

“I don’t like the idea of kink being dirty.” She leaned back. “I mean, I respect the transgressive element, the idea that we’re doing what society thinks is filthy and taboo. But I hate the idea that anything is inherently, fundamentally Bad and that we’re Bad People for wanting it.”

“Interesting, considering your revulsion at pain play.”

“That’s about safety,” Belle had to keep herself from snapping. “And it’s about my preferences. If a consenting adult wants to deepthroat a cactus, that’s their prerogative. I just can’t be a part of it for my own reasons. But there’s nothing wrong about doing it or wanting to do it. You know how the saying goes: Your kink is not my kink and that’s okay.”

“But humiliation…” Gold said. “That’s not okay?”

“In our specific case, public humiliation might interfere with the confidentiality clause. More broadly? I’m not interested in shame. I think kink should be a joyous thing, something you can take pride in. For a lot of people, BDSM scenes are where they feel like their truest selves.”

“Even if your truest self is a worthless, needy slut?”

As self-righteous as she was being, Belle couldn’t deny the red-hot streak of desire that flashed through her when he said those words. He was good at dirty talk. She put her palms on the table and took a breath.

“There’s a difference between playing something and really believing it,” she said. “Sometimes it’s a fine line. Point is, I don’t think anyone is worthless. I don’t think being a slut is a bad thing. And if someone is needy, it means they’re aware enough to know what they need and ask for it. Being brave enough to ask for what you really want--even when everything in the world tells you you’re not supposed to want it--that should be celebrated.”

From across the table, Gold’s breathing was deep, and a fraction of a second faster than normal.

“Is that what you want from a scene?” he asked. “A celebration?”

“When I’m in a scene, I don’t want anyone to feel bad about themselves.”

He let out a dry laugh. “You may need to temper your expectations, Miss French.”

“No,” Belle said simply. “No, that’s a limit for me. I’m not going to play with degradation.”

Gold opened his mouth, then closed it. “Fine.” He drew a large X over the entire section. “It’s probably for the best.”

Belle crossed out the text on her copy and moved on to the next section.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have a problem with the list of sex acts. Though there is some stuff on this list that I have not tried before.”

He looked up from the page. His dark eyes were on her, but there was a wariness in his expression.

“Feel free to eliminate any acts with which you’re not one-hundred percent comfortable,” he said. “If you need to, we can eliminate this section as well. BDSM doesn’t have to be sexual--”

“Nah.” She cut him off. “I mean, yes, of course. BDSM doesn’t have to be sexual. But this is a detailed list, Mr. Gold. You want a lot of these acts, and I think you want them badly. And I’m not opposed, it’s just my inexperience again. Like, anal fisting? Don’t you need equipment for that?”

“I have equipment,” Gold rubbed his thumb along the handle of his cane. “Really all one needs is lubricant and a willing spirit.”

“Oh I am willing.” Belle’s eyes glazed as she read over the list of orifices expected to be available for penetration, over the descriptions and dimensions of various toys, over phrases like forced chastity and deepthroat training. Hell, just the opportunity to have sex three times a week plus bank holidays was enough to entice her. “I just might need a little patience.”

“I am nothing if not patient, Miss French.”

After a moment’s further reading, Belle looked up from her paper. “The contract seems a little vague on whether or not this has to be part of a scene. Do you want to have sex in our non-BDSM time?”

The clatter of Gold’s cane falling to the ground rang out through the otherwise quiet dining room. Coughing, Gold bent out of his chair to pick it up. He straightened up to gather himself, but didn’t look Belle in the eye.

“Miss French, I assure you, we can have sex as often and under as many circumstances as you’d like.”

She snorted. “It’s been a while since my last round of STD tests. And I’ll have to get back on birth control.”

“Do you need me to compensate you for medical expenses?”

“No, I’ll be alright. Thank you.”

Gold picked up his pen. “We should add that to the contract. If you suffer any injuries during our time together, I’ll cover all the costs.”

“Can’t say no to workman’s comp,” Belle agreed as she wrote down the addition. “And all of the equipment listed in Appendix B, that’s all going to be stuff that you’ll buy or that you already own?”

“Yes. As well as any other expenses. Meals, travel, every book on the Eastern Seaboard--you’re not paying for any of that, Miss French.”

Belle tried not to smile too much at the thought of being showered with hardbacks. It was like he was offering to give her an entire library.

“What about clothes? Do you want me to have a uniform or something? Dress code?”

“Yes.” His voice was thick. “I would dearly love to buy you a complete wardrobe, Miss French. Clothes, shoes, jewelry.” Gold licked his lips. “Lingerie. I could give you a stipend, or--or pick items out for you.”

Now she couldn’t keep herself from grinning. She leaned onto the table. “What would you pick out for me?”

“Skirts and heels seem to be your affinity,” he said with utter confidence. Clearly, he had put some thought into the subject. “Your style is loose and flowing, and that’s lovely for day wear. But I’d like to see you after dark, Miss French. Something risque, something tight. I want to see you wearing clothes that say fuck me.”

Belle swallowed. “Yeah?”

“You know Louboutin, the heels with the red backs? They have a style with a strap across the ankle. Might be a little taller than you’re used to, but I’m sure you can rise to the challenge. If you went out wearing those shoes with a short black dress, everyone who looked at you would want you.”

“And they’d know that I’m going home with you.”

“Yes.”

The word was a whisper, but it was the surest sound Belle had ever heard. Gold kept going.

“There’s a man I know in Boston who makes custom lingerie. He’s an artist with silk and lace, leather and metal. I would give you to him as a canvas, Miss French. I’d pay just to see how he decorates your body. How much beauty he can add to perfection.”

Belle knew her cheeks must be flaming red. The heat of self-consciousness was sharper, more stinging, than the warm glow that had gone through her at various points of the conversation. Being wanted was different than wanting something for herself.

“Whatever happened to not turning my head with luxury?”

“Oh, I’m not trying to seduce you by giving you what you want,” he said in a low voice. “I’m telling you what I want, Miss French. I want to see the most beautiful woman in the world wearing clothes that are worthy of her. I want you to feel stunning, and powerful, and absolutely adored.”

“Adored,” Belle breathed. She let the word sink in for a moment. Let it nestle in some hidden sweet spot between her libido and her heart. She locked eyes with Gold. “You want to adore me.”

“Yes,” he said. His gaze didn’t waver for an instant. “What did you say earlier, that kink was a celebration? I want to celebrate you. I want to worship you. I want to push you to your limits and help you realize your full potential as a sexual being. Miss French, I want to transform you. I want to help you become the best version of yourself--confident, radiant, a goddess.”

She couldn’t breathe. Even from across the table, the force of his desire was overwhelming. What he was offering her--he wanted it so much, wanted her to have it so much that she couldn’t keep herself from wanting it too. Forget turning her head with luxuries, he was turning her head just by wanting her.

Belle shook her head to clear it. Gold was still looking at her. His posture hadn’t changed, but his eyes were soft and dark. They were so full of longing--not pleading or demanding but longing--they reminded her of a hero from one of her books.

Gold’s expression looked like there was a string somewhere under his left ribs, tightly and inextricably knotted to a similar string inside her own small frame--and if that cord was snapped, he had a curious notion he would take to bleeding inwardly. He looked like he had struggled in vain to repress his feelings, but that one word from her would silence him forever. He looked like he was half-agony, half-hope.

She let out a long breath.

“Let’s move on to the final section.” Belle’s hands shook a little as she flipped to the next page of the contract. “Obedience and protocol.”

“I put a lot of thought into this section,” Gold said.

“I’m sure you did.” The words were flippant, but Belle meant them sincerely. “You put thought into everything, don’t you?”

“Into everything that matters, yes.”

Belle read out loud. “‘The Submissive is to wear a collar at all times during the duration of the relationship. Eye contact is restricted based on the preference of the Dominant. The Submissive is to begin every session kneeling at the Dominant’s feet.’” She looked up. “Are you sure about that? Did you mean to put scene instead of session?”

“I meant what’s written down. Even the most vanilla of dates should include a moment to remember what this dynamic truly is. Call it a sign of devotion.”

“Okay, but kneeling?” She looked at him. “There are other ways to show humility.”

“I like kneeling.”

“Okay.” Belle tapped her pen against the word, but didn’t make a move to alter it. Gold knew his own mind. It would be her task to give him what he wanted.

She read on about the service and deference that would be required.

“Foot worship is something new for me. Does that include foot rubs?”

“Oh absolutely,” Gold murmured. “Nothing but the best.”

There was some housework included on the list. Most of it seemed to be more for show than drudgery. Drawing baths, making the bed, keeping the sex toys cleaned and maintained.

“This item about cooking, is that just dinners we eat together?”

Gold cocked his head. “As opposed to…?”

“What about packed lunches?” Belle offered. “Definitely breakfast in bed on nights when I’m over here.”

“Would it violate the confidentiality clause to provide snacks to the workplace?”

“Oh that’s brilliant!” Belle wrote it down. “Maybe confidentiality could be maintained via anonymous or third-party delivery. That would turn a box of cookies into a dirty little secret.”

He grinned at her. A new light had entered his eyes.

“This is why I chose you,” he said. “Of course you’re beautiful and good-hearted and brave enough to seriously consider this opportunity, but this is what matters most to me. That you’re creative and collaborative. Our time together will be a true partnership. We will work together to create extraordinary experiences.”

They were silent together for a beat, then Gold cleared his throat.

“That is, of course, assuming you agree with all the points we’ve discussed today.”

“Oh, I agree.” Belle turned to the last page of the contract, where there were two blank lines for signatures. “There are still some open points that need refining, but overall, I’m very happy to begin our new relationship.”

The pen danced over the paper as Belle signed her name. She pushed herself out of her chair and crossed the table to meet Gold where he sat. He had already signed his copy and was reaching for hers. They made the exchange and then it was done.

The contract was signed.

Belle took a breath. Her heart was fluttering. Gold looked like he had woken from a dream just to find that the dream was still happening.

“Well,” Belle said. “Do we want to count today as our first session? We’d still have plenty of time to do a scene. Or just fuck.”

“Whatever you like,” Gold said, a little breathlessly. He was staring into the middle distance, shell-shocked. “You’re in charge.”

“Now, now.” Gently, Belle reached out and brought her hand to his face. She held his chin and forced him to look at her. “You know that’s not true. Submissives have the real power.”

“I want you to have the power now,” he whispered.

A wide smile grew across Belle’s face. It was one thing to top strangers at play parties in the dungeon in Boston. It was something altogether different to have Mr. Gold shaking like a leaf under her touch.

“In that case,” she said firmly. “The contract states that you have to start every session on your knees.”

“Yes,” Gold whispered. He slid out of his chair, used his cane to support himself as he got into position to kneel at Belle’s feet. For the first time that evening--possibly for the first time in a long time--Mr. Gold beamed. “Yes, Mistress.”

#contract #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle fanfiction #ouat

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eirian-houpe · 4 months

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If You Will Be My Queen

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Grace | Paige (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: Holiday Fic Exchange, Rumbelle Secret Santa (Once Upon a Time), Solstice, Winter, Storybrooke, The Enchanted Forest, The Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time) Summary:

Belle decides that it is past time that Rumplestiltskin should decorate for Midwinter, and celebrate the seasons, now that they have Gideon to share it with, but an important item from the past is missing, and Belle will not rest until it is found. Not that it is truly missing. Rumplestiltskin knows where it is, but has locked it away, beyond all retrieval. Or has he…?

A Winter RSS gift for @chippedcupwrites - thank you for the prompts. It was fun to write this, even if some parts of it did take me by surprise :) (i.e. the characters took charge of the story. Of course that /never/ happens, right?).

Read on AO3

If You Will Be My Queen

The unmistakable sounds of a robbery in progress stopped Gold in his tracks, his hand frozen, outstretched, half way toward the door of the pawn shop with the key extended from his fingers.

The sign on the shop door read closed, and while he was by now quite used to the residents of Storybrooke completely ignoring the missive, this blatant disregard for his authority over his own property riled his temper beyond boiling. But for having promised Belle he would limit the use of his magic, he would have stopped the intruder’s heart from a distance without a second thought, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t hurt them by physical means.

Enhanced, he thought to himself as a swirl of dark purple smoke surrounded him, and transported him the few inches to the other side of the door, by a small touch of magic.

Without a sound, he reached out with his right hand toward the umbrella stand that was the resting place of his cane. He no longer needed it, of course, and hadn’t for many years, but he kept it there, right by the door, as a kind of memento to a time long passed, when he was a man that made too many wrong choices.

He wasn’t that man any more.

As stealthily as he could, not wanting to alert the intruder of his presence, and in the back of his mind knowing that he should call Sheriff Swan, or her deputy - though he still couldn’t bring himself to think of the man that way - he crossed the shop floor toward the back room, still separated after all the years with the curtain that was hanging in the doorway. He wondered idly if that would ever change.

With one hand he reached out to finger the edge of the fabric, hefting the cane with the other, ready to strike out; to defend his property. His things. And then, he struck.

Springing forward like a deranged Jack-in-the-Box he crossed the threshold into the back room, where boxes were strewn hither and yon, and a small figure crouched over one of them, he raised the cane higher, ready to bring it down, halted only in the last breath by a shrill, alarmed cry.

“Rumple!”

“Belle,” he breathed and all but dropped the cane to the floor. “What the hell are you doing?”

The question came out as a breathless rush, an entire, horrible scenario flashing before his eyes.

“What am I doing,” she retorted, standing up and turning to face him, pointing at the grounded cane. “What are you? You could have caved my head in with that thing. What’s going on?”

“Where’s Gideon?” he asked at the same time.

“Oh no,” her voice barely withheld a bitter laugh, “You don’t sidestep the question like that. What were you thinking, Rumple?”

“What was I supposed to think? You said you were going to be home. With Gideon,” he added the last two words as a sentence all of their own. “I thought someone had broken in and was burglarizing me–”

“I was.” Belle interrupted, and Rumple blinked. If he wasn’t so shaken he might have made a joke about Belle burglarizing the shop, and possibly defused the storm he could feel brewing. As it was, he didn’t say anything, just waited. She obviously had more to say. “Then I thought about decorating for winter and–”

“No,” he said flatly, but Belle shook her head.

“So I went up in the loft to see if I could find the decorations, and–”

“No,” he said again, even more adamantly, feeling his already bubbling temper threatening to spill over again.

“--when I couldn’t find them, I figured they were probably here so–”

“Belle,” he snapped her name, “we are not decorating for winter.”

She blinked at him, her expression half way between shock and outrage, and that was fair he supposed. He hadn’t spoken to her like that since… well he couldn’t remember the last time. Maybe not since the dark castle. At least she wasn’t talking about winter decorations any more.

His stomach roiled when he thought about it; the cold, the abandonment, the hurt… the loss. Winter was nothing to be celebrated.

“Rumplestitskin,” she said softly, but when he looked at her he could see she had a fire in her eyes of the kind that he couldn’t often extinguish, even when, like now, he wanted to the most. “We are decorating for winter,” he opened his mouth to protest again, but closed it as if he were some kind of Dionaea Muscipula as she continued, “and we are inviting our friends to our home to help us celebrate.”

He spluttered, fuming and helpless with it. How dare she presume - because he knew she would have presumed to invite said friends already - to force the Midwinter Solstice upon him! In the face of his speechlessness, Belle smoothed down her skirt, cocked an eyebrow and completely unapologetically, demanded, “Now, you are going to help me unpack these boxes and find the winter decorations, or the chances are I’m going to end up inadvertently damaging your things, or touching something I’m not supposed to.”

“Like winter decorations,” he muttered, not truly intending for her to hear him, but of course she did.

“Rumple!” she warned, pointing an unyielding finger like some kind of magic wand at the stack of boxes that were piled like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

“Fine,” he protested, though it was far from it. “Have it your way. But we are not–”

“Rumple,” she growled softly, and took his hand to pull him closer to the offending shadows that threatened to pull him back into the past, and she took down a box to place it on the workbench, and deftly pulled it open to reveal the maelstrom of memories within.

“What on Earth is all this?” Belle asked, flummoxed as the Dark One placed the last of the boxes squarely into her unsuspecting arms.

“Trinkets,” he giggled impishly. “Baubles, sparklies… evergreens.” Her frown deepened, as he added, “and bedding… for the upstairs bedrooms.”

“Guests?” she blinked at him. “We’re expecting guests?”

“Of course we’re expecting guests,” he scoffed, and as if it explained everything, added, “It’s Midwinter. Keep up!”

“Mid–” she broke off as soon as she had started, because no sooner had he confirmed that guests were coming, than he turned and began to stride toward the exit of the great hall. She trotted after him, trying to obey his instruction to keep up, at least until she had her answers. “But Rumplestiltskin, you’ve never–”

He turned on her, and wagged a finger, almost playfully side to side in admonition. “Never, dearie, is a very long time. Far longer than you have in any case.” Then, sing song he continued, “I on the other hand–”

“Who?” she asked, her curiosity too extensive to contain.

“--don’t interrupt,” Rumplestiltskin answered, “Now where was I? Ah yes… I on the other hand–”

“Who are we expecting?” she interrupted again.

“How rude,” he sulked, and then conceded. “A friend.”

“A friend?” she repeated in a slightly questioning tone, managing to contain the rest of what she had been thinking. Did the Dark One truly have any real friends?”

“That’s what I said,” he answered irritably. “Do you have a problem with your HEARING?”

He leaned closer to almost shout the question into her ear, and she flinched, jumping almost several feet backwards, before, as he turned to continue his striding, this time toward the castle doors, she began to hurry to catch up to him.

“Rumplestiltskin,” she called after him. “Where are you going?”

As she reached his side, and struggled to match him stride for stride she caught him muttering to himself, and certainly not the answer to her question - simply a bunch of numbers - measurements she realized as she listened more closely, and allowed herself to be lulled by them until the incongruency slapped her squarely in the face as she heard the list of tasks that were now falling from his lips.

“Sweep the floors, lay the fires, as well as the one in the great hall, make the beds, draw the water, and of course prepare the food and beverages–”

“Where are you going?” she asked again, and once again he stopped in his tracks.

“To see a man about a tree,” he answered, then demanded, “Why are you still here?”

“You’re going to ask a man to fell you a tree for Midwinter?” she asked, incredulity in her voice. “Why don’t you just…” she imitated his usual flourish, and then snapped her fingers at the end.

Rumplestiltskin made a face as shocked as when her father had called him a beast all those many months - over a year at least - before.

“My dear Belle,” he began as the expression faded. “There are some taboos that even the Dark One himself will not break, and using magic to acquire a Winter Tree is one of them. Why the price! The price alone…” he broke off muttering to himself for a moment before he blinked at her as if noticing her for the first time. “Are you still here?”

“Well, you didn’t tell me who is coming; how many or… anything. I don’t have nearly enough ingredients to make Holiday dishes for anyone let alone–”

“You’ll find everything you need in the kitchen, dearie.” he answered, slipping into a thick brogue. “And be sure to include plenty of sweeties.”

“Sweeties,” she mouthed, asking herself - not for the first time since this whole exchange had started - whether Rumplestiltskin had finally lost his senses.

“And tea… and spiced wine… hot apple cider…” he began ticking off items on his fingers, “and roasted turkey… a juicy ham…”

“And a partridge in a pear tree,” she cut in.

Rumplestiltskin frowned.

“Well,” he considered, “I think we can do without the pears, but a partridge, if you’ve a mind, of course.”

Belle shook her head, and asked with heavy irony, “Anything else?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered in all seriousness, “Though when I get back with the tree, I’ll be needing you to help with the trimming of it, of course. Must always be balance in the trimming of the Yuletide Boughs, and you and I’ll be spinning silver for some time, I feel.”

He stopped then, and frowned, “Still here? Run along now, dearie. Work to do…”

She was about to open her mouth to answer him, when the world around her dissolved into purple smoke.

“Belle, you’ve enough baubles, and ribbons, and Yule candles to decorate the entire house three times over. Enough,” Rumple said softly as Belle tore through yet another box that had been tucked away, forgotten in the back corner of the back corner of the back room.

“No,” she growled. “It has to be here somewhere, and I intend to find it.”

“It isn’t here,” he implored with his tone for her to stop looking, but she read him an entirely different way; the right way of course, as well he might have known.

She rounded on him angrily, “What did you do with it?”

“Belle, I–”

“No, Rumple,” she held up her hands, “Tell me. Where is it?”

There was silence between them then. A silence so thick with unresolved tension that it was almost choking him to imagine it. Thicker even than the time in the Underworld when he’d had to tell her she was pregnant with his child; their son Gideon, now returned to them of course, but…

“Belle…” he faltered again.

“Tell me!” she demanded, her face shifting between the ugliness of anger and despair, back and forth with each breath.

“There are… some things…” he began haltingly, “some things so dangerous, so painful, and so powerful that even I dare not include in the Dark Curse; to bring them here to Storybrooke,” he reached for her hands to draw them away from the box he knew contained nothing but irrelevant minutiae. Relics of the lives of people long gone.

“So… where is it?”

“The Vault,” he said softly, “Back at the Dark Castle.”

“Still in the Enchanted Forest?” she said, and her face creased with disbelief and deeper despair. “You mean we can’t–”

“I… I didn’t say that, Belle,” he promised softly, “It’s just…” He sighed, and closed his eyes, unable to look at the hurt, and the tears gathering in hers. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you. Keep anything from you come to that Belle, but… when I thought–” His voice cracked.

“Rumple, I’m here.” He felt her take his hands; felt how solid they were, how warm against the sudden chill, as if the approaching midwinter night had sapped him of his vitality. She grounded him. She gave him light and life.

“If I could,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to hers, “If I even thought I could, I would try to reach across realms and bring it to you, but… I don’t think I can. The hold it has over me is just too strong.”

“You can,” she told him. “I know you can.”

He shook his head, still against hers, until she pulled back and pinned him with the wild, deep, ocean blue of her gaze that bared his soul.

“It doesn’t matter how far away it is; how deeply buried, nor how tightly warded it is,” she told him. “We made it together, and I won’t let you keep it from us now. Not like this. Not out of fear.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

Belle stood with her hands on her hips staring - no glaring - at Rumplestiltskin after the most preposterous suggestion had left his lips, a basket of golden garland that he had spun and woven into the most beautiful of Winter decor for the Dark Castle’s Midwinter Tree stood like a chasm between them.

“Quite possibly,” he answered, an impish grin on his face that faded to a half teasing sneer. “But I’m also right. You can do it. You and only you.”

“But…” she half turned, pointing behind her toward the door, as though to some imaginary person. “Rumplestiltskin, no…” she turned again, to face him. “I’ve heard the tales, everyone has. How using magic will darken a person’s soul and…”

She trailed off as he made a soft tutting sound while at the same time shaking his head and appearing to examine his clawed fingers.

“You wouldn’t want to disappoint a little girl now,” he looked up, an almost innocent pout on his face, “would you?”

“No!” she said flatly. “I won’t let you manipulate me like that.” But in truth his words had touched her heart. As much to remind herself as Rumplestiltskin she said, “No. Dark. Magic.”

“Assume… assume… assume,” he sang softly.

“What are you talking about?” she snapped.

“It’s just a garland,” he answered. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to murder all the puppies and kittens in the enchanted forest.”

“Dark magic–”

“Not the same.” he tipped his head from side to side as he spoke his words in the same sing-song tone. “Quite different… alternative… not dark magic.”

“Rumplestiltskin–”

“Light magic.” He said the words slowly, as though they were somehow foreign on his tongue, but Belle couldn’t have been happier to hear them.

“Light magic?” she repeated, just to be sure she had heard him correctly.

“Yes, yes,” he brushed the words off this time as though they were a dusting of snow on his shoulders. “That’s what I said. Back to hard of hearing are we?”

“Don’t you see, Rumple,” she didn’t think what she was saying and shortened the words, blushing when he turned a scowl her way. Still she pressed on. “This is it.”

“It?” his frown deepened into confusion. “It what?”

“This proves it,” she hardly heard his question. “That you’re the one that will use…”

“...use the powers of the Dark One for good,” he chanted at the same time as she. “That old chestnut. No.” He moved toward her then, to stand almost toe to toe. “You, dearie. You must be the one to wield the Solstice magic. You and no other… and poof the golden garland shall be silver.”

She jumped as he emphasized the sound, then turned and frowned at him as he began to move behind her, catching her to stillness as she asked, “What…?” and licked her lips as he moved closer still behind her, “What must I do?”

“Little,” he purred, moving with her toward the pile of gold, “Pick it up,” She reached down to take one end of the golden garland into her palms. It was cold, and she shivered; again she shivered as Rumplestiltskin moved closer. The front of him pressed against her back, hot… muscled… solid.

“Hold it,” he murmured against the side of her face, “caress it… run it through your fingers…”

She felt herself grow warmer and warmer still with every word and every breath that ghosted against her cheek. She closed her eyes, and leaned against him. She felt his arms surround her, his fingers at her wrists, his talons scratching gently at her skin as he guided her to slowly feed the cold, golden garland through her hands. His words never stopped, but she lost awareness of them; knew only the strength and the heat of him… and the rhythmic motion of the braid that played through her hands.

A flash brighter than the brightest star shone through even her closed eyes. She opened them and watched in a strange, detached fascination as the gold became silver in her hands, flowing like a molten river of moonlight from one hand to the other, to spill over into the basket on the ground at her feet.

The light faded. The moment was gone, and Belle laughed.

“Hmmm,” Rumplestiltskin purred against her cheek, teasing. “Seems like my little cherub is happy about something.”

“Oh, Rumple,” she giggled, turning about in his arms and laying the flat of her palms against his chest. “How did I do that?”

“Magic, dearie,” he answered gravely, “A magic all of your own, but then… I told you, there had to be balance on the Winter Tree.”

He snapped his fingers then, and the silver garland found a life of its own, whirling around to fly from where they stood and nestle itself around the tree, a perfect compliment to the gold already twinkling among the evergreen, and not a moment too soon.

A polite cough sounded from the doorway to the great hall, and both turned, Rumplestiltskin starting almost guiltily away from her, leaving her feeling strangely abandoned… bereft, but there wasn’t a moment to wallow in the feeling, and her joy soon returned to see Rumplestiltskin’s portal jumping friend - and yes, she realized in that moment, he was Rumple’s friend - standing in the doorway, hat in one hand, and the pale hand of his sweet young daughter held in the other.

“May we…?” Jefferson asked politely, though he raised an eyebrow at Belle, deepening her blush.

“Of course, m’boy,” Rumplestiltskin answered, already part way across the great hall toward the pair. “Come in and warm yourself by the fire. You must be perished.” Then half turning as he swooped and caught the wide eyed Grace up in his arms, he suggested, “How about some hot apple cider, Belle, to chase away the chill before dinner.”

Laughter drew Belle back to the main room of the house, and to the merriment well underway. Snow and David, Emma and Killian, Ruby, Archie, Granny, Leroy and the boys, everyone had accepted the invitation, and showed up with sweet dishes, and savory treats, as well as copious quantities of wine, mead, fine whiskey and rum, all to celebrate the day of the year when at last the light overcame the dark.

It seemed fitting, in the aftermath of everything that had happened in Storybrooke, and that they could come together at Rumple’s house - no… at the home she shared with Rumple and their son - made her feel accepted at last, and she hoped Rumple would feel the same.

“There you are,” even as she thought of him, as though she had conjured him from the air itself, Gold cozied up behind her, surrounding her in a warm embrace, “I was about to send the sheriff out to look for you.”

Belle looked over in the direction of Rumple’s nod to watch as Emma stumbled mid step, safely caught by Killian, who made some kind of ribald joke about how she couldn’t hold her liquor.

Belle chuckled. “I’m not sure she’s fit for duty right now.”

“As it should be,” Rumple answered, snuggling her closer. “Where’d you go?”

“To check on Gideon.” She leaned against him, nuzzling softly at his chin, and her eyes drifted to the tree that stood in pride of place in the corner of the room. It was magnificent, though as she looked on it, it still drew a pang of disappointment deep into Belle’s heart to see only red ribbon, white lights and golden garland adorning the tree.

She couldn’t fault Rumple for trying, but as hard as he had tried, the vault refused to release the silver twin to his magical summons.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Rumple tightened his arms around her and said softly, “Belle, I’m sorry I couldn’t…”

He trailed off and she followed the direction of his gaze. Across the room, Jefferson, resplendent in his finest, foppish attire, handed a small pouch to Grace, and gave her a gentle push their way, offering a wry salute, and a genuine smile of delight as he caught them looking his way.

“Papa said I should bring this to you, and tell you Winter Blessings, Uncle Rumple, and Miss Belle.”

“Why, thank you, Grace,” Rumple answered, and glanced back across to where Jefferson had been moments ago. When she, too, looked, the man was nowhere to be seen, and Grace, too, seemed to have vanished.

“I wonder what…?” Belle said, and took the pouch from Rumple’s fingers, beginning to work at the knot. She couldn’t help but laugh when she opened it, and took out what was inside.

“Mistletoe,” she said, and playfully turned in Rumple’s arms to hold it over the top of both of them.

“Mistletoe.” Rumple chuckled then. “Trust Jefferson. Remember that time when–”

Belle waggled the sprig once more over the top of his head. “Mister Gold, the tradition is that one should kiss beneath the mistletoe, not reminisce.”

“Kissing and much more, if you go back far enough,” he teased. “Thinking of a sibling for Gideon already?”

“Shut up and kiss me,” she answered, blushing fiercely.

“Gladly, Missus Gold,” he said.

His lips met hers, softly and full of all the love they ever had held for one another, gathered into a single moment. She felt the pulse of magic as soon as it began. Not just True Love, but a love that also held the blessing of the season. Solstice blessings - the turning of the wheel of the year in all present.

In an instant, gone was the somber suit that Rumple wore, to be replaced by a magnificent outfit of deep green and gold, and on his head a crown of oak leaves, adorned with silver, snow-tipped acorns, and as she caught sight of herself in the window, mirrored by the dark night outside, Belle saw that her dress was now a beautiful robe in silvery blue, with silver and white edging.

“Rumple,” she gasped softly, and stepped back to take in the full sight of him. “How did you do that?”

“Not me, my love,” he murmured, flicking his eyes up to the mistletoe still held in her hand. “But I seem to remember that once I told you one must always have balance at the turning of the seasons.”

“Well, you truly look like The Winter King,” she told him softly, frowning as he shook his head, and with a snap of his fingers, offered to her a delicate filigree crown with shining diamonds, and icy white moonstones woven within.

“Only if you will be my queen,” he said.

“I will,” she breathed, and lowered her head to receive the crown from him.

Joyous applause sounded from around them, as their guests each raised a glass to toast the longest night, and the returning of the light, and all were suddenly bathed in the brightness of an echoing flash, and then by waves of gold and silver, as the firelight reflected off the gold and magical silver garland entwined, and adorning the Sacred Winter Tree.

#RSS #Rumbelle secret santa 2023 #holiday fic #winter #solstice #storybrooke #the enchanted forest #the dark castle

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miswitched · 10 months

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Books Regina Mills would read:

1. Crime and Punishment, she understands the madness of it all too well. She relates to the ideas of guilt and anger and impulsivity, having toyed with those feelings more than ever in her early days of being the evil queen.

2. All the Bronte novels- gothic novels have her heart and basically everything the Brontes wrote made her feel a little bit less alone in her marriage to the king. 'Wuthering Heights' appealed to her greatly, especially when Heathcliffe dug up Catherines grave, and how Heathcliffe gradually turned into a monster. She also loved 'Jane Eyre', having felt understood when she read about Jane and Mrs Reed, and relating to Rochester trying to keep his secret wife in the attic in the sense that she kept a version of herself secret.

3. Pride and Prejudice, you just know she loved the drama of it and being able to see at least one person have a happy ending, even if she’ll never admit it. She thought her own life may have gone this way, until Daniel died. I imagine she was quite a big Jane Austen fan before all of the tragedy. Sometimes, even when she was the evil queen and the mayor of storybrooke, she'd reread it for those moments of lightness it brought her.

4. Lolita; trying to love someone and being taken advantage of; leopold being seen as a gentle king when he was not to her, not that it mattered to anyone; screaming, crying, having fits of anger and rage and still no one would listen to her; being too young for the situation she found herself in.

5. The haunting of hill house, she read this in her first few years of the curse and was enchanted by it, and when the series came out she went feral, loving the haunting feel to it.

6. The Secret History, the dark feeling appeals to her, and if her cursed memories of going to university were actually real, she easily could have seen herself going down the same route, of murdering one of her friends. She loved the expression of ancient language, it assured her that whilst the world was moving on, she was going to be okay.

7. Great Expectations, she understands Miss Havisham, and also relates to Pip over never being good enough and always being made fun of by her elders.

8. A streetcar named desire, because she relates to Blanche wayyy to much having once lived in a fanciful world with costume jewellery, and trying to convince herself that she was the evil queen and that by being the way she was, she could be happy.

9. The Bell jar, she loves reading dark books and as a result this one is her fave because she’s been there, she's had the same struggles. The raw youth of the book reminds her of when she was young. But the ending scared her, because no matter how good things look, they could always end up wrong.

#evil queen #regina mills #lana parrilla #ouat #once upon a time #emma swan #emma x regina #prince charming #david nolan #mary margaret blanchard #zelena mills #henry mills

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ouatsqincorrect · 4 months

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What does the family think of the differences between EF and the land without magic? About the religion and culture? About capitalism? About electricity and clean water and the accommodations and all the modern commodities? About the laws, rights, freedom? All the thing you can find in one place but not the other? About the nostalgia of their childhood realm? About what they think was better in the EF and was lost in our world?

Which world is favored by each member of the family? What would they want changed in it? If they end up there, what do they want to keep with them from the other world or to find a way to make it exist in their chosen world?

(Also, remember I haven't watched all the show yet)

Do you think that people from Storybrook having ended back in the EF used their knowledge of the other world to make progress in their realm? Like scientific et technical improvements and inventions. Did they advocated for changing the old laws to more progressive rights. Do you think the people could make a revolution to start a Republic? (à la française)

What kind of idea could people having lived in such different places could have had from this experience?

(Sorry that was a very long and poorly worded question. List of questions. Anyway. Sorry for this.)

woah. ok, im gonna try my best to answer this but no promises that’ll it actually be coherent lol

let’s just go down the list. (oh and if you haven’t watched the entire show yet, there’s a spoiler for s3 in the first point)

1. i think by season four, we see that everyone is pretty much totally ok with living in storybrooke instead of the enchanted forest, and honestly, i think it was that missing year when they had to go back that ultimately proved how much they really like our world. there’s plumbing, electricity, a life expectancy that’s longer than 40 years—honestly, i don’t think casting the curse in maine, in our world, was the worst place regina could’ve sent them, and i think they’re all pretty much aware of this fact by the end of s3.

2. i’m gonna preface this by saying i am extremely non-religious (thank you four years of religious trauma) so my answer might reflect that, but i don’t think anyone of them really care too much about religion. i think some of them (regina, belle, rumple) have probably studied it a bit, but that’s just for the knowledge and understanding. they believe in zeus and hades and all that—our world’s religions don’t really mean much to them, at least personally. as far as culture goes, i think most of them really like learning about the culture of this world (again, especially regina and belle, maybe rumple too—oh, and zelena). they want to know more about the place they live. it’s not like they’re going back to the enchanted forest, so they might as well learn about this world some more.

3. i don’t think capitalism really matters to them all that much because storybrooke doesn’t seem to really…fall under it in the same way? at least, not for this family. regina’s been saving money as mayor for the last 30 or so years, the curse made rumple rich. we don’t see any of them really have any issues with money. so, as far as this family goes, i don’t think they think about capitalism as much as we do. (everyone else in storybrooke might be a different story, but idk)

4. i think i answered the other ones already so i’m skipping to the nostalgia of their childhood realm. this really depends on who you’re talking about. regina had such a rough go of it in the enchanted forest, there probably isn’t much nostalgia for her. she’d probably like to not think about it much at all. david, on the other hand, had a lot of happy memories, so it probably means more to him to reminisce.

5. the only thing i can think of that might’ve been better in the enchanted forest was the hope. our world can be so much crueler, even with better living conditions. there was some idealized type of happiness in the enchanted forest that they don’t get here (i’m not saying there wasn’t heartbreak—there definitely was, it’s just the way some of them dealt with it—the way the realm as a whole dealt with it—was a little different), and that might be what they miss about it, but honestly, i think they all realize that those feelings the enchanted forest brought were sort of false and misleading. remember in s1 when grumpy said he needs his pain because it makes him who he is? i think, for some, that’s what our world does. it allows them to deal with their pain without feeling like it’s wrong, or like they should just be hopeful all the time. it’s more realistic. so, actually, the hope in the enchanted forest wasn’t better at all, but maybe it’s the thing some of them miss from time to time.

6. everyone in this family is happy and content with living in our world. living in storybrooke can occasionally be a different story, but they all like living in this realm better than the enchanted forest. this is home to them. i think, as time goes on, bits and pieces of life in the enchanted forest makes its way into storybrooke. little things, like sometimes granny will make a soup that was popular back in the enchanted forest, or the way you’ll look up into the sky and sometimes see a dragon. but overall, they like living here. the enchanted forest was home to them once, but now it’s more of a reminder as to why they continue to fight for their home in storybrooke, and why they actually really do love this town and this realm, even if they have to spend their entire lives protecting it.

7. i’ve never really thought much about what the people who have gone back gone back to the enchanted forest are doing there, but yeah, i would think they’d advocate for better rights and better conditions. i think the queen, for one, would definitely try to advance women’s rights after learning how truly messed up the way women in the enchanted forest are treated is at times.

#headcanons

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happy-emmdings · 1 year

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Survivor’s Heart

on AO3 Category: one shot, missing scene, canon compliant

Summary: Emma and Killian have a long conversation after his heart is back where it belongs. Honest explanations lead to some long needed revelations. More walls are brought down to bring them closer than ever before. Set at the end of episode 4x11.

Word count: 3 462

Author’s note: This has been sitting in my drafts for quite some time… Anyway, Regina can do shots on her own, Emma just almost witnessed the love her life get murdered. No one will convince me that she didn’t stay with him longer after that.

Holding a beating heart in her hands is such a strange sensation. Holding his heart. She cradles it, gently with both hands, marveling at the bright red glow, even if stained with some inky splotches swimming inside. It beats gently and steadily. It's warm and smooth and she's afraid she'll drop it. She can't help but ponder the fragility of it as well as the incredible resilience with which it has survived despite everything. She can't get the image of what happened earlier out of her head. Killian powerlessly sinking to his knees, screaming in pain as Gold squeezes his cruel hand. The feeling of being frozen in place and rendered utterly powerless to stop it was the worst part. A few more seconds and had Belle not turned up... She doesn't even want to go there.

She looks up at him, fully aware of how vulnerable and trusting he is being with her in that moment. His smile is genuine, his eyes so soft as he nods a little, letting her know he feels safe with his heart in her hands.

"You know I've never really done this before, right?" she bites her lip nervously.

"Held my heart? You've done it longer than you know," he teases.

"You know what I mean," she rolls her eyes despite the seriousness of the moment.

"Just be gen-"

Too late. Emma plunges the heart into his chest, deciding to do it quickly – like ripping of a band aid. It knocks the wind right out of him. Ooh, it looks like it hurt.

She goes to apologize but he cuts her off midsentence with a passionate kiss. And there's no doubt in her mind, it's all of him again. Her back hits the wall and she continues to kiss him as he leans in closer. They both savor the moment. Precious and intimate. The relief is almost intoxicating.

He pulls away ever so slightly, their foreheads and noses still touching. She reluctantly lets him, biting her lip and smiling.

"I told you, Swan," he whispers into the gap between their lips, holding her gaze with soft, reassuring eyes. "I'm a survivor."

—

They make their way upstairs to have some privacy. They are both relieved to be safe and alive but there's still a lot to talk about and they are aware of that too. Killian invites her into the room where he has been staying ever since he brought her back to Storybrooke, since he doesn't have his ship.

It's pretty bare, except for the old-fashioned furniture and shoddy decor, the room has little personality. He didn't exactly bring luggage with him from the Enchanted Forest. It reminds her of the time when she first arrived here, before she even moved to Mary Margaret's and stayed in a room just like this.

He takes his leather jacket off and hangs it on a chair, then pulls out a second chair and offers her to sit. He sits opposite her on the bed. Suddenly, anxious tension settles on his shoulders. He looks down at his hand fidgeting with his hook and lets out a deep breath.

"I- " he says quietly but fumbles.

She reaches out to hold his hand encouragingly, letting him know he can tell her anything. She supposes this is how she learns why he was in that whole mess in the first place. On the walk to Granny’s, he only briefly explained that Gold was trying to free himself from the dagger and crushing his heart was part of it, but he hasn't said much else. She suspects his heart has been out of his chest for longer than just tonight. She recalls the moment earlier that day when he brought the news of the portal, acting so bizarrely unlike himself. The absent look in his eyes, the fleeting, dispassionate kiss, the way his hand held onto her as if it had a mind of its own, fighting against an invisible force, gripping her so tightly as it shook... like a drowning man grasping his only lifeline.

And she starts thinking back, searching her memory for earlier signs like this. She feels a sharp pang of guilt. She let him down. She should have... she should have been able to save him. She was so preoccupied with everything while Gold was playing this sick game of his and she didn't notice. And she almost lost him. God, she almost lost him.

"I suppose I owe you some explanations," he says.

"Yeah," she says softly, "you wanna tell me how this whole mess started? How long did he... you know, have your heart?"

He cringes, probably as he recalls the events, he is about to relay to her.

"Remember the other day... when you were about to give up your powers? At the seaside mansion?"

"Oh my god," she frowns. She feels another bite of guilt. Gold had been doing this to him for days and she hasn't noticed until today. A knot forms in her stomach at the idea of Rumplestiltskin ripping out Killian's heart, while she was... she stops in her tracks, as it dawns on her.

"Wait. But that was Gold's idea. Was that... some kind of trap?"

Killian scoffs bitterly, looking down at their joint hands.

"Luckily, you were clever enough to not walk into it," he says with a hint of a smile. "Unlike me, that's for sure. I was a bloody fool, Swan. I made so many mistakes."

He looks up at her and the look in his eyes is raw and scared and tinged with anger. Not at her, but at himself.

"Killian?" she prompts him to continue but waits patiently.

"I suppose I should start from the beginning," he says, caressing his hook like he's remembering something.

"The beginning?" she gives him a confused look.

"Our date. My... hand. That's how I got myself entangled in all kinds of shady dealings with the crocodile. That's how I came to know his plans. How I walked into his trap."

"I remember. You had your hook back the next day, you said the Dark One's magic wasn't what you expected."

"Aye," he smiles bitterly and takes a deep breath. Emma senses a story coming and braces herself.

He spills his guts. He tells her about blackmailing Gold into giving him his hand back so that he could hold her with both hands. He tells her how Gold told him the hand would bring out the worst in him, make him the violent, ruthless pirate he once was. He didn't listen. She aches for him when she realizes how he still misses being able to use two hands, despite being used and well-adjusted to his hook for centuries. Why was it the date that prompted him to make such a request to the Dark One? Did he feel like holding her with one hand wasn't enough? Was it not enough for him or did he think it wasn't enough for her? She recalls all the throwaway remarks people – unfortunately including herself at a few occasions – have made about him only having one hand.

She struggles to find the right words, instead she just takes both his hook and hand in her hands. She wants him to know she accepts him as he is, that she never thought less of him for the lack of a hand, that she's actually fond of the hook, that he's enough.

He recounts the run-in with the thief in the restaurant and his fear of losing control. She takes it all in. This is where the story gets darker.

He explains how he didn't want to revert back to the man he used to be, how he wanted to be better, how he wanted to be someone he could one day be proud of, how he wanted to be someone she could be proud of too. The thought of that being ruined by a foolish deal with the Dark One was something he couldn't bear. He admits he tried blackmailing his way out of it but Gold outsmarted him and he ended up making a blind deal.

Emma leans back a little when he tells her he helped Gold capture some old man into a magical hat that sucked power out of people and pulled them in too. Gold finally rid him of his hand after that, but kept the security tape for blackmail.

"I should have just told you, I'm sorry," he says.

Emma doesn't react right away. She's taking it all in. Mixed emotions swirl in her head at those revelations. The way he went about it was wrong, she knows. She's a little mad. But there's one more thing she realizes. Killian was so desperate to be a better man, that he begged his enemy to take his hand away, again. He had wanted it back so badly, but the moment he felt like his progress was threatened, he was willing to do anything to set things right. Ironically, resulting to some morally questionable behavior. It was all so crazy and ironic. But the fact that this man was willing to give up his hand to make sure he would be a better person makes Emma stare at him in astonishment. He made so many mistakes, of course, but his heart was in the right place. At his core he is a good person and she finds it hard to believe anything could undo that. The Dark One is full of nasty lies and tricks.

"You're right. You should have told me. I would have forgiven you, you know. But I don't understand how this led to Gold taking your heart."

"I think he would have stolen it either way, since he needed it for his wretched schemes, but... when you called to tell your mother about getting rid of your powers... I remembered the magic hat and what it did to the poor old man. I realized the crocodile was planning to do the same to you. I called you and said all of this in that, you know, uh...voicemail. But the bloody crocodile erased it. I found out where he sent you but when I got there, he was ready for me."

Emma gulps. This is when it happens.

"He... was going to make me watch as you used the hat on yourself. But you didn't. Because you're bloody brilliant and so is your magic, Swan."

She blushes despite everything.

"So then he...?" she trails off.

"Aye."

He puts his hand over his heart as if to check it's still there, wincing slightly as he remembers the pain and how it felt to have his body invaded by the man he hated most.

"But why did he let you go? I mean... why did he wait until tonight to..."

He gets what she's asking.

"Well, he needed to fill the bloody hat with magic first and he kept going on about the stars in the sky aligning with the constellations on the hat and whatnot. My heart was only one ingredient... because I'm the only living person who knew him before he was tied to that dagger. First, he needed me to do his dirty work. Like capturing the fairies in the hat. Aye, that was me. Or him. When he... had my heart... he was fully in control of me."

A shiver goes through his entire body. Emma stands up from the chair and comes to sit next to his side. Her hand rests on his hook.

"I couldn't fight it. I couldn't do anything he forbid me to do. I had to listen to every command. I wasn't in control of myself. He made me a bloody slave." His voice is thick with emotion, especially the last word lingers in the air.

"Killian, I..." she cups his cheek in her hand and gently turns him to face her. "I'm so sorry."

"You're sorry?" he asks incredulously. "For what?"

"I don't know, I should have done something. I should have... noticed."

"You did, though, didn't you?"

"But it was almost too late," she shakes her head. "When you... when you talked to me earlier today and it wasn't you, when you grabbed onto my hand and tried to warn me... I knew something was wrong. I knew, I... Every part of me was screaming to do something, to follow you, to find out what the hell is happening. But I didn't. I didn't, because I thought I could check on you later. I thought I could resolve the case at hand and then I could check on you..." it takes every one of her metaphorical walls to not break down as she says that and tries not to think about what almost happened. Her voice is raw and husky but she holds it together.

"I didn't die," he reminds her. "And I'm not going to any time soon."

She smiles and strokes his cheek.

"Can you forgive me?" he asks, looking at her with uncertain eyes.

She leans in and kisses him softly on the lips. She tells him that yes, she forgives him for what he did before Gold had his heart and that whatever he did after is not on him. What she doesn't tell him is that she can feel herself falling deeper in love, the pull of his gravity growing stronger than ever. She finds herself loving him even as he reveals his flaws. Not that she ever thought he was flawless. She knew what she was getting herself into from the start – which is more than she can say for any of her other past relationships, she thinks bitterly.

She has held his heart in her hands today. She saw how bright and red it was, she also saw the dark spots inside it. Still, she found it strangely beautiful just the way it was.

She thinks she might truly love him. Because his darkness doesn't scare her away. His goodness pulls her in. Anyone could clearly tell which color was dominant in his heart. She embraces him despite his mistakes, including his mistakes.

But she can't say it out loud, because it scares her just how intense and real that feeling is, how strongly her heart burns as he lets her read him like a book, uncovering pages he would rather rip out. She doesn't think she's ever felt this way about anyone, not even Neal. After all, Neal never let her in like this. It's confusing and scary and she almost wants to run away. So instead, she kisses him, hoping to leave no room for thought.

"I'm glad you're okay," she whispers when they come apart to take a breath.

"I'm glad you are. And that I'm free again," he admits and there is something in his voice that she can't quite decipher. Something is still bothering him. She pulls away to get a better look at him.

"What is it?" she asks.

He leans against the bed frame and takes a deep breath. She sits opposite him, watching him attentively.

"I was a slave," he says so quietly she's not sure she hears correctly.

She's a little confused. He's said that already but this time it sounds a little different.

"To Gold? You don't have to worry about him anymore," she comforts him.

"No, I mean..." he hesitates.

She leans in, frowning in concern.

"I mean when I was a child... It was so long ago, I know it shouldn't bother me anymore but..."

"Did you say when you were a child?" she interrupts him.

He doesn't look at her, only nods his head slightly.

"It’s been so long, I know. But while Neverland keeps you young even for centuries, it's not exactly a place where you can forget your early years. And now... the last few days have stirred up some unpleasant memories."

"I thought," she fumbles, "I thought you were in the royal navy. David said... in Neverland..."

"I was," he nods. "But not always. Liam was the one who made that possible for us."

He laughs bitterly, reaching almost reflexively to where he keeps his flask, but then his hand jerks back.

"If it had depended on me, we never would have made it. I owe him so much. He never gave up on me," he smiles, his eyes glistening.

There's fondness in that sentiment, there's pain too. After all these years, he still loves his brother and misses him just like he has missed his first love for so long. He's not one to let go easily. Emma understands that all too well.

"I never realized there was slavery in the Enchanted Forest," she whispers. "That's awful."

"Maybe not anymore in your parents' era. But two hundred years ago, yeah."

"Were you... born into it?" she asks, afraid she might be getting too bold, too personal, that he will shut her out.

He shakes his head. "No. No, I have my father to thank for that actually."

The scorn on his face when he speaks about his father could rival his disdain for Rumplestiltskin.

"He was a cowardly bastard. When Liam and I were little, he secured passage on a ship for the three of us, fabricating this fantastical tale about going to travel the world. Turned out he was lying through his teeth. One night I woke up and he was gone. He sold us for a boat to save his arse from soldiers waiting for him in port. I never even learned what crime he was running from. Didn't matter though, because the cost of his freedom was Liam's and mine to pay."

Emma stares at him, horrified, but trying not to look like she's pitying him. Somehow, she isn't surprised that he is no stranger to abandonment. Yet another thing they have in common, another thing that makes them understand each other so well.

They all share the same look in their eyes. The look you get when you've been left alone.

I just wanted to let you know that I, too, know what it feels like... to lose hope.

Perhaps the wounds that are made when we are young tend to linger.

Believe it or not, I was once a child.

The little moments start to come together like pieces of a puzzle and she realizes it was in front of her this entire time. She feels bad for dismissing him before. She didn't expect this.

"I never want to be someone's servant again," he confesses under his breath.

"That's horrible," she says.

"I'm sorry for... spilling all this on you," he apologizes nervously, afraid he might have revealed too much.

"No," she stops him. "It's okay. I mean, thank you for telling me. I know it's not easy to talk about things like that."

"Yeah," he smirks knowingly.

She scoots over to sit next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You can talk about it if you want," she assures him softly. "Or not. I'm not going anywhere."

She can almost feel a wall crumbling down between them, bringing them closer. She's not sure if the wall is hers or his. Probably both. But it's down now. They're stepping into a new territory, taking a leap of faith. There is a new kind of understanding that somehow makes it easier to breathe.

They talk for hours that night, well past midnight. They just sit together and talk. About serious things at first. Killian describes staring at the ocean the first few weeks after his father left, trying to convince himself it was a lie, looking for a sign of him on the ocean's surface or a glimpse of his face in the crowded harbors, hoping that he would come back for them, until one day he started hoping his father was dead. Emma recounts her first few foster homes, the way she always let herself hope that she could be loved there... until the concept of it started to seem unbelievable.

After a while, they leave the traumas behind as the conversation organically shifts to more pleasant topics. They even end up laughing at the end until there is no tension left in their bodies. Emma kicks her shoes off and leans her head against his shoulder, her hand rests on his chest over his beating heart. She doesn't know when she falls asleep but she wakes up in his embrace to a quiet, sunlit room, still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. As is he.

It’s a new bright day and they are both free. There is no Dark One in town and the past is put to rest, at least for now. She rests her head on his chest and listens to his steady heartbeat.

#ouat fanfic #ouat 4x11 #captain swan fanfic #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan #CS one shot #once upon a time season 4 #i’ve always loved the scene where she returns his heart with a burning passion #and i’ve always wished there was more✨#guess i have to do it myself #one shot #missing scene fic #nya writes

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snowbellewells · 7 months

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Self Promo Sunday: "Moonlit Ghosts"

I thought that for the weeks in October (and maybe even into early November) I would post some Autumn/Fall/Halloween-themed fics I've written over the years. Our particular fandom and ship has a wealth of fall/Halloween fics really, but hopefully someone might enjoy these contributions of mine - most have a few years on them now, so they might even be ones people have missed or not seen for a while...

Anyway, this first one is a little one shot with some Halloween-tinged feels. There are a few small mentions from 6a episodes of the show, but nothing major as far as spoilers. I hope you all enjoy! :)

Summary: The Storybrooke crew has enough time and peace to plan a little Autumn revelry aboard the Jolly Roger for the kids of the town. The young Author, the librarian, and Emma and Killian, work together to provide some Halloween thrills and chills as well as a haunting story...

Can also be read on AO3 or ff.net if you would prefer...

by: @snowbellewells

Moonlight trickled down a lovely, filtering illusion of brightness amidst the night's shadows, illuminating the surface of the water and glancing off the copper sides of the lanterns Belle had hung around the deck, burning low for effect. Grinning widely in spite of herself – a twinkle in her eye and a mischievous quirk to her smile, Emma Swan waited in the hall below decks, just past the stairs up from the crew and captain's quarters on the Jolly Roger, where their special guests couldn't see her. The elegant old girl bobbed gently with the rise and fall of the waves where she lay at anchor a mile or so out of Storybrooke harbor.

The children circled on the floor around Belle's seat at the stern were wide-eyed, rapt, and silent at the story she wove for them, the lights flickering intriguingly over their faces. Not a single one fidgeted or spoke, their eyes focused on the petite librarian – familiar to them in her pretty skirts and high heels from everyday life in their little town, but transfixing to them tonight in the dark, flowing garb of a gypsy, the moon and pale glow of the wavering lantern flames glancing off the golden hoops in her ears and the rings on her fingers and bracelets clanking together on her arms while she gestured in telling her story. Shadows played over the upturned little faces as well. It said something about just how immersed in the little nighttime cruise Belle and Henry had dreamed up as a fall community event, and Killian had all too enthusiastically agreed to, that even as the story of a horrible cursed monster who chose exile and his strength over love concluded and Belle paused, the sadness in her eyes only visible to those who would know to look, that they didn't recognize her story was in truth woven more from fact than fiction. Belle paused and gestured for a bashful Henry waiting in the wings to join her. Emma couldn't help but smirk even more, adoring the young man her little boy had long since become, as he flushed and looked to Violet seated at his side on an old barrel and she urged him forward with an enthusiastic grin.

Belle's natural storytelling gift had been so evident that no one else would notice she clearly needed a moment to compose herself once more and a pause to gather her still raw emotions. But she looked up at her grandson from where she sat as Henry came to stand at her side, Emma could see her mouth a "thank you" to him, which he responded to with a quick squeeze of assurance at Belle's shoulder. Soon he was beginning to read his own story, voice just a bit shaky at the start. Emma knew that Henry was more than a bit anxious, as he had not read any of his works aloud for an intended audience before, and she smiled fondly at her lanky, dark-haired son, bespectacled, and wearing his school uniform with a maroon and gold striped scarf in an effort to look like Harry Potter for his costume. He cleared his throat and his ever-deepening voice had soon wrapped them all up in his own tale, just as Belle had done before him. He will never have a more captive audience, and her maternal pride in his gift wants this moment, this recognition of his talents, for him.

Her eyes flitted over to find Killian at the helm, one arm propped on the ship's wheel, looking at ease and happy with the scene set before him. He wasn't actually steering them anywhere while they sat at anchor, but he still looked the very picture of dark, dashing pirate captain in the red vest and black leather duster he had brought back out for the occasion, appearing more dangerous Captain Hook than he had for some time. It had been all she could do not to snicker and pat him on the cheek when a few of the little girls had been too meek to talk to him upon boarding the Jolly and their wide, guileless eyes had lingered uncertainly on his curved metal appendage. Unable to bear the hurt puppy look on his face for long, however, Emma had plied him with caramel apples on sticks to hand out as snacks, and felt herself fall for him even more to watch her pirate charm and befriend every last child, even the most shy and uncertain – those ones most of all, if the truth were told.

Startled out of her reverie and the loving perusal of his face, her eyes tracing its strong, handsome lines beneath the stars, Emma's attention was pulled abruptly back to her son, focusing in on the words he was reading to make sure she didn't miss her cue. Henry's writing had set the mood perfectly; an atmospheric tale of an abandoned navy cutlass much like the one they were all on at that very moment, drifting on the open sea, empty and alone except on quiet nights when a bright full moon shone down on the ghost of the mad captain's sweetheart, a pale, white shadow haunting the deck where her faithless love and mutinous crew had all died, doomed to walk the site of her heartbreak forever.

Drawing a deep breath into her lungs and calling on every bit of poise and composure she could muster, Emma topped the steps and with measured gait began to glide across the rough wooden planks to the bow, hoping to convey the solemn, otherworldly, floating quality of a restless ghost. They had powdered her hair white earlier that afternoon, and her mother had applied thick, pale stage makeup – something that had been used in a production of The Christmas Carol at the school at some point and had then wound up with Snow – to Emma's face, neck, and hands, getting into the bonding moment of a mother helping her daughter put together a Halloween costume, even if it was a decade or so late. Those spots were all that really showed beneath the high-necked, long, bell-sleeved diaphanous gown Emma wore, which Snow had tearfully drug from some trunk in the loft when Emma had first mentioned the whole idea.

Now as she progressed the length of Killian's ship slowly and she heard him call out lowly, "Avast, me hearties, look there!" to their youthful audience and gasps of shock and surprise at the appearance began to repeat, she knew the effect was working.

She almost broke character to shoot a concerned look over her shoulder as Killian's voice sounded oddly strangled, stumbling halfway through his well-rehearsed and overly cheesy line, but he continued more softly yet. "Yonder at the bowsprit, it's the ghost of the ship's lady!" as Emma stayed her course, pausing like an eerie statue to look out over the moonlit waters.

Henry's story continued to its end, everyone playing their parts, and though she badly wanted to turn and see the children's final reactions and Henry's face at the choruses of "Again! Tell it again!" and the hearty clapping, she didn't want to break the illusion.

It was only when she heard Belle announce it was time for popcorn and hot apple cider below in a real pirate's galley, where both her parents waited to serve the refreshments dressed as a ship's cook and first mate, and Emma heard the excited hoots and hollers of excitement and all the pairs of little feet moving to follow Belle's lead, herded at the rear by Henry and Violet, both blushing and Violet clearly impressed, moving to the stairs below deck, that she ventured a glance behind her and relaxed her stance to lean against the ship's railing.

She was startled when she did so to find Killian right at her back, a tormented look of pain emblazoned across his face. "Killian, wha – " she began to ask, concern creasing her brow, fingers reaching up to brush soothingly across the scar on his cheek. The movement was aborted and her words knocked from her by the fierce way he lurched forward and clutched her to himself tightly. His grip was almost desperate, and Emma's confusion and concern only grew as he held on, the trembling in his wiry frame plainly felt throughout her own and his heart pounding as though he had run for miles to reach her. Though she couldn't really think what it was, she knew now that the distressed note she had heard in his voice during the story, that catch which had made her think something was wrong, had been all too real.

Finally, he released his grip a bit, took a step back and tilted his head to stare into her eyes. "Emma, love, I just…" he sucked in a ragged breath, eyes wide and almost wild, as he pulled her in again, whispering against her hair "I just need to hold you for a moment. Seeing you that way – as a wraith, a shade – it ran my blood cold. I was not prepared for that."

It nearly stole the breath from Emma's lungs to see the raw anguish on her True Love's face. For a second, it genuinely did look as though Killian had seen a ghost, and Emma's heart ached for him at the fear she knew had been awakened once more, that he would again lose the one person he loved most in the world. There wasn't a thing she could do to take the awful, sinking sensation away, but she tried all the same. Running her fingers through the gentle curls at the nape of his neck, she aimed to soothe, squeezing his back and whispering, "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere, I promise. It's just a costume. You saw it earlier."

He shook his head, the strangled little noise in his throat twisting her gut in sympathy. "I know that, Swan. But that for a moment…you were so pale, almost unreal… for a moment it seemed as if you were already gone…"

She merely nodded, running her hands up and down his spine and out over his shoulder blades; anxious to provide even a bit of calm. Slowly, she felt the tremors between them begin to subside. Killian blew out a deep breath, and Emma could sense him steadying himself and bringing himself back under control.

Resting his forehead against her, Killian placed his hook under her chin, fingers smoothing her windswept hair back off her face in a gentle caress. "I cannot lose you, Emma," he whispered hoarsely, voice controlled once more but still fervently sincere, wobbling the slightest bit as he added, "I won't survive it, not this time."

Shaking her head, Emma reached across to press her hand over his heart, eyes drinking in his beloved face and swearing with all she had, willing both her love and herself to believe. "You won't have to, Killian. We'll find that third way."

He nodded, rubbing her upper arms to chafe warmth back into them in the chilly night air off the open water. For several long minutes, neither of them spoke, merely stared into each other's eyes – not wanting to lose the soft moment together, however it had come about, and turning to look out over the waves back to the lights of Storybrooke in the distance. Then, laughter and the rush of exuberant voices began to drift toward them again as their young charges began to climb back above deck for the short voyage home.

Reminded that they weren't alone and their passengers needed returned from their Halloween excursion, Emma gave one last squeeze of the hand to her pirate, whispering quickly before moving to help get them underway. "It's because of you that I finally know we deserve this future together," she vowed, "and I intend to have it."

Tagging a few who might enjoy: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @laschatzi @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jrob64 @apiratewhopines @sotangledupinit @once-upon-a-pirate-ship @elizabeethan @donteattheappleshook @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @bluewildcatfanatic @spartanguard @tiganasummertree @optomisticgirl @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling @gingerpolyglot @resident-of-storybrooke @drowned-dreamer @blackwidownat2814 @bdevereaux @caught-in-the-filter @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @lfh1226-linda @xsajx @jonesfandomfanatic @motherkatereloyshipper @anmylica @kazoosandfannypacks @booksteaandtoomuchtv @xarandomdreamx @stahlop @justanother-unluckysoul @wefoundloveunderthelight @artistic-writer

#self promo sunday #ouat ff #cs one shot #moonlit ghosts #ouat 6a divergent fic #ouat missing moment ff

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emospritelet · 1 year

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Closing the Circle - chapter 15/16

Okay, I know it's taken ages, but I swear we're almost done. One chapter to go after this. Last time, Gold helped to rescue Belle, Emma and Philip from Zelena, and was freaked out by Belle hugging him, so of course he was an ass about it.

AO3 link

Belle climbed into the back of Mulan’s car, feeling almost unbearably weary, and listening to the excited chatter of the others with half an ear. Lily slid onto the seat next to her, shifting close as Emma got in beside her and closed the door. There was a flurry of movement as everyone reached for seat belts, Mulan and Aurora getting in front and buckling up. Belle let her head roll back against the seat with a sigh of relief as the car started up and moved off down the driveway. The moon was high above the trees, flickering through pine branches as they followed the road back to Storybrooke, and Belle wondered how Ruby was doing out in the woods. Whether she was running with the wolves that had helped to save them.

“So,” said Emma, making her glance around. “Gold. I take it he’s not just a pawnbroker.”

Belle shook her head.

“Is he like - a witch? A - a warlock? Or is it wizard?” Emma rolled her eyes. “God, I can’t believe I’m saying this! Two days ago I would have checked myself into therapy for just thinking all this could be real!”

“He’s none of those things,” said Belle. “He’s a vampire. And I suppose he kind of runs this town. In a way.”

“A vampire, huh?” Emma sounded resigned. “I guess I should have known from the outfits. Are you telling me I don’t have to worry about him trying to drink my blood like I’m a bottle of Cabernet?”

“Oh, he wouldn’t touch you,” Lily assured her. “Townsfolk are off limits. You’re as safe as the rest of us.”

“Not sure how safe anyone is in this place with that psycho bitch around,” remarked Emma. “Honestly? I was Team Gold back there. If he’d killed her I would have been cheering him on. Sucks for Regina, I guess, but he was right about Zelena being a threat to the town.”

“Seems like the town’s safety was the only reason he was there,” said Belle, unable to keep an edge of bitterness out of her voice, and Mulan caught her eye in the rear view mirror.

“Hey,” she said gently. “He may be an emotionally-constipated ass, but I don’t think he took on Zelena for shits and giggles. You should have seen his face when we told him you were missing.”

“I thought he was going to break something,” added Aurora. “And when he knew it was Zelena… He was furious, Belle. And - and scared too, I thought. He took us to Ruby and got her to track you, and asked the other vampires to put the word out that he was looking for you. He tried to hide it, but it was obvious he was pretty desperate to find you.”

“Oh!” said Lily, wide-eyed. “So that’s why Zelena’s jealous of you. You and Gold? I didn’t realise you two were a thing.”

“We’re not,” said Belle shortly.

“But he obviously cares about you…”

“He cares about his own bloody authority,” sighed Belle. “You heard him! He could barely look at me; I even hugged him and - nothing! It’s like he was a - a rock, or something. A really bloody annoying, way too good in bed, stupid rock!”

“Breaking news: local man can’t admit his feelings!” announced Emma. “More headlines! Water is wet, and it turns out that bears really do shit in the woods! More at six!”

They all burst out laughing, Belle included, and Emma grinned at her.

“Seriously, he’s a guy,” she said. “Just because he’s immortal and powerful doesn’t mean he’s not a total dumbass.”

“Oh, he’s definitely that,” said Belle, in a dry tone, and Emma grinned again, shifting in her seat a little.

“I hope Philip’s okay,” she said. “Poor guy - he was so desperate not to hurt anyone.”

Lily shuddered.

“I’m so glad that’s over,” she said. “He seems nice. Ruby will look after him, and if he goes to the bar with Gold and his friends, he’ll have no problem being accepted by everyone else.”

“I hope he has a strong constitution if he’s drinking with Gold’s friends,” remarked Mulan. “They seem to spend most of their time either drunk or hungover.”

“After being chained naked in a cellar for a week and then told he has to fight a witch, he might welcome some sweet oblivion,” said Aurora, and they all chuckled.

Mulan tapped at the indicator, turning off the road onto Storybrooke’s Main Street, and Belle watched the streetlights flick past.

“If it’s okay with you guys, I think I’ll pass on the drinks,” she said. “I’d rather take a long shower and wash the cellar out of my hair. And get some sleep. I feel as though I could sleep for days, and I have a library to run.”

“We’ll drop you off,” said Mulan. “Make sure you set up a magical barrier; I don’t want Zelena getting it in her head to finish the job.”

“I don’t think she’d dare,” said Lily. “Besides, I’m sure Regina will keep her in the mansion until they’ve worked out how to pacify Gold.”

“You think it’s likely they can?” asked Emma. “He looked pretty murderous, last time we saw him.”

“Oh, he always keeps his word,” said Lily uncomfortably. “If he sees her again, she’s dead. I don’t know how Cora and Regina will handle it, but they’ll either have to get her out of town or - well, or make some other deal with him.”

“But they’re witches,” said Emma. “Couldn’t they just - I don’t know - turn him into a frog, or something?”

“Magic doesn’t seem to work on him like it works on other vampires,” said Aurora. “I can’t imagine what he might do if they tried something and failed.”

Emma winced, and Lily wrinkled her nose.

“It was a long time ago,” she said slowly, “but I heard that the Coven went up against him before. Back in the sixties, or something. Most of them were killed, and Regina’s grandmother was the only one left alive. Whatever the reason was that she was spared, she was way too scared to try anything again. As kids, we were always told not to get on the wrong side of him.”

“I guess Zelena didn’t pay attention in class, then,” said Belle, and Lily sniffed.

“Zelena always thinks the rules don’t apply to her.”

Mulan caught Belle’s eye in the mirror again.

“Don’t feel sorry for Zelena,” she said. “She would have killed you and not lost a wink of sleep over it.”

“I’m not feeling sorry for her,” said Belle immediately, and hesitated. “I’m not sure what I’m feeling. Confusion, mostly. And exhaustion. Mustn’t forget that.”

The others laughed.

“Get some sleep,” suggested Aurora. “You don’t need to think about Gold right now. Or what he has planned for Zelena.”

“Whatever it is, she deserves it,” said Mulan fiercely, and Aurora murmured agreement.

“I guarantee it’s nothing good,” said Lily, with a bleak expression. “I guess I should feel something about that; I’ve known her for years, but we’ve never been close. And after what she did to you two…” She shook her head. “Honestly? I kind of think she deserves it too.”

“Hold on, I thought you said he wouldn’t hurt anyone in Storybrooke,” said Emma. “Doesn’t that include Zelena?”

“Well, technically she waived her rights to protection when she attacked you and Belle,” said Lily. “Gold’s the one that created the Covenant in the first place. He’s a stickler for keeping to the letter of it.”

“What is this Covenant?” asked Emma. “Gold and Regina were arguing about it in the cellar.”

“It’s - it’s kind of a peace treaty between the magic users and supernatural creatures,” said Lily. “We don’t harm each other, and we don’t hurt the townsfolk. Storybrooke’s a safe haven for all that live there. Or at least that was the idea.”

Her voice trailed off into a whisper, and Emma squeezed her hand comfortingly.

“Sorry your family sucks,” she said, and Lily let out a tearful, liquid sort of laugh.

“Regina’s not so bad.”

“What will you do now?” asked Aurora, glancing back at them, and Lily shrugged.

“I think it may be time for me to leave home for good,” she said, glancing at Emma.

“Maybe we could be roomies,” suggested Emma, blushing a little. “I should really think about putting down some roots and - and it might be nice if we got a place together. You know, if you wanted.”

Lily gave her a tremulous smile.

“You really want to?” she asked nervously. “You don’t think I’m a - a freak?”

“Hey, we’re both freaks,” said Emma immediately, and Lily giggled, her eyes gleaming.

“Okay then,” she said. “I - I guess we’ll be roommates.”

She leaned into Emma, reaching out to squeeze her hand, and Belle smiled to herself.

“Maybe Gold has an apartment you could rent,” suggested Aurora, and Emma snorted.

“My landlord is a vampire,” she said flatly. “Sounds like a bad nineties sitcom.”

“Maybe we could leave Storybrooke altogether,” said Lily, glancing at Emma. “Make a new start somewhere else.”

“Sounds like the sort of decision we shouldn’t make before some serious celebrating,” said Emma, with a grin.

“Rabbit Hole, here we come,” said Mulan, chuckling.

Gold was pacing. After dropping the others at the bar, he had returned to the shop, knowing full well that he would get no rest if he went home. Belle’s face kept swimming into his thoughts, her radiant joy turning to crushing disappointment as he pretended indifference. He had wanted to tell her how glad he was that she was alive, that she was unhurt, that he had been frantic with worry for her. That he loved her.

He froze, shoulders hunched as he ground the cane between his feet, his muscles taut. His instinct was to shove the feeling away, push it low down where he could ignore it, but something told him that it would slowly burn its way upwards to consume him. The strength of his feeling, the certainty of it, had been growing since he had first touched her. He had thought he could control it, but then she had hugged him. It had been lifetimes, centuries, since anyone had clung to him for comfort. Since he had known true affection. She cared for him, even knowing what he was, and he had come within minutes of losing her forever.

The ringing of his cellphone sounded harsh in his ears, and he was tempted to hurl the thing across the room. A glance at the number made his teeth clench, but he nodded slowly, and swiped a thumb against the screen to answer. May as well make my position clear.

“Madam Mayor,” he said evenly.

“Mr Gold.” Cora Mills was trying for a sultry tone that made his lip curl. “I understand there was some - unpleasantness - at my house this evening.”

“That’s a glaring fucking understatement,” he said tersely. “I presume Regina told you what happened?”

“I presume you are aware that I had no prior knowledge of Zelena’s activities,” she went on, her tone airy. “I assure you she will be punished. You can leave it to me. She won’t bother you again.”

Gold felt a flare of rage, but let it out in a hollow chuckle.

“Oh, that’s not how this works,” he said softly. “She didn’t just break the Covenant, she almost obliterated it.”

“Oh, really!” She sounded exasperated. “It’s not as though anyone was hurt!”

“No thanks to your first-born.”

“She’s ambitious, that’s all.”

“She’s fucking unhinged,” he said coldly. “Miss Swan and Miss French could have been murdered, and the werewolf too. I will not let that stand!”

“If you just trust me—”

“Trust can be forfeited more quickly than it can be earned!” he snapped. “Do you have any idea how hard I’m gonna have to work to convince the other creatures in this town that they won’t end up in your cellar? You think I’ll stand in their way if they decide to strike first?”

There was a moment of silence.

“That would be unfortunate,” she said. “I can see your dilemma.”

“Oh, I don’t have a fucking dilemma, I assure you,” he rasped. “I have absolute clarity on what needs to happen here. You remember what I did to that shape-shifter a while back for a far less serious transgression, I’m sure.”

“Yes, but that was a demon…”

“As opposed to what?” His tone was flat. “Do you think humans deserve special treatment, or are you forgetting what I am?”

“Always so melodramatic!” she sighed. “I’m sure there must be some way to resolve this little misunderstanding!”

Gold clenched his jaw.

“I never break a deal, Madam Mayor,” he said evenly. “Regina asked me for time to tell you what had happened. I agreed to that. I also told her that the next time I see Zelena, I’ll kill her. Believe that I meant every word.”

“And I suppose there’s nothing I can say that will persuade you that leaving her alive is in everyone’s interests?”

“Your powers of deduction are truly remarkable,” he said dryly. “Try considering the interests of the daughter you actually care about. Think about how you’ll protect Regina from the consequences of Zelena’s recklessness. I wasn’t joking about how the other creatures will react to this.”

The Mayor clicked her tongue in exasperation.

“This is very disappointing, Mr Gold,” she said. “I thought you were a more reasonable man. Able to see the bigger picture, not blinded by - well, whatever it is you’re feeling towards some Little Miss Nobody.”

Gold tamped down his anger, letting it burn low in his belly.

“As I recall,” he said evenly. “The last time your family crossed me, I listened to your mother’s pathetic pleas for mercy, and let her live. I did so against my better judgement, and I informed her that any future transgression would arouse my - extreme displeasure. You’re lucky I haven’t killed every last one of you.”

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“Perhaps we strike a new deal,” she said then. “We’ll leave town. Take Zelena far away, you would never have to see any of us ever again.”

Gold let out a low, humourless chuckle.

“And spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder?” he said. “I don’t think so. Leave town if you wish, but she stays to face the consequences of her actions. If she’s lucky, I’ll make it quick. Which is more than she would have done for Miss French.”

“And if she decides to stay in the mansion?” The Mayor’s tone was wry. “I hope you don’t intend to attack us in our own home. That would end badly. For all concerned.”

“Oh, I’ve no intention of attacking you,” he said. “On the contrary. I believe you’ll see the sense in letting her come to me.”

“You think I’d sacrifice my own daughter?”

“If it meant saving your own skin?” he remarked. “I don’t imagine you’d think twice.”

More silence. He could sense her cold fury.

“Are you expecting her to simply walk into your shop when the whole town is aware of your - disproportionate - reaction to this whole affair?”

Gold smiled.

“Well, you’re a resourceful woman, Madam Mayor,” he said lightly. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

The following day there was a strange, tense atmosphere in the town, a heavy pressure in the air and the residents speaking in hushed tones, as though they could sense that something had altered in the delicate balance of power. Most of the townsfolk, human or otherwise, appeared to be giving Gold a wide berth, and he wasn’t sure if they could sense his anger, or if Jefferson and Cruella had spread the word that he was in no mood to suffer fools. He had asked them to reassure all creatures that he was dealing with Zelena’s breach of the Covenant, but knew that he would have to make an announcement himself when it was done. Uncertainty made people jittery, and fear could lead to unintended consequences. Not for the first time, he cursed Zelena’s very existence.

The shop was conspicuously empty of customers, and he spent the morning dusting the stock and catching up on the accounts. Once that was done, he began carefully tending to some of the more valuable antiques. He had recently acquired some new pieces that needed preparing for sale. A cardboard box sat by the cash register, filled with pieces of delicate white porcelain nestled in tissue paper and bubble wrap, awaiting his attention. A long wooden case, dark with age and scuffed at the edges, was open on the shop counter beside it, its red silk lining holding an ornately-carved sheath. The sword that went with it, a Japanese katana , was lying on a pad on the workbench in the back room, and Gold had spent the best part of an hour cleaning it. It had been a useful distraction; he knew that he needed to speak to Belle, and he told himself that completing his chores was just as important, and in no way an excuse to put off their meeting. Antiques needed care and attention, after all, and the process of cleaning and fixing the treasures in his collection helped him to think.

Gold eyed the sword critically, holding out the blade and staring down it to check that no scratches or debris marred its gleaming length. He set aside the silk ball filled with powdered stone that he had used to polish the blade to a mirror-like shine. Long fingers cloaked in gossamer-thin black silk plucked a sheet of fine tissue paper and wiped off the residue, and soft cloth daubed with mineral oil was stroked carefully over the blade. The tinkle of the shop’s bell made his lip curl, and he gave the blade a final wipe as he listened to the rapid tapping of footsteps on the wooden floor.

“Gold, are you in here?” came an unwelcome, familiar voice, and he scowled.

“Well, it is my shop,” he said under his breath.

He glanced over his shoulder as Zelena entered the back room. Her red hair was pinned up beneath a hat with a feather at the side, and a dark green wrap dress gave a generous view of her cleavage. She still had that tiny smirk twisting her mouth, as though she knew a joke no one else understood, but as she felt his eyes on her, it became a pout. Gold tried not to grimace, and kept his expression carefully neutral.

“Ms Mills,” he said calmly. “A moment.”

He picked up the sword, holding it carefully balanced in the palms of his hands and easing past her into the shop.

“Mother said that you wanted to speak to me,” she said carelessly.

“Did she?” His voice was barely a whisper.

“Oh, she told me not to come,” she added. “Said that you were in a terrible mood. I must say you don’t seem any different than usual to me. I told her you’d get over that silly little spat we had. I know you understand the risks that have to be taken when you aim high.”

Gold carefully placed the sword in its case next to the scabbard, feeling Zelena’s eyes on his back as he set it down on the red silk.

“I can’t imagine why you continue to run this place,” she said airily. “I don’t see many customers coming in here, so it must be losing you money. Why bother with the facade of being an antique dealer when the whole town knows what you are?”

Gold smiled to himself.

“The shop is actually very successful,” he said. “But I do most of my business online. The internet is one of humanity’s most incredible inventions, don’t you think? I provide rare objects for collectors all over the world.”

He gestured to the sword, still with his back to her.

“This is the most recent item due to be shipped to one of my more discerning customers,” he said. “Did you know that blades by a certain swordsmith in the fourteenth century were thought to be cursed?”

“Really?” Her tone was flat. “I can’t sense anything.”

His cold smile grew a little, the corner of his mouth drawing upward.

“A legend, perhaps,” he acknowledged. “It’s said that they couldn’t be sheathed without having drawn blood; that they - thirsted - for it. When cleaning his sword, a samurai would often cut himself in order to satisfy the cursed blade’s taste for violence, by which he hoped to stop the sword from choosing him as its next victim. Blood-drinkers, I suppose you could call them.”

His voice trailed off to a whisper, and he rested black-gloved hands on the counter, fingers poised on their tips.

“Fascinating.” Zelena sounded bored. “Speaking of a thirst for blood, that’s why I’m here. About our deal. I’m ready.”

Gold carefully peeled off the silk gloves, dropping them into the open sword case and slowly turning on his toes to face her.

“Our deal?”

“You agreed to make me a vampire,” she said.

He eyed her for a moment, and his lips twitched in a tiny smile.

“Ah yes,” he said softly. “If I recall correctly, you requested that I do so in return for you releasing Miss French and Miss Swan.”

“That’s right.”

“Which you failed to do.”

She rolled her eyes.

“They’re free, aren’t they?”

“No thanks to you.” He shifted his stance a little, shaking his hair back. “I also recall that you were rather unconscious when I took them out of the cellar you had trapped them in. You know, after you kidnapped them and almost got them killed.”

Zelena sniffed, looking unconcerned.

“Well, I wanted to help Lily get control of her powers, and I did,” she said. “For all the thanks I get, she hasn’t spoken to me since. Or apologised for knocking me unconscious. The rest of the Coven are furious with me too.”

“You astonish me.”

“Well, I can’t see what they’re so mad about,” she went on. “I fixed Lily’s problem. She gets to canoodle with her girlfriend, the werewolf is roaming free, and the librarian is back with her books, no doubt being her usual interfering self. Everybody wins.”

Gold’s smile widened.

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”

“So are you going to keep your word, or not?”

Gold stepped forward, until they were almost touching, and Zelena sucked in a breath, lips parting in arousal. He could hear her pulse thumping hard, blood surging through her as her excitement rose.

“Oh, I always keep my word,” he said lightly. “And I remember exactly what I said to you. If you want me to proceed as promised, I can do that.”

Zelena’s brow furrowed, as though something in her sensed his anger, the molten core of rage at the heart of him. She batted her eyelashes, smiling widely as if dismissing any thought of danger.

“This isn’t an idea I just came up with on a whim, you know,” she said. “I’ve been considering it for years. I really think I ought to do it while I’m still young and beautiful, don’t you? Youth, beauty and power for eternity! Can you think of anything better?”

Gold didn’t bother to answer.

“The town will be ours!” she went on. “Or, better yet, we could go somewhere else, away from small-town Maine. Let Regina have her pathetic little fiefdom. We could go to New York, or - well, or anywhere! We could rule a country if we wanted!”

“You have lofty ambitions,” he remarked.

“What’s wrong with that?” she demanded. “The power of magic and the life of an immortal - imagine what I could do! What we could do! There’s so much you could teach me!”

His mouth twitched at that.

“And you’re ready, are you?” he asked softly.

Zelena’s eyes widened in excitement.

“Yes!” she breathed.

Gold gave a slight smile, looking her up and down.

“You’re sure that’s what you want?” he whispered. “To face the unknown?”

She put her hands on his chest, pale eyes gazing up at him.

“I want immortality!” she breathed, and his smile grew.

“I promise you, Ms Mills,” he said. “That a hundred years from now, the residents of Storybrooke will still speak your name.”

“Good!” she urged. “I want them on their knees !”

“I’m sure you do.”

She was almost panting with excitement, her eyes sparkling. Gold resisted a shudder and sucked his teeth, inclining his head as he took a step back and turned away.

“Immortality is not what you’d expect,” he said quietly. “It’s a strange thing to stand outside time. To watch everyone you love die and turn to dust. To watch civilisations rise and fall.”

“You seem to be doing well enough on it.”

“That’s because I’m careful,” he said. “And very much the exception rather than the rule.”

“So teach me!” she said urgently, and he eyed her for a moment before nodding slowly.

“It’s really not that complicated,” he said. “The secret to a long life comes down to instinct. Who to trust. Or not.”

“Oh?”

He took a step forwards, walking in a slow circle around her.

“Knowing which battle to pick,” he added. “When to retreat. When to start a fight.”

Her eyes were following him, hungry and eager, and he pivoted on his toes, whipping back around and snatching the sword from its case.

“And when to finish it!” he snarled, and lashed out.

Steel hummed as it sliced through the air, and he barely felt the impact. A spray of blood fanned out, spattering the counter and the polished floor in a gleaming, crimson arc. There was a wet, heavy thump as her head hit the floor, her body crumpling in a heap at his feet. Blood dripped from the tip of the blade, and Gold calmly reached for the silk handkerchief in his jacket pocket to wipe it clean. Zelena’s head had rolled when it fell, and was staring up at him with glassy, sightless eyes. Gold’s mouth twisted.

“Consider this a lesson learned,” he said quietly.

After Mulan and the others had dropped her off at the library, Belle had spent a long time in the shower, scrubbing away the dirt and the scent of dust and fear. She had not expected to get much rest, but the following day she woke from a long and—thankfully—dreamless sleep to see that the sun had risen. Her phone showed messages from Mulan and Aurora, checking up on her, and she hurriedly sent a text back. They had sent pictures from the Rabbit Hole; squashed together with Emma and Lily and Philip, grinning widely. Philip looked better already, the silver cuff around his wrist peeking out from beneath a paisley-patterned silk shirt and black brocade waistcoat. The owner of the clothes was in another of the pictures, hat pulled down at a rakish angle and a tall drink in his hand, his arm around Cruella’s shoulders and both of them looking wasted. There was no sign of Gold.

She opened the library as usual, but there were few visitors. The atmosphere in Storybrooke felt strained, as though everyone was keeping their voices to a whisper and tiptoeing about the town. It gave Belle an itch between her shoulder blades, an anxiety that made her start at the slightest noise, eyes scanning for any sign of reddish hair or green dresses. She was unsure whether the rest of the town knew what had happened, or whether it was only the supernatural creatures, and the humans were picking up on their unease.

The strange, heavy feeling continued until after the sun had set, when it seemed to ease a little. Belle let out her breath in a rush, allowing her shoulders to slump. She carried on cleaning up the library, sweeping the floor and tidying the circulation desk. It was past closing time, and she gathered up the few books that had been left on tables and set them on the trolley for sorting. A squeak from the library door made her jump, and she turned with a gasp, a heavy book held in both hands. The knot of fear in her chest softened as she saw that it was Gold, leather-gloved hands folded over the handle of his cane, his gaze steady.

Gold could feel a blaze of warmth inside him at the sight of her. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, as though she was afraid, but he noted with some amusement that she was holding a book like she was about to bludgeon him to death.

“Forgive me,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s - it’s fine, really.” She set the book down, turning to face him. “I’ve just been kind of jumpy since - well, since I got kidnapped. And there’s been this weird feeling in the town all day - at least, it felt that way to me. Maybe I’m just nervous.”

“No, you’re quite correct,” he said. “I’ve felt it too, and I suspect you can guess the cause.”

“Was it - because of what happened?” she asked, her voice uncertain. “Because of Zelena?”

He took a step forward, cane tapping on the floor.

“It’s been many years since a magic user has attacked any of the residents,” he said. “The creatures that make their home here were extremely concerned by what happened to you and Miss Swan. When they heard about Zelena’s plans for the werewolf… well, let’s just say Jefferson and Cruella spent most of last night and today trying to reassure them that I would deal with the problem.”

He let the last few words out in a whisper, and Belle opened her mouth and closed it again, looking uneasy.

“The prospect of immediate and violent retaliation was very real,” he added. “Luckily that crisis has been averted. For now. Nonetheless, I’ll have to spend some time this evening assuring everyone that there’s no danger of any repetition. There’s a meeting at City Hall at eight for all supernatural creatures and magic users. You’re welcome to attend.”

“Oh.” Her face fell a little, teeth catching at the plump softness of her lower lip. “No danger. Does that mean—”

“I killed Zelena,” he said calmly, noting the way her eyes squeezed shut before opening again. “I made it quick. Painless. Which is more than she deserved, frankly, but I don’t suppose it matters.”

Belle looked stricken. She swallowed hard, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Did you - uh - bite her?” she asked, and winced. “Actually, I’m not sure I want to know.”

Gold had curled his lip, but then he gave her a wry smile.

“I did not. Oh, that’s what she came to me for, but no. I’d like to think I have more taste.”

She was silent, and it was making him feel awkward. He stepped forward, beginning to pace, cane tapping against the floor.

“I understand that you’re disappointed in me, but I’m not sorry I killed her,” he went on. “She needed to die. She needed to die before this town fell apart and turned on itself. Before the fragile peace I’ve kept for sixty years imploded.”

He stopped, grounding the cane and swivelling on his toes to face her as he flicked back his hair. Belle looked to be struggling with something, her mouth working.

“I know she was - dangerous,” she said. “If this was anywhere but Storybrooke, I’d say she needed to face proper justice, but—”

“She did,” he said softly. “She faced our justice. Such as it is.”

She looked at her hands, fingers twisting around each other, and he waited for her to tell him to leave.

“I - I understand,” she said, surprising him. “I’m not saying I like it, but I understand why you did what you did. Lily explained how the Covenant works, that it protects the whole town, that - that the peace depends on everyone keeping to it. I can see how she threatened that.”

He had expected to have to argue with her, and her response rendered him temporarily mute. Belle looked hesitant, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“Regardless of the need to protect the town,” she said carefully. “You did everything you could to save us. Aurora and Mulan told me how you - you took charge, you brought in Ruby and the others to help. If you hadn’t done that, if you hadn’t cared—”

“If I hadn’t taken an interest in you in the first place, you would never have been in danger,” he said tersely. “It was my fault you were in there. You and Miss Swan.”

“You’re not responsible for Zelena’s choices!” she said sharply.

“She would never have dared to hurt you if I hadn’t—” He cut off, looking away.

Belle watched him, his mouth pressed in a thin line, his jaw tight. He swallowed, his face softening a little as he glanced back at her.

“I didn’t come to tell you about Zelena,” he said. “Well, not just that. I came because - because you were right. About me.”

“Right about what?” she asked.

“What you said,” he explained. “The night I - the night I ended things between us. The night I - I pushed you away.”

She sucked in a breath, an ache in her heart as she remembered what he had said to her, and he pressed a hand to his chest, looking hesitant.

“I am a coward,” he said softly. “I have been for my entire, sorry existence. Becoming a vampire, gaining strength and power didn’t make me braver. It just made me dangerous.”

Belle licked her lips, taking a step closer.

“Tell me about it,” she asked gently. “About who you were when you - changed.”

Gold’s mouth twisted in a wry smile.

“My life before,” he said, “was very different.”

Belle gave him a tiny, wry smile.

“Let me guess,” she said. “Castle, soldiers, used to getting your own way? What were you, like a - a clan leader or something?”

Gold’s smile was something she hadn’t seen before. There was something in his eyes. A weary sort of sadness.

“I - uh - raised sheep,” he said simply. “Spun wool. Wove cloth. I lived in a one-room wooden house with a turf roof and traded wool for flour so I could make bread.”

Belle felt her mouth fall open, and snapped it shut.

“Oh,” she said.

“I was poor,” he added. “And lame. Injured my leg in a stupid war I had no interest in fighting.”

“Oh.” She felt a rush of understanding. “The cane! You said it was a reminder of - of human frailty. I didn’t realise you were talking about your own.”

Gold wrinkled his nose, glancing away for a moment.

“Sometimes I like to remind myself that I was once human,” he said. “I could always get around well enough with a staff, despite my limp. I just wasn’t any good at fighting. Or protecting anyone.”

He dropped his eyes, appearing to study the space between his feet.

“It must be awkward, having to remember to limp when you don’t have to,” ventured Belle, and he smiled wearily.

“Muscle memory lasts a long time, it seems,” he said quietly. “Longer than other memories. Muscle memory and - regret.”

“You regret becoming a vampire?” she asked, and his mouth twitched.

“I regret why it was necessary,” he whispered.

Belle could feel her curiosity growing, and she moved closer.

“What happened?” she asked softly, and Gold pulled a face, looking away briefly before glancing back.

“We were poor, like I said.” His fingers opened and closed on the cane handle. “But we had enough, most days, and we were happy. It was just the two of us. Me, and - and my son.”

Belle felt her mouth fall open.

“Your son?”

“Baelfire was his name,” said Gold. “He was the most important thing in the world to me. I loved him with every breath in my body, so when he was amongst those chosen to fight in yet another bloody pointless battle, I would have done everything in my power to keep him safe.”

“Of course you would,” she whispered, and his mouth flattened.

“Yes, well, unfortunately I didn’t have any power,” he said dryly. “As the men who took him made me well aware. I had no money to give them, I couldn’t even take his place. They laughed when I offered. Kicked my staff away and left me begging and weeping in the dirt as they dragged my boy away.”

He dropped his eyes again, a tiny shake of his head, his mouth working and his hands gripping the cane handle, knuckles white. Grief and shame seemed to radiate from him, and Belle bit her lip, one hand reaching out to him before dropping uselessly at her side.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “What - what happened?”

Gold inhaled sharply, straightening up, and the familiar, dark glint was back in his eyes.

“It was dusk, and a man helped me get to my feet,” he said. “Put the staff back in my hands and took me home. He told me I could get my boy back, if I let him help me.” He pulled his lower lip up over his teeth, shaking his head. “I didn’t ask what the price would be.”

“He was a vampire?” whispered Belle, and he nodded.

“Everything changed for me that night,” he said. “The process itself was - agonising - but when it was over, I felt as though I’d been reborn. I suppose I had. In a way.”

“He gave you a choice,” said Belle. “Why?”

Gold’s mouth twisted upwards in a wry, slanting grin.

“He said he saw something in me,” he said. “Something that reminded him of his human life. He said he was once a desperate soul, like me.”

“And that made him want to help you?”

“I suppose so,” said Gold. “And he did. Or he tried, at least. I think he’d been a vampire for a long time. Perhaps as long as I have now. He didn’t seem to have the - blood lust - that raged through me when I woke. He told me of the limits to my immortality, and what could hurt me. He told me the longer I stayed alive, the harder it would be to kill me. At the time it felt as though I was barely listening. For the first time in my life I felt strong, and utterly fearless. I had Baelfire’s scent, and the scent of those that had taken him. I was eager to hunt. Eager to - to feed.”

“Did you find him?” asked Belle nervously. “Baelfire?”

He nodded.

“I found him,” he said quietly. “Him and all the other children that had been stolen from their families. I slaughtered their kidnappers, drained them dry and left them where they fell.”

His eyes were somewhere far off, his expression grim.

“Baelfire looked at me as though I was a stranger,” he said. “He saw me rip the throat out of one of his captors. My limp had gone, and I was covered in blood. I don’t think I’ll ever forget the terror in his eyes. He must have thought he was next.”

“Perhaps he didn’t recognise you,” offered Belle, and he smiled sadly.

“No he didn’t,” he agreed. “Not at first. And when he did—” He glanced away, his mouth flattening. “When he did, I could still see the fear in him. I could smell it, changed as I was. I would never have hurt him, I would have thrown myself off a cliff before I’d ever have done so, but I had changed forever, and he knew it. He knew that there was - evil - inside me.”

Belle was silent, waiting for him to speak, and Gold swallowed hard.

“I left,” he said. “The hunger in those first few days was extreme, and I didn’t want him to see, so I left. Found the ones that started that whole stupid bloody clan feud in the first place and killed them. I wanted to try and - and get it all out of my system before I went back to him.” He let out a low, dark chuckle. “So naive. As if I could. As if he’d forget what he’d seen.”

“How did he react?” asked Belle, and Gold pulled a face.

“He was wary, at first,” he said. “He didn’t understand what I was any more than I did, but I told him I had only wanted to free him and the other children. I promised him that I wouldn’t kill anyone else.”

He was silent for a moment, eyes on the floor.

“Of course, it was a promise I couldn’t keep,” he said softly. “I had to feed, but I kept it from him. We moved around a lot in those first few years. We had to. I had to. It couldn’t last, of course. What I was - what I did - it drew attention. He realised just how much I’d broken my word when we faced an angry mob wanting to burn me alive.”

“God!” Belle clapped her hands to her mouth, and he gave her a twisted smile.

“Oh, it wouldn’t have killed me,” he said. “Would have hurt like fuck, though. And they would have thrown him on the pyre for good measure. I’d become a vampire to save him, and every day I was putting him in danger. I had to leave.”

“And Baelfire?” asked Belle softly, and Gold sniffed.

“I wanted to give him a chance at a normal life,” he said bleakly. “He was almost a man by then, and I told him that I’d come back when I’d found a way to lift this - this curse. I told him it wouldn’t be long.”

Belle felt a surge of sympathy for him. She wondered how long he had searched. How many dead ends and disappointments he had faced.

“Did you see him again?” she asked, and he gave a brief, sad smile.

“Once.”

“What happened to him?” asked Belle, and he pulled a face.

“What happens to all humans,” he said bleakly, “He died.”

She stepped closer, wanting to reach out to him, but her arms seemed to be frozen at her sides.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I can’t imagine how it feels to lose a child.”

“I once told you that I didn’t need to be saved,” he said. “Perhaps I was wrong about that. Either way, it’s too late. With all the things I’ve done, I don’t deserve to be.”

Belle shook her head.

“I don’t believe that,” she whispered. “I don’t. It’s never too late.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Gold looked up at her, and his face was calm again. “I know what I am. I’ve had centuries to come to terms with it. Creating the Covenant and keeping the peace between the human and the supernatural doesn’t give me absolution, but I suppose it’s something.”

He looked weary, his shoulders slumping a little as he took a step back from her.

“Speaking of, I should really get over to the town hall and explain my latest murder.”

His tone was self-deprecating, and he gave her a nod as he turned away. Belle stepped forward as he headed for the door.

“Why did you tell me about your life?” she asked, making him pause. “About Baelfire?”

Gold turned slowly on his toes to face her.

“I wanted you to know,” he said simply. “I - suppose I wanted you to know me.”

He looked surprised as he said it, as though the words were unexpected, and she smiled.

“I’m glad,” she said quietly.

He held her gaze for a moment, as though he wanted to say something more, but seemed to think better of it.

“As I said, you’re welcome to come to the meeting,” he said. “Now that you’ve decided to stay in town, perhaps you’ll want to meet some of the other creatures that live here. No doubt there are many intrusive and deeply personal questions you’re simply desperate to ask them.”

His tone was dry, but there was a gleam in his eyes, and Belle bit back a grin.

“I haven’t finished with you yet.”

“No doubt.” His mouth twitched a little, and he bowed his head. “Good evening, Miss French.”

#fic: closing the circle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #my fic

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