beastlycheese

[beastlycheese]

There Can Only Ever Be

My Rumbelle Secret Santa gift for eirian-houpe.tumblr.com/

Prompt: There can only ever be

I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Over the years he stays in the shadows watching over her in case she needs him, but he soon realizes he needs her even more.

AO3: There Can Only Ever Be... - notalwayslate - Once Upon a Time (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

There can only ever be…protection.

Rumford Gold slipped into the pawnshop as his ankle throbbed from the harsh February snowfall. He was so tired that he almost missed the envelope that lay near his feet. Crouching down he snatched it from the floor. It was the wrong size to be any official city document, and too light to be a rent payment.

Curiously, he slid a finger under the flap gently tugging it open. He was surprised to pull out a pressed red rose with a small blue ribbon tied to the stem, along with a small handwritten note.

For your kindness

Belle

He stared at the note with a mixture of surprise and awe before making his way to the back of the store. He reached for the unbleached muslin fabric, a luxury he reserved for the shop’s most valuable treasures, placing a yard of it down on his desk. With trembling hands, he gently placed the pressed rose onto the fabric, along with her note.

Kindness was a gentler emotion that had long fallen by the wayside over the years, a casualty in his rise of becoming the town monster…or so he had thought. When he had seen the girl outside his shop a few days prior selling roses on Valentine’s Day in the blistering cold he felt an unwavering connection to her.

He had no doubt her father, Moe French was warmly tucked away at the Rabbit’s Hole, in a drunken haze, as his daughter tried to make ends meet for that month. He knew all too well a life with a father who shirked his responsibilities in preference for a carefree alcohol induced neverland.  It had made him the cold ruthless man he was today.

He did not want the same outcome for her. She was pure hearted, and he wanted to protect the light within her before life snuffed it out.   

With an overcoming surge of protectiveness, he had gone to her, buying the entire stock of flowers for double the asking price, wanting desperately to get her out of the cold.

Having not thought his plan out thoroughly, he refused to take the dozens of roses he had just purchased drawing a quizzical look.

“Give them to any desperate soul you see fit, and go get yourself warm, Ms. French,” he had instructed leaving her without a second glance.

It was not until the next day, when he entered Granny’s for a cup of coffee, did he learn the town was abuzz with chatter over his generous flower donation to Storybrooke hospital. It appeared that Ms. French was not aware that such an act of kindness did not match his monstrous reputation, or perphaps she saw something within him that others did not.

That evening as he climbed the wide grand staircase of his pink Victorian home with a heavy step, he could not help but think of Belle French. At merely twenty years old with her petite frame and twinkling innocent eyes it was hard for his desperate soul not to be drawn to her.

  Her simple words of his kindness sparked a flame that burned away the cobwebs wrapped around his bitter heart. In that moment, he made a deal with himself. He would protect her from the darkness of this world and give her the freedom to escape the mundane life that awaited no matter the cost.  

There can only ever be…distance.

It was not the responsibility nor cost of his decision that scared him, but the careless misjudgments she would face, if anyone ever learned he was helping her. He had to be meticulous, every plan, every action needed to be guarded with strict anonymity.  

He acted quickly, crossing every T and dotting every I to get the historical Storybrooke nonprofit up and running. Months later it was announced during the city council meeting that an anonymous donation had been given for the renovation and reopening of the Storybrooke public library, along with a two-year scholarship for a future librarian.  

He could not contain his sheer joy when a few weeks later his foundation received her application and personal essay for the scholarship. He knew the girl who always had a book in hand could not resist such an opportunity. He had hoped she would apply, but if not, he would have produced a thousand and one different opportunities for her until he found the right one.

A knot formed in his throat as he read the words of the vibrant beauty whose life was darkened by the silent tribulations of her mother’s passing, and her father’s addictions. Her love of books is evident as she speaks of their power and wonderment carrying her through a life of loneliness and heartbreak.

Images of her flicker through his mind, her on a park bench, her at granny’s, every time he pulls up another memory, he realizes she is always alone. He admires her isolation. His own has made him hard as a rock, but hers is more of a closed book, waiting for another to open it.

He wastes no time in selecting her for the scholarship.  Knowing she will need to start classes in the fall, he uses his contacts in the restaurant and hotel industry to keep her father’s flower shop in high demand for the foreseeable future. No longer would she need to stand on the corner selling roses, as there would be an abundance of income for her father to squander away while still maintaining the bills. In two years, the library renovation would be complete, she would graduate, and he would be there to see it all from the shadows.

There can only ever be…crippling desire.

He was a monster. As hard as he tried, he could not quench the pangs of lust and desire that filled his mind and loins as he vigorously sought his own satisfaction alone in his bed. Every time he swore it would be the last, but visions of Belle’s long pale legs, and crystal blue eyes chipped away at his sanity leaving him in a sticky mess.

In hopes of tampering down his degenerative thoughts, he tries desperately to ignore her presence whenever she is near, but he cannot help but notice how her eyes light up, and a rare smile graces her lips when she sees him.  He knows that she purposefully awaits his arrival Saturday mornings at Granny’s, waiting till he sits at the counter for his cup of coffee, to place down her beloved book and update Granny on her schooling so that he may hear it as well.

She is a clever girl, and he knows if anyone could dig through the mountains of paperwork to discover the identity of the anonymous donor, it would be her.

 More than once he caught himself staring at her lips, wondering what her mouth tasted like. Emotionally drained from fighting his primal desires, he had no choice but to close himself off from the temptation of her. He stopped frequenting Granny’s, spending his days and nights in solitude feeling excruciatingly tired and old.

He had gone seven months without a glimpse of her until the night he heard a scuffle coming from the alleyway near the back of the pawnshop. When he went to investigate a blinding fury rushed his veins as he saw Belle struggling to break free of the grasp of Keith Nottingham. The drunken creep was no match for the ferocity of his cane, as he pummeled him blow after blow. He does not stop until he catches her frightened face out of the corner of his eye. His focus turns to her, allowing Keith to scurry away in a bloody heap.

 Without warning she embraces him, and he in return wraps his arms protectively around her shoulders, ensuring her that she is safe now. He moves to pull back so he can see her face, but she squeezes him tighter to her. He can feel each of her fingers pressed tightly into the muscles of his back, as he leans his temple on the top of her head, murmuring comforting words into her hair.  He does not let go until she releases him first. He takes a moment to scan over her for injuries and lets out a relieved sigh when he does not see any.

Blood roars in the hollows of his chest as he listens to her recount how she was on her way to the Rabbit Hole to check on her father, when Keith had approached her in search of a good time.

The muscle in his cheekbone twitches as he dreams of all the ways he is going to make that bastard pay for ever laying a finger on her. So consumed in his thoughts of vengeance, he is startled as her warm hand slips into his own.

“But I’m okay,” she reassures him clearly sensing the frenzied tension radiating from him. “Thanks to you.”

Gazing upon her heavenly face, guilt seeps into his bones. It was his job to protect her, but how could he do so efficiently when he also had to protect her from himself.

“You need not worry about your father. Leroy knows to contact me if Moe gets…” his words tamper on his lips, as her brows furrow together in confusion from the revelation. Tilting his head to the sky, he looks toward the stars, cursing his loose tongue. He never wanted her to know that to ease her burden, he had a set ears and eyes on her father’s indiscretions.  

“Can you call Leroy and see if he is, okay? It is just…,” he watches her chew on her bottom lip struggling to continue. “It’s the 10th anniversary of my mother’s death, and I know how hard it can be for him.”

Closing his eyes he nods silently, relieved that she did not immediately hurl disgust and accusations upon him for his stalker intrusion into her family life. Pulling out his flip phone, he calls Leroy.

“Where is he?” he asks acutely aware of her worried gaze upon him. He can hear the low murmurs of the bar in the background, as Leroy provides an update. Hanging up, he informs her that her father will be home shortly, safe and in one piece.

 He could sense her mind was flickering with so many questions, but she gave not one a voice. Instead, he found himself in her arms of gratitude once more. The hairs on the back of his neck stand upright and his heart races at the feel of her pressed tightly against him. It is he who pulls back from her this time, wrestling for self-control.

 She had just experienced a traumatic event and was merely looking to him for comfort, and here he was trying to tame the growing erection in his pants. He could feel his resolve crumbling, and knew he had to get her home safely before he or his tented crotch revealed his true feelings for her.  

He would have gladly walked behind her giving her a wide enough berth as to not taint her reputation, however she chose to walk along side of him.

His mouth forms a small sheepish smile as he watches their shadows move together in time along the pavement. It had been so long since he heard her voice that his ears soaked up every syllable as she mutters of her upcoming graduation, and the library’s opening.

All too soon they reach her home above the flower shop. With a sigh he runs his hand through his hair forcing a painful smile, knowing that his time with her has come to an end. 

There is a curious note to her voice, a barely hidden hope lingering beneath, when she asks,

“Mr. Gold…would you...” her words are cut off by slurred hooting and laughter in the distance.

Turning his head, he could make out Leroy’s small figure holding up a clearly inebriated Moe French. The sight soothes his worry that she will not venture out again that night in search of her father.   With a curt bow, he bids her farewell, pretending not to see her eyes, searching his own with his fleeting glance.

That night as he lay in his bed, his mind pondered what it was she was going to ask him. He thought of her rosy, red cheeks, and the adoring innocent gleam of something more in her eyes when she had gazed upon him that night. As much as his heart dreaded it, he knew what needed to be done.

There can only ever be…goodbye.

He was there when she graduated. A silent shadow in the stands mixed among a hundred other faces. He watched in awe as she took her first step towards a new life with her diploma in hand. Her father and others gathered around her in congratulations after the ceremony, but he kept his distance.

It was a month later that the tiny town of Storybrooke gathered around Main Street in anticipation of the grand opening of the Storybrooke Library. Mayor Mills was there of course, forever camera ready to cut the ribbon and take credit for the entire project that he had funded. He did not care really, he did not do it for the spotlight, he had done it for Belle.

Peeking through the blinds, he could see her, in a dress of blue standing on the stage with the mayor. Although she was smiling, he could see a gleam of sadness in her eyes, as she scanned the crowd. His breath hitched at the sight, and deep in his heart he knew she was searching for him.

He cast his eyes downward ashamed that he was too much of a coward to attend. Turning, he shuffled to the backroom, where balls of crumpled paper lay littered across the floor. Running a hand down his face, he tried in vain to wipe away his fatigue. He had stayed up much of the previous night, putting pen to paper, searching for the right words to let her go. He had given her his kindness, and protection, and now it was time to give her freedom.  

Sitting back down at his desk, he was lost as the faint scratch of his pen against the paper consumed him for the next hour or so. He growled in frustration, and he waded up his latest feeble attempt, tossing it to the floor, before slamming his head down to rest atop his arms in exhaustion. He hears the bell ring above his shop door, and the click of heels approaching. He snaps his head up, just in time to see Belle pulling back the curtain.

“Mr. Gold?” she calls for him, her voice laced in concern.

He ungracefully flounders in his chair before stumbling up to stand.

Her eyes gaze around the disheveled state of the room, before landing on him.

“I’m sorry,” is all he can think of saying.

“No, I should be the one who’s sorry, I didn’t mean to just burst in here, but it’s just you weren’t at the dedication today, and” she pauses a moment before her doleful eyes bore into his. “You weren’t there.”

His heart yearns to go to her, show her the briefest bit of comfort. It was clear by the look on her face, how hurt she was by his absence. This had gone too far. Despite his best wishes he had distorted her sweet soul into believing he was anything worthy of her time and affection. He had to end this now. He swallowed the bile in his throat, looking down, as he did not have the resolve to face her.

“Oh, was that today,” he waves his hand as though it was inconsequential, “Dearie, I find it wholly inappropriate that you…”

“Mr. Gold?” she gasps, cutting off his cruelty.

He looks up, to see her gaping in astonishment, at the pressed rose and handwritten note, displayed on a pedestal in the corner of the room.

Closing his eyes, he shook his head knowing he was exposed.

“You…,” he can hear her voice crack with emotion but still cannot force himself to look up. “You still have it.”

He shakes his head dumbly. “Yes, and now you must go.”

“Why?” she asks, her voice raw with emotion.

 He turns from her with a thousand excuses to her question at the tip of his tongue, but he settles for the truth.

“Because I am a monster.”

He felt the weight of her hand on his shoulder, coaxing him to face her. With great reluctance he turns as a ripple of warmth courses through him as her lips find his in a soft feathery kiss.

As she pulls back, he feels the tears rolling down his cheek.

“You don’t owe me anything Belle.”

Her long and delicate fingers trace the lines and angles of his face, as her radiant smile captivates him.

“I know.”

It was a foreign feeling to be looked upon with such an adoring gaze. He had fought pulling her into his world for so long, that he never considered she would pull him into hers.

He reaches up cupping the back of her neck with his hand as she willingly moves forward locking her lips to his.

There can only ever be…her.

Clutching the small velvet box he tiptoes across the cabin floor, kneeling at her bedside. He gingerly reaches his knuckles out to caress her cheek. She stirs as the blanket shifts down her naked form. He holds a breath of anticipation as her glistening blue eyes lazily flutter open, as she greets his presence with a warm smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” he whispers, plucking a kiss from her pink lips.

He still cannot believe any of this is real. Ever since that night at his pawn shop 8 months ago, they have been inseparable. Although her father, along with most of the town, granted them no acceptance, they found a peaceful solace in each other’s arms.

Night after night, with her head nestled beneath his chin, her heartbeat drowned out all the inner turmoil that once plagued his sleep. His thoughts are now consumed only by her, and the future he craves, more than his next breath.

Hands shaking, he places the box on the mattress, as her startled eyes gaze upon it. He has practiced the words for weeks but in the moment, as he gazes into the blue eyes that have become his home, he cannot wait a second more to utter those four words.

“Will you marry me?”

His question was instantly answered as her yes echoed in his ears filling him with the warmth of a thousand suns. He had only a moment to slip the ring on her finger, before she was entangled in his arms. He feels her pulse drumming beneath her skin, her heartbeat against his ribs. His hands rake over her naked body with an eager hungriness.  

Her mouth is on his, as their bodies tumble backwards onto the bed. Entwined and locked together her moans are echoed by his own. Begs of harder and faster fill his ears, a need that he devotedly complies with.

Her fingers entangled in his hair, her new ring digging into the back of his head, the new sensation bringing him closer to the edge. With one last thrust he falls into a sensation of unrivalled euphoria as she reaches her own bliss.

Panting he moves to her side, his arms wrapped protectively around her as she snuggles into his chest. No words are spoken as she raises her hand gazing at the ring. His heart swells with emotion, and he cannot wait for her claim to be on his finger soon.

From this moment on, there can only ever be forever.

[beastlycheese]

For dear @thestraggletag ! Merry late Christmas!

Mr. Gold faints and hallucinates that Belle is with him and he begins telling her all the dirty things he's fantasized about her. But he's not actually hallucinating, and Belle doesn't hate what he has to say.

“Do you, remember saying those things to me Alasdair?” 

She had to know if he really meant them. If he really wanted them. Because she did too.

“I don't, ah, I don't recall saying those things Miss French, and I do apologize, profusely for offending you.” She could tell that he was trying to maintain his composure and come ahead of the conversation, as well as undo anything he may have done.

“You don't need to apologize. I was not offended at the things you said, and the things you did, while you were indisposed.”

He groaned and covered his face with his hands, “I'm afraid to ask what I did.” His muffled voice sounded as if he were in agony.

She tried to hide the smile that was quirking at her lips, and she shifted her weight on the bed before reaching for his wrist.

His hand rose from his face and his wide eyes watched as she guided his hand to her skirt. She led his hand up her skirt, catching the stutter of his breath as her fingers moved his to where they were at the apex of her thighs, and tracing the soaked fabric of her panties.

[beastlycheese]

HiatusSundayFluff Week 2 - Who wants a snuggle imp?

[beastlycheese]

[beastlycheese]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Abraham Van Helsing Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Christmas Fluff, Awkward Romance, Denial of Feelings, Rumbelle Secret Santa (Once Upon a Time), Angst, Blood and Injury Summary:

When Rumplestiltskin dismisses his maid’s request to spend Christmas together, he sets off to meet Jefferson for a deal. But it turns out to be a trap, leaving Rumple more vulnerable than ever. Now he must let his guard down so Belle can help him, which is definitely an inconvenience and not something he’s secretly dreamed about, okay.

Rumbelle Secret Santa 2024

My gift for: @bearrycool 

[beastlycheese]

ouat text posts: rumple (pt. 19)

[beastlycheese]

[beastlycheese]

Kin, Part 3 of 3

Prompt: Dragon, Transform, Capture, Marriage, Nest

Giftee: @minnl70

Summary: Chosen by the Blue Fairy to slay the last dragon, Belle defies her fate and strikes a deal with the beast, Rumplestiltskin. As they search for a way to break the enchantment, an unexpected bond begins to form, but magic is never without a price—and never quite straightforward.

Rating: M

A/N: Surprise, @minnl70, it's me, your Secret Santa! I'm away on holidays right now but I made sure to properly queue this up for you. If all goes well all chapters of this fic will be posted today, but I'll try to check to make sure they are (and, if possible, also upload the fic to AO3, which I know makes it easier to read). Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Something changed after the incident with the arrow, something he couldn't quite put into words. There was a newfound… ease between him and his little maid. An almost enjoyment of her presence. Before he had never had someone to presume his collections to. Now he found himself introducing bits of his treasures to her, delighting in every gasp and sound of awe his maid produced. But it wasn’t until he showed her his library that she had the best reaction, her eyes glazing over, greed shining through them in a way that made them look bluer. Something rippled down his spine, beneath his scales, as Belle slowly spun around, reverently taking in the thousands of books around her.

“It’s beautiful.”

He shrugged, feigning a detached humility he did not feel.

“I suppose. You may use it, if you wish. It could do with some dusting and I’m tired of seeing you walk around carrying those tatty old things you brought with you.”

It was odd how easily and willingly he gave up his library to her. It was not in his nature to share, but rather to hoard and covet. But seeing Belle rifling through his precious books, treating each one with care and a soft touch he was now familiar with. He told himself it made sense to give her a library, if only to have her help him find a solution to whatever the Blue Fairy had done to her.

He began to find himself often in the library. For completely necessary reasons, of course. It was just that, with the drapes pulled back and the windows clean, the light was much better to read by than in his own personal library, where he kept the tricky, dangerous magical tomes that needed almost complete darkness. And it smelled good too, like old books and ink and that burnt caramel smell that clung to his little maid everywhere she went, including the room atop the library, where she now slept, the fireplace continuously lit so that it would be warm and cosy. Clearly the castle was set on cosseting and fretting over his little human, given how it now maintained both the fireplace in her room and the hearth in the kitchen and how it cleaned itself now, driving dust away before it could settle in spots that she had cleaned before. It had never been this accommodating with him, which he resented the slightest bit. 

Spending more time together eventually translated to talking, the silence slowly filling up with little questions and answers. Often Belle would prepare tea, taking a full tray to the library and offering him a cup. He found the blends she picked were pleasant, and it was a nice little pause in the day, to sit down and have tea with her and talk. She asked after his life, genuine curiosity in her tone, and he found himself telling her, bit by bit, what it was like being the last dragon, his life wholly his own, no expectations or constraints.

“So much freedom sounds wonderful. But it also sounds lonely.”

Her tone, soft and gentle and painfully sincere, made him squirm the slightest bit. Funny how he had never felt this exposed with knights charging at him with their sharp lances pointed at him. He shrugged, as if he could physically dislodge her words from his shoulders.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it. Don’t know anything else.”

“What about when you were young? Did no one look after you?”

“A couple of kind spinners found me as a hatchling, couldn’t have been more than a few days old. They raised me the best they could, since they could not have children of their own. Didn’t mind that I scared their sheep and almost burned down the house a couple of times.”

Her smile washed over him like warm sunlight.

“They sound lovely.”

“They were very nice. Very patient. But, eventually, they were run out of town by angry villagers. When they were able to settle again I ran away, so they would be able to stay. It’s just been me since then, for the last few hundreds of years.”

He had tried, at first, to look for more of his kind. He had never been able to find anything other than bones and empty, looted lairs. He had buried the bones of the first dragons he found, before it became too much of a hassle to do so. 

“And since then, you've loved no one, and no one has loved you?”

She said it so softly, so carefully, but the phrase settled around his midsection like a punch in the gut, prompting him to find an excuse to leave the room. But loneliness wasn’t as enjoyable as it had been before, and so he found that he couldn’t keep himself from his little maid for long, finding excuse after excuse to come across her. It was nice, he supposed, to just talk to someone. And, to her credit, Belle knew exactly what to say and how to say it to get him to open up and spill all of his dark secrets. He found himself opening up against his will, unable to refuse her gentle prodding.

“Is there any way you could have children, if you wanted?” His little maid blushed a bit, pointedly focusing on pouring them tea as he watched her, enthralled by the way the red on her cheeks made her eyes bluer. “I mean, you… you can look human. I- is there a way that-?”

“I may look human, dearie, but I’m not. This that you see in front of you is a facade. A trick of the light. I’m not compatible with humans so no, there is no saving dragonkind. I’m the last the world will see of it.”

He didn’t expect her to look happy, but neither did he expect her to find the idea of complete dragon extinction unpalatable. Dragons were, after all, monsters. Antagonists in children’s stories, evil creatures out there stealing princesses and burning down villages. If there were more dragons around, there would be less humans.

And yet, she looked troubled, her brow furrowed as she glanced at the small creamer she had brought for her own use, since he liked his tea black- but full of sugar, even if he’d deny it. 

“If you don’t stop looking at the milk like that it’ll curdle, dearie. Has it done something to offend you? Do you want me to dispose of the entire tea set? I have nicer ones, you know.”

“Don’t you dare, I like this one. It’s lovely.” She moved the entire tray closer to her, with a possessiveness that he found enticing. “It’s not about the tea set. I just thought… I thought it was a pity that dragons are all but gone.”

“You might be the only human to feel that way.”

“All life is worth protecting. It’s worth existing. All creatures have their place, no matter what the Blue Fairy seems to think.”

It wasn’t the first time she spoke of the little gnat with derision, but it still sent a frisson of delight down his spine. She was lovely in her anger, lips pursed and eyes sparkling. He tilted his head as a new thought crossed his mind. 

“Who was supposed to be your knight in shining armour, little maid?”

She paused just as she was about to take a sip of tea, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Blue Fairy must have had someone in mind to try and rescue you from my clutches, killing me in the process. Your father, perhaps, but I doubt it. He might have been dragonslayer material in his youth, but he’s past it now.”

He flinched dramatically when she threw a sugar cube in his direction, pretending to be hurt when it bounced off his shoulder.

“Don’t be mean. But no, it wasn’t my father. At least I don’t think it was. I think the Blue Fairy meant to use Gaston.”

“A fiance, I presume?”

“An arranged marriage that thankfully never took place.”

She told him then of Gaston Legume, the strapping young heir to a neighbouring duchy, with dreams of not just inheriting his title but also making a name for himself. A natural-born hunter and fighter eager to prove himself to the world.

“He sounds dreamy.”

“He sounds insufferable. He tried to be charming at first, but the facade didn’t last long. It took me little time to discover he wasn’t just a pompous ass, he was truly an awful person. He had no respect for anyone he perceived as weak and was greedy for power and recognition. For adoration.”

She shifted, and he could smell the unease in her. He didn’t like it one bit.

“There was something unsettling about Gaston, something that only I could see. I never quite felt comfortable with him.”

”Like you do with me, mmh?”

He waited for her to laugh at his quip, but she nodded instead, her gaze going soft as she looked at him from beneath her lashes. There was something about that look that drew him in, made him feel like something was burning in the pit of his stomach. It was an altogether unpleasant, but not unwelcome, feeling. 

She didn’t deny it.

“Is that so bad, that I like your company?”

“Not bad. Mad? Certainly. Then again, I’ve known you’re not entirely in possession of your senses for a while now. You talk to that little wisp, for one.”

“Leave Flicker alone. He’s good company.”

She began to pick up their tea things, and he contained a sigh of disappointment that their afternoon was at an end. 

“You’re better, though.”

It used to be that he could spend hours in his laboratories, obsessed with whatever experiment occupied his mind at the time, but now he found himself seldomly spending more than a couple of hours a day there, and more often than not his mind was not fully engaged with whatever he was doing there. Other things occupied his time now. Recently he had taken a liking to roam the orchards in his true form. The sun there was lovely and often Belle would go out with a book and a basket and collect fruits before sitting in the shade of a tree to read. He would bask in the sun next to her, belly up like a cat some days, others curled up around the tree, tail playing with the hem of his maid’s dress, snout lying comfortably across her lap as she stroked the scales from the tip of his nose to the top of his head. She never shied away from his true form, often telling him how beautiful his scales looked under the light of the sun or how soft and smooth they were to the touch, making him preen. 

He found himself aching to go outside on that particular day, which was likely why he did not realise he was mixing sulphur with fulminating silver without wetting it first, which explained why the whole thing blew up in his face, knocking him to the ground. Stunned, he lay on the floor for what felt like forever, ears ringing and clothing singed. He shook his head, trying to dispel the haze clouding his vision.

“What happened here? Are you okay?”

The dragon tried to stamp down the immediate relief he felt when his little maid burst into the laboratory, still smelling of sunshine and peaches from outside, and burnt caramel beneath that. He tried shooing her away when she knelt down and began to prod and poke him, asking him whether something hurt or felt broken.

“I’m fine, don’t be a nag.”

“Your hair’s on fire.”

It wasn’t, just badly singed, some chunks missing in some places and crispy in others. And there was gunk stuck on it, and everywhere else. Thankfully he was mostly fireproof, other than his hair.

“You need a bath. And potentially a haircut.”

He protested, telling her a dip in the lake would be more than sufficient. Sure, it was frozen, but it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

“Whatever’s stuck to you won’t come out with just cold water and, besides, baths are supposed to be enjoyable. And I’ve been meaning to drag you to one for a while now. There’s no telling me no, so you might as well go with it.”

Impertinent little chit, forgetting her place. And forgetting what he was, feeling comfortable manhandling the world’s last dragon, a being of boundless power, down the stairs like a misbehaving boy, telling him in a firm tone to strip and get into the tub once she had prepared the bath. He thought about disobeying her, of course, but he had to admit the bath she had prepared did feel and smell rather lovely. She had put in some healing herbs and some of her bath salts and lotions into the water, making the water a murky, silvery white, and the temperature was hot, steam curling pleasantly around him. If he didn’t get into the bath she would likely scold him, which was not an attractive prospect. Mouthy little thing, his maid.

In the end he decided it was okay to get into the bath if he did it because he wanted to, not because she had told him. He shed his clothing, noting with some distaste that some of the fabric of his shirt stuck to his shoulder and spine, making it difficult to peel off, and got into the tub, biting back a sigh of pleasure on principle alone. He sank deep into the water, enjoying the way the hearth and a few braziers, placed strategically around the tub, kept it toasty warm. It was pleasant enough to make him drowsy, lulling him into a state of near-sleep that was very relaxing.

“How is it?”

The dragon pursed his lips, unwilling to concede completely in their little fight.

“Passable, I suppose. But completely unnecessary.”

“I see. Tilt your head back so I can get to your hair.”

He did as he was told, more curious about what she had in mind than invested in the notion of imposing his authority in the situation. She poured a pitcher of fresh water down his back, wetting his matter hair, and proceeded to methodically slather some sort of cream into it. It smelt like jojoba oil and hibiscus, the slimy texture almost unpleasant at first, before she began to massage it diligently into his hair. That felt absolutely heavenly, the way her fingers sunk into his hair, her nails scratching his scalp, sending little tingles up and down his spine. 

Touch in general was a rather foreign feeling to him. No one had touched him properly since his aunties, when he was a wee boy, and before he hadn’t thought he had missed it. He had never felt the need to touch or be touched, in his hundreds of years of existence, but it was like his little maid had pried something open deep inside him and all this need was pouring out, all this emptiness that he hadn’t noticed before. But it didn’t make him feel exposed, or vulnerable. Belle felt… safe. Felt like-

Like kin.

He allowed his eyes to slip shut as she cooed at him, praising him for his surprising docility and talking idly about this and that. Her voice was soothing, so much so that he barely flinched when he felt her begin cutting his hair. It was getting in the way of his experiments anyway, a trim might do him good.

…

Something new began to grow after that day. Something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Rumplestiltskin began to feel new urges, all centered around his little maid. The urge to get her finer things, nicer gowns and sparkly jewellery. After all, he reasoned, she was no longer a maid. She didn’t clean the castle anymore. She was simply his treasure, so it made sense that he wanted her to look good, to polish her a bit, so to speak.

He also found himself seeking out her presence even more, not just sharing tea in the library but also having dinner each night. She insisted on cooking, and more often than not in sharing what she cooked. Reluctantly, he tried on a couple of her scones, slathered with strawberry jam, finding that, surprisingly, he liked sweet things. In turn she grew used to his more meat-heavy dinners, slowly shifting away from more elaborate dishes towards enjoying his charred meats. He delighted in this and soon meal times were a moment spent together, intimate and meaningful.

He decided, during one of those meals, that he would keep her once the Blue Fairy’s spell was broken. This was her home now, and it was unlikely that she would be safe from the little gnat anywhere else. He’d let her stay and, if she wanted adventure, she could accompany him around when he went out to make his deals. He would show her the world, if she would choose to stay. He wanted her to choose to stay. It was difficult now to imagine the castle without her, and the idea of going back to endless years of solitude no longer appealed to him.

It was around the time he had that revelation that he began to feel… uncomfortable. Hot, in a way. And itchy, like he felt when he was shedding his scales, only it wasn’t time yet for that. He found himself wiggling a lot, trying to dislodge some phantom discomfort, and alternating between moodiness and almost suspicious elation. Going outside his castle was usually what turned him surly, especially the longer he remained out, and his mood improved significantly the moment he was back.

He wasn’t the only one who seemed to be coming down with something, though. Belle, he had noticed, was beginning to fidget too, complaining of an itch in her back that seemed to travel all the way down to her toes, never quite localising anywhere that she could scratch satisfyingly. She was also running hot, but did not seem to be under the weather. Quite the contrary, she seemed to have more energy and look healthier than she ever had before. 

He was contemplating pausing in his efforts to figure out the Blue Fairy’s spell. He had to admit his research as of late had been half-hearted at best, his heart no longer in it. As long as Belle was protected he would be safe, and keeping Belle protected had long become a priority for its own sake too. He was doing a once-over in his library, trying to look for books with a medical bent to them, when he heard Belle yell, the castle amplifying the sound till it reached his ears. Instinctually he teleported, appearing in the kitchens to see his little maid curled up next to the stove, a pot of water turned over, steam and water still dripping out. It didn’t take long to connect two and two together.

“You senseless girl!” 

He was surprised that the first thing he felt was anger at her carelessness. Didn’t she know how fragile she was as a human? Why wasn’t she more careful? But, as swift as anger was to come, so it was to be replaced with worry. 

“Come on, let me see. I’ll make it better in no time, don’t worry.”

He knelt beside his maid, itching to gather her in his arms and fix her up, right the hurt. Slowly she unfurled enough to let him take her right arm, which was the one she was cradling close to her chest. The skin there was red, but some careful probing showed no signs of emerging blisters or further damage. He slid the pads of his fingers against the skin there, noticing it felt a bit too slick to be human skin.

“Does it hurt at all?”

She shook her head, still visibly shaken from the incident, even if there was no pain. But there should be pain. He was sure of that. The steam still coming off the upturned pot gave him a clear idea of how hot the water had been when she had accidentally spilled it over her arm. She should’ve been seriously burned, he was sure of it.

“I’m fine. But I shouldn’t be fine, should I?”

He could hear a faint note of hysteria in her voice, and he ached to soothe her, to tell her everything was alright. Except something clearly wasn’t. He turned her arm to one side and then the other, only then noticing the very faint shine the skin had one held to the light. He ushered her to his topmost laboratory, where natural light was the best, and studied her arm carefully. There was something there, more noticeable as the arm went from pink back to a healthy colour. He dragged his mounted magnifying glass so he could study the skin better, turning the arm one way and then the other to be sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Scales.

Invisible to the naked eye, if not for their opalescent shift. Very much like his, and yet different, more delicate. The entire arm wasn’t covered with them, only the part where the water had spilled, as if the heat had burned away her skin to reveal the scales underneath.

What. The. Fuck.

“Are those-?”

“Yes.” He paused, an idea forming inside his head. “Where did you say your itch originated?”

“On my back, near my right shoulder. Why?”

“Let me see.”

She turned around obediently, biting back a gasp when he sliced the stays of her corset to shreds so he could pull the gown low enough to see. There, clear as day, was a patch of scales. Older than the one in her arm, the scales more noticeable to the naked eye, though still easily overlooked unless someone was looking for them. He touched them, noticing how they mostly mimicked the texture of human skin, except they were more slippery. 

“You see anything? More scales?”

“Yes. Older ones. Is there anything different about this bit of skin? Did you spill anything on it, do anything to it at all?”

She tried to think, body shaking as she processed what was going on. He pulled her closer, nosing the side of her head, trying to reassure her. The smell of her, burnt caramel, hit him like a trainwreck then. It had been growing stronger over time, unnoticeably at first, but obvious now. Leaning down he sniffed her shoulder, where the patch of scales was, noticing the smell seemed to be concentrated there.

What the fuck did it all mean?

“I think- I think that’s where the Blue Fairy’s wand touched me, when she did that spell on me. But it wasn’t meant to do that, was it?”

No, it wasn’t. Then again, none of the maidens that the fairies had used to kill dragons had ever survived more than a week after the enchantment had been placed. Who was to know what the long-term effects of the spell were? 

“You go change, little maid, and bring us some tea to my library, yes? There are some books there that I might need your help with. We’ll get to the bottom of it in no time, you’ll see.”

They didn’t, of course. At least not right away. Days turned into weeks, and even with both of them dedicating as much time as possible to figuring out what the Blue Fairy had done to Belle, there were no easy answers. Little had been written about the subject at all, and most of it by fairies, whose flowery language did not lend itself to easy interpretation, even after Belle carefully translated it. Meanwhile, they both kept track of any symptoms of anomalies they could spot. It was Rumple who pointed out that Belle’s core temperature had increased, and it was Belle who noticed that he tended to lean into their casual touches, often without conscious thought or awareness he was doing it at all. Belle wrote everything down and tried to cross-reference the list with the fairy texts, to no avail.

The snippets they found about the spell did not seem to be very helpful either, at first. The fairies were vague about it in their books, as if afraid to commit the knowledge to paper, determined to keep their secrets. They mentioned what they already knew, that the spell would bind a mortal to an immortal dragon, linking the creature to immortality. By making it kin with the maiden the dragon would become vulnerable upon the demise of the human woman, making it possible for a sword or a lance to fell the beast.

He read and re-read those passages over and over, something rattling inside his brain. Something about the wording, about the implications. He picked up the list of symptoms Belle had written, focusing on her side and trying to think back on the first time he had noticed some of them. Slowly, a picture began to form in his mind. He had studied magic and spells for centuries, including the boring theoretical bits most magical creatures didn’t bother with. Given the general purpose of the spell and where it had gone awry he began to theorise how the spell could have adapted and changed, given the time it had had to macerate and grow. A simple check of a sample of Belle’s scales- taken with utmost care, and replaced the next day by a coat of fresh, healthy scales on her inner arm- seemed to prove his theory, as far-fetched as it seemed.

He needed to tell her. She needed to go. Perhaps putting some distance would slow down the process, giving him time to try and reverse it. Surely there was a way, it couldn’t be permanent yet. He went to his treasury, heaping gold from it into a bag. Jewels would be easier to carry but harder to exchange, so gold it was. Once she was settled somewhere else he would see that she got more money if she needed it.

“What is this?”

Belle looked up from the rather hefty bag of gold he dropped in front of her with a frown. He frowned as well. Was it too heavy? Had he overestimated her human strength? Was it perhaps not enough?

“You have to go. This will help you get settled somewhere else.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere.”

He snorted, smoke coming out of his nose in heavy plumes. He had known Belle would want a thorough explanation, but he feared that would take too long and time was working against them.

“You have to. This will keep on progressing if you stay.”

“What will keep on progressing?”

“The change. Your change.”

She lunged forward, her hand curling around his arm as she looked up to him, hope shining in her eyes. He fought the urge to flinch back, terrified of tainting him further, and the secondary, more base urge to pull her close.

“You know what’s going on? Tell me.”

“We don’t have time.”

“Make some.”

She crossed her arms, planting herself as firmly as she could so he had no choice but to have to drag her out if he wanted her to leave the castle. Anger built up inside him. He was trying to do a good thing for her. A thing that went against what he wanted. She was his treasure, letting her go was against his nature, yet he was willing to do that. For her.

“It’s your change. It’ll keep happening as long as you’re here. Eventually it’ll be too late to reverse it, if possible at all. So you have to leave, and leave now.” He paused, struggling to condense the jumble of thoughts in his head into something that he could say. “The spell was designed to change my nature. To make me mortal in the way you’re mortal, which is why it was meant to be triggered by your succumbing to your own mortality. Except you never did. And, over time, in the absence of any trigger for change, the spell began to work on its own. But not to make me more human, but rather to make you more like me. My nature superseeds yours, so it’s the one the spell eventually latched onto.”

He watched her digest his words, bracing himself for a look of disgust that never arrived. Instead Belle went to the mirror in the far corner, studying herself attentively, no doubt seeing a myriad of other tiny things that were not entirely human. There was a subtle shine in her eyes, an almost bluish tint to her hair that wasn’t there before. He wondered if any of those traits would coincide with certain subspecies of dragons.

“Wait, that only explains my symptoms. Not yours.”

He had not allowed himself to go there, to contemplate what his own strange behaviour and feelings meant. But he knew, or at least he suspected something, something he was afraid to voice out loud. But Belle was stubborn, looking at him hovering behind her through the mirror, daring him to answer the question.

“It’s- it’s possible that something in me recognised the change in you before either of us became aware of it. I can’t be sure, I know nothing about the mating practices of dragons, having never met another one of my kind, but it’s possible that-”

He realised a second or two too late what he had just said, or at least heavily implied. One glance at the mirror let him know Belle had understood, her eyes wide and mouth partly opened as she took in what he had said. He waited again for the disgust to show, or some maidenly anger, but she simply frowned.

“So you’ll have me go and leave you? You’ll give up this- whatever this is?” Her voice softened then, eyes going liquid as they stared at him from the mirror. “For me? Because you think I wouldn’t want this?”

“Of course you wouldn’t want this. Nobody would.”

He stuttered, biting his lip when she leaned back into him, trusting that he would catch her. He did, even though he knew it was a mistake, the smell of her, burnt caramel, making him heady, making him have desires, urges, that he’d never had before. It was no wonder he hadn’t realised what was happening, having never before encountered a female of his species. Someone that provoked what Belle did to him.

“Why not?”

“I’m a difficult creature to love.”

Mateless, without kin or family. No living creature was ever supposed to love him. The idea that someone did, that through sheer luck or the whims of magic, seemed inconceivable. But even as he thought that he wrapped his claws around her corseted waist, unable to deny the yearning for what he couldn’t have, the urge to snatch a bit of it for himself, even as he knew it wasn’t possible, that those things weren’t for him. That Belle wasn’t for him.

“That’s not true.” 

She went soft against him, leaning back fully, letting herself sag against him. The trust, the sheer valor of it all, took him aback. He made a soft, wondrous sort of sound, his claws sinking into her waist, barely able to contain himself as he nuzzled behind her ear, where he discovered a fresh patch of scales neither hand noticed before. Her smell was the most potent there and he took lungfuls of it, half-afraid she would pull back and he’d be denied that scent forever. He told himself that it would be enough, to enjoy the smell and the feel of her against him, that he could be content with that alone, if only the gods would let him keep her.

Belle, however, seemed not to have any appreciation for his iron will and staunch determination not to sully her, taking one of his claws and placing it over one of her soft, perfect breasts. Even through the material of her dress he could feel the heat of her, so similar to his own, and unlike anyone else he’d ever come into contact with. 

“Please, Rumple.”

He was lost after that. The hunger that had been steadily building for the past few months, unbeknownst to him, that he had pushed pushed down, shoved away and ultimately tried to keep contained, took a hold of him. He sunk into her, clutching her tightly, his claws ripping the soft jacquard of her dress  as if it was tissue paper. The laces of her stays dissolved under his hands, reduced to tatters, allowing him to shove the unyielding whalebone and stiff cotton away, rewarding him with a proper feel of her soft curves, even through the shift she wore under. The notion that the skin beneath small rows of pearlescent scales thrilled him. 

She was everything the world had ever denied him, and so when she turned around he could do nothing but submit to her kiss. They were both inexperienced and frenzied, all teeth and bite and eagerness. He was hungry for her, wanting nothing more than to sink into her and stay there forever. After a few tense minutes, he felt her gentling the kiss, arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers carding through his hair, calming him down. Patiently, she taught him a new rhythm, slow and deep. It made things more intense somehow, more thrilling, and it was only because he was clutching her close that he noticed how she trembled, how hesitant but bold she was. Brave Belle. Beautiful Belle.

When she began to tug at his clothing, the loose banyan in shades of ochre and gold that his little maid had complimented him on so, he shrugged it off, eager to have the least amount of barriers between them. He tugged on her shift then, hands sliding beneath it, feeling her soft human skin break into goosebumps as he exposed her to the room. It took no more than a thought to transport them both to his lair, to lay her down amongst his furs and pelts. The room was dark, but constantly kept warm with a roaring fire that provided a little light. His favourite things were there, his most prized jewels, his oldest books and rarest antiques. As he set her down he noticed, mixed amongst the moss and the expensive silk, one of Belle’s hair ribbons. And one of the throws she liked to use when she read by the roaring fire. He glanced around, noticing small glimpses of his little maid everywhere, silent evidence of what his body had been trying hard to tell him. He tossed her shift to add to his collection, all but purring as he studied the contrast between Belle’s pinkish skin and the dark mess of fabrics and furs that was his nest. In contrast to her now absolute nudity he was still wearing too much clothing, and though his linen shirt was easy to discard his leather pants proved more frustrating, to the point that he scratched himself as he tore himself free of them.

“Easy now. I like you in one piece.”

He let her pet him, soothing his frazzled nerves with soft, cooing nonsense that had him purring, melting into her touch. They stayed that way for the longest time, alternating between gentle explorations and soft, languid kisses, but eventually the urgency began to build up, making him uncomfortable. He wanted to ask for something but didn’t know what, his inexperience making him unable to tell what he wanted.

“What? What’s the matter?”

“It’s… too soft.”

There was no better way to explain it. His body felt poised for violence, for aggression, though the instinct was unlike anything he had ever felt before. But humans were fragile, and Belle was raised to be a lady. Ladies were supposed to be treated with care, with softness. Surely he could curtail these base urges and find pleasure enough in-

His train of thought came to an abrupt, screeching halt when he felt her teeth close around his throat in a playful nip, followed by bolder and bolder bites as she struggled to get on top. This, he thought, was something that he understood. Roughhousing, the give and take of a fight. It was something his body naturally reacted too, what it had been made to do. Though it certainly wasn't the way the dragon had seen humans copulate it felt natural to roll around the furs and fight for dominance. In spite of his claws and his fangs he didn't seem to have much of an advantage. Belle was wily and clever, giving as good as she got.

Naturally, almost without them noticing, a rhythm began to grow between them. The moment he pinned her down, hands holding her wrists above her head and pressing against the furs, the Dark One knew what would happen, what had been waiting to happen since the first time she'd set foot in the castle. She hesitated again then, eyes briefly clouding over with worry, and he remembered she was a maiden, and even a brave one would hesitate in the face of such a step. He gentled their foreplay the slightest bit, letting bites turn into slow, deep kisses and scratches into long caresses. She grew pliant against him once more, her scent spiking and an unfamiliar but very welcome wetness beginning to coat her upper thighs. 

Thrusting into her felt natural, like coming home, and he stilled, wishing to take it all in. She felt scorching hot, in a way he knew no human woman would feel, and it felt like heaven, so good it was almost indistinguishable from pain. He dug his claws into Belle’s back instinctually, but she did not seem to notice or care, trying to pull him close instead of pushing him away.

After basking in the utter delight of being buried balls-deep inside such purity the imp forced himself to pull out, eagerly thrusting back inside a moment later. It was a deliciously messy process, full of blood and sweat, grunts of exertion and impatience and the occasional struggle for dominance. It became impossible to differentiate pain from pleasure, and by the looks of the woman beneath her he wasn't alone in such lovely confusion. Belle was devastatingly beautiful as she writhed beneath him, sweat-slicked hair hallowing her face and cheeks flushed from pleasure.

Though usually a selfish creature by nature the dragon was beyond pleased when he felt the flutter of Belle's inner muscles against his aching cock and watched avidly as she arched beneath him, tight as a bowstring. His own orgasm a few minutes later felt less important than the one he'd torn out of the woman beneath him. A woman who'd willingly and knowingly bedded a monster. With a gleeful sense of triumph the Dark One started to kiss his way down the beauty's body, eager to see in how many ways and how many more times dragons could mate in a single night. Later, he knew, there would be time for other realisations. Time to consider the deeper implications of having a mate, of not being the last of his kind, of the staggering possibility of having little hatchlings running around the castle in the future. But right then and there none of it mattered, his senses full of Belle.

[beastlycheese]

Kin, Part 3 of 3

Prompt: Dragon, Transform, Capture, Marriage, Nest

Giftee: @minnl70

Summary: Chosen by the Blue Fairy to slay the last dragon, Belle defies her fate and strikes a deal with the beast, Rumplestiltskin. As they search for a way to break the enchantment, an unexpected bond begins to form, but magic is never without a price—and never quite straightforward.

Rating: M

A/N: Surprise, @minnl70, it's me, your Secret Santa! I'm away on holidays right now but I made sure to properly queue this up for you. If all goes well all chapters of this fic will be posted today, but I'll try to check to make sure they are (and, if possible, also upload the fic to AO3, which I know makes it easier to read). Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

Something changed after the incident with the arrow, something he couldn't quite put into words. There was a newfound… ease between him and his little maid. An almost enjoyment of her presence. Before he had never had someone to presume his collections to. Now he found himself introducing bits of his treasures to her, delighting in every gasp and sound of awe his maid produced. But it wasn’t until he showed her his library that she had the best reaction, her eyes glazing over, greed shining through them in a way that made them look bluer. Something rippled down his spine, beneath his scales, as Belle slowly spun around, reverently taking in the thousands of books around her.

“It’s beautiful.”

He shrugged, feigning a detached humility he did not feel.

“I suppose. You may use it, if you wish. It could do with some dusting and I’m tired of seeing you walk around carrying those tatty old things you brought with you.”

It was odd how easily and willingly he gave up his library to her. It was not in his nature to share, but rather to hoard and covet. But seeing Belle rifling through his precious books, treating each one with care and a soft touch he was now familiar with. He told himself it made sense to give her a library, if only to have her help him find a solution to whatever the Blue Fairy had done to her.

He began to find himself often in the library. For completely necessary reasons, of course. It was just that, with the drapes pulled back and the windows clean, the light was much better to read by than in his own personal library, where he kept the tricky, dangerous magical tomes that needed almost complete darkness. And it smelled good too, like old books and ink and that burnt caramel smell that clung to his little maid everywhere she went, including the room atop the library, where she now slept, the fireplace continuously lit so that it would be warm and cosy. Clearly the castle was set on cosseting and fretting over his little human, given how it now maintained both the fireplace in her room and the hearth in the kitchen and how it cleaned itself now, driving dust away before it could settle in spots that she had cleaned before. It had never been this accommodating with him, which he resented the slightest bit. 

Spending more time together eventually translated to talking, the silence slowly filling up with little questions and answers. Often Belle would prepare tea, taking a full tray to the library and offering him a cup. He found the blends she picked were pleasant, and it was a nice little pause in the day, to sit down and have tea with her and talk. She asked after his life, genuine curiosity in her tone, and he found himself telling her, bit by bit, what it was like being the last dragon, his life wholly his own, no expectations or constraints.

“So much freedom sounds wonderful. But it also sounds lonely.”

Her tone, soft and gentle and painfully sincere, made him squirm the slightest bit. Funny how he had never felt this exposed with knights charging at him with their sharp lances pointed at him. He shrugged, as if he could physically dislodge her words from his shoulders.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it. Don’t know anything else.”

“What about when you were young? Did no one look after you?”

“A couple of kind spinners found me as a hatchling, couldn’t have been more than a few days old. They raised me the best they could, since they could not have children of their own. Didn’t mind that I scared their sheep and almost burned down the house a couple of times.”

Her smile washed over him like warm sunlight.

“They sound lovely.”

“They were very nice. Very patient. But, eventually, they were run out of town by angry villagers. When they were able to settle again I ran away, so they would be able to stay. It’s just been me since then, for the last few hundreds of years.”

He had tried, at first, to look for more of his kind. He had never been able to find anything other than bones and empty, looted lairs. He had buried the bones of the first dragons he found, before it became too much of a hassle to do so. 

“And since then, you've loved no one, and no one has loved you?”

She said it so softly, so carefully, but the phrase settled around his midsection like a punch in the gut, prompting him to find an excuse to leave the room. But loneliness wasn’t as enjoyable as it had been before, and so he found that he couldn’t keep himself from his little maid for long, finding excuse after excuse to come across her. It was nice, he supposed, to just talk to someone. And, to her credit, Belle knew exactly what to say and how to say it to get him to open up and spill all of his dark secrets. He found himself opening up against his will, unable to refuse her gentle prodding.

“Is there any way you could have children, if you wanted?” His little maid blushed a bit, pointedly focusing on pouring them tea as he watched her, enthralled by the way the red on her cheeks made her eyes bluer. “I mean, you… you can look human. I- is there a way that-?”

“I may look human, dearie, but I’m not. This that you see in front of you is a facade. A trick of the light. I’m not compatible with humans so no, there is no saving dragonkind. I’m the last the world will see of it.”

He didn’t expect her to look happy, but neither did he expect her to find the idea of complete dragon extinction unpalatable. Dragons were, after all, monsters. Antagonists in children’s stories, evil creatures out there stealing princesses and burning down villages. If there were more dragons around, there would be less humans.

And yet, she looked troubled, her brow furrowed as she glanced at the small creamer she had brought for her own use, since he liked his tea black- but full of sugar, even if he’d deny it. 

“If you don’t stop looking at the milk like that it’ll curdle, dearie. Has it done something to offend you? Do you want me to dispose of the entire tea set? I have nicer ones, you know.”

“Don’t you dare, I like this one. It’s lovely.” She moved the entire tray closer to her, with a possessiveness that he found enticing. “It’s not about the tea set. I just thought… I thought it was a pity that dragons are all but gone.”

“You might be the only human to feel that way.”

“All life is worth protecting. It’s worth existing. All creatures have their place, no matter what the Blue Fairy seems to think.”

It wasn’t the first time she spoke of the little gnat with derision, but it still sent a frisson of delight down his spine. She was lovely in her anger, lips pursed and eyes sparkling. He tilted his head as a new thought crossed his mind. 

“Who was supposed to be your knight in shining armour, little maid?”

She paused just as she was about to take a sip of tea, frowning.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the Blue Fairy must have had someone in mind to try and rescue you from my clutches, killing me in the process. Your father, perhaps, but I doubt it. He might have been dragonslayer material in his youth, but he’s past it now.”

He flinched dramatically when she threw a sugar cube in his direction, pretending to be hurt when it bounced off his shoulder.

“Don’t be mean. But no, it wasn’t my father. At least I don’t think it was. I think the Blue Fairy meant to use Gaston.”

“A fiance, I presume?”

“An arranged marriage that thankfully never took place.”

She told him then of Gaston Legume, the strapping young heir to a neighbouring duchy, with dreams of not just inheriting his title but also making a name for himself. A natural-born hunter and fighter eager to prove himself to the world.

“He sounds dreamy.”

“He sounds insufferable. He tried to be charming at first, but the facade didn’t last long. It took me little time to discover he wasn’t just a pompous ass, he was truly an awful person. He had no respect for anyone he perceived as weak and was greedy for power and recognition. For adoration.”

She shifted, and he could smell the unease in her. He didn’t like it one bit.

“There was something unsettling about Gaston, something that only I could see. I never quite felt comfortable with him.”

”Like you do with me, mmh?”

He waited for her to laugh at his quip, but she nodded instead, her gaze going soft as she looked at him from beneath her lashes. There was something about that look that drew him in, made him feel like something was burning in the pit of his stomach. It was an altogether unpleasant, but not unwelcome, feeling. 

She didn’t deny it.

“Is that so bad, that I like your company?”

“Not bad. Mad? Certainly. Then again, I’ve known you’re not entirely in possession of your senses for a while now. You talk to that little wisp, for one.”

“Leave Flicker alone. He’s good company.”

She began to pick up their tea things, and he contained a sigh of disappointment that their afternoon was at an end. 

“You’re better, though.”

It used to be that he could spend hours in his laboratories, obsessed with whatever experiment occupied his mind at the time, but now he found himself seldomly spending more than a couple of hours a day there, and more often than not his mind was not fully engaged with whatever he was doing there. Other things occupied his time now. Recently he had taken a liking to roam the orchards in his true form. The sun there was lovely and often Belle would go out with a book and a basket and collect fruits before sitting in the shade of a tree to read. He would bask in the sun next to her, belly up like a cat some days, others curled up around the tree, tail playing with the hem of his maid’s dress, snout lying comfortably across her lap as she stroked the scales from the tip of his nose to the top of his head. She never shied away from his true form, often telling him how beautiful his scales looked under the light of the sun or how soft and smooth they were to the touch, making him preen. 

He found himself aching to go outside on that particular day, which was likely why he did not realise he was mixing sulphur with fulminating silver without wetting it first, which explained why the whole thing blew up in his face, knocking him to the ground. Stunned, he lay on the floor for what felt like forever, ears ringing and clothing singed. He shook his head, trying to dispel the haze clouding his vision.

“What happened here? Are you okay?”

The dragon tried to stamp down the immediate relief he felt when his little maid burst into the laboratory, still smelling of sunshine and peaches from outside, and burnt caramel beneath that. He tried shooing her away when she knelt down and began to prod and poke him, asking him whether something hurt or felt broken.

“I’m fine, don’t be a nag.”

“Your hair’s on fire.”

It wasn’t, just badly singed, some chunks missing in some places and crispy in others. And there was gunk stuck on it, and everywhere else. Thankfully he was mostly fireproof, other than his hair.

“You need a bath. And potentially a haircut.”

He protested, telling her a dip in the lake would be more than sufficient. Sure, it was frozen, but it was nothing he hadn’t done before.

“Whatever’s stuck to you won’t come out with just cold water and, besides, baths are supposed to be enjoyable. And I’ve been meaning to drag you to one for a while now. There’s no telling me no, so you might as well go with it.”

Impertinent little chit, forgetting her place. And forgetting what he was, feeling comfortable manhandling the world’s last dragon, a being of boundless power, down the stairs like a misbehaving boy, telling him in a firm tone to strip and get into the tub once she had prepared the bath. He thought about disobeying her, of course, but he had to admit the bath she had prepared did feel and smell rather lovely. She had put in some healing herbs and some of her bath salts and lotions into the water, making the water a murky, silvery white, and the temperature was hot, steam curling pleasantly around him. If he didn’t get into the bath she would likely scold him, which was not an attractive prospect. Mouthy little thing, his maid.

In the end he decided it was okay to get into the bath if he did it because he wanted to, not because she had told him. He shed his clothing, noting with some distaste that some of the fabric of his shirt stuck to his shoulder and spine, making it difficult to peel off, and got into the tub, biting back a sigh of pleasure on principle alone. He sank deep into the water, enjoying the way the hearth and a few braziers, placed strategically around the tub, kept it toasty warm. It was pleasant enough to make him drowsy, lulling him into a state of near-sleep that was very relaxing.

“How is it?”

The dragon pursed his lips, unwilling to concede completely in their little fight.

“Passable, I suppose. But completely unnecessary.”

“I see. Tilt your head back so I can get to your hair.”

He did as he was told, more curious about what she had in mind than invested in the notion of imposing his authority in the situation. She poured a pitcher of fresh water down his back, wetting his matter hair, and proceeded to methodically slather some sort of cream into it. It smelt like jojoba oil and hibiscus, the slimy texture almost unpleasant at first, before she began to massage it diligently into his hair. That felt absolutely heavenly, the way her fingers sunk into his hair, her nails scratching his scalp, sending little tingles up and down his spine. 

Touch in general was a rather foreign feeling to him. No one had touched him properly since his aunties, when he was a wee boy, and before he hadn’t thought he had missed it. He had never felt the need to touch or be touched, in his hundreds of years of existence, but it was like his little maid had pried something open deep inside him and all this need was pouring out, all this emptiness that he hadn’t noticed before. But it didn’t make him feel exposed, or vulnerable. Belle felt… safe. Felt like-

Like kin.

He allowed his eyes to slip shut as she cooed at him, praising him for his surprising docility and talking idly about this and that. Her voice was soothing, so much so that he barely flinched when he felt her begin cutting his hair. It was getting in the way of his experiments anyway, a trim might do him good.

…

Something new began to grow after that day. Something he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Rumplestiltskin began to feel new urges, all centered around his little maid. The urge to get her finer things, nicer gowns and sparkly jewellery. After all, he reasoned, she was no longer a maid. She didn’t clean the castle anymore. She was simply his treasure, so it made sense that he wanted her to look good, to polish her a bit, so to speak.

He also found himself seeking out her presence even more, not just sharing tea in the library but also having dinner each night. She insisted on cooking, and more often than not in sharing what she cooked. Reluctantly, he tried on a couple of her scones, slathered with strawberry jam, finding that, surprisingly, he liked sweet things. In turn she grew used to his more meat-heavy dinners, slowly shifting away from more elaborate dishes towards enjoying his charred meats. He delighted in this and soon meal times were a moment spent together, intimate and meaningful.

He decided, during one of those meals, that he would keep her once the Blue Fairy’s spell was broken. This was her home now, and it was unlikely that she would be safe from the little gnat anywhere else. He’d let her stay and, if she wanted adventure, she could accompany him around when he went out to make his deals. He would show her the world, if she would choose to stay. He wanted her to choose to stay. It was difficult now to imagine the castle without her, and the idea of going back to endless years of solitude no longer appealed to him.

It was around the time he had that revelation that he began to feel… uncomfortable. Hot, in a way. And itchy, like he felt when he was shedding his scales, only it wasn’t time yet for that. He found himself wiggling a lot, trying to dislodge some phantom discomfort, and alternating between moodiness and almost suspicious elation. Going outside his castle was usually what turned him surly, especially the longer he remained out, and his mood improved significantly the moment he was back.

He wasn’t the only one who seemed to be coming down with something, though. Belle, he had noticed, was beginning to fidget too, complaining of an itch in her back that seemed to travel all the way down to her toes, never quite localising anywhere that she could scratch satisfyingly. She was also running hot, but did not seem to be under the weather. Quite the contrary, she seemed to have more energy and look healthier than she ever had before. 

He was contemplating pausing in his efforts to figure out the Blue Fairy’s spell. He had to admit his research as of late had been half-hearted at best, his heart no longer in it. As long as Belle was protected he would be safe, and keeping Belle protected had long become a priority for its own sake too. He was doing a once-over in his library, trying to look for books with a medical bent to them, when he heard Belle yell, the castle amplifying the sound till it reached his ears. Instinctually he teleported, appearing in the kitchens to see his little maid curled up next to the stove, a pot of water turned over, steam and water still dripping out. It didn’t take long to connect two and two together.

“You senseless girl!” 

He was surprised that the first thing he felt was anger at her carelessness. Didn’t she know how fragile she was as a human? Why wasn’t she more careful? But, as swift as anger was to come, so it was to be replaced with worry. 

“Come on, let me see. I’ll make it better in no time, don’t worry.”

He knelt beside his maid, itching to gather her in his arms and fix her up, right the hurt. Slowly she unfurled enough to let him take her right arm, which was the one she was cradling close to her chest. The skin there was red, but some careful probing showed no signs of emerging blisters or further damage. He slid the pads of his fingers against the skin there, noticing it felt a bit too slick to be human skin.

“Does it hurt at all?”

She shook her head, still visibly shaken from the incident, even if there was no pain. But there should be pain. He was sure of that. The steam still coming off the upturned pot gave him a clear idea of how hot the water had been when she had accidentally spilled it over her arm. She should’ve been seriously burned, he was sure of it.

“I’m fine. But I shouldn’t be fine, should I?”

He could hear a faint note of hysteria in her voice, and he ached to soothe her, to tell her everything was alright. Except something clearly wasn’t. He turned her arm to one side and then the other, only then noticing the very faint shine the skin had one held to the light. He ushered her to his topmost laboratory, where natural light was the best, and studied her arm carefully. There was something there, more noticeable as the arm went from pink back to a healthy colour. He dragged his mounted magnifying glass so he could study the skin better, turning the arm one way and then the other to be sure he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Scales.

Invisible to the naked eye, if not for their opalescent shift. Very much like his, and yet different, more delicate. The entire arm wasn’t covered with them, only the part where the water had spilled, as if the heat had burned away her skin to reveal the scales underneath.

What. The. Fuck.

“Are those-?”

“Yes.” He paused, an idea forming inside his head. “Where did you say your itch originated?”

“On my back, near my right shoulder. Why?”

“Let me see.”

She turned around obediently, biting back a gasp when he sliced the stays of her corset to shreds so he could pull the gown low enough to see. There, clear as day, was a patch of scales. Older than the one in her arm, the scales more noticeable to the naked eye, though still easily overlooked unless someone was looking for them. He touched them, noticing how they mostly mimicked the texture of human skin, except they were more slippery. 

“You see anything? More scales?”

“Yes. Older ones. Is there anything different about this bit of skin? Did you spill anything on it, do anything to it at all?”

She tried to think, body shaking as she processed what was going on. He pulled her closer, nosing the side of her head, trying to reassure her. The smell of her, burnt caramel, hit him like a trainwreck then. It had been growing stronger over time, unnoticeably at first, but obvious now. Leaning down he sniffed her shoulder, where the patch of scales was, noticing the smell seemed to be concentrated there.

What the fuck did it all mean?

“I think- I think that’s where the Blue Fairy’s wand touched me, when she did that spell on me. But it wasn’t meant to do that, was it?”

No, it wasn’t. Then again, none of the maidens that the fairies had used to kill dragons had ever survived more than a week after the enchantment had been placed. Who was to know what the long-term effects of the spell were? 

“You go change, little maid, and bring us some tea to my library, yes? There are some books there that I might need your help with. We’ll get to the bottom of it in no time, you’ll see.”

They didn’t, of course. At least not right away. Days turned into weeks, and even with both of them dedicating as much time as possible to figuring out what the Blue Fairy had done to Belle, there were no easy answers. Little had been written about the subject at all, and most of it by fairies, whose flowery language did not lend itself to easy interpretation, even after Belle carefully translated it. Meanwhile, they both kept track of any symptoms of anomalies they could spot. It was Rumple who pointed out that Belle’s core temperature had increased, and it was Belle who noticed that he tended to lean into their casual touches, often without conscious thought or awareness he was doing it at all. Belle wrote everything down and tried to cross-reference the list with the fairy texts, to no avail.

The snippets they found about the spell did not seem to be very helpful either, at first. The fairies were vague about it in their books, as if afraid to commit the knowledge to paper, determined to keep their secrets. They mentioned what they already knew, that the spell would bind a mortal to an immortal dragon, linking the creature to immortality. By making it kin with the maiden the dragon would become vulnerable upon the demise of the human woman, making it possible for a sword or a lance to fell the beast.

He read and re-read those passages over and over, something rattling inside his brain. Something about the wording, about the implications. He picked up the list of symptoms Belle had written, focusing on her side and trying to think back on the first time he had noticed some of them. Slowly, a picture began to form in his mind. He had studied magic and spells for centuries, including the boring theoretical bits most magical creatures didn’t bother with. Given the general purpose of the spell and where it had gone awry he began to theorise how the spell could have adapted and changed, given the time it had had to macerate and grow. A simple check of a sample of Belle’s scales- taken with utmost care, and replaced the next day by a coat of fresh, healthy scales on her inner arm- seemed to prove his theory, as far-fetched as it seemed.

He needed to tell her. She needed to go. Perhaps putting some distance would slow down the process, giving him time to try and reverse it. Surely there was a way, it couldn’t be permanent yet. He went to his treasury, heaping gold from it into a bag. Jewels would be easier to carry but harder to exchange, so gold it was. Once she was settled somewhere else he would see that she got more money if she needed it.

“What is this?”

Belle looked up from the rather hefty bag of gold he dropped in front of her with a frown. He frowned as well. Was it too heavy? Had he overestimated her human strength? Was it perhaps not enough?

“You have to go. This will help you get settled somewhere else.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere.”

He snorted, smoke coming out of his nose in heavy plumes. He had known Belle would want a thorough explanation, but he feared that would take too long and time was working against them.

“You have to. This will keep on progressing if you stay.”

“What will keep on progressing?”

“The change. Your change.”

She lunged forward, her hand curling around his arm as she looked up to him, hope shining in her eyes. He fought the urge to flinch back, terrified of tainting him further, and the secondary, more base urge to pull her close.

“You know what’s going on? Tell me.”

“We don’t have time.”

“Make some.”

She crossed her arms, planting herself as firmly as she could so he had no choice but to have to drag her out if he wanted her to leave the castle. Anger built up inside him. He was trying to do a good thing for her. A thing that went against what he wanted. She was his treasure, letting her go was against his nature, yet he was willing to do that. For her.

“It’s your change. It’ll keep happening as long as you’re here. Eventually it’ll be too late to reverse it, if possible at all. So you have to leave, and leave now.” He paused, struggling to condense the jumble of thoughts in his head into something that he could say. “The spell was designed to change my nature. To make me mortal in the way you’re mortal, which is why it was meant to be triggered by your succumbing to your own mortality. Except you never did. And, over time, in the absence of any trigger for change, the spell began to work on its own. But not to make me more human, but rather to make you more like me. My nature superseeds yours, so it’s the one the spell eventually latched onto.”

He watched her digest his words, bracing himself for a look of disgust that never arrived. Instead Belle went to the mirror in the far corner, studying herself attentively, no doubt seeing a myriad of other tiny things that were not entirely human. There was a subtle shine in her eyes, an almost bluish tint to her hair that wasn’t there before. He wondered if any of those traits would coincide with certain subspecies of dragons.

“Wait, that only explains my symptoms. Not yours.”

He had not allowed himself to go there, to contemplate what his own strange behaviour and feelings meant. But he knew, or at least he suspected something, something he was afraid to voice out loud. But Belle was stubborn, looking at him hovering behind her through the mirror, daring him to answer the question.

“It’s- it’s possible that something in me recognised the change in you before either of us became aware of it. I can’t be sure, I know nothing about the mating practices of dragons, having never met another one of my kind, but it’s possible that-”

He realised a second or two too late what he had just said, or at least heavily implied. One glance at the mirror let him know Belle had understood, her eyes wide and mouth partly opened as she took in what he had said. He waited again for the disgust to show, or some maidenly anger, but she simply frowned.

“So you’ll have me go and leave you? You’ll give up this- whatever this is?” Her voice softened then, eyes going liquid as they stared at him from the mirror. “For me? Because you think I wouldn’t want this?”

“Of course you wouldn’t want this. Nobody would.”

He stuttered, biting his lip when she leaned back into him, trusting that he would catch her. He did, even though he knew it was a mistake, the smell of her, burnt caramel, making him heady, making him have desires, urges, that he’d never had before. It was no wonder he hadn’t realised what was happening, having never before encountered a female of his species. Someone that provoked what Belle did to him.

“Why not?”

“I’m a difficult creature to love.”

Mateless, without kin or family. No living creature was ever supposed to love him. The idea that someone did, that through sheer luck or the whims of magic, seemed inconceivable. But even as he thought that he wrapped his claws around her corseted waist, unable to deny the yearning for what he couldn’t have, the urge to snatch a bit of it for himself, even as he knew it wasn’t possible, that those things weren’t for him. That Belle wasn’t for him.

“That’s not true.” 

She went soft against him, leaning back fully, letting herself sag against him. The trust, the sheer valor of it all, took him aback. He made a soft, wondrous sort of sound, his claws sinking into her waist, barely able to contain himself as he nuzzled behind her ear, where he discovered a fresh patch of scales neither hand noticed before. Her smell was the most potent there and he took lungfuls of it, half-afraid she would pull back and he’d be denied that scent forever. He told himself that it would be enough, to enjoy the smell and the feel of her against him, that he could be content with that alone, if only the gods would let him keep her.

Belle, however, seemed not to have any appreciation for his iron will and staunch determination not to sully her, taking one of his claws and placing it over one of her soft, perfect breasts. Even through the material of her dress he could feel the heat of her, so similar to his own, and unlike anyone else he’d ever come into contact with. 

“Please, Rumple.”

He was lost after that. The hunger that had been steadily building for the past few months, unbeknownst to him, that he had pushed pushed down, shoved away and ultimately tried to keep contained, took a hold of him. He sunk into her, clutching her tightly, his claws ripping the soft jacquard of her dress  as if it was tissue paper. The laces of her stays dissolved under his hands, reduced to tatters, allowing him to shove the unyielding whalebone and stiff cotton away, rewarding him with a proper feel of her soft curves, even through the shift she wore under. The notion that the skin beneath small rows of pearlescent scales thrilled him. 

She was everything the world had ever denied him, and so when she turned around he could do nothing but submit to her kiss. They were both inexperienced and frenzied, all teeth and bite and eagerness. He was hungry for her, wanting nothing more than to sink into her and stay there forever. After a few tense minutes, he felt her gentling the kiss, arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers carding through his hair, calming him down. Patiently, she taught him a new rhythm, slow and deep. It made things more intense somehow, more thrilling, and it was only because he was clutching her close that he noticed how she trembled, how hesitant but bold she was. Brave Belle. Beautiful Belle.

When she began to tug at his clothing, the loose banyan in shades of ochre and gold that his little maid had complimented him on so, he shrugged it off, eager to have the least amount of barriers between them. He tugged on her shift then, hands sliding beneath it, feeling her soft human skin break into goosebumps as he exposed her to the room. It took no more than a thought to transport them both to his lair, to lay her down amongst his furs and pelts. The room was dark, but constantly kept warm with a roaring fire that provided a little light. His favourite things were there, his most prized jewels, his oldest books and rarest antiques. As he set her down he noticed, mixed amongst the moss and the expensive silk, one of Belle’s hair ribbons. And one of the throws she liked to use when she read by the roaring fire. He glanced around, noticing small glimpses of his little maid everywhere, silent evidence of what his body had been trying hard to tell him. He tossed her shift to add to his collection, all but purring as he studied the contrast between Belle’s pinkish skin and the dark mess of fabrics and furs that was his nest. In contrast to her now absolute nudity he was still wearing too much clothing, and though his linen shirt was easy to discard his leather pants proved more frustrating, to the point that he scratched himself as he tore himself free of them.

“Easy now. I like you in one piece.”

He let her pet him, soothing his frazzled nerves with soft, cooing nonsense that had him purring, melting into her touch. They stayed that way for the longest time, alternating between gentle explorations and soft, languid kisses, but eventually the urgency began to build up, making him uncomfortable. He wanted to ask for something but didn’t know what, his inexperience making him unable to tell what he wanted.

“What? What’s the matter?”

“It’s… too soft.”

There was no better way to explain it. His body felt poised for violence, for aggression, though the instinct was unlike anything he had ever felt before. But humans were fragile, and Belle was raised to be a lady. Ladies were supposed to be treated with care, with softness. Surely he could curtail these base urges and find pleasure enough in-

His train of thought came to an abrupt, screeching halt when he felt her teeth close around his throat in a playful nip, followed by bolder and bolder bites as she struggled to get on top. This, he thought, was something that he understood. Roughhousing, the give and take of a fight. It was something his body naturally reacted too, what it had been made to do. Though it certainly wasn't the way the dragon had seen humans copulate it felt natural to roll around the furs and fight for dominance. In spite of his claws and his fangs he didn't seem to have much of an advantage. Belle was wily and clever, giving as good as she got.

Naturally, almost without them noticing, a rhythm began to grow between them. The moment he pinned her down, hands holding her wrists above her head and pressing against the furs, the Dark One knew what would happen, what had been waiting to happen since the first time she'd set foot in the castle. She hesitated again then, eyes briefly clouding over with worry, and he remembered she was a maiden, and even a brave one would hesitate in the face of such a step. He gentled their foreplay the slightest bit, letting bites turn into slow, deep kisses and scratches into long caresses. She grew pliant against him once more, her scent spiking and an unfamiliar but very welcome wetness beginning to coat her upper thighs. 

Thrusting into her felt natural, like coming home, and he stilled, wishing to take it all in. She felt scorching hot, in a way he knew no human woman would feel, and it felt like heaven, so good it was almost indistinguishable from pain. He dug his claws into Belle’s back instinctually, but she did not seem to notice or care, trying to pull him close instead of pushing him away.

After basking in the utter delight of being buried balls-deep inside such purity the imp forced himself to pull out, eagerly thrusting back inside a moment later. It was a deliciously messy process, full of blood and sweat, grunts of exertion and impatience and the occasional struggle for dominance. It became impossible to differentiate pain from pleasure, and by the looks of the woman beneath her he wasn't alone in such lovely confusion. Belle was devastatingly beautiful as she writhed beneath him, sweat-slicked hair hallowing her face and cheeks flushed from pleasure.

Though usually a selfish creature by nature the dragon was beyond pleased when he felt the flutter of Belle's inner muscles against his aching cock and watched avidly as she arched beneath him, tight as a bowstring. His own orgasm a few minutes later felt less important than the one he'd torn out of the woman beneath him. A woman who'd willingly and knowingly bedded a monster. With a gleeful sense of triumph the Dark One started to kiss his way down the beauty's body, eager to see in how many ways and how many more times dragons could mate in a single night. Later, he knew, there would be time for other realisations. Time to consider the deeper implications of having a mate, of not being the last of his kind, of the staggering possibility of having little hatchlings running around the castle in the future. But right then and there none of it mattered, his senses full of Belle.

[beastlycheese]

Gilded

Pairing: Rumbelle

Rating: E

Summary: Mr. Gold runs a speakeasy during Prohibition and hires a new waitress.

Merry Rumbellemas, @eirian-houpe! It's ME, your Santa! I hope you are having an amazing break and that you get some good rest. It has been lovely working on this and I hope you love it! 💖

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

Mr. Gold had to hand it to the woman. Most people would not meet his eyes, especially not when they wanted something, but Belle French stood before him, chin tilted up, blue eyes boring into his.

“You’re a singer?” he asked, gaze flicking up and down her once more. Most musicians came to his speakeasy dressed in their performance best, but Belle French had arrived in a dove grey suit and blue blouse, hair pinned into a faux-bob under her matching cloche, as if she were interviewing for a secretary position.

“That’s right,” she said. “I have a piano player I can bring over as well.” 

“I have a pianist,” he said. He leaned back into his chair, putting himself further into the shadow. He always conducted business here, in the back room of his club. It was inaccessible from the outside unless one knew the way, and only two people other than himself did. 

“I brought sheet music if you need it for an audition,” she said, hefting her briefcase. It was as well-made and plain as her clothes.

“That won’t be necessary, Miss French,” he said. “Unfortunately, I’ve no need for a singer.”

He waited, watching her reaction to this carefully. No one came to him unless they were desperate or already up to no good. Miss Belle French, he was sure, had never been up to no good in her life.

“I can also type and do accounting,” she said. “If you need a secretary or a bookkeeper. I kept my father’s books until he died.”

So her father was dead. Desperate, alone, coming to beg Mr. Gold for any job? That was exactly the sort of person he liked to see.

“Can you carry a tray of drinks?” he asked. 

For the first time, her composure slipped, and her lower lip trembled, but she nodded surely. “Of course, Mr. Gold. How do your waitresses dress?”

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[beastlycheese]

Batman Returns dir. Tim Burton | 1992

[beastlycheese]

All Hail To The Days That Merit More Praise

Merry Christmas @goldenwingediris! I'm your Secret Santa! I really hope you enjoy your fic. It was a lot of fun to write.

Summary: The Midwinter Festival is Belle's favourite time of year and she's determined to share the festive spirit with Rumplestiltskin, whether he likes it or not.

Title from the Loreena McKennitt song 'In Praise of Christmas', which I hope was the basis of your prompt because it's what I've been listening to on repeat while writing and which inspired a lot of this fic!

(Also, there is a line in here that I lifted from Xena: Warrior Princess because it fit so perfectly.)

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~*~

Belle put her hands on her hips as she looked around the great hall in satisfaction. A morning spent collecting holly from the castle grounds and decorating every available window and surface was a morning well spent. It wasn’t quite up to the standards of the grand displays back in Avonlea but she had to make do with what was available and even if it was basic, the green leaves and red berries made a lovely contrast, putting her in a festive mood.

The sound of the large doors opening heralded the arrival of her master and she turned to face them, excited to share her festive spirit with him.

“Good morning, Rumplestiltskin,” Belle called brightly, watching his face as he noticed the new additions to the great hall. She stifled a giggle as he turned in a circle, visibly confused.

“Belle. Why is there a forest in my hall?”

“It’s for the Midwinter Festival!” Belle felt her smile widening in excitement. “This is my favourite time of the year!”

“Really?” Rumplestiltskin looked at her sceptically as he moved towards the table. “Your favourite time of the year is when it’s dark, cold and miserable?”

“Oh, but you see that’s the whole point!” she cried emphatically. “It’s dark and cold outside so we bring light and cheer inside. It’s all about bringing back the light and driving out the darkness.”

“Well, as the embodiment of Darkness I have no desire to be driven out of my own castle, so I think we can dispense with all this.” Rumplestiltskin flicked his hand dismissively and Belle felt her heart sink as all her hard work disappeared. “That’s better.”

“Rumplestiltskin!” Belle cried, “bring those back!”

“Hmm, no. I don’t think I will.”

“You bring those back right now or I’ll..” Belle trailed off as she found herself engulfed in a whirlwind of smoke, only to reappear outside.

“Rumplestiltskin!” Belle practically shrieked, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold. “It’s freezing out here!”

Another cloud of smoke enveloped her and she felt warmth pressing down on her shoulders. When it cleared she looked down to see a heavy cloak fastened around herself.

“Fine,” she called to the empty courtyard. “If that’s how you want to play it!”

Receiving no response, Belle set off to forage for more supplies. She was determined not to allow his moodiness to defeat her festive spirit.

~*~

The next morning, as Belle stood surveying her handiwork, she felt a bit more trepidation at Rumplestiltskin’s potential arrival than she had the previous day. But she was still determined not to give in.

When he walked into the great hall she saw the moment he noticed the return of the decorations, turning to her with a scowl.

“I thought we had enough of this nonsense yesterday.”

“That was just the first day,” Belle explained patiently. “In Avonlea the Midwinter Festival is twelve full days of celebration.”

“Twelve days?” Rumplestiltskin seemed aghast. “What on earth do you do for twelve days? Other than bringing potential infestations inside, that is.”

Belle rolled her eyes as she watched him carefully pull back a holly leaf, inspecting the underside as though he expected to find something hideous there.

“They’re clean. Don’t worry, I checked. And as for what we do, we guide the sun home.”

“Excuse me?” He turned to face her completely, incredulity written across his face.

“Yes, when the days are at their darkest and it seems like the sun might never return, we sing songs and light candles to guide his way.”

“What?” Something strange flickered over Rumplestiltskin’s face but it was gone before Belle could identify the meaning.

“And we throw parties and have feasts to celebrate his return. It’s a time of community and joy.”

“Sounds like a nightmare. One that I believe I made my feelings on quite clear.” Rumplestiltskin raised his hand and Belle lunged forward, grabbing it in both of hers.

“Don’t you dare!”

Rumplestiltskin froze, his eyes widening in shock, just as Belle realised what she had done.

“Sorry!” She pulled her hands back. “It’s just… this means a lot to me. Please.”

A beat passed between them as she held her breath, waiting for his response. For his part, he still seemed stunned by her previous impulsive action.

“Fine,” Rumplestiltskin relented, slowly lowering his hand which was still twitching slightly. “But you know that’s all superstitious nonsense, right? The cycle of the seasons has nothing to do with you singing some silly little songs.”

“I know, but that’s not the point.” Belle wasn’t quite sure why it was so important to her that he understand, but it was.. “It’s about hope. How even when things are at their very darkest, there’s always light on the horizon. Don’t you have any celebrations like that at this time of year?”

“Of course not,” Rumplestiltskin snorted derisively. “Not all of us come from backwater swamps.”

“Well, maybe you could join mine. Festivities are meant to be shared, after all.” Belle deliberately ignored the slight. She knew that he was fully aware of the status of her town. He was just trying to antagonise her.

“I’m not singing.” Rumplestiltskin pointed his finger at her.

“That’s all right.” Belle leaned closer to him and lowered her voice. “To be honest with you, I’m not a very good singer either.”

“Uh, no.” Rumplestiltskin stepped back, raising his hands with his fingers pointed upwards, “I didn’t say that I wasn’t good at it, I said I’m not doing it.”

“So, you can sing?” Now that was intriguing. As was his apparent offence at her assumption.

“Perhaps. Fortunately for me, that’s something you’ll never find out. The Dark One doesn’t sing, dearie.”

Well, that was a small price to pay and Belle fought to hide her grin at her victory.

“Fine,” she acquiesced. “I promise not to ask you to sing if you let me celebrate the Midwinter Festival.”

“Fine.” Rumplestiltskin waved his fingers dismissively. “Keep your silly little greenery. Just don’t let it interfere with your duties.”

He turned and started towards the corner of the hall, suddenly stopping in his tracks.

“What on earth…?”

Ah, he’d noticed the ivy she’d woven through his spinning wheel. Belle bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t gone too far, as she stepped up to his side to explain.

“All work not directly related to the festivities is banned throughout the Midwinter Festival, so traditionally women in Avonlea would weave flowers through their spinning wheels so they couldn’t be used.”

“But it’s not your spinning wheel, is it dearie?”

“No, but it’s tradition.”

“Is it?” He turned to face her, raising his eyebrow. “Or is this whole thing just an elaborate excuse for you to get out of working for two weeks?”

“Well looking after your own house is permitted, so don’t worry. You won’t starve.”

Rumplestiltskin’s mouth dropped open slightly but he didn’t reply, simply turning and walking out of the hall. Belle smiled to herself at the fact that he left the ivy-clad spinning wheel untouched.

~*~

The next day Belle squealed with delight as she opened a drawer in the kitchen to find a set of beautiful red and white candles next to intricately woven metal holders. Gathering them up quickly she hurried to the great hall and set about carefully placing them within the garlands of greenery she’d set up before.

The Dark Castle certainly lived up to its name at the best of times, but it was especially true at this time of year when the sun rose late and set early and was hidden by clouds for much of the rest of the day. The thought of bringing some light into the place with the beautiful candles was a very welcome one.

She’d just finished lighting the last candle when Rumplestiltskin appeared in the doorway.

“I see we’re adding fire hazards now,” he said sardonically. “Wonderful.”

Belle just smiled at him fondly.

“What?” He seemed unnerved by her lack of a response.

“Thank you for the candles.”

Rumplestiltskin frowned. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Right,” Belle decided to humour him. “Maybe it was the castle that gave them to me.”

She winked as she sauntered past him, already thinking about the next festive aspect of Midwinter that she wanted to share with her master.

~*~

That evening Belle rummaged around the kitchen for the supplies she was looking for, and once again the castle provided. Unearthing a nice looking bottle of wine and various spices, Belle cast her mind back to winter evenings in Avonlea, glad that she had often snuck down to watch the mulled wine being made.

First was the matter of serving Rumplestiltskin his dinner, but once that had been taken care of she began the process of mulling the wine, hoping to time it just right that she could bring it up soon after he finished eating.

Soon the kitchen was filled with the delicious spicy sweet scent of mulled wine and Belle inhaled deeply, pleased with the results. Now she just had to find a way to serve it. Back at her father’s castle the mulled wine was the centerpiece of the table, kept warm in a beautiful ceramic pot. So far she hadn’t found anything like that in her kitchen in this castle and was resigning herself to putting it in a plain dish when she opened the last cupboard and gasped in delight at the bowl sitting on the shelf directly at her eye level.

Reaching in carefully, she gently pulled the container out, not fully understanding why but somehow knowing that this was a special piece. The dark wood shone and caught the light as she slowly turned it in her hands, admiring the intricate holly and ivy carvings looping around the sides.

It wasn’t as big as the one from the castle and she couldn’t put it over a heat source, but that didn’t matter. This wine was just for her and Rumpelstiltskin, a far more intimate set up than any she’d experienced back in Avonlea.

Decanting the wine from the pot she’d mulled it in into the bowl was a careful process as she had no desire to spill any on herself. Once that had been accomplished she gathered up the bowl and returned to the great hall where Rumplestiltskin had just finished his dinner.

“Good health, Rumplestiltskin!” Belle called as she set down the bowl. “I have another tradition I’d like to share with you.”

“What…” Rumpelstiltskin looked up, his words trailing off and his mouth dropping open as he caught sight of what she had placed on the table.

“It’s mulled wine!” Belle explained, “one of my favourite drinks at this time of year.”

“Where did you get that?” Rumplestiltskin was still staring at the centre of the table.

“I made it. You had all the spices I needed in your kitchen and plenty of bottles of wine. I didn’t think you’d mind me using one of them for this.”

“No, the bowl.” He stood from his seat and leaned forward to get a better look at it. “Where did you find that?”

“Oh, it was in one of the cupboards. I’m not sure why I’ve never seen it before, it wasn’t exactly hidden.” Belle shrugged, then frowned as she realised what she was missing. “Drat, I forgot the glasses. I’ll be right back.”

“No need.” Rumplestiltskin returned his attention to her and waved his hand. Belle blinked as two wooden cups and a ladle appeared beside the bowl.

“Thank you.” She picked up the first cup and filled it, handing it to him before filling her own.

Taking her first sip she smiled as the warmth of the wine and spices hit her but resisted the temptation to close her eyes, wanting to see Rumplestiltskin’s reaction when he tried it himself.

He sniffed the contents of the cup almost suspiciously before cautiously raising it to his lips. A small sip was immediately followed by a larger one and Belle felt a tension in her heart release. She hadn’t truly realised until that moment just how important his opinion was to her.

When he didn’t offer any response after a few seconds, she couldn’t hold the question in any longer.

“Do you like it?” she asked hopefully.

He tilted his head as though considering his reply.

“It’s not terrible.” His words might have had more bite had they not been immediately followed by another sip.

He was still standing slightly awkwardly and Belle looked around, noticing the sofa set up by the fireplace.

“Shall we sit by the fire?”

“Why?”

“Because it’ll be cosy over there. We can bring the wine with us.”

Still appearing slightly suspicious of her suggestion, Rumplestiltskin nevertheless moved with her to the fireplace, taking a seat on the far end of the sofa. Belle followed, bringing the bowl of wine and placing it on a low table nearby.

Debating with herself for only a second she sat down in the centre of the sofa, causing Rumplestiltskin to look at her oddly before facing away again..

She could feel him sitting rigidly beside her and searched for something to break the silence. A memory from childhood came to her.

“You know some people say you can see your future if you stare into the flames long enough.”

“Hmm, pyromancy,” Rumplestiltskin replied, not looking away from the fire.

Belle huffed a small laugh. “Of course you already know that. Is it a real thing? Can you do it?”

“No.”

“To which?”

“Both.”

“Well that’s a relief. When I was a little girl my friends and I were looking into the flames because we’d heard that if we tried hard enough we’d see the faces of our future husbands.”

“And what did you see?”

“Flames.” Belle laughed and took another sip of her wine. “But all my friends were gushing about the handsome faces they’d seen so I pretended I had too. I think the face I made up sounded very much like Gaston.”

“Ah, so even as a child you wanted to marry him.”

“No,” Belle corrected. “Even as a child I knew I was supposed to marry him. I had very little say in the matter. Fortunately you came along.”

Rumplestiltskin’s head swiveled around to face her so quickly she nearly dropped her cup. “You consider that fortunate?”

“Wasn’t it?” Belle looked him in the eye. “I mean, obviously the circumstances leading up to it weren’t fortunate, but you arriving was. You saved us all. And I’d much rather be here than married to Gaston.”

Rumplestiltskin narrowed his eyes. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am. If he’d had his way I’m pretty sure I’d be trapped inside a castle with nothing to do but have his babies and listen to tales of his hunting exploits.”

“Instead you’re trapped inside a castle cooking and cleaning for a monster,” Rumplestiltskin scoffed. “I’m not sure you’ve thought this through, dearie.”

“Mm, you’re not a monster.” Belle swayed slightly. The wine was going to her head and combined with the warmth of the fire in front of her and the warmth of his body next to her she was feeling pleasantly tipsy. His shoulder was right there, so inviting, and she gave into the temptation to lean her head against it. “And you’re far better company than he ever was.”

She could feel him tense up as soon as she made contact but he didn’t move away and she took that as implicit permission, shifting her body slightly so she could lean against him more comfortably, the leather of his waistcoat cool under her cheek.

He didn’t reply to her words, but that was all right. She felt content and comfortable just sitting there with him.

Eventually her eyes started closing and when she opened them again she was surprised to see the fire much lower than it had been. Blinking sleepily she raised her head, taking note of the blanket falling from her shoulders as she did so, and her wine cup now sat with his on the small table with the bowl.

“You fell asleep.” Rumplestiltskin’s voice was low, as though he was afraid to break some sort of spell that had fallen on them. She didn’t think he had moved at all, except to presumably use his magic to conjure the blanket and move the cups.

“Oh, sorry.” Belle blushed.

“It’s no matter.” Rumplestiltskin waved his hand but didn’t meet her eyes.

“I suppose I should be going to bed then.” Belle stood, looking down at his face, watching the flickering light of the fire dancing on his golden skin. “Goodnight, Rumplestiltskin.”

Belle leaned down slowly to kiss his cheek. She hadn’t thought it possible for him to tense up even more than he already had been, but somehow he managed it. Pulling back from him, she turned and left the great hall.

Once she had returned to her room, Belle readied for bed in a daze. It had only been a friendly peck on the cheek, yet she couldn’t get the feel of his skin under her lips out of her mind. His scales had been so much warmer and softer than she had expected.

Lying in bed, she slowly lifted her fingers to stroke across her lips. Her mind was racing and all she could think about was how much she wanted to kiss him again.

~*~

The next morning Belle came downstairs and was shocked to find Rumplestiltskin still in the great hall. He was sitting in the same spot by the fire, turning the now empty wooden bowl around in his hands.

“Rumplestiltskin?” Belle called softly, not wanting to startle him. “Have you been here all night?”

“Hmm.” Rumplestiltskin nodded absentmindedly, still seeming distracted by the bowl.

“I… I’m sorry if I shouldn’t have used that.” Belle was now starting to worry that she’d committed some terrible faux pas. “It just seemed so perfect.”

“It’s no matter, I just forgot I had it.” He seemed like he was going to say more, but before he did so his face abruptly changed expression, a mask dropping in front of his eyes, before he stood to face her, vanishing the bowl as he did so. “But never mind that. Now, tell me little maid, what else are you planning to do to my castle? Hmm? I can’t imagine a little slip of a thing like you hauling in a tree by yourself but that would be entertaining to see.” He pointed at her, turning his back as he spoke.

“What?” Belle wrinkled her nose in confusion. “A whole tree? Why would I do that?”

“You…?” Rumplestiltskin turned to face her, surprise evident on his face before the mask fell into place again and he gestured around the hall with his hands. “Well, it’s just that you’ve brought the rest of the forest inside I assumed a tree would be next. Followed by a pond or a mountain perhaps.”

“Now you’re just being silly.” Belle shook her head.

“You’re one to talk. How is that head of yours after last night, anyway? You seemed rather drunk by the end there.”

“I had one glass of wine, I’d hardly call that drunk.”

“But you… “ He looked confused again before shaking it off. “Never mind. Anyway, you didn’t answer me. What other traditions can I expect?”

“Well, the Solstice always falls around the middle of the Midwinter Festival.” Belle cast her mind back to years past. “The Royal Astronomers would calculate the exact date and an announcement would be made that the sun was returning. We would celebrate with a great feast of food and drink. My father would open the castle and invite all the townsfolk to join us.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted. “That is most certainly not going to happen here.”

“That’s all right, it was never my favourite part anyway,” Belle confided. “It was usually fun for an hour or so, but being around so many people was exhausting.”

He looked genuinely relieved, as though he feared Belle might have invited up the whole population of the town behind his back, and Belle had to hide a stifle a laugh at the image it brought to mind. Somehow she couldn’t imagine her antisocial master taking on the jovial host role her father had embodied for years.

Thinking about those grand feasts brought another tradition to the forefront of Belle’s mind. One she hadn’t thought about when setting up her initial decorations but which now jumped out to her as something extremely important. It played on her mind as she headed down to the kitchen to start Rumplestitlskin’s breakfast.

Once she found herself with a free moment she ventured out into the garden on her quest. Just as she’d hoped, she found the object of her search relatively quickly and cut a few pieces.

Returning to the great hall she scoured the place for the perfect location, settling on just above the doors which she knew Rumplestiltskin often walked through. Then it was just a matter of time. Belle picked up a book and sat down to wait.

Her patience was rewarded about an hour later when she heard footsteps approaching. Quickly putting down her book she moved closer to the doorway, pretending to clean something on the pedestal nearby.

The footsteps stopped and Belle risked a glance up, seeing Rumplestiltskin still a few paces away from the door, his eyes narrowing as he looked up.

“What the hell is that?” He pointed a long finger at the sprig she had affixed above the entryway.

“Hmm?” Belle aimed for nonchalance. “It’s mistletoe.”

“I can see that, but why is it in my doorway? I thought I made it clear that we were not having any guests in the castle.”

“We’re not. What does that have to do… wait…” Belle narrowed her own eyes at him as the meaning of his words sunk in. “You know.”

“I know a lot of things. What in particular are you wittering on about now?”

“You know what mistletoe is for.”

“Poisoning your guests with the berries?” Rumplestiltskin shrugged with clearly false casualness. “Not very festive but who knows what passes for tradition in your backwards little town. Perhaps ritual sacrifice is the climax of your Winter Festival.”

“And that’s why you’re avoiding it, is it?” Belle had noticed how he hadn’t moved a step. “You think I’m trying to poison you?”

“Don’t be absurd. I’m not avoiding anything. This is my castle and I go where I want. I certainly don’t have my comings and goings dictated by a plant.”

“Then why don’t you come through the doorway?”

“Why do you want me to?”

“You know you’re being very childish.”

“Fine.” Rumplestiltskin took a few large steps, stopping directly under the mistletoe and staring directly at her like he was calling her bluff. “Now what?”

“Now it’s tradition that when two people meet under the mistletoe they’re supposed to kiss,” Belle explained. She was unsurprised to see no hint of surprise on Rumplestiltskin’s face.

He kept himself still and Belle realised that he was waiting for her to make the first move. He seemed nervous but not reluctant, which gave her confidence that her actions weren’t unwelcome.

Belle met Rumplestitlskin’s eyes as she leaned up. Her first thought was to kiss him on the cheek, the same as before, but she knew that she wanted more than that. Gathering up her courage she turned her head at the last second, catching his lips with hers.

She felt him pause for a second and wondered how her heart would take it if he rejected her. But then his lips moved and he was kissing her back. The feeling of his lips under hers was heavenly and she closed her eyes as a wild thought ran through her head that she never wanted to do anything but this ever again.

But then a strange sensation started tickling her lips and she pulled back in confusion. Opening her eyes she gasped in shock at the sight of Rumplestiltskin’s face rippling oddly.

“What’s happening to you?” Belle cried in alarm.

“What…?” Rumplestiltskin looked down at his hands, which Belle noticed were also shifting and changing, his usual golden scaled skin turning pink before returning to normal.

“Are you all right?” She reached out for him but he pulled back abruptly, his head shooting up as his gaze fixed firmly on her face.

“You!” Rumplestiltskin pointed at her aggressively. “What did you do?”

“I…I don’t know,” Belle stammered, completely confused by everything that had just happened, “I mean… nothing. I just kissed you. I didn’t mean to…”

“‘Oh, I should have known!” He took another step back, shaking his head. “You told me this was your plan from the beginning but I didn’t listen.”

“Plan? What plan?”

“To drive out the Darkness. Well, it won’t work.” He was pacing now, seeming more and more agitated by the second and Belle despaired, wondering how everything had gone so wrong so quickly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“You kissed me!” He turned to face her, practically roaring the words as though they were an accusation.

“Yes!” That was true, but she didn’t understand why he was so upset by it.

“And why would you want to kiss the beast? Hmm! Hmm!” He brought his face close to hers, his eyes boring into her own, while his finger pointed at her chest. “Trying to be the hero and defeat the monster?”

“Rumplestiltskin, please! You’re not making any sense.” Belle reached out for his hand but he darted from her reach, skipping a few steps back. “All I did was kiss you!”

“Right,” Rumplestiltskin scoffed. “And you expect me to believe that you didn’t know what would happen. That with all those little books you like to read you don’t know about True Love’s Kiss.”

“I don’t… wait.” Belle stared at him in wonder. “True Love? We’re True Love?”

“No.” Rumplestiltskin looked away.

“But you just said…”

“It’s impossible,” he spat. “No one could ever love me.”

“But I do!” Belle wasn’t sure she’d fully realised it herself before that moment right then, but suddenly she was more certain of the truth of it than of anything she’d ever known before.

“No, you don’t!”

Something in Belle snapped at his words and she stalked forwards, pointing her own finger at this chest. “No! You don’t get to do that! I know you’re upset about… something, but you don’t get to tell me how I feel or call me a liar.”

Her voice broke and frustrated tears sprang to her eyes as all the heightened emotions of the last few minutes hit her. She turned her head away, not wanting him to see.

She braced herself for another argument but there was only silence. A few seconds later she heard soft footsteps behind her and his voice, much lower and softer than it had been when he was accusing her of terrible things before.

“Are you crying?”

“No,” Belle sniffled.

“Well, now you’re definitely lying.”

Huffing a small laugh, she turned to face him. He seemed to have calmed down and she was glad for it. But she was still confused.

“What just happened?”

Rumplestiltskin sighed. “True Love’s Kiss is very powerful magic. It can break any curse. And being the Dark One is a curse.”

“So why don’t you want it broken?” Belle felt more confused than ever. Being the Dark One seemed like a terrible burden to her, why wouldn’t he want to be free of it?

“I… need it. It’s the source of my power.”

“Right,” Belle nodded sadly. “And power is more important to you than love.”

Rumplestiltskin looked conflicted, like he didn’t have an answer for that question. He opened and closed his mouth a few times but made no reply.

Belle gave him a small sad smile and turned, leaving him alone in the doorway. Walking without conscious thought she found herself in her library, her place of solace that Rumplestiltskin had given her.

Books had been a source of comfort to her her entire life. They also held a wealth of knowledge in their pages. Surely somewhere in this room was information about True Love’s Kiss.

~*~

Belle stayed in the library for the rest of the day and most of the night, only returning to her room very late. She hoped that Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t be upset about her not serving his dinner, but had the feeling that he was possibly avoiding her as well.

The next morning when she came down to the great hall she found Rumpelstiltskin already there. He was sitting in his chair, dressed in one of his spikier ensembles. Their eyes met briefly before he looked away and Belle took a deep breath before approaching the table, a book held tightly to her chest.

“Rumplestiltskin… I…” Belle paused, wanting to make sure her words were right.

“It’s fine, dearie. You can go.” He waved his hand dismissively, barely looking at her, and Belle was thrown off her carefully thought out script.

“What?” She frowned, trying to understand his meaning.

“I release you from our deal. You don’t have to stay here any more.” He turned to face her fully and if she hadn’t known him as well as she did she would have missed the sadness behind the sneer on his face. “That is what you came in here to ask, isn’t it?”

“Of course not!” Belle was shocked.

“Well maybe it should have been.” Rumplestiltskin turned away from her again. “Maybe I don’t want you here any more.”

Belle decided to ignore that, not believing it for a second.

“Listen, I was doing some research in the library.” She placed the book she had been carrying down on the table and tapped it with the finger of one hand before continuing. “And I found a tale of a farmer who angered a witch. She cursed him with a poisoned apple. His wife revived him with True Love’s Kiss but then he ate more of the apple and when she tried to bring him back again it didn’t work.”

Rumplestiltskin snorted. “Maybe she stopped loving him when she realised he was an imbecile.”

“Maybe,” Belle laughed, glad for the moment of levity. “But magical scholars theorise that this is proof that True Love’s Kiss only works once on the same curse. If he’d eaten a different apple then she would have been able to bring him back, but she couldn’t because it was the same one.”

Rumplestiltskin eyed her strangely. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because if this is true, then we can kiss,” she pointed out eagerly. “True Love’s Kiss already worked once, it has no power any more.”

She had hoped he would be excited by this news, but instead he just looked pained.

“I can’t.” He looked down at the table. “You don’t understand. I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for on the strength of a theory from an old book based on a story that may or may not be completely made up. This is too important to me.”

“And I’m not,” Belle surmised sadly, taking a step back.

“Belle.” His arm reached out to grab her hand before she could go too far. “Please believe me when I say you are the best thing to come into my life in a long time.”

“But there’s something else.”

“Yes.”

Belle sighed and moved back towards him, her arm falling from his grip as she leveraged herself up to sit next on the table next to his chair.

“Rumpelstiltskin, I love you. And I want to be with you. I’d like to kiss you if we can, but if we can’t then that’s all right. Just, please, please be honest with me.”

When he didn’t reply, Belle sighed and stood from the table. This time he didn’t stop her from leaving.

~*~

That evening, as she descended the staircase, she wondered what would await her when she entered the great hall. Would Rumplestiltskin still be there? Would he try to make her leave again? Or would he be avoiding her, holed up somewhere in this vast castle where she couldn’t find him? She wasn’t sure which was preferable.

As she reached the doorway she took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever she found on the other side.

Pushing open the doors, she stopped in her tracks at the sight that greeted her. At the far end of the great hall, stretching all the way up to the ceiling, was an enormous fir tree, draped with red ribbons and gold tinsel. Candles were carefully nestled in the branches and a cascade of light projected around the room from their flickering flames reflecting off the gold.

She didn’t blink as she slowly crossed the hall to stand next to the tree, afraid that it was a mirage that would vanish if she took her eyes off it for a second. Once she was beside it she carefully reached out a hand, touching the delicate threads that made up the gold tinsel. Looking over at the spinning wheel in the corner, she was unsurprised to see the ivy had been unwound from the spokes and placed on a shelf nearby.

“You said work not related to the festivities was banned, so I thought this would be all right.” Rumplestilskin’s voice came from behind her, deeper and softer than she had ever heard it before.

Belle opened her mouth, feeling almost speechless. “This… this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Turning to face Rumplestiltskin, she immediately reconsidered that statement. The twinkling light made his skin sparkle in a way that took her breath away. She also noticed that he had changed into a wine red shirt with matching brocade waistcoat that became him very well.

“Happy Solstice, Belle.” He stepped forward to stand by her side. “I may not be a Royal Astronomer, but I can tell you it’s today. Tonight, if you want to be really accurate.”

“Thank you.” She took his arm gratefully and turned so they were both facing the tree. “This is… wonderful. Whatever made you think of decorating a tree like this?”

He swallowed visibly and stared straight ahead, not looking at her as he spoke.

“I lied before. When I said I had no traditions. The Solstice celebrations were the highlight of our year too. We would go out into the woods and chop down a tree, bring it inside and decorate it. Much smaller than this one, of course. Children would make decorations to hang from the branches of their family’s tree. We didn’t have much so they would use whatever they could find in the woods and any scraps they could get their hands on. Every year I would pretend to mess up a bit of my spinning so Bae could use the yarn…”

He trailed off and Belle held her breath, not wanting to break the spell that had fallen over them. She wondered if Rumplestiltskin was even aware of how much he was sharing with her. When he showed no signs of continuing she plucked up the courage to voice her next question.

“Bae? Is that your son?”

“What?” His head turned to face her, his eyes full of a suspicion that Belle was desperate to banish. “How do you know that?”

“I found the clothes upstairs,” she explained, holding tightly to his arm so he couldn’t retreat from her. “What happened to him?”

“I lost him.” The sad resignation in his voice made Belle’s heart break, but then he continued in a much more determined tone. “But not for good. I will find him again. It’s why…”

The pieces started to fall in place for Belle. “That’s why you need your power? To find your son?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s understandable.” Belle stared straight into his eyes, wanting to make sure he understood her words. “And we will. We’ll find him.”

“We?” Rumplestiltskin looked surprised.

“Yes, ‘we’.” Belle emphasised. “I promised you forever didn’t I?”

“You did. But I believe I released you from that deal.”

“Well you’re not getting rid of me that easily.” Belle squeezed his arm gently as a thought came to her. “Do you still have them? Bae’s decorations I mean.”

“Every one.” His voice was quiet.

“Maybe we should put them on the tree?” She hoped he wouldn’t be upset by her suggestion. Or take it as a criticism of his own decorations.

Instead he waved his hand and a box appeared on the table next to him. Belle let his arm slip from her hands as he turned towards it. Opening the lid with a reverence Belle couldn’t ever remember seeing from him, Rumpestiltskin reached in and brought out a wonky star made of sticks held together with rough yarn. Stroking a finger over it lovingly, he reached out and carefully placed it on the tree before reaching back into the box and doing the same with a crudely carved piece of bark that Belle was almost certain was supposed to represent a snowflake.

All in all, around two dozen small ornaments of varying degrees of skill emerged from the box and were placed on the tree. When Rumplestitlskin had finished hanging the last one he stepped back to Belle’s side and they admired his handiwork together.

“Beautiful.” Belle said sincerely, wrapping her arm around his back and leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Bae loved the Solstice.” Rumplestiltskin’s quiet voice broke the contented silence that had fallen over them both. “I haven’t… I haven’t celebrated it since he left.”

Belle winced. “I’m sorry if I brought back bad memories.”

“No, no the memories are good. Thank you for reminding me of them.”

“I’m glad.” Belle lifted her head to look at him, then noticed something else sitting on the table behind his shoulder. “You made mulled wine?”

“Ah.” Rumplestiltskin turned and stepped closer to the carved bowl that she had used previously, filling two cups and handing one to her. “It’s Wassail.”

“Wassail?” Belle sniffed the cup in her hand. It smelled similar to mulled wine in some ways, but the underlying scent was different.

“It’s a spiced ale.”

Belle took a sip. It was earthier than she expected, but pleasantly spiced. She wasn’t sure if it would be something she would choose to drink much of though.

“It’s all right if you don’t like it.” Rumpelstiltskin sounded amused. “It can be an acquired taste.”

“It’s nice,” Belle protested. “And the bowl is beautiful. Did you make it?”

“No, it’s… Well, I suppose you could say it’s a family heirloom.”

“Really?”

“I lived with my aunts as a child and at this time of year we would go Wassailing. We would go from door to door, visiting our neighbours, singing songs and sharing spiced ale from our Wassail bowl. This was theirs, passed down to them through the generations.”

“And then it went to you.” Belle smiled. “Did you take Bae Wassailing with it?”

“No.” Rumplestiltskin seemed to deflate a little and Belle instantly regretted the question. “When Bae was old enough to go he went with some neighbours and their children. I… wasn’t welcome.”

“Because you were the Dark One?” Belle surmised.

“No, I was something much worse.” He blinked then shook his head as if to clear the memories. “But I still filled the bowl and when Bae returned he would sing to me and I would drink from it. And then I would give him a small gift to thank him for his song and the ale. And speaking of gifts…!”

Belle laughed as he took her cup, placing it with his on the table before grabbing her hand, pulling her back towards the tree excitedly.

“Here,” Rumplestiltskin reached out for a small parcel she hadn’t seen before and handed it to her. “Happy Solstice, Belle.”

“Oh!” She looked at the box in wonder and despair. “But I don’t have a gift for you.”

“Belle, you are a gift to me,” Rumpelstiltskin said with such sincerity it took her breath away. “You are the Solstice incarnate, my light in the darkness. Now, please, open it.”

Following his instructions Belle untied the ribbon and lifted the lid on the box to reveal a stunningly delicate gold bracelet.

“Oh, Rumple…” she trailed off, swallowing heavily. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s infused with my magic.” Rumplestiltskin reached into the box, pulling the bracelet out to clasp around her wrist. “I was doing some research of my own and I found a spell that has the power to block True Love’s Kiss. As long as you’re wearing this…”

“Really?” Belle felt the hope swell inside her. “Are you sure you’re willing to risk it?”

“Yes. Just… promise me you’ll stop if I start to change.”

Belle nodded as Rumplestiltskin leaned down and captured her lips with his. This time there was no tickling sensation, just the glorious feeling of his lips against hers. After a few seconds Belle pulled back just enough to scan his face.

“Well?” Rumplestiltskin asked breathlessly.

Belle stared into his wonderfully familiar amber eyes and smiled. “It’s working. Kiss me again.”

Rumplestiltskin returned her smile and leaned down. This time Belle reached up, wrapping her arms around him as she eagerly returned his kiss while the tree twinkled brightly beside them and, somewhere in the distance, the sun began its journey home.

[beastlycheese]

Batman Returns dir. Tim Burton | 1992

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Belle hugging her 28-year-old son for the first time out of the womb

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/search?work_search%5Bquery%5D=in+the+vardo

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rumbelle + the frog princess au moodboard

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