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rumbellesecretsanta · 13 days ago

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The Shackles of Free Will

Hello @beeeinyourbonnet it is I your Secret Santa!

Prompt: Warm (or cozy drinks)

Title: The Shackles of Free Will

Summary: One is shackled to an arranged marriage, the other to a cursed dagger. Can these star-crossed lovers find a path to their happily ever after.

AO3 link: The Shackles of Free Will - notalwayslate - Once Upon a Time (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

There was something about the first snowfall that made him strangely sentimental. With his duties done for the day, he found himself strolling the unfamiliar snowy grounds of Avonlea. Memories long ago but not forgotten took root within his heart. Closing his eyes, he recalled the sound of Baelfire’s laughter with his tiny cheeks tinted red with winter air.

So lost in the past, the Dark One gasped as a cold and sudden impact hit the back of his head. He spun quick his magic pulsing ready to obliterate the threat but paused when his eyes landed upon the solitary figure of a young woman bent over forming another ball of snow in her gloved hands.

“Lefou, I told you what would happen if you came spying…” the words died on her lips as she stood. Her blue eyes went as big as saucers as they landed upon his cold stare. Her pert pink lips tugged down at the corners in a mortified frown, as the newly formed snowball fell from her hand.

“You’re not Lefou.”

“Indeed, I am not,” his voice was as clear and brisk as the air around them. He waited for her to either flee or grovel, but instead a giggle erupted from her.

“I’m sorry,” she held her hand to her mouth trying and failing to suppress her laughter. “The one thing my father was most insistent upon was to stay clear from the Dark One, and here I am declaring a snow war on him.”

He stared at the beauty in the green cloak before him. He had seen her once before, the day he and the duke arrived at the request of Sir Maurice two days prior.

“Please,” she spoke slowly taking a few steps towards him. “Let me make it up to you.” His feet stayed rooted, even as he had the sudden urge to flee as she moved closer. “How about a warm drink?”

He looked down as an ancient feeling of shyness overtook him. Lifting his gaze, he recognized a warm determination in her eyes, and it somehow excited him. Carefully as though she was afraid to scare him off, she reached up, brushing the remnants of the snow from his hair.

“This way,” she whispered and all too soon she was walking away from him. After a few steps, she turned back towards him, a glitter of hope in her eyes. “Aren’t you coming?”

He nodded dumbly knowing that if she kept looking at him like that, he would follow her to the underworld if she asked.

She leads him to a poorly constructed hovel on the outskirts of the grounds. He assumes it was once an outpost for patrolling guards but is utterly perplexed as to why she is taking him there. His confusion unravels as she opens the wooden door to reveal the warmth of a tiny fireplace, and an overstuffed reading chair. Gesturing for him to take a seat, she silently makes her way to the fire where a small kettle dangles above it.

For two hundred years, he has existed in this world with humans, he the infamous Dark One. He was feared, despised, and although he had been foolish enough to allow his dagger to fall into the hands of the Duke of the Front lands, he was still a deadly force to be reckoned with. And yet here he sat, his stomach full of nerves as she approached him with a cup.

He sniffed the tea his magic deeming it safe for consumption. Taking a small sip, he let the slightly sweet liquid swirl in his mouth before swallowing. He watched as she took a seat on the footstool near him, taking a drink from her own cup. Enthralled by the shape of her lips, he foolishly wondered what the pressure of them would feel like on his skin.

Trying to regain self-control he forced his eyes away from her and to a book lying on the floor next to the chair.

“Have you read it?” she asks, placing her cup down and lifting the book to her chest. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“Oh yes, I knew the author,” he said nonchalantly as her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Her Handsome Hero is over a hundred years old.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, as she leaned in closer. “How old are you?” she asked before quickly sitting back realizing her blunder of social grace. “I’m sorry,” she spoke softly looking down at her skirt.

“Father says I have too curious of a mind.”

“Better a curious mind, than a closed one,” he countered trying to ease her worried eyes. When she smiled, he felt an undying desire to see that smile for the rest of his days.

Whether it was the warmth of their meager surroundings, or the company of another radiating such light and innocence, he smiled in remembrance of the life he led before the curse.

All too soon the sun gave way to the stars, and he felt a sudden concern for her safety, suggesting it was time for her to return to the castle. He tried to ignore the disappointment in her eyes, as she stood, escorting him out of her secret hideaway.

She spoke her voice etched in hope.

“I’m here almost every day, if you ever get lonely.” X

Lady Belle, daughter of Lord Maurice of Avonlea had grown up without a mother. Being the first and only child of her father, carried a heavy burden. She was well aware growing up if she had been a son, she would have been revered and accepted inexplicably, but since she was just a lowly daughter, she did not give much meaning in the daily life of her father, or the kingdom of Avonlea.

It was her duty as his obedient daughter to keep herself pure and prepare to be a good wife and mother one day. Her father voiced his disapproval of her constant reading, fearing she may scare off suitors with being too smart.

Although she pretended to be servile, on the inside she was bursting with a love for knowledge and ideas of a life where she decided her own fate. She loved the outdoors, as the freshness in the air always made her feel more alive. It was during one spring day, that she had stumbled upon the old guards’ post, and bribed the stable boy with treats from the kitchen to drag her favorite reading chair out to the abandoned hideout.

When she wasn’t occupied with her mundane duties, she found solace outside the palace lost in the adventures of a good book.

Her father had thought she was old enough on her last birthday for marriage. Belle wasn’t naïve enough to think that she may one day be given to a man whose ideals on women rivaled her fathers, but she still felt an immense disappointment with the choice, of Gaston Legume, a great hunter, known by the kingdom for his prowess in battle, as well as a salacious appetite for booze and women.

Belle wanted to feel something for her betrothed, but his arrogance and cruelty eclipsed all hope. It didn’t help that he often sent his lackey, Lefou, to spy and report back to him of any perceived misdoings of his future wife.

None the less her father, thought him worthy of her hand. It was a blessing and a curse when the first ogre attack on an allied kingdom halted all wedding plans, as every abled bodied man went to battle.

As the ogre attacks became more frequent and nearer to Avonlea, Belle could sense the fear growing in her father. She sat silently by his side, listening intently, as the strategists spoke of Avolnea’s impending doom.

A week later as news of sickness and starvation on the battlefields reached her father’s ears, she learned of his decision to call upon the Duke of the Front lands for help. It was not the Duke who would stop this war, but the powerful weapon that he wielded, The Dark One.

Silence echoed the great hall, as the Duke, and the cloaked dark figure arrived a few days later. Although she was excluded from attending the meeting, she heard through the whispers of the castle that a deal had been struck between the Duke and her father, the safety of the kingdoms in exchange for money and political power.

She was forced to keep to her own quarters, her father forbidding her from any contact with the Duke and Dark One. She felt like a prisoner in her own home, and after a full week of eating her meals in her room, she needed fresh air, and the first snowfall was too enticing to resist.

It was not her intent to disobey her father when she accidentally pelted the Dark One with a snowball. And it was not demure, she knew, to lay in bed that night, thinking of him as she sought her own pleasure.

The next morning, she quickly ate her breakfast alone, before sneaking off to her hidden oasis with a glimmer of hope that she would see him again. She tried distracting herself but for once in her life her books failed to capture her thoughts away from him. Her breath hitched when she heard the pacing of footsteps outside the door.

The footsteps stopped for a brief moment soon followed by a muttering, and then resumed once again. She took a deep breath, smoothing down the front of her dress, before starting her own pacing in the tiny room. It was entirely improper she knew for a promised woman to meet with another man alone, and if anyone found out it would incite a scandal above her wildest imagination, but she had never felt such a raw intense connection than she did towards him.

She shifted the cooling teapot, taking down two teacups and placing them on the small table, before sitting down on her cushioned chair that faced the door. Closing her eyes, she tried to calm her hummingbird heart, when the sudden knock on the door startled her.

With a rising flush and knots in her stomach, she opened the door, to find him humbly fidgeting before her.

Out of pure habitual instinct, she bobbed a small curtsy. She waited for him to speak, but it appeared that nerves had silenced his tongue. She suddenly knew that if she wanted this, truly wanted this, she would need to take the lead.

“Would you like a warm drink?” she asked with an assuring smile that his presence was most welcome.

He nodded seriously as if the invitation was of the utmost importance.

“I would like that very much.”

As he stepped over the threshold, Belle felt a sense of calm finality slide over her. A choice had been made at that moment, and she knew that her heart and life would never be the same. X

The Dark One was in love. He had lost his heart and soul to her the moment their eyes met those two months ago on the day of the first snowfall. She had given him hope, where previously he just felt despair, love where there was only emptiness, laughter where there had been sadness, and the promise of a future, where there had only been memories of a sad and lonely past.

They shared the duality of a life with no free will. Hers, by an arranged marriage, and his by a cursed dagger. Although she could speak freely of her own confinement, he had no such luxury. With such an inquisitive mind, it did not take her long to realize that all of her questions regarding the Duke’s power over him, could not be answered.

The Duke, much to his credit, had learned from the mistakes of previous predecessors. Once in possession, he commanded the Dark One to never speak of the dagger to another living soul and forbade the Dark One to hurt him in anyway.

But even with a word muttered, his brilliant, beautiful beauty, figured the Duke held something over him, when one too many times, he would unwillingly vanish in mid conversation with her, only to appear beside the Duke.

Although his time with her was precious, he still had to dedicate much of his magic and energy to ending the ogre wars. Although the Duke promised Lord Maurice to end them, the enemy never cooperates with defeat. The Dark One had supplied magic and weapons, but it was still up to the soldiers to take the fundamentals and win the war. Fortunately, it appeared that the majority of ogres had now been slaughtered, and the stragglers were retreating. As a celebration Lord Maurice announced a banquet in the honor of the Duke, the savior of the lands.

Rumpelstiltskin hated parties, or banquets, or whatever the rich called them these days. He hated them with passion. His antisocial tendencies were all in full display, as he stood alone against the backwall, a scowl upon his face. The attendees gave him a wide berth, with not a one daring to make eye contact with him…well except for one. Outwardly he seemed perfectly calm, bored even, but inwardly his desire was aflame.

As hard as he tried his treacherous eyes stared at his beauty in her green velvet dress that clung to every curve of her body. Gods, he wanted her. So entranced by her figure, he had failed to notice Lord Maurice and the Duke rising to make a toast.

He only half listened as the men fed their own egos about winning a war, that neither had fought, but when he heard Belle’s name mentioned, his back straightened at attention.

“There is no greater honor for me to announce the engagement of Lady Belle and the Duke of the Front lands.”

His eyes darted to Belle, her face white with shock as the cup she held fell from her fingers. He stood motionless, his anger beckoning him to strike the Duke down with the darkest of his magic, but the cursed submission placed on him kept him in place. X It was he who was awaiting her arrival the next morning at their hideout. His stomach lurched when he saw her approach, her eyes dried but rimmed in a swollen red. Without hesitation he lunged forward, twining the fingers of his hand around her waist as she tightly wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder.

She drew in a shaky breath. “I can’t believe this is happening. He’s annulled the engagement to Gaston and has set my wedding to the Duke for three days’ time” He could feel her head shaking against his collarbone. “I have to leave tonight; I can’t go through with this.”

“You can’t go anywhere.”

The moment the order left his lips, she tore away from him, pinning him with a sharp blue gaze. He should have known, should have suspected that this beautiful brave creature before him would fight for her own fate. In spite of her hope, the Duke was just too strong with the dagger in his possession.

Her best laid plans would go awry the moment the Duke learned of her absence. He would be ordered to hunt her down or worse kill her. She couldn’t leave, and it was all his damn fault. Rumple choked on that thought, as an onset of tears blurred his vision. He had never cried before another.

“If you leave, he will make me hurt you,” Rumple choked out between sobs.

She brushed her thumb against the soft skin under his eyes, wiping away his tears. Biting her lip, she looked away for a moment, but only a moment, before her pleading teary eyes looked into his own.

“If I have to marry him, then let my first time be with someone I love.”

His heart stopped at her words. She loved him, and he loved her, Gods did he love her. Before he could think better of it, his hands traced down her ribs, settling on the curves of her waist. Slowly he moved, their bodies swaying to the music of his beating heart. He brought his lips to hers, plucking kisses from her mouth, as his fingers plucked at the ribbon tied on the back of her dress. Slowly carefully he turned her around as he unlaced the ribbon, peppering every new exposed inch of her bare back until the dress fell to the floor.

She reached her hand behind her and touched his green glittery skin, running her fingers down his side, across his hip to the top of his thigh. He shivered as her fingers brushed perilously close to his erection. She pressed herself backwards into him, and he was rocked hard against her. He buried his face into the side of her neck, kissing her, while caressing her breast gently with his hand. She let out a moan, and he wanted nothing more in life than to be buried inside of her. He started to edge his other hand down her waist, when his body went rigid. He was being summoned.

“I love…” he cried out before vanishing. X

Rumpelstiltskin was a coward. A heartbroken, weak foolish coward. Any other man would fight for the woman they loved, and here he was, standing in the shadows of her engagement party. They had not spoken since he had been summoned away earlier that morning, when he had her half naked in his arms. That moment between them was easily the most precious moment of his life, but to see her now was like a poison to his veins. How was he to live with her so near to him, but yet so far away?

Every look Belle cast his way during the dinner told him that her heart truly belonged to him, but he could never have it as long as the Duke was alive. Fate held them both prisoners to a man whose cruelty was far worse than his own.

Murmurs turned into shouting, and then screams. The Dark One turned his attention to a tall war-torn man in armor barging past the guards.

“It’s Gaston,” the dark one heard a nearby patron exclaim. So, this was the man Belle had been previously betrothed too.

Gaston hastily shoved his way forward, brandishing a sword.

“This is an outrage. Lady Belle belongs to me. How dare you do this to me why I have been fighting your war!”

The dagger summoned and, in a flash, he stood before Gaston, his hand wrapped tightly around his neck as the unfortunate fool dangled three feet above the ground. With one swift motion his head dangled like a snapped bud of rose, as screams of terror echoed through the hall. Rumple could taste the fear in the air as the darkness relished in it. Throwing the limp body to the ground, he willed his eyes to glance at Belle, whose stare was fixed not upon him, but on the Duke who smiled like a Cheshire cat.

“Does anyone else have any objections?” the Duke taunted, as the Dark One spun in a circle his glowing yellow irises scanning the silent crowd.

“Good,” the Duke quipped before lifting the turkey leg and continuing his dinner.

Rumpelstiltskin accompanied the Duke back to his bedchambers, ensuring his safe arrival. The Duke, in a tipsy state, was rattling on about some blonde server that he wanted sent to his bed chambers, when a knock came on the door.

“Answer it,” the Duke commanded, and Rumpelstiltskin breath hitched as a scantily clad Belle stood before him. He shook his head in disbelief, believing that he was dreaming, but as he reached out his trembling hand and placed it on her shoulder, he realized she was very real.

“What are you doing?” he asked merely above a whisper, but her eyes stayed locked on the ground.

“What I must,” she replied pushing past him and into the Duke’s room.

Rumpelstiltskin was enraged and jealous. Clearly her father had sent her here in this state of dress as a peace offering for the dinner’s unexpected visitor. His body shook with rage, as the Duke ordered him away.

The darkness fell as a hush upon him, as he transported himself to the grounds below the Duke’s tower. He took a breath, and then another, but the pain in his heart did not diminish. Flickers of light beckoned from the tower window above, as the thoughts of her being in the arms of the Duke suffocated his soul.

He hated the Duke, almost as much as he hated himself. Every muscle in his small frame burned urging him to burst in the chambers, and end the Duke once and for all, but the damned curse kept him at bay.

He remembered holding her in his arms, her flesh flushed and warm, and the taste of her mouth. He should have been her first…her only.

He had started to weep, when a sudden flash of release shot through his spine. In an instant he found himself back in the Duke’s bedchamber, as a bloodied Belle stood before him, with a familiar jagged dagger in her hand. X

She had seen it. While the crowd fixated on her betrothed in the claws of the Dark One, she had seen the silvery shine of a blade peaking out of the Duke’s cloak, as he laid his right hand over it. For months she had scoured every book, every story trying to decipher what caged Rumple, and now she knew.

The rest of the dinner was held in silence, but after that it was only a short sprint to her room, as she shut the door firmly behind her. Shedding her golden dress, she made a bee line to her closet, picking out the appropriate attire for a seduction, her summer nightgown cut low enough to show an immodest amount of cleavage. As night fell, she requested the mulled wine from the kitchen, the staff giving her looks of pity, no doubt believing she would be drowning her grief with the sweet connection.

She stopped before the ornate gold mirror that hung on the wall across from the Duke’s quarters. As she peered at the mirror, her throat tensed as she took a nervous swallow. This was not a fight she could afford to lose. Mustering all of her bravery, she held the jug in one hand, and knocked with the other.

When the door swung open, she had not expected to see Rumple before her, a surprised confusion laced in his eyes. The familiar voice of the Duke bounced off the walls behind him, as she made her way into the room.

She could feel the intensity of his stare, as the Duke roamed his eyes over her. No matter how sternly her heart wanted Rumple near, she knew he had to be far away from her, from them, for her to have any chance of success. Her worry that the Duke would so willingly fall prey to her feminine wilds was quickly extinguished as he wrapped both of his filthy hands around her waist, as she placed the jug of wine down on the table. She tried to ignore the rage in Rumple’s eyes as the Duke commanded him to leave.

“Now, Now, sire,” she playfully chided as his lips fell heavy onto the back of her neck. Turning, she placed a hand on his chest. “My lord, I’m afraid that I still must remain pure for our wedding night, but..” she cast her eyes down towards his groin. “There are other ways I can bring you pleasure tonight.”

Her skin crawled as his foul breath invaded her air. “Go make yourself comfortable on the bed my lord,” she commanded with a sultry tone. Her eyes stayed locked on the reflection of the balcony doors, as she watched him tuck an object under the mattress before taking his place on the bed.

She poured the wine, and sauntered towards the bed, cup in hand. She was only a few steps away, when his hand snatched out, tightly grasping her wrist, spilling the wine, and forcing her on the floor before him. He glared down with her with dark eyes and Gods did she hate him.

He laid back on the bed, as the room filled with the soft clang of his belt buckle being undone.

Unconsciously her fingers tightened in loose fists, as she took a calming breath. She had read the stories since a child, of the handsome knight swooping in to save the damsel in distress, but this, this was the real world. She had to be her own hero for herself and for Rumple. Darkness and light, good and evil were not as clear in these moments. He needed her, and for him she would fight and face their unknown destiny.

What she had learned over the last few months in falling in love with Rumple was that darkness was not all that bad. Darkness was everywhere, in everybody, and it needed only to be feared when it grew so strong that it obscured the light. She relaxed her hands, slipping one under the mattress until it felt the cool steel blade. The darkness within her would bring about salvation, while the Duke’s only brought destruction.

She prayed there was enough light in her heart, to make this dark action alright, as she quickly pulled the blade out from its hiding place. The Duke thrusted upright, his body lunging forward, as the cold steel of the dagger sliced through the flesh of his throat.

Warm splatches of liquid spurted on her face and in her hair, as his last breaths gurgled bloodily from his mouth. Stumbling to her feet, she had only a second alone with her thought, when she heard her name from afar.

Turning she laid her eyes upon her love, holding his captor in her bloody hands. Closing her eyes, she extended the dagger before him, feeling the dark tendrils uncurl from her heart.

“From this moment forward, you chose your own fate Rumpelstiltskin.”

He rushed towards her, but instead of his hand reaching for the dagger she was willingly offering, he bent his head and kissed her hard on the lips. He tugged at the shoulders of her nightgown, as she wriggled obliquely out of it, before he tossed it across the room, as their blood-stained bodies tumbled to the floor. Everything happened all at once, as his words of love, and kisses, and thrusts that made her cry out in pain and pleasure filled the room, all the while the Duke’s dead body lay in the bed above them. X

One year later

Rumpelstiltskin’s love for Belle was deep, intense, and unshakable. On that fateful night one year ago, after she was unashamedly his, and he unashamedly hers, he had proudly displayed the dead Duke’s body on the dining table of the great hall, letting the town assume that it was he that murdered him.

Belle’s father, clearly seeing that the Dark One was now in control, readily agreed that in exchange for the continued safety of Avonlea, the fearsome Dark One could have his daughter for whatever purposes he saw fit.

The young woman who the village of Avonlea mourned for when she left with him that day, stirred beside him, murmuring softly in her sleep. They had spent the last year traveling and exploring the realms of every land her heart desired. He slipped his arms around her, enjoying the feel of her soft bare skin against his hands. He nuzzled her dark hair, breathing in the scent of his lover, and their recent lovemaking.

She mumbled something he didn’t bother to decipher as she wriggled around to face him. Her blue eyes slit open as she sleepily slid her arms around his neck. He moved his lips to kiss her, but her attention drew to the window.

“It’s the first snowfall, Rumple,” she excitedly exclaimed as she moved her naked body to stand by the window frame. Rumple stayed in bed, simply folding his arms behind his head and letting his eyes slide over the gently curves of her body, reveling in the fact that everything he saw was his. When he saw she made no move to budge, he rose, and slipped his arms around her shoulders, and kissed her temple.

“Thinking of hitting me with another snowball dearest?” he teased.

She turned with a smug smile over her lips. “I was maybe considering it.”

Slowly he kissed a trail up her neck, nibbling at her earlobe. “There are better ways to spend our time,” he murmured backing her to the edge of the bed as they tumbled back. Later he would take her out in the snow, but for now he wanted to relish her in his arms.

There was something about the first snowfall that made him strangely sentimental.

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rumbellesecretsanta · 14 days ago

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Senrendipity

Prompt: elegance, toys, crossdressing, roleplay, tea

In Avonlea, another Christmas unfolds as Rumplestiltskin discovers an unexpected doppelgänger meddling in his name.

Merry Christmas!!! @99Goosebumps Though it’s a bit late? I wonder if you’ve figured out it’s me… Either way, wishing you a wonderful holiday!

This piece is an AU, and the DO’s setup is a bit different from the original show.

The original text was written in Chinese, about 9,000 words, and after translating it into English, it’s around 5,200 words, haha! I’ll post the English version here first, then share it with the original Chinese version on AO3.

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Frost clung to the brim of her hat. Though there was no snow outside, Belle appeared soaked, covered in the mist that drifted through the woods.

She gently pushed the door open, her slender fingers moving the long-rusted lock. The heavy creak of the door seemed oddly brightened by the girl’s radiant presence, bringing a trace of life to the lifeless tavern.

Her entire being was warm. Even with the cold from outside clinging to her cloak, she managed to make people feel a comforting warmth.

Belle opened the door just a crack, squeezing through like a cautious little lamb, and quickly shut it behind her. Her frostbitten hand flicked backward as the door closed with a softer sound than when it had opened, instantly dispelling the irritation others felt from the cold draft.

A girl so beautiful and polite wouldn’t face much trouble from anyone. Most would only think: “Ah, this damned weather.”

Dreamy widened his eyes and hurried over as if ready to scold her, but in the end, he didn’t say much. Instead, he quickly grabbed a clean blanket and tossed it over her head haphazardly, asking, “Good heavens, what happened to you? Don’t tell me you were thrown out of your house—or are you running away? Finally made the right choice, huh?”

It wasn’t until Belle stepped into the tavern that she realized she was trembling. The frost that had formed on her messy hair quickly melted into water droplets as she sat down, making her look like she was surrounded by a misty halo.

Dreamy brought over a cup of hot tea, still muttering, “You should’ve dressed warmer before heading out. It’s nearly Christmas—how cold do you think it is?” His eyes caught sight of the box wrapped in kraft paper inside Belle’s basket. “Let me see what a runaway girl takes with her—oh, tea leaves?”

Laughter bubbled up, soft like the fizz of dark beer. Embarrassed, Belle wrapped her hands around the tea cup, letting its warmth seep in. “Hey, Dreamy, I’m not running away. I just came out to buy this for my father.”

Dreamy’s eyes widened further, a spark of anger igniting in them. “Wait! Are you saying, in this god-awful weather, your damned—oh no, I mean, your father made you go out wearing just a skirt to buy tea?” Realizing it wasn’t appropriate to continue in front of others, Dreamy lowered his voice. “Does the Avonlea household not have maids anymore?”

Belle shook her head. She understood her friend’s anger but explained honestly, “It was my own idea. I wanted to go out for a walk.”

Dreamy reluctantly nodded. He knew it was hard for anyone to live with that self-righteous old man for long. Aside from walking, Belle often hid in the attic to read books.

Even her walks usually ended with her finding a quiet spot to read alone.

Dreamy didn’t understand her hobby but instinctively rummaged through her basket. Inside, there was only a box of tea called “Moonlight,” its inked label blurred by moisture.

The weather in Avonlea had always been like this—bitterly cold in winter. Just a short time outside made you feel as though you’d been soaking in water.

Suspicious, Dreamy asked, “Did you really just come out to buy something? And forgot to wear warmer clothes?”

Hearing this, Belle’s blue eyes flickered slightly, like she was sinking into the cup of tea in her hands, its warmth gradually fading. She whispered, “I gave my cloak and my book... to the little girl under the tree.”

Dreamy frowned. “That girl? That little beggar?”

While everyone in the town was busy preparing for Christmas, some people were still struggling to survive. Avonlea’s relative prosperity often attracted people from nearby towns in winter, hoping to find work or charity. With so many of them around, even the kindest hearts had grown indifferent.

Belle, however, was kindhearted and often helped them, though her efforts were always limited.

She couldn’t help but feel dejected. “I mentioned it to my father a few days ago, but he said there’s no need to take in another girl just to have more labor in the house.”

The conversation fell silent. Dreamy didn’t know what to say.

The fireplace crackled, its sparks filling the tavern with a drowsy warmth, but the image of the little girl, her face flushed red and her hands chapped, trembling in the cold, lingered in Belle’s mind.

The windowpanes were blurry, the night outside pitch-black, a vision of endless despair.

Only the kraft paper, warmed by the room, seemed to puff slightly as if forming tiny ripples. It reflected in Belle’s eyes, casting a faint glow like moonlight, carrying hope and beauty.

Suddenly, Belle recalled a memory from long ago. Her voice was soft, carrying a faint trace of joy.

“Dreamy, I think I just came up with an idea.”

A pair of color-changing glasses hid her ocean-blue eyes. A dry, curly wig concealed her smooth, soft brown hair and delicate features. An old, peculiar leather robe completely masked the fragrant scent of youth from the girl.

The final touch was a thin mask made from bark, pigments, and pearl powder, resembling the shriveled, scaly texture of a lizard's skin in a grotesque deep green. When Dreamy handed it to Belle, it nearly stuck to his hand, refusing to come off no matter how hard he shook it.

He grimaced in disdain. “This is your brilliant idea? Dressing up as a beast?”

Ever since that day when Belle left the tavern, Dreamy hadn’t seen her for several days. Occasionally, he caught glimpses of her dashing hurriedly through the streets, but he had no idea what she was up to.

Finally, tonight, the girl arrived at his place, brimming with excitement and carrying a pile of odd items. She quickly pulled all the curtains shut with a conspiratorial air.

Here's the revised version with Dreamy asking Belle what she wants to do first:

“Dreamy, do you know any transformation spells? I read about them in a book the other day—apparently, there’s also some sort of potion that can temporarily alter someone’s appearance. Ugh, you know I don’t understand these things.”

Dreamy hesitated, scratching the back of his head. “Well… not exactly, but I, uh, happen to know someone who might help. A fairy. Nova, to be exact.” He glanced at Belle nervously.

Then, straightening up, he added seriously, “But before that, you need to tell me—what exactly are you trying to do?”

“I want to dress up as the Dark One!”

Dreamy raised an eyebrow. “Oh! You mean that old fairy tale? The one about making deals with desperate souls… That’s amusing, but, dear Miss Belle, you do realize Halloween is long over?”

“Listen, Dreamy.” Belle’s tone turned unusually serious as she carefully arranged the bottles and jars she had scavenged onto the table. “I’m not doing this for fun. This isn’t a joke. I’m not dressing up to scare people. I’m doing this to get something done.”

Dreamy looked perplexed.

Belle, while trying to fit the wig snugly onto her head, glanced at Dreamy’s reflection in the mirror and said, “This might sound strange, but as I’ve said before, there aren’t many opportunities for women in this land to…”

“To show what they can do.” Dreamy finished her sentence, a line he had heard from Belle countless times. He often joked that it should be inscribed in the Bible.

And he truly believed it.

Dreamy tried to piece her words together with her actions. Finally, something clicked. “So, you want to use a different identity to… No, wait. You don’t need people to fear you. You just want to help them. So why go to all this trouble?”

Belle held the robe against her shoulder. It was an old formal gown repurposed by the house servants. To give it an inhumanly "rotten" smell, she had buried it in the dirt for days, resulting in a damp, musty odor.

Hearing Dreamy’s question, Belle paused.

To be honest, the idea of dressing up as the Dark One had come to her in a sudden flash, without reason or logic. It felt as though it had been placed in her mind by some unseen force. Yet, she was oddly compelled, almost enchanted, to act on it.

Belle knew herself well. Although her thoughts were unconventional, she rarely acted rebelliously in the past.

This time, however, was different—unexpectedly exhilarating.

To answer Dreamy’s question, Belle instinctively sought the reason behind her sudden decision. She thought she’d need time to come up with an answer, but instead, the words slipped out effortlessly:

“Most people don’t value things that come to them without effort. It’s only when they��ve paid a price that they cherish something as precious. Only when they give up what they believe is worthwhile will my words carry meaning.” She hesitated briefly before adding, “And this identity makes it easier. Punish the wicked, reward the good. I don’t have to worry about the name ‘Belle’ being tarnished if anything is exposed. They won’t pin baseless crimes on me just because I’m a woman. Once I put this on, I won’t even be human anymore…”

She pulled a face. “I’ll be a beast.”

Dreamy looked her up and down in amazement. “This doesn’t sound like something Belle would say, but it’s smart enough that I’m glad you’re finally thinking for yourself.”

As absurd as it seemed, he had to admit that this crazy idea would make Belle’s efforts much more effective.

It wasn’t just Dreamy who was shocked. Belle herself felt deeply surprised. These words seemed to emerge from somewhere deep within her, as though they had been etched in her heart long before she even realized it.

So that’s what it was—those buried thoughts had driven her decision.

Belle had always been decisive, with a heroic streak she expressed without reservation. She rarely thought about herself, often acting selflessly even when mocked, doubted, or scolded by her father upon returning home. She knew she’d never change her nature.

In the past… she hadn’t been very good at protecting herself.

Despite her lingering confusion, Belle decided to trust her instincts. She shrugged calmly. “This is just human nature—people will always think for themselves.”

“Oh heavens, the Belle I know wouldn’t go on about ‘human nature.’” Dreamy stopped questioning her and joked, “You can’t be Belle. Come on, who are you really?”

Belle lowered the mask over her face. The uneven creases created a bumpy texture on the deep green surface. She deliberately lowered her voice and said,

“I am Rumplestiltskin.”

Rumplestiltskin chose to enter the town at dusk. The dim light made it easier to go unnoticed, while the sun hadn’t fully set, so the townsfolk wouldn’t be overly suspicious of an odd-looking outsider.

He was in a good mood. The setting sun, cradled by the distant mountains, reflected a faint blood-red in his eyes—a hue that ordinary people would perceive as a beautiful golden orange.

Over the years, Rumplestiltskin had traveled to many places, but Avonlea had left the deepest impression on him. Its breathtaking scenery had a way of captivating countless travelers, causing them to linger.

He glanced around, his brown eyes inadvertently flickering with a faint green hue, deepening their color ever so slightly.

The forest was the first to be enveloped in darkness. Vast and untouched, it was a place no one dared tread—making it the most likely repository of lingering magical traces. The scent was unique, like the fleeting aroma released when a cork pops off a wine bottle, and Rumplestiltskin recognized it instantly.

Life in Avonlea was prosperous, and the town seldom interacted with the outside world. As a result, magic rarely surfaced in this land.

If it hadn’t been for the “call of despair,” Rumplestiltskin doubted he would’ve come here. What other reason could he possibly have—vacation?

The Dark One didn’t take holidays.

For Rumplestiltskin, Christmas was prime time for work—a season perfectly suited for harvesting despairing souls. Despair thrived on contrast; the joy and festivities of the holidays only amplified the cries of those teetering on the edge of collapse.

The scent most familiar to him wasn’t magic, but despair.

Like a wolf catching the scent of fresh, bleeding meat, despair had a magic-attracting aroma of its own. Despair held boundless potential—people in the throes of desperation could unleash extraordinary powers. It was second only to true love as a magical accelerant.

Fresh, volatile, decaying yet vibrant.

Despair was like a blazing forest, brimming with life, consuming everything—including souls.

They weren’t demons. For soul transactions, there were no formalities, no pretense of civility. But Rumplestiltskin prided himself on being one of the more “respectful” types. At the very least, he made his clients feel like they were striking a fair deal. It was no different from the transactions he’d made in his mortal life—simple, like selling an old cart he’d used for years.

Still, it was a one-time deal before death, and no matter how well it was done, good reputations were hard to come by.

As the central figure in ancient legends, he might not reduce people to heart-pounding terror, but they still kept their distance.

No one wanted to interact with a magical monster, and that was entirely understandable.

Over time, Rumplestiltskin grew accustomed to the fearful gazes and even took pleasure in the way people avoided eye contact with him.

As his leather boots crunched against the packed earth, he blinked sleepily and tilted his neck, the stiff muscles and bones creaking loudly, like a beast casually closing its pointed jaws.

It should’ve been like fangs snapping shut, but the ordinary cane carried by many gentlemen appeared anything but ordinary in his hands.

Just then, Rumplestiltskin noticed a few children not far behind him.

They trailed at a distance, neither too close nor too far.

Rumplestiltskin had no particular hobby of scaring children, but today, he couldn’t help himself.

Something about the way these children looked at him wasn’t “normal.”

Rumplestiltskin curled his lips in confusion, then narrowed his eyes. The brown in his pupils darkened and elongated as he scrutinized their expressions. One face after another passed under his gaze—then he looked again to confirm.

Yes, he hadn’t seen wrong.

What in the world? Why were these children looking at him with curiosity, friendliness, and even a hint of admiration?!

Weren’t they supposed to be afraid of him?

If he remembered correctly, he wasn’t exactly someone people respected.

Could it be that someone had played a prank on him, turning him into a prince for the day?

Startled, Rumplestiltskin glanced at his palms, then touched his wrinkled face. Like a debutante nervously inspecting her gown before a ball, he carefully examined his attire. It had been countless years since he’d felt this kind of panic.

Thankfully, the faintly scaly texture and hardened roughness of his skin reassured him. Yet, the confusion deepened. Children being curious was one thing, but several scruffy adults also seemed eager to approach him, their excitement barely contained.

After finding a mirror and confirming there was nothing unusual about his appearance, Rumplestiltskin concluded:

Something was definitely wrong with the people of Avonlea and their peculiar gazes.

Dreamy still wasn’t used to speaking with this version of Belle. The transformation magic was so realistic that, with her monstrous appearance, there wasn’t the slightest trace of the young maiden she used to be.

No matter how much he told himself otherwise, it felt strange. In the end, he could only avert his eyes, repeatedly reminding himself: This is Belle, not some evil Dark One.

Belle, of course, noticed Dreamy’s wandering gaze. She waved a hand in front of him. "Hey, what’s wrong with you?"

Help. Dreamy closed his eyes briefly. He hated the color green—it reminded him of a failed batch of fermented wine.

"Are you getting a little too into this, Belle? This isn’t just a game anymore," he said.

"Well… maybe," Belle replied hesitantly.

Unlike her friend’s discomfort, Belle had grown completely at ease with her new experiences over the past few days.

She had cleverly borrowed from the old legends every child in Avonlea had heard, utilizing circus props she’d managed to gather to craft the image of someone all-powerful.

Finally, she had shed her chains, freely exercising her right to do good, speaking her mind and being treated as an equal—no longer met with the skepticism reserved for a noblewoman.

She had even done quite a bit of intimidating. No longer did she have to tread carefully or fear her identity being exposed. No name was more effective than "Rumplestiltskin." For dealing with villains, Belle often didn’t need to take action; a few cryptic, threatening words were enough to leave them terrified for days, unwilling to do more harm.

Belle had even grown fascinated by this identity. A blade in her hand could be a dangerous weapon or a tool for protection. She no longer had to be outshone by ignorant, foolish boys, or relegated to being a mere ornament.

Without using her real face, no one recognized her. Only Belle herself knew that in pretending to be Rumplestiltskin, she was, in fact, the truest version of herself.

And so, she elevated her act of dressing as Rumplestiltskin into an act of salvation—not just for herself, but for others.

Yes, it was no longer about singing the final dirge to the desperate, but about bringing hope to those she saved.

Dreamy didn’t understand her fervor, and Belle wasn’t keen to explain. There was a secret she hadn’t shared with him.

That day, alone in her room, she had stared into the mirror at her eyes—familiar yet foreign—and suddenly, images had surfaced in her mind.

Hazy, almost dreamlike, Belle couldn’t tell whether they were her memories or visions conjured by her imagination.

After waking, she couldn’t trace when, in her childhood, she had first learned the name "Rumplestiltskin."

That name was like the gale created by a dragon’s beating wings, leaving its mark in the hearts of every child in Avonlea.

Belle had once thought it was just a story adults told to frighten children into obedience.

But as she scoured various books this time, she finally came across an old traveler’s journal that mentioned Rumplestiltskin. And after replicating his guise, she remembered something extraordinary from her childhood.

The first time must have been during a bet with some rude boys who looked down on girls.

Stubborn as ever, Belle had hidden in the thickest tree in the forest, determined not to be found. Even as the adults joined the search party, she refused to reveal herself, holding her ground to win.

When the torchlight disappeared into the distance, and the long night stretched on endlessly, Belle, in the faint moonlight, had seen him.

A man cloaked in black, his face streaked with blood, crept to the forest’s depths. There, he fell to his knees, summoning the name “Rumplestiltskin” with the last of his strength.

Then, in a swirl of red smoke that stirred the leaves, the creature appeared—a strange figure with an unnatural exterior, yet illuminated like a god in the glow of tears and moonlight.

What happened after, Belle couldn’t recall. Her memory seemed to fragment, erased by an unknown force.

The second time was clearer—shortly after the first. She had been lost in the forest, the victim of retaliation from the same foolish boys.

Even as a young girl, Belle had already developed a fierce resilience. Her tears welled but did not fall, and when Rumplestiltskin appeared after being summoned, he paused for a moment, captivated by her star-like eyes.

A well-read Belle knew that figures as legendary as him often began with grand opening lines, much like her father’s public speeches in town.

So she waited politely, stomping her feet against the cold and blowing on her chilled hands.

To her surprise, Rumplestiltskin conjured a cloak out of thin air, draping it over her shoulders. Startled, Belle offered a grateful, “Thank you.”

He tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips, and asked, “Well, young lady, while it’s hard for me to believe you are truly in despair, you did summon me…”

“I really am in despair,” Belle replied, her childish voice tinged with sincerity. She looked downcast, tears resting precariously on her lashes but refusing to fall. “Mr. Rumplestiltskin, I’m lost. If I don’t get home tonight, I’ll die.”

A cold wind swept past, and Rumplestiltskin bent down until his face was only inches from hers. Despite her young age, Belle didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze with bright, mirror-like eyes.

For a fleeting moment, disgust flickered across his face, and he straightened abruptly.

He should have been annoyed by her stubbornness, but the girl wasn’t lying—nor could a child concoct such a prank.

How could he claim the soul of someone so pure and innocent?

Rumplestiltskin crossed his arms and silently stared at Belle in the darkness for a long while. Finally, he sighed heavily, his voice gravelly as he said, “Little girl, you need to understand the difference between me and Santa Claus.”

Belle nodded earnestly. “I understand. You’re not Santa Claus. You’re Mr. Rumplestiltskin.”

Closing his eyes, Rumplestiltskin sighed deeply, then turned. “Fine. Follow me.”

And so, Mr. Rumplestiltskin led her home, advising her to remember her place as a child and never again summon anyone but Santa Claus or her parents.

“The Dark One is not salvation.”

Belle heard Dreamy echo those words, just as Rumplestiltskin had once told her when she remarked that he seemed to be saving desperate people.

Even after all these years, Belle could still recall the heavy, deep sigh Rumplestiltskin let out as he left her at the edge of the forest—a sound that lingered in her dreams:

“Little girl, I am not a good man.”

"Little girl, I am not a good man."

From across the street, Rumplestiltskin gazed at the shop where another "Rumplestiltskin" was standing behind the counter. It was a strange feeling, seeing another version of himself. By the third time he watched the imposter repair a pocket watch chain and sew a button back onto a doll, he couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

He couldn’t bear to look any longer. Forcing the words from his throat, he muttered, seemingly to no one.

The imposter kept busy but wasn’t truly doing anything significant. Aside from small tasks that Rumplestiltskin found laughable—good deeds for the townsfolk—the imposter also dabbled in harmless pranks after sunset. Strangely enough, these pranks often targeted particularly unpleasant individuals, almost as if dispensing justice.

No wonder Rumplestiltskin had been greeted with admiring looks when he first entered the town. Thanks to the imposter, the name "Rumplestiltskin" had become synonymous with a godlike do-gooder of remarkable power.

The fake “Rumplestiltskin” seemed to have mastered this role, blending seamlessly into the town’s narrative. Rumplestiltskin mused that if he were to call her “Belle” right now, she might even hesitate before responding, momentarily forgetting herself.

Yes, he remembered Belle vividly.

No one who summoned the Dark One ever managed to keep their soul intact.

Belle was an exception.

On that lonely, desolate night, indistinguishable from so many others, he couldn’t bring himself to take away a soul as radiant as moonlight.

Belle reminded him of a teacup with a chipped corner. Her scars and brokenness weren’t flaws—they were signs of her breaking free from the constraints of her old self. She wasn’t just a vessel to be controlled and discarded. She had the courage to shatter expectations, to redefine her worth.

She was like a moon obscured by clouds, shining only for herself.

In truth, Rumplestiltskin wasn’t particularly bothered by someone impersonating him. He wasn’t like those sharp-fanged demons who hoarded delicious souls as if preparing for hibernation.

To him, despairing souls were merely commodities.

But Belle’s antics, after a few days of observation, had piqued his interest. Occasionally, he even found himself smiling.

Souls, no matter how desperate, could grow tiresome. He preferred those that were unique and entertaining.

As Christmas approached, Avonlea was blanketed in a heavy snowfall. The snow weighed down the rooftops and towers, covering the town in pristine white. Rumplestiltskin gently blew on his steaming tea, watching as a snowflake drifted in through the open window, melting instantly into the cup and mingling with the steam rising from it.

He didn’t close the window. Instead, he gazed out at the snow-covered town and the bustling figure of Belle, still occasionally dressing up as him. For the first time in a long while, Rumplestiltskin felt a rare sense of leisure, as though he were truly on vacation.

Rumplestiltskin had always enjoyed a good prank. And now, watching this unapproved game unfold without his permission, an absolutely brilliant idea suddenly came to him.

"Good heavens, have you forgotten what day it is? Belle! It’s Christmas! The Christmas Ball! You have to be there!"

Belle—or rather, Belle still disguised as Rumplestiltskin—attempted a smile, but it came out awkward and strained. Dragging out her words, she muttered, "I know..."

Dreamy paced back and forth in frustration, glancing at his pocket watch. "I thought you didn’t know! Otherwise, how else would you still be here at this hour, not changing into a fluffy dress and getting ready for the ball? I bet the entire town is looking for you, and they’d never guess that the star of the evening is hiding here with me!"

"Relax, Dreamy. There’s plenty of time," Belle replied with an unbothered tone. "My father always spends forever chatting with everyone. Afternoon tea might as well be a full meal for him."

"So… you’re saying you’re here for afternoon tea? Are you too hungry to go home?" Dreamy, slightly comforted by her calm demeanor, sat down as she suggested. After all, he wasn’t the one who had to dance the opening waltz.

Dreamy let out a huff but sat down, still frowning. Nova fluttered down from a nearby shelf, her wings shimmering softly as she perched on the edge of the table.

A flicker of unease crossed Belle’s eyes, but she steadied herself before asking quietly, "Nova, are there any side effects to transformation magic?"

Nova tilted her head curiously. "Side effects? Hmm, not usually. Transformation magic isn’t very powerful—it’s considered low-level magic. Why are you asking, Belle?"

Belle clenched her hands into fists, her grip tightening on the leather cloak, the coarse material pressing into her palms. Her voice was small and strained. "But… is there any chance the magic could go wrong? I mean, what if I couldn’t turn back?"

Nova’s wings fluttered slightly, and she hesitated before answering. "Well… it’s rare, but there’s one specific exception. If the person you transform into somehow ends up transforming into your form at the same time, the magic destabilizes. That would make the spell irreversible unless you act under very specific conditions."

Belle furrowed her brow. "Who came up with such a bizarre rule?"

Dreamy rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. "Who knows? Probably some ancient sorcerer who didn’t think people would be bored enough to dress up as someone else and go fooling around."

Belle tugged at her face, pouting. "Well, looks like this is one of those ‘bored’ cases now."

Nova anxiously clutched at her hair. "Oh no! The book stops here—just a mention of Christmas Eve. Tonight… what needs to happen tonight to restore the magic?"

Belle, realizing there was no solution to be found here, could only ask Nova to continue researching. She took a deep breath, mustering her courage as she turned to leave. "At least now we have a direction, right? Find that ‘Belle.’"

She ran from the narrow alley into the main streets, where the sparse crowd quickly thickened. Days of snow had been shoveled into mounds along the sides of the roads, and small snowmen built by children dotted the way. Icicles dangled from rooftops, some knocked down and replaced with glittering ornaments and bells.

Everyone was dressed in their finest attire, preparing for the Christmas Ball or dancing in the streets to the music drifting from nearby houses. Christmas night was always lively.

In such an atmosphere, Belle’s unusual appearance no longer stood out. No one noticed her as she pushed through the crowd, walking in the opposite direction of everyone else.

"What kind of person is the real Rumplestiltskin?" Belle suddenly wondered amidst her hurried steps.

The more she pretended to be Rumplestiltskin these past days, the more curious she became about him.

She wanted to know what choices Rumplestiltskin would make in the same situation. Would he adhere to the creed, "The Dark One is not salvation," or would he haughtily sew a button back onto a little girl’s doll?

She guessed he wouldn’t take a soul over a mere button—just like that night when he feigned indifference but still walked her home.

That night, Rumplestiltskin hadn’t held her hand, yet the cloak he conjured felt almost enchanted, unusually warm.

Nova had mentioned that Rumplestiltskin had dressed as her. Belle, beyond surprise, felt a small thrill. Of course, he already knew. This kind of "revenge" felt so much like him.

Her desire to see him quickly overtook her wish to turn back. This felt like a Christmas celebration meant only for the two of them.

Not for any particular reason—Belle simply wanted to find him.

As if caught in an illusion, the wind blew snowflakes into her face, momentarily blinding her and interrupting her thoughts. She raised a hand to shield her eyes and caught sight of a glimpse of fabric—a long skirt’s hem disappearing just a few steps ahead in the crowd.

People are rarely familiar with their own silhouette. Even Belle couldn’t be certain if it was her, but without hesitation, she sprinted after it, just as those scattered sentences and images had appeared in her mind without explanation.

She chased the flicker of the fabric, moonlight acting like a spotlight, illuminating her path.

Under the baptism of snow, the sound of her boots crunching on the ice became a rhythmic melody.

She had never experienced anything like this—searching for herself in a sea of people. She wasn’t sure if it was truly her, or if she would even find them, but she pressed on relentlessly.

Belle’s steps slowed. She was out of breath, as though she had lost her target on a crowded dance floor.

Just as the light and shadows before her began to fade, a melodious voice called out from behind her—familiar, yet strange.

The elegant figure turned to her, offering a slight curtsy. The long train of the gown trailed gracefully along the ground, pristine and unblemished, exuding an air of nobility and purity.

Belle stood frozen, stunned. It was as if she were looking into a mirror, the wind and snow brushing past hair and cheeks she knew all too well.

Then "she" spoke slowly, tilting her head with a mischievous smile. Blue eyes sparkled as they winked lightly at her.

"Looking for me?"

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rumbellesecretsanta · 14 days ago

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Theorems and Thorns

Theorems and Thorns (8100 words) by Eilinelithil Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV), Stargate Universe Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Nicholas Rush Additional Tags: Rumbelle Secret Santa 2024 Summary: When a stranger arrives at the Dark Castle, he disrupts more than just the laws of magic. His presence creates an intellectual and emotional triangle with Belle and Rumplestiltskin, as all three discover that matters of the heart follow neither scientific laws nor magical rules.

My 2024 Rumbelle Secret Santa gift for @janiquebeingcreative

****

Belle looked up as a thud sounded, loud enough to be heard within the walls of the Dark Castle, as though something heavy had just fallen to the ground from high above. It was followed by a much less audible groan.

“Probably just the snow falling from the roof,” Rumple’s singsong, impish voice, and wrinkled up nose was dismissive. As he spoke another moan sounded from outside the window.

“Snow does not—” she set down her book and gestured toward the window as the sound came again, accompanied this time by a muffled curse - a very coarse curse, as a matter of fact.

“Quite,” Rumplestiltskin frowned as he set down his spinning and, rising, stepped away from the wheel.

Belle stood too, smoothing down her skirts, and turned to take a step toward the doors of the great hall.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Rumplestiltskin’s voice brought her up short, and she turned back to him with a frown on her face.

“To find out who just… fell into our back yard,” she said determinedly. “They could be hurt.”

“They could be dangerous,” Rumple purred, stepping right up to her, close enough to pick an invisible spec of dirt from the shoulder of her gown as he circled to put himself between her and the door. “Then what would you do?”

“I don’t expect I’d have time to do anything at all,” she answered tersely, turning to face him again, before she reached out a hand to begin easing him out of her path, adding, “before you use your magic to turn him into the gods know what.”

She began an almost fierce march for the doors then, not looking back to see the wryly amused expression on the Dark One’s face.

“Snail,” he murmured. “It’s usually a snail.”

He snapped his fingers and Belle started slightly as his magic swirled around her, and suddenly she found herself not only wearing her cloak, but also standing before a mound of newly fallen, moaning snow that was barely covering a strangely dressed man.

From behind her, his breath hot again her cheek, Rumplestiltskin whispered archly, “And I usually stomp on them.”

Read more on AO3.

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rumbellesecretsanta · 14 days ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time) Additional Tags: Rumbelle Secret Santa (Once Upon a Time), Rumbelle Secret Santa 2024 Summary:

Curses were always cruelest to their own creators, once caught in their magic. - Rumplestiltskin relives the loss of his true love while under the curse.

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rumbellesecretsanta · 15 days ago

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Rumbelle Secret Santa bonus gift

An art!! Enjoy, @kelyon!

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rumbellesecretsanta · 15 days ago

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Confluence (Rumbelle Secret Santa gift for Kelyon)

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Additional Tags: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold in the Dark Castle, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold in the Enchanted Forest, Sex in the Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time), The Dark Castle (Once Upon a Time), Light Dom/sub, Like the lightest, Orgasm Control, First Time, Winter Solstice, Rumbelle Secret Santa (Once Upon a Time), Rumbelle Secret Santa 2024

Summary:

In the depths of the longest night, in the midst of the heaviest snowfall, the air in the Dark Castle is full--of lust, longing, a whole lot of denial, and possibly, something else.

For you, @kelyon! Happy Christmas and a Merry Rumbelle Secret Santa to you!!

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rumbellesecretsanta · 16 days ago

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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

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rumbellesecretsanta · 16 days ago

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Secret Santa 2024!

Wonderful, warm winter greetings to @chipedteacupchat, who was my giftee this year and provided me with a prompt that I simply had an amazing time working with. It was a pleasure to talk with you through the weeks and build your answers into the prompt you had given me. I don't often get to make a heroBelle and having her do her own thing to save Rumple had me writing in structures I'd never attempted before. Thank you for encouraging me to stretch my wings. (totally didn't mean the pun.)

Chapters: 5/5 Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV), Gargoyles (Cartoon) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Goliath/Elisa Maza, Coldfire/Coldstone (Gargoyles), Angela/Broadway (Gargoyles), Brooklyn/Katana (Gargoyles) Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Gideon (Once Upon a Time), Goliath (Gargoyles), Elisa Maza, Matt Bluestone, Brooklyn (Gargoyles), Broadway (Gargoyles), Lexington (Gargoyles), Hudson (Gargoyles), Katana (Gargoyles), Angela (Gargoyles), David Xanatos, Puck | Owen Burnett, Anton Sevarius Series: Part 22 of Growing Up Summary:

While visiting the Gargoyles in New York during the holidays, Rumplestiltskin is captured. Belle and the Gargoyles must race against time to find him before his captor finds a way to use the Dark One's powers in his experiments. While the Gargoyles end up having to rescue two of their own, Belle finds Rumple facing his old fears and addictions. She must convince him to leave the past behind and join her on their continued quest for a brighter future.

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rumbellesecretsanta · 17 days ago

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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.)

Read on AO3

~*~

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.

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rumbellesecretsanta · 18 days ago

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Winter Sunset

My @rumbellesecretsanta present for @threepwoodmarley from the prompt, "Far from home, winter sunset."

Summary: When Belle despairs of darkness, Rumple shows her the beauty that can come from the dying of the light.

Read on AO3

The half-lit blankness spread out as far as Belle could see. The land of the Huldre was flat and lifeless, bare of buildings and trees. Only a few jagged mounds of ice broke the straight line of the horizon. In the long summers, scrubby grass and stunted bushes made valiant efforts at life, but now they were dormant again, covered with a thick layer of snow. This far north, this late in the year, no humans and few animals could survive in this desolation. Only magical creatures were comfortable here, like the Huldre themselves.

And the Dark One and his wife.

Belle fingered the charm Rumple had given her for their journey. It was a necklace in the shape of a flame. Rubies and citrines and fire-opals glowed like burning coals across her chest, warming her from head to toe. She still wore a cloak--it felt silly not to--but she didn’t have to cover herself in layers of fur like any other explorer.

Yet in spite of her magic warmth, she shivered as she watched the sun make a slow and unceremonious descent toward the horizon.

“It looks so small.” Her whisper was lost in the howling wind. “So weak.”

“That’s appearances, my love.” Rumple came up behind her. Of course he would hear everything she said, no matter how faint. “And you of all people should know better than to trust in appearances.”

She did know better. From the very beginning, she had seen beyond her Rumple’s scales and sharp edges. She had known that there was a man within the monster. Now that he looked like that man--albeit with shorter hair and more meat on his bones--she could still see beyond his appearances. Human though he might seem, he was still the Dark One. That power was a part of him. It had taken a long time for her to accept the fact that magic--and sometimes even dark magic--would be a part of her life for as long as she loved him. But even dark magic could be more than what it seemed.

“What time is it?”

Rumple’s brown eyes twinkled and Belle knew she had given him an irresistible chance for a quip. “Why, it’s sunset dearie.”

Lovingly, she pushed him with her shoulder. “I know the hours of the clock are meaningless here at the top of the world. What time is it in Storybrooke?”

His smile was so warm, Belle could have taken off her charm. “It’s lunchtime in Storybrooke. Gideon is probably asking Queen Snow for a second helping of dessert.”

“He is your son.” Her heart lifted at the mention of Gideon. Rumple knew what she was really asking. He knew what troubled her, he was thinking about him too.

“We can talk to him, if you like.” He held up his hand, ready to do magic. “Or we can pop in for a quick visit.”

“No, no, we can’t miss the last sunset,” Belle sighed. That was the whole point of their being here, to witness this event and draw whatever supernatural insight could be taken from it. “Gideon needs to be independent and I need to be able to let him go. He’s ten years old!”

“And we’ll know if he’s hurt.” Rumple held up his wrist, where a bracelet of silver links pulsed with childish excitement. Blood magic provided the connection. No matter how far father and son went from each other, they would always be close enough to feel the other’s heartbeat.

Belle brushed her fingers against the bracelet, then settled into Rumple’s hand. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

“For what?”

She shrugged, unsure herself. “For worrying? For not being thrilled to be here? For feeling far from home?”

“We are far from home.” He held her by the shoulders and stood close enough that their foreheads could touch. “You are a creature of light, my darling. It’s perfectly reasonable that you would be unsettled by the thought of half a year of darkness.”

“Unsettled,” she repeated. “That is the right word, isn’t it? Not quite frightened, not quite anxious, not quite sad or angry. Just… off. Wrong.”

“You’re not wrong.” He wrapped both arms around her. “You could never be wrong, sweetheart.”

She raised her head in a silent plea for a kiss. Rumple gave it to her gladly. When they parted, he placed another kiss on her forehead.

“I know what you need,” he said with a soft darkness. “And I’d like to give it to you.”

Smirking, Belle rubbed against his body. “Do you want to take advantage of us being here without Gideon again?”

“I do.” He kissed her up and down her neck, pulling off her cloak in the middle of an icy wasteland. “And I want to do something special for you, sweetheart.”

She began to kiss him back. “Do you want to tell me or show me?”

“Let me show you,” he begged. “Let me surprise and delight you, my darling.”

As soon as Belle nodded, she noticed the sudden absence of wind. With the charm, she had never felt the cold, but she had been aware of it. Icy blasts had swooped around her, bearing flurries of snow. That was all gone now. When she looked around, she saw what Rumple had done.

He had made her a room of ice. Not like the round houses built of blocks of snow that the people who lived a little south of here built. But a structure made of four sheets of frozen crystal. The ice sheets met in the ceiling and formed a rounded spire, like something from a botanical garden. The room was very small, little bigger than a bed.

“Are you going to make any furniture?” she asked her husband. “Or do you intend to make love to me on the snow?”

Rumple grinned. “If I thought it wise, I would have pushed you to the ground and started tearing your clothes off without any shelter at all.”

“Rumple!” Her face went hot. All these years of marriage and he could still make her blush with just a few words.

“But we’re not as alone as we look out here.” He tapped the ice with his knuckles. “And this will keep away unwelcome eyes.”

“But you want us to see out?”

“I do,” he said. “This sunset is important, and it will be even more important before we’re done.”

Any further questions were swallowed up in Rumple’s kisses. His hands roamed over Belle’s clothes. His fingers released buttons and ribbons with practiced deftness. Oh yes, he knew how to undress her. Ever since Gideon had grown old enough to open doors, the two of them had learned how to make love quickly.

Their son was leagues and realms away, but the sense of urgency still drove Rumpelstiltskin. Belle moaned when his hot fingers finally grazed against her skin. Her flesh wanted him. Now.

With the same fervor, she pushed off his coat and waistcoat. She pulled his shirt out of his leather trousers. Her hands spread wide across the soft expanse of his abdomen. Their mouths never stopped moving against each other.

Rumple’s kisses went to her neck, down to her clavicle and onto her breast. He licked and sucked at her, teased her nipples until they were hot and hard.

“Oh,” she whimpered. Her eyes closed in pleasure.

“No,” Rumple said softly. “Look, my love. Look at the sky.”

Above her, the sky was the darkest blue it could be without being fully black. The sun was setting. This land wouldn’t fully see the sun again for half a year. At best, they would live in a hazy twilight, but mostly they would be in darkness. Total darkness…

“Belle,” Rumple rasped. “Look!”

As she looked again, he pinched one of her nipples hard. Belle gasped in pain and pleasure. Above her, a streak of gold burst across the sky.

If it had been any other color, she would have thought it a natural phenomenon. But gold had always been the best of Rumple, the lightest his magic could get. She knew his magic as intimately as she knew his body and his heart. He had done this.

Then he did it again.

A wave of pleasure coursed through Belle, the sweetest, darkest heat. She cried out, and in the sky, a sinuous line of scarlet wove across the dark blue.

“Oh,” she whispered. “Rumple, it’s beautiful.”

“Let’s keep going.” His hands stroked slowly down her hips. “Let’s make the lights reach the sunset.”

His fingers rubbed against her mound, maddeningly teasing. He built up her arousal, grinding against her as her hips rocked back and forth. The sky painted itself with slow greens and purples, subtle against the blue. When he finally slid a clever finger inside her, a line of pale gold shot out to the sun.

Belle moaned again, thrusting herself against that one finger, desperate for satisfaction. But her husband was still teasing her. His hands slid in her wetness--back and forth and all around. He made her work for every scrap of pleasure she got out of him, for every wisp of gold that crossed the sky.

“Please,” she begged. “Please Rumple, make me come.”

In the fading light, she could see his impish grin. “Well since you said ‘please.’”

Then with a sudden, glorious thrust, all his fingers pushed into her at once. They filled her completely and the sky exploded with gold. The magic lights joined the natural sunset as Belle came and came and came.

“Fuck!” she breathed as she collapsed into the snowbank. The sky throbbed with dimming reds and oranges.

“Do you want more?” Rumple asked.

“I want you.” Belle ran her hands through his short hair, gripped him at the back of the head, and pulled him down for a hungry kiss.

They devoured each other again and again. Rumple’s hardness pressed against her, but he didn’t put himself inside her. Not yet.

“Rumple,” Belle whined. “Please fuck me.”

He kissed her underneath her chin, forcing her head to tilt up. “Eyes on the skies, sweetheart.” Then his head moved down below her waist and he hefted her legs over his bare shoulders.

Sighing, Belle sank into position. It was selfish to complain about a husband who would eat her out for breakfast, lunch and dinner, but she knew what she wanted. She had told him what she wanted and he was deliberately refusing to give it to her. Stubborn man.

Above her, the sky was a dark rainbow of dancing lights. They grew brighter as Rumple worked in her, as his lips and his tongue brought her more and more pleasure. He rubbed against her clit and the colors went from muted to jewel tones. He licked and lapped her up and the colors became bold primaries. And when he went back to her clit again--sucking her for all she was worth, inhaling her like his last breath--the colors burst into electric brilliance, each one with a core of pure white.

Light shone down on the land, reflected a thousand times by ice and snow. The whole world glistened. Every snowflake sparkled, dispelling the darkness with the color and light of Belle’s joy.

It darkened slowly, the neon fading into pastels and then into dusky shades of nighttime blue. Belle sighed at the light that vanished with her own ecstasy. Occasional streaks of yellow or pink appeared with her aftershocks. Closest to the setting sun, there was a hazy glow of colors that were too sated to move.

But Rumple wasn’t sated. With a hearty pat on her thigh he signaled that he wanted her off her back. He had her get on her hands and knees while he knelt behind her. This way, she could see the sunset directly, face to face. Both of them could look out of their tiny ice palace and see the beauty that came with the dying of the light.

As Rumple entered her, the whole of the sky turned a dark purple-red. The color of his magic. Wisps of gold scurried out from the burgundy like birds flying toward the sun. Rumpelstiltskin thrust inside her and another wave of gold rolled over the sky. Streaks as thin as thread wrapped up and around writhing pillars of a blue so bright it was almost white. Belle’s body clenched and the lights shuddered around them. The sun itself seemed to join their passion.

It didn’t stop. Bracing himself on one hand, Rumple used the other to play with Belle’s clitoris. The lights danced and the darknesses quivered. For a shining moment, gold took over the sky as Belle screamed. She throbbed as Rumple pounded into her. Pulsing, the gold sank into the sliver of sun that crept below the horizon. Other colors remained, a swirling echo of the light that was gone now.

Darkness fell across the snow, With a final burst of burgundy, Rumple came inside Belle, impossibly hot in this world of ice. He fell beside her, and they kissed and watched the lights fade away.

“Was any of that natural?” Belle asked. Her head rested on her arm.

“Oh, our part was, to be sure.” Rumple wrapped his arms around her waist, making sure they stayed close. “And natural or not, you know it was true.”

She grinned at his deeper meaning. She understood what he had done, but she wanted to hear him say the words. “True how?”

“True that you are the light and beauty of my world--of every world we travel together. True that giving you pleasure is the surest way to keep all darkness at bay. True that I love you, and I want everything that can see the sky to know it.”

Blushing warmer than her fiery necklace, Belle gave her husband a kiss.

“I love you too, Rumple.”

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rumbellesecretsanta · 18 days ago

Text

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.

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rumbellesecretsanta · 18 days ago

Text

Kin, Part 2 of 3

Prompt: Dragon, Transform, Capture, Marriage, Nest

Giftee: @minnl70

Rating: M

He had arrived at the clearing a good deal before he had revealed himself. He had been half-convinced the summons was a trap, a newfound way the Blue Fairy had concocted to try and trap him. He wasn’t the last living dragon for nothing. He hadn’t outlived his kin by coincidence. While other dragons had hoarded riches he had accumulated power and knowledge, and had honed his understanding of magic and mastery of himself till he had become all but untouchable. No fairy could trespass on his territory, or surprise him. Their usual tricks and wiles did not work on him, and he had stamped down his weaknesses till there were none they could exploit. Until he could feel safe. And he was damned if he let that little slip of a girl threaten that.

She was like all the other ones, he reasoned, only with a little bit more sense, which worked in his favour. Enough to distrust the Blue Fairy, and make a choice to try and save herself, if only temporarily. He couldn’t kill her yet, but couldn’t risk her being used a second time against him. So he would find a way to dissolve whatever connection the Blue Fairy had concocted between them, which bound him to her mortality, and then he’d dispose of her. At least she would die knowing her people were safe, which is more than he could say for himself.

In the meantime, there was no reason why he couldn’t have a little fun watching her struggle, watching her try and survive in his castle, away from her servants and creature comforts. With that in mind he went early in the morning to check on his little maid, eager to see what a miserable night of sleeping in the damp, dusty floor had done to her posh look and gentle manners. Her brave facade was unlikely to have survived the night, surely.

The first thing he thought when he opened the creaky door to her cell was that it looked cleaner than he had imagined it. The strewn straw that had covered the floor before had been gathered into two piles, one of straw that was wet or mouldy and another of cleaner straw, where the chit had no doubt slept. The cobwebs had been cleared too, and the mouse holes covered with mud. The girl herself sat huddled in a corner, looking as prim as possible, though her hair was a mess and her face and arms were very dirty. Her eyes looked puffy, and her long lashes were still wet. Tear tracks were evident along her cheeks, which gave him a modicum of delight. It wasn’t quite the amount of suffering he’d envisioned, though, which displeased him.

He left her alone until she went out looking for him, and derived only a small amount of pleasure from pointing her towards the kitchen and its meager array of food, imagining the way the apples and the bread would turn her stomach, the way she would have to battle between her hunger and her disgust. He would have walked her to the kitchens himself, but he had other pressing matters. There were magical artifacts and ingredients to collect, and deals to make, after all, so he flew out just after his interaction with the little chit, content on imagining rather than seeing her unhappiness as she got to know her new home. There was no shortage of blood and gore around the castle, especially in the rooms dedicated to his studies. As a dragon he was, by nature, a hoarder. And though most of his kind tended to beautiful things- and it was in his nature too, to seek out what was pleasing to the eye- he had always focused on power. Power in the form of ancient magical items, rare ingredients and potions and knowledge and mastery of spells and incantations.

His line of enquiry required him to cut open a lot of animals, from common vermin to oxes and the like, either in search of ingredients or to gauge the result of an experiment. Getting someone to clean up the aftermath had always been a chore, given the unpalatable nature of his work, so he never bothered, choosing only to keep clean those rooms that required it for his experiments. There were entire wings of his castle where the air was thick with the smell of rot and death. In time the little maid could, perhaps, get used to the smell. And the mould. He doubted she would ever get used to the maggots or the flies, though.

The day proved fruitful enough, with the acquisition of two tricky ingredients he had been having trouble getting his hands on and two favours, no conditions attached, to be used at a later date of his choosing. It always amazed him how careless people were, how narrow-minded their view of a favour was, especially with no specifications. Inevitably when he came to collect and named his price someone would say something along the lines of “You can have anything but that!”, as if they had thought to put conditions to their promised favour when they carelessly gave it away.

He kept his visits to the denizens of the Enchanted Forest short but memorable, remaining unseen when it was convenient to him and growing in size and ferocity when he needed to make an impression. Too much exposure and he’d lose some of the reverential terror he had striven hard to cultivate. Not enough and people would grow complacent and forgetful of the monster in their midst. It was a fine balancing act to remain halfway between myth and reality, but he had perfected it over the years.

When he arrived home he felt the change almost immediately. Though the little chit was nowhere in immediate sight he could feel her presence about, the definite knowledge that he wasn’t alone. It was a strange sensation, which made him twitchy. He went looking for her, finding her making use of an old bucket, a sliver of lye soap and a coarse brush, down on all fours cleaning the kitchen floor. He could see, even in the dim light provided by the few sputtering torches, that it was slow going, since he had sometimes used the kitchen to open up the animals he needed parts from, and over time a layer of crusted blood and dried entrails had accumulated on the floor, and in splatters on the walls. But now the room looked almost like nothing that violently died there, which was quite a feat.

She was looking the worse for it, though, her dress dirty, the robin’s egg blue looking more like murky grey, her hair beginning to lose its shine, hanging more limply around her shoulders. Her eyes, however, remained stubbornly luminous and defiant.

“I thought you were a maiden, not a maid.”

He giggled at the way she jumped, clambering to her feet, eager to be in a less vulnerable position in front of a predator such as himself. He saw her glance him over- the novelty of his more human form, he was sure, which tended to be more unsettling for humans, in many ways, than his traditional dragon form- before taking a deep breath and attempting a semblance of a smile.

“I’m just making things a bit more pleasant, that’s all. No reason why my stay here cannot be productive and enjoyable.”

He snorted, plumes of smoke coming out of his nostrils and his mouth, and he watched as she followed the smoke around, fascinated.

“At this rate, dearie, you won’t get past the kitchens.”

And she’d be lucky too. He knew what his castle looked like. A noble lady was unlikely to have the stomach to tackle more than a room or two. And it would be to her benefit, since he was hardly the only danger the castle housed. Several of his treasured magical items were deeply cursed, with magic darker than even his own, and would leave his little maid with at least a missing hand, if not something worse. He told her so, cautioning to never enter a room the little wisp he had conjured for her would not dare go into, delighting in the little flickers of fear that swept through her eyes.

She was a silly little thing, that he unfortunately had to keep alive, but more tenacious than he had given her credit for, as he found out after several weeks of uneasy cohabitation. He almost never showed himself to her, but he spied on her when the mood struck him, mostly to make sure she was alive and in one piece, since he had yet to make any advances on how to break their mutual enchantment. She’d struggled with the food at first, until she’d learned to dip the stale bread in water to soften it, and to distinguish between a bruised fruit or vegetable and a rotten one. She made daily use of the well just outside the kitchens, carrying buckets of water, using an ancient wheelbarrow she had uncovered in the barn, every morning. It was freezing cold, however, which made every bathing experience an excruciating one, he was sure. The kitchen hearth was clogged and there was not readily available wood to build a fire, so she made do with what she had.

He could have easily made things easier, but he didn’t. The complaints he so sought, however, never came. The girl cried sometimes, in the relative solitude of her room, and looked quietly miserable most of the time, but she never voiced an objection towards her treatment, or expressed any outward sign of displeasure.

The little chit was resourceful, too. With only the barest of tools and surely the barest of knowledge she managed to find innovative ways of doing everything he set her mind to, from cleaning the castle windows inside out to removing impossible stains or even, one time, scraping congealed blood off the rafters of his laboratory, up in the tallest tower. That had been up there for decades, he had no idea how she had managed to wash it away. He barely remembered how it had gotten there in the first place.

She would not give up on a task until it was finished, pausing only to eat or when she retreated to her dungeon for the night. He found it all deeply… unsatisfying. He had wanted to feast in her misery, to delight in the sight of a human wretched by enduring even a little of the misery humans had foisted on his kind. He had thought it would be grand to see a plushy human suffer as they did, but things were not going according to plan. Blasted girl and her blasted iron pride. He understood, as the weeks dragged on and she remained respectful in her treatment of him whenever she saw him but quietly defiant, that his efforts were for naught. The girl suffered, but in silence, giving him no amount of satisfaction.

As time dragged on he found himself displeased with how his little human wilted. How her hands reddened and her hair grew matted, the cold water doing little to truly rid it of the filth and the sweat that she accumulated while cleaning. She had brought a couple of dresses with her, but both were looking worse for wear, and neither was particularly made for the cold temperatures of the castle, meaning that she spent very little time outside, which made her look pale and sickly.

He frowned. As a dragon, he was naturally inclined towards beautiful things. Things that looked sparkling and valuable. His maid no longer looked like a treasure, and it bothered his creature sensibilities. Besides, he needed her healthy. There was no telling how her declining health would affect him, given their magical bond. So he instructed his little wisp to direct her to rooms in the castle where he knew there was clothing that would fit her. He had looted his fair share of castles over the century and had accumulated all manner of odds and ends. He had a predilection for fine fabrics, having been brought up by a couple of spinsters as a wee hatchling, so he had taken a fair share of gowns here and there, when a particular colour or texture caught his fancy, all of which he had stored in proper trunks, with all the care he had been taught as a child. There were a few things her size, including some that would be more practical for the wintry weather.

He unearthed a big copper tub from one of the storage rooms, setting it in a corner of the kitchen beneath a pile of discarded linens, as if he had forgotten it there long ago, along with a pile of wood, properly cut and ready to be made into a fire. Then he cornered her just as she was mopping the entrance hall, instructing her to bathe herself properly, telling her the smell offended even his base sensibilities. She opened her mouth, as if to counteract his insult, but thought better of it and closed it instead.

Later that night he snuck into the kitchens, eager to see if the little chit had stumbled into his carefully-placed gifts and had followed his advice. It was immediately apparent to him that she had, since the kitchen was more luminous than usual, a healthy fire roaring in the hearth and the air damp and smelling of vanilla. He saw her curled up inside the copper tub, steam rising from the fragrant warm water- she had found the bar of vanilla-scented soap he had left deep inside one of the cleaning cupboards, along with a bottle of oil for her hair and a pot of cream for her roughened skin, her soapy hair looking almost red in the light of the low candles. Truly a beautiful human, even with dark circles under her eyes and dirt under her fingernails that would take more than a bath to remove. Fragile little thing too, naked and relaxed, not glaring daggers at him or holding her head up high in silent defiance. He made sure to make a lot of noise before retiring to bed, lest the damnable chit fall asleep in the bath and wake up pruned and chilled.

He began to bring more food from his incursions outside the castle, sacks of flour and oats, fresh milk and butter that the castle’s larder would keep fresh, sugar and salt and spices. He opened up the castle’s orchards, enchanted into a state of eternal summer, so she could get fruits and vegetables and some much-needed sun and instructed the little wisp to guide her there. It was fascinating to him to see her growing healthy again just from a few small concessions, colour blooming in her cheeks and her demeanor brightened.

It was with a perhaps unusual bit of pride that he came to the conclusion that his little maid was a treasure indeed, beautiful in a way that few maidens stolen by dragons had been. He began to feel possessive of her, like he did of everything else he guarded in his castle. His castle reflected his newfound attachment, losing some of its gloominess in favour of letting in sunlight in the rooms she favoured and keeping dust away from places that the girl would usually spend hours cleaning. He let it happen, reminding himself that her presence in the castle was fleeting, and a few temporary disruptions to his routine were not much concern.

And it wasn’t like he was growing fond of humans in general. His frequent incursions into the outside world kept his dislike for them fresh. Greedy little things who thought the world belonged to them alone, who cut down magical forests and chased creatures away from their homes to raze the land to the ground. When he had been a wee hatchling he had been terrified of them, small and defenceless as he had been, with no kin to protect him or guide him. Over time, as he began to grow in power, he started to see humans as petty vermin beneath his notice, except when one was desperate enough to be manipulated into surrendering something he wanted.

But every now and then, very rarely, a human got the best of him. Surprised him in some way he had not been able to foresee. Very few things could even hurt him anymore, but someone had learned that squid ink was one of them, and had seen fit to catch him with a crossbow on his way back to his castle, having previously tipped the arrow in squid ink. Thankfully it hadn’t done any real damage to the wing, the membrane remaining mostly intact, but it burned like hell and rendered his magic useless till the effects wore off.

He managed to keep himself in the air long enough to make it home, shifting to his more human form with enough energy left to drag himself in front of the fireplace of his trophy room, one plume of smoke igniting it just as he yanked the arrow out, feeling chilled and sluggish as he curled up on the stone floor, feeling the squid ink spread inside him like ice-cold water pouring over him.

He shrugged it off. It would pass. Squid ink did not last forever, particularly on someone as powerful as him. He’d recover in a few days, would get enough magic back under his control to knit the skin back together and move. He was safe in his home and if the girl chanced upon him he trusted she was smart enough to leave him be.

He woke up what felt like days later, and took a moment to take stock of his condition. He felt as lethargic and sluggish as he had anticipated, his magic responding slowly and weakly to his call, but there was no pain, and no discomfort. The overwhelming cold that had taken over him right before he had passed out was gone, and he could feel something soft and heavy draped over him, keeping him toasty warm.

The next thing he noticed was that someone was bathing his face, a soft cloth with warm water passing across his forehead, over his eyelids and down his neck, soothing the slight ache he could feel there, the remains of a fever recently broken. There was a pleasant smell too, like burnt caramel and vanilla, that seemed to engulf him. He turned his head to the side, his nose chasing after the scent, and realised his head was pillowed on something soft. Something that moved.

“Shh, try not to move.”

The cloth was removed, but before he could protest there was a hand carding through his matted hair, nails scraping just so against his scalp, soothing and not at the same time.

“What can I do to help, Rumplestiltskin?”

“L-little maid?”

He struggled to get out from under the fog he seemed to be trapped in, feeling weak and vulnerable, exposed.

“Yes, it’s me. I found you like this a day ago. You had a fever, but it’s finally broken. Is there anything else I can do for you? You’re still bleeding, and I can’t make it stop.”

“Get the wisp.”

A dragon’s flame had sentience of its own if a dragon saw fit to grant it, so his little wisp existed independently of his magic, unaffected by the squid ink, so with a flick of his wrist he set it out to guide the maid into his main laboratory, where he stored, in a small, murky bottle, antidote for the ink. He had told her often, during their few encounters around the castle, to stay out of his laboratories. Had gone into details about all the horrible things that could happen to her if she ventured in there. So he expected her to make a valiant attempt at following the wisp only to cower at the last minute, when common sense prevailed over her sickly-sweet disposition. Didn’t matter, though, the squid ink would fade on its own, it would just take a little longer.

He closed his eyes, intending to rest them for a minute, but when he opened them up again he knew immediately a long time had passed. The next thing he noticed was that there was a complete absence of pain, even the faint headache he had had before was gone, and when he pulled at his magic it answered back readily. He knew before he moved his shoulder that the arrow wound was gone, his muscle and skin having knit themselves together while he slept. He turned towards the fire, noticing a small amber vial next to him, its contents long gone. He recognised it immediately as the bottle where he kept his squid ink counter potion.

So focused was he on that little amber bottle that he almost jumped off the floor when his little maid came into his field of vision, holding one of her ever-present books with one hand and a glass of water with the other.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. I brought you some water.”

“Go away.”

He burrowed deeper into the quilt she had draped around him, trying not to dislodge the pillow she had placed under his head. He thought about teleporting himself to his nest, but he knew his magic was unreliable at best at the moment and it would be foolish to spend himself so when he was just recovering.

“This is the only fire roaring in the entire castle, and I’m too tired to light the hearth in the kitchen.”

“The wisp can light it for you.”

He knew he was sounding petulant and ungrateful but he didn’t much care. Whatever it would take to get rid of the little chit so he could have some peace and quiet.

“Flicker has done more than enough. He deserves some rest.”

“You named it?!”

He watched as the little wisp came running, as if called, and danced around the maid’s fingers, as if enjoying a caress.

“Some more sleep would do you good, I think. And maybe some food, when you’re up for it.”

He continued to go in and out of sleep, still too weak to feel comfortable using magic but not enough to complacently acquiesce to his little maid’s coddling. Eager for some solitude he tried to scare her away with his temper, conjuring up even a few plumes of fire and more than a bit of smoke, once managing to singe a bit of the hemline of her dress and the spine of one of her precious books. The latter seemed to be the only thing that truly bothered her, causing her to disappear from his side for an entire afternoon. He told himself he was happy about that, but he couldn’t deny the little twinge of relief when she finally came back, carrying a plate with shredded meat and some more water.

“Maybe you’ll be nicer after eating a bit.”

She was fearless, more so than he had previously given her credit for, refusing to shy away no matter what he did to try and spook her. She was, indeed, a most prized treasure, unique amongst humans, which would explain why the Blue Fairy had failed so spectacularly at making her a dragon’s last sacrifice.

Too good to kill, he decided as he devoured the meat. Once he figured out how to undo what that little gnat had done to them, he would give her some of his gold and let her walk away and explore the world to her heart’s content.

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