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galactic-pirates · 6 years ago

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The Wedding Job

Synopsis: His hand was strong and firm in hers, the one constant as they kept moving. Gold gave her a warm grin as he took several deep breaths, their hands were slightly sweaty now but Lacey wouldn’t let go for the world.

Note: This was started for A Monthly Rumbelling prompt "Runaway Bride" August ... 2017, so yeah it's been lingering half-done on my HD for ages. Many thanks to @mariequitecontrarie for giving me the encouragement I needed to finish it and for beta reading.

AO3 Link

Lacey smiled softly at Gold as he guided her down the aisle. Their arms were looped together, his hand resting on top of hers providing a comforting warmth. In the background, the traditional bridal march was playing through the stereo system.

The handful of guests who had been invited stood in polite, respectful silence, but Lacey could see disapproval etched into some faces. It was interesting to see who was caught up in the romance of ‘the wedding’ and who was seeing through the charade. The stereotype would be the weepy eyed women, clutching tissues and dabbing at their eyes. However, in Lacey’s experience, it was more likely to be the men that accepted all of this crap at face value, and the women who turned their noses up to the ceiling, their eyes like daggers of mistrust.

It wasn’t a long aisle, just a handful of steps from the doors to the table in front of the registrar. The music clicked off, an expectant hush descending on the gathered crowd.

“Good afternoon, everyone. We are here today to witness the union of Belle March to Edgar George Livingstone. My name is Thomas Milner and I will be conducting the ceremony today. If you would please be seated,” Jefferson announced.

He smiled at them both, his fingers twitching at his side in an unusually restrained sign of his natural exuberance. He was playing the part of the registrar and a certain decorum was expected.

Lacey winked at her groom – Edgar - who blushed bright red from his tartan bowtie up to his thinning white hair. He tottered back, clutching his cane tightly as he stabilized himself. Beside her Lacey heard Gold snort quietly, and she straightened her back, a casual toss of her head making her chestnut curls bounce. Playing the demure bride-to-be would never have worked, not at the pace all of this had to move; In Gold’s words, ‘being a saucy little minx’ came naturally, so why not play to her strengths?

The door, which had been closed after her entrance, banged open. “Stop!”

“Seriously?” Lacey mumbled under her breath, rolling her eyes in annoyance. They hadn’t even arrived at the ‘if anyone wants to object now is the time’ portion of the ceremony, which everyone knew was the traditional moment for dramatic entrances and declarations. Then she saw Jefferson’s eyes widen slightly and so she slowly turned. “Well shit.”

“That’s my wife!” the elderly man, who had entered, shouted.

He waved his fists, but he looked more bewildered than angry, and Lacey thought for a nanosecond she should feel sympathy, but seriously could he not work out what was going on? He had burst into the registry office for crying out loud, he had to have some idea.

“Mr. Dudley, what an unexpected pleasure.” Jefferson strode forward and grabbed his hand, shaking it vigorously. While everyone stared, Lacey felt Gold grab her hand and pull her towards the emergency exit.

“Very nice to see you, now if you’ll excuse me I’m very late for ... tea. Goodbye.” Jefferson bolted out of the main doors.

At the same time Lacey stumbled after Gold through the side fire door. The second they were clear, they started running. A muffled uproar started behind them but they were already gone. His hand was strong and firm in hers, the one constant as they kept moving. She was a carnie; doing ridiculous stunts in a dress and high heels was in her blood, so running down the sidewalk was no problem. Gold’s weak ankle was strapped firmly with a brace, his cane back in his trailer. The wind was making her hair stream behind her and Lacey started to laugh breathlessly as they slowed to a stop. Gold gave her a warm grin as he took several deep breaths, their hands were slightly sweaty now but Lacey wouldn’t let go for the world.

“Well that was fun.” Lacey snorted.

Gold rolled his eyes. “If by fun you mean running like crazy to avoid arrest, then yes, gangs of fun,” he said, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

Lacey playfully bounced her shoulder against his. “It certainly gets the blood pumping and you know all that adrenaline does things to a girl,” she said suggestively.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and she saw Gold’s eyes darken at the implication. She shivered a little at the promise in his gaze. Gold was such fun to rile up and boy was it always worth it. She hadn’t been kidding about the adrenaline and her mind skipped ahead to the moment they got back to his trailer. He might carefully - because he was always careful even in rough moments - push her against the door, or maybe she’d push him down onto the bed and ... the sound of a horn interrupted her fantasizing.

“Anyone need a ride?” Jefferson asked airily.

“About time.” Gold grunted.

Lacey’s lips twitched at Jefferson’s unknowing double entendre. Gold helped her up into the van, which she was certain was designed by someone who was in the inner circle of the conspiracy against short people, before hauling himself into the cab and slamming the door shut. The van lurched forward as Jefferson pointed it in the direction of the field the Storybrooke Carnival was calling home this week. Gold’s thigh brushed against hers and she winked at him, interlacing her fingers with his. He smiled again and relaxed against the seat, the tension bleeding out of him as they put more distance between them and the registry office.

She was pretty relieved herself; for all her cavalier words she didn’t really fancy doing time for conning some rich perverted old men. It was a scam they’d been pulling for the last few months. The carnival would roll into town, Gold would dress in his best suit and head for the local gentleman’s club and make friends with the richest mark he could find. He’d then introduce ‘Belle’ as the daughter of an old friend who he was trying to see settled with a ‘good man’. It made Lacey gag at the thought, but the rich old men just ate it up with a spoon.

They made their money several ways, which was why it was the best gag to run, if one trick didn’t work there were others. Crying about a debt was pretty reliable, but what always worked was the gift registry. Quite why everybody thought they needed toasters Lacey didn’t know, some lame-ass tradition maybe? But Jefferson was ace at fencing the crap and at the end of the day they made plenty of bills - which was the entire point.

The carnival was all but dead, they needed a cash influx just to survive, and they needed even more Benjamins if they wanted to resuscitate it. They would never get the glory days back but before they started pulling cons, band-aids were covering the bullet holes. They were one patched repair from disaster - everything looked tired and beat up as hell. The carnival was still a long way from healthy but some parts were starting to gleam like new, which meant business was picking up a little as parents were more agreeable to bringing their kids. The spiral was starting to go up rather than down for a change.

Lacey grimaced as Jefferson drove into the carnival field, and not just from the van bouncing on the uneven sod; her father was glowering again. He had always liked to stand in the doorway and watch their fellow carnies going about their business. The van lurched to a halt, the engine spluttering before it died, and her father’s scowl deepened. He turned and headed back into his trailer, slamming the door behind him.

“Well, this is us, thank you for traveling with Jefferson limos,” Jefferson quipped, reaching into the back for his trademark top hat. He pulled it on, twisting it to a rakish angle, and winked at them before jumping down. The metallic sound of the van door slamming shut made her jump, and she scowled, her hands curling into fists. Lacey stared at her lap, her nails cutting into her palms, and then Gold’s hand was there, gently prying her hands apart to hold within his.

“I’ve been thinking.” Gold cleared his throat.

She moved her head slightly, allowing her to glance up at him through her eyelashes. He sounded uncharacteristically nervous and she tensed, resisting the urge to look at her father’s trailer. It was going to be about her dad, and she was so damn tired of talking about it because nothing was going to change. Her dad had never liked Gold, and that dislike had turned into outright hatred once after they’d started sleeping together.

It probably would have been better if she’d told him. Instead he’d found out along with half the company because she’d forgotten the post-rehearsal meeting and jumped Gold in the ring of the main tent. When she got back to their family trailer she’d found her stuff tossed out and blowing around the field. She’d been living in Gold’s trailer ever since. A serious miscalculation on her father’s part if he’d wanted her to stop screwing Gold.

A beat later Lacey realized that Gold hadn’t continued. She sighed and straightened, looking him in the eye, a stinging retort hovering on her tongue. This was so not what she had planned for when they had got back but seeing her dad had popped her happy bubble. She was so damn tired of that too because that was on her. Her dad only had the power she gave him and even after all this time he was still under her skin.

“You’ve been thinking,” Lacey repeated unwillingly.

“Yes.” Gold nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “I’ve been thinking.”

“About?” she prompted.

“I don’t want us to run the wedding scam anymore,” he blurted. She opened her mouth and he cut her off, answering her unasked question. “Not because of today, I was thinking about this even before today. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, actually.”

“It’s easy money,” Lacey pointed out. Although truthfully getting married every week was starting to grate.

“I don’t care about the money. I don’t want …” Gold took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eye.

It was too intense, and she wanted to look away. Her breath caught in her throat. It was like their eyes were locked together and she could feel something building, the tension in the van rising to a crescendo.

“I don’t want to watch you marry anyone else. The only man I want you to marry is me.”

Lacey blinked. She hadn’t seen that coming. “Was that a proposal?”

Gold smiled crookedly. “Do you want it to be?”

She shrugged but the warmth suffusing her chest tugged at her lips, her smile giving her away. She twisted, her eyes skipping over the carnival but this time they weren’t drawn to her father’s trailer – they landed on the coaster.

“Not just yet.” Lacey squeezed his hand and leaned over him to open the van door. “Five minutes maybe. I have an idea.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #once upon a time #storybrooke carnival

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therumbellehappyendingaward-blog · 6 years ago

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Chapter 5 writer: @mariequitecontrarie

PROMPT: TRUTH

AO3: HERE

“Mr. and Mrs. Gold. And Gideon.” Surprise wrinkling his forehead, Mr. Dove stepped out of the doorway. He waved a meaty hand, ushering them through the open door, into the sparse, white living room of a modest home.

Gideon shifted and shook his head. It felt like they were in the center of the Doctor Strange movie, when the Sorcerer had used the time stone. They’d stepped in the front door, Mr. Dove had smiled and hugged him, and it had felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket. But now they were walking in the front door again? His head hurt and his throat felt scratchy. This wasn’t right.

“Is anything wrong, sir?” Dove asked Papa in a quiet voice. “Did I forget to water the hydrangea bushes?” Mr. Dove turned to Mum, his gaze lowered to the floor. “Mrs. Gold, I’m sorry, your father isn’t here and I’ve not seen him.”

What the …? Gideon stared at Mr. Dove in open-mouthed shock. Those were the most words he had ever heard him speak at once. Also he was confused. Why was he talking to Papa about watering plants? Didn’t Mr. Dove own a candy shop now? Just the other day, Papa had bought him a bag of his favorite red licorice whips and a half pound of chocolates for Mum. Or had it been caramels for Mum and sour worms for him? Suddenly he couldn’t remember. Thinking was making his head pound.

Mum took a deep breath, her shoulders shaking. She was nervous, Gideon realized, but she was going to be brave anyway, like the hero she’d named him after. His tummy jumped with expectation. He loved the idea of having more grandparents.

“Dove, I need to ask you a question,” Belle said, searching the other man’s eyes. “Are you my father?”

Gideon blinked. Mr. Dove ran a hand over his bald white scalp and for a moment the white continued down the front of his body, replacing Mr. Dove’s somber black suit with a stark white coat. Gideon rubbed his eyes and the white coat went away, the entire room turning reassuringly brighter in return.

Mr. Dove shook his head. “That’s not why you’re here.”

“It is,” Mum insisted, glancing at Papa. Papa took a step closer to her and put a reassuring arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into his embrace. “I need answers. We all do. Blue said…”

“The Blue Fairy? And you believed her? Fairies are liars, Mrs. Gold.” Mr. Dove’s eyes grew huge, black and beady, like the bird he was named after. He laughed shrilly, the high-pitched sound an unnatural contrast to his quiet, rumbling voice. “You of all people should recognize the truth of that. You’re a fairy, too,” he said, his dark, piercing eyes pinning Papa and then Gideon. “You’re all fairies!” he cried.

Mum bit her lip. “Please, Dove... who will teach me to fly?”

Frightened, Gideon backpedaled toward the door and covered his ears to block out the terrible shrieking sounds Mr. Dove was making. He clenched his eyes closed, wishing he was young enough to believe that if he couldn’t see them, he could be somewhere else—anywhere else. An image of a cage flashed into his mind and bile rose in his throat. Mr. Dove’s shrieks sounded like black rage, or gut-wrenching sobs, or maybe it was his mother crying? Gideon forced his eyes open. Papa stood as still as a statue with his head cocked, watching Mr. Dove taunt Mum and laugh in her face. Why wasn’t he throwing a fireball or casting a spell? Anything to stop those horrible noises!

Gideon pressed himself up against the wall and tried to think. If only he could remember one of the spells Papa was teaching him, he could end this. He jammed his forefingers into his temples and tried to concentrate, but nothing came out of his mouth but silent cries.

He was frozen; he couldn’t move, he couldn’t scream. He wanted to call out to his Papa, to beg for help, for Papa to make everything better like he always did but he couldn’t make a sound. The world swirled, the edges of the room turning fuzzy.

“Liars!” Dove screeched again.

Liars, liars, liars, liars....

xoxo

Gideon struggled against the darkness, desperate to open his eyes.

He couldn’t seem to wake up. His eyelids felt like they were glued shut with the thick, sticky lanolin Papa used in the shop for waterproofing. The pungent odor of antiseptic pinched his nostrils. At last he pried his eyes open, blinking up at a cracked white ceiling. “Is the asparagus burned?” he blurted. “Did I ruin dinner?”

Every muscle in his body complained and his breath rushed out in a whoosh. His lungs felt tight, like the day he’d fallen from the top of the bleachers at the park and had the wind knocked out of him.

“Asparagus?” Papa’s face swam into view. Dark circles wreathed his eyes; he looked like he needed a nap. “Son, that was two days ago.”

Black and grey whiskers covered the lower half of his father’s face and Gideon blinked again. “When did you grow a beard?”

An amused glint entered Papa’s eyes, banking the worry lodged there. He scratched at his hairy cheek. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Rip van Winkle. You gave us quite a scare.”

“What?” Gideon struggled onto his elbows, sending pillows careening to the floor as he tried to sit up. “Where’s Mr. Dove? I thought he would hug me and smile at me, but instead he was mean.”

“Lay back, Gideon,” said a familiar, no-nonsense voice. Mum. Her smile was strained but gentle as she leaned over him from the opposite side of the bed. She pressed a cool cloth to his forehead, the soft fabric soothing against his damp, prickly skin. “Don’t try to talk all at once.”

He glanced around the room noting the television mounted on the wall opposite the bed, instead of shelves lined with bookcases. Nope, this was definitely not his bedroom at home.

“Where are we?” he managed to ask.

“Storybrooke General Hospital,” Mum said, and he felt her slight weight dip the edge of the mattress as she sat on the corner and smoothed the blankets. “After we finished making dinner the other night, you ate three bites and went straight to bed. You were burning up during the night and Doctor Whale said we should bring you here. You’ve been asleep for almost two full days.”

“Let’s have Doctor Whale check you out, then how about some ice cream?” Papa asked with a smile.

xoxo

“Now, what’s all this about Mr. Dove?” Mum asked, after a nurse with Dalmatian puppies all over her shirt had checked his temperature, listened to his breathing, and examined his eyes.

While licking a cherry popsicle—his third—Gideon revealed the entire bizarre dream, from Papa and Mama proving they were his parents, to Grandma Colette losing her fairy wings, to confronting Blue, to the three of them showing up on Mr. Dove’s doorstep demanding to know if he was Mum’s father.

At the mention of fairy wings, Mum and Papa shared a glance and Gideon felt color rise in his cheeks. It sounded silly when he said it out loud, especially because he knew Papa and fairies didn’t mix. He hadn’t meant to have such a weird dream! He didn’t know why he had. The cloying sweetness of the popsicle was suddenly too much and his stomach roiled.

“Dove owned a candy store?” Papa mused, pacing up and down the foot of Gideon’s hospital bed. “Strange. I can’t picture him chatting up children and selling Pez dispensers and chocolate bars.”

“So none of it was real?” Crestfallen, Gideon looked between his parents, the unappetizing popsicle dripping down his hand. His heart hurt, a bit like when he was hungry and his tummy was empty. He felt like he’d lost something, like there was a hole inside him. The dream had been so vivid and he’d been convinced that he, Mum, and Papa were working together to solve a great mystery … and find more family. “Grandpa Moe really is your father?”

“Well, the part where Robin Mills was unable to keep her mouth shut and mind her own business happened,” Papa said wryly and crossed his arms. “Like mother like daughter. As for the rest of it? No. I’m sorry, son.”

Memories flooded back to Gideon. Robin calling him a bastard, and the other kids in his class laughing at him, calling him Giddy the Green Giant and saying Mum and Papa were long-lost dwarves. He remembered running home in a blind rage and locking the door against his parents and Papa trying to coax him downstairs with cookies. After that, everything was fuzzy.

Mum’s smile was full of understanding. “Mr. Dove is a kind man,” she said, whisking away the melting popsicle and offering him a sip of water. “When we don’t feel confident in who we are, it can be tempting to look elsewhere for answers. Maybe you imagined Mr. Dove was your grandfather because you know there’ve been difficulties between Grandpa Moe and Papa and me. Dove is someone Papa has worked with for years. He trusts him—we all do—but he’s definitely not my father.”

“Robin Mills.” Papa was still grumbling to himself and pacing the length of the room. “Who does she think she is, anyway? As if the circumstances of her peculiar birth and parentage are anything to take pride in?”

Mama’s brows drew together in a warning glance, and for once it wasn’t directed at him. “Rumple,” she said crisply, “that’s for Robin’s mother to discuss with her. It’s not our place, and two wrongs don’t make a right, do they?”

Even he knew Mum wasn’t looking for an answer to her question.

“Hmmph,” Papa said, leaning on his cane with a smirk.

Their lighthearted bickering comforted him and he giggled.

“There’s a welcome sound,” Papa said. He leaned over to ruffle his hair, and Gideon grinned.

“I do love Grandpa Moe. I don’t even mind when he makes me spread smelly mulch in the garden or make boring rose bouquets in the store,” Gideon said. “But he doesn’t like you, does he, Papa? It’s nothing he says or does,” he rushed to assure his parents. “I can just tell and it makes me sad. How can you care about someone and still not like their choices?”

“You have such a tender, loving heart, Gideon,” Papa said. “Like your mother.”

“Oh, Gideon. There are times I struggle with Grandpa Moe being my father,” Mum confessed. “He’s hurt me and he’s been unfair to your Papa. I’ve forgiven him for his mistakes, but forgetting is another matter. But if he ever does anything to hurt you, I want you to tell us right away, all right?”

Gideon twisted on the damp pillow. His neck felt sweaty. “It’s more than that,” he insisted. He knew his father’s parents, Malcolm and Fiona, were evil and he’d heard the stories of how Papa had done away with them for good. But Grandma Colette had died long before Papa and Mum had even met. He thought of the framed black and white photograph of her that Mama kept on her bedroom dresser. Sometimes he would go in his parents’ room and run his fingers over the silver frame and wonder what it would feel like to have a grandmother. The empty feeling inside came rushing back. Was it possible to miss someone you’d never met? “What about Grandma Colette? We never talk about her. Why?”

Mum ducked her head and bit her lip. “We should talk about this when you’re feeling better, Gideon.”

"Muuuuum," Gideon whined. “I hate when you guys keep secrets.”

Papa nudged her. “He is dreaming about it,” he said, “and dreams are of course manifestations of what is going on in the subconscious.”

“Yeah,” said Gideon, crossing his arms over his chest. “Besides, there’s no such thing as being too sick to hear the truth.”

“I hate when you both are right,” Mum muttered, but she was smiling again as she said the words. Then her smile faded and her eyes brimmed with tears. “I suppose I don’t talk about my mother much because I don’t like to think about my grief or my failings. I’ve always blamed myself for her death in the Ogres War. For a while, I couldn’t even remember how she died. I’ve tried to recover my memories from that day, but sometimes looking for answers costs more than learning the truth is worth.”

“I’m not trying to make you sad,” Gideon pleaded. He hated when Mum cried. “I just want to know what she was like.”

Mum scooted backward on the bed and put her arm around him. He leaned against her, letting her take his weight, and sighed. Papa pulled a chair closer to his bed and sat down.

“Mother was a fine scholar,” Mum said. “Smart, confident, and bookish.” Mum tapped his nose with her index finger. “You remind me of her, you know. She always taught me to be brave, and I always tried to follow her example.”

He lifted his head from her shoulder. “Like Gideon in Her Handsome Hero?”

A tear rolled down Mum’s cheek. “Yes, it was the first book she ever read to me.”

“And you decided to name me Gideon?”

She laughed, a low wet sound, and smiled at Papa. “A few other things happened before that. I had to meet and marry Papa first.”

“It doesn’t matter what the circumstances of a person’s birth is, Gideon,” Papa said. “After my mother cut me off from my destiny, I had to learn this truth myself. And after hundreds of years—and a lot of help from your mother—I finally did. Parenting has little to do with our DNA or a piece of paper declaring our bloodline.”

“Listen to your father.” Mum nodded. “It doesn’t matter if someone grows up in the care of biological parents or adoptive ones. And as for Storybrooke, it doesn’t matter what Robin Mills or anyone else believes about our family. All that matters is the love we share and the family we create. That’s all the proof of parentage you need.”

“Yes, Mum,” he said, resigned. They were right, he knew. Mum and Papa loved him and he didn’t have to prove it to anyone.

“Cheer up, Giddy,” Mum said, “You’re going to be out of the hospital tomorrow morning. Her eyes began to dance with excitement. “We haven’t gone on any adventures in a while, have we Rumple?”

“No, you’re right, sweetheart. We haven’t.”

“Once Gideon is completely well, perhaps we should return to our travels and visit my homeland in the Enchanted Forest? Gideon could continue his studies with me and we could learn more about Grandma Colette and her life.”

Gideon’s heart leapt. He loved visiting new places and getting to see where his Mama grew up was like a dream come true. Papa’s brow furrowed and his Mum shrugged, a light blush dusting her cheeks.

“Belonging,” Mum said, as if that answered everything. His Papa nodded, the lines between his eyebrows smoothing, but now it was his turn to be confused. Mum squeezed his hand. “You’ve grown up in this realm but you’ve always known your Papa and I came from the Enchanted Forest. We’ve told you stories, but it’s not the same as seeing the place for yourself.”

“I think it’s a fine idea, Belle,” Papa said. “Gideon, what do you say to a new adventure?”

“Please!” Gideon blurted, his mind racing. “Will we get to ride horses? Henry says all knights ride horses.”

“So you want to be a knight, do you?” Mum teased.

Papa’s smile was indulgent. “I’m sure we can manage something. After you get some more rest.”

Gideon yawned and pouted in annoyance. He did not want to go to sleep again. His eyes were growing heavy but he’d only woken up a few minutes ago. It wasn’t fair! His tummy twisted. Now that he was wide awake, the dream seemed silly but those helpless feelings were still there. He didn’t want to feel that way ever again. He bit his lip and fixed his eyes on his parents—his heroes.

“Where’s Cal?” he asked, giving into the pull of sleep. Mama had given him Cal, his teddy bear, when he was born. Cal was short for Excalibur because it protected him when Papa wasn’t home. “Will you get him from my room? And stay with me while I sleep?”

“Of course.” Papa snapped his fingers and Cal appeared in a puff of red smoke, then Papa tucked the tattered little brown bear under the covers.

“Can I hear the story again?” Gideon asked, his eyelids drooping. “The one where you met.”

Mum pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Once upon a time, a beast took a girl prisoner…”

THE END

#mariequitecontrarie #rumbelle #group purple #finish this

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scribbles-by-kate · 7 years ago

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Just Forget the World

At the well after their reunion kiss, Belle and Rumple take things even further. RumBelle reunion smut, a ‘missing’ scene from 2.1 “Broken”.

Back during RumBelle Appreciation Week, @mariequitecontrarie posted about RumBelle’s reunion kiss by the well and what might have happened directly after it. Well, her delightful post inspired fic, and today is Marie’s birthday, and she’s sick with flu, so this is my combination happy birthday/get well soon gift to her :)

Rating: E Complete

Read it on Fanfiction.net Read it on AO3

Just Forget the World

She’s made herself comfortable, her head tucked under his chin, resting on his chest, her arms around his neck. She doesn’t seem to have any plans to let him go any time soon. He doesn’t want her to. Having her back has made him realise just how much he loves her, how much he needs her. Now that he’s brought magic back, there’ll be prices to be paid, his curse to deal with, and Belle…Belle is his shield against all that… If…if he can really have her…really keep her this time.

Belle burrows closer. He’s warm and strong, and feels like home, something she hasn’t known since she left him, since he made her leave… But he does love her after all: she knew he did. He was just afraid. She doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why he clung to his magic, but they’re together now: everything’s going to be fine.

Rumplestiltskin adjusts his hold and Belle looks up at him.

‘Don’t let go,’ she whispers.

He shakes his head. ‘No.’ It’s amazing to him that she wants him to hold her. He suspects he’ll always be amazed by that.

She smiles, trusting him, and, gods, he does not deserve any of this, but he’s selfish enough to want to keep it.

Belle wants to be closer, wants to be enveloped by him. It was so cold down in that cell. She knows she was down there a long time, and in Regina’s tower before that, but a lot of the last twenty-eight years are blurry. It’s only really the last year or or so that she was aware of time moving, aware of being cold and hungry, aware of needing warmth. Now she knows the warmth she needed was his.

That’s why she presses closer now, why she wants to get nearer. It’s as vital as breathing, this need for connection with him. She wants… Yes, she wants him, and they’re together now, really together…

She moves quickly, giving him no warning, and steals his breath with her kiss. He clutches at her, swaying a little, and pulls his lips from hers.

‘Belle…’

She shakes her head. ‘Don’t stop.’

He doesn’t want to, but he knows he should. He needs to take care of her. She’s been down in that cell for years: she’s probably hungry, maybe weak… He’s got to protect her, not…not take advantage of her.

‘Sweetheart, we should stop,’ he begs desperately, because he knows what his body wants, and it really is being very insistent about it now. He tries to pull away.

‘No,’ Belle says firmly. ‘No, not yet. I’ve missed you so much, Rumple. Please: please kiss me again.’

His heart’s racing. He can feel his resolve crumbling. She’s so soft and beautiful…and light….and…she wants him, and gods he wants her… No, he can’t!

‘You don’t know what you’re asking,’ he says, shaking his head. He needs her so much, he fears he’ll hurt her.

‘Yes, I do,’ she insists. ‘Please,’ she begs. ‘I know you want to: I can see it in your eyes.’

‘You don’t know what you’re asking,’ he says again, almost angry, because his resolve is slipping away, and he has so much to reproach himself with already that adding hurting her to that list would be just another sign of how terrible he is, how selfish he is. As if he needs to be reminded!

‘To be with the man I love,’ she says gently. Why can’t he see that?

‘You should save that for your husband,’ he insists, ‘for a better man than me.’ He must control himself: he must.

‘I want no other,’ she says. ‘I want you, Rumplestiltskin, just you. I love you.’ And she gives him another joyful, teary smile, and he’s utterly undone.

He thought she was dead, thought he would never see her again… But she’s here: she’s alive, in his arms, kissing and touching him, wanting to be with him. Gods, that’s the best feeling!

He kisses her, fierce and hungry, like their kiss a moment ago. She wraps her arms tight around him, kissing back, trembling as his tongue strokes against hers. And, yes, this is what she wants, to consume, to be consumed, to share this joyful wonder at being together again. It’s what he wants too, even though it’s selfish, and she’ll surely push him away in a minute.

The kiss slows, becomes melting and sweet and hot all at once. Belle trembles with desire. She can feel his body, tense under her hands. She can feel he’s still holding back. What must she do to make him understand that this is what she wants?

She kisses him deeper, eagerly tasting him. Their first kiss was so short, and it was thirty years ago. She’s lived off the memory all these years, but now he’s here and she wants more: she wants it all.

‘Make me yours, Rumple,’ she breathes, as he kisses her neck.

He shudders, clutching her to him. Back in their land, her purity would be a great treasure, not to be treated lightly. It’s somewhat less valuable here, but Belle doesn’t know that, and yet she’s giving herself to him freely…giving him her virginity…

‘Please,’ she whispers, having felt him go still.

‘Let me take you home,’ he suggests: ‘let me—’

‘Here,’ Belle says, cutting across him. She doesn’t want to wait. She’s been waiting, hoping, for this day for thirty years. She’s not waiting any longer.

Rumplestiltskin is incredulous, but also impossibly aroused. There’s light in her for certain: he knows it because he’s so drawn to her, and he wouldn’t be if that light wasn’t there, but it’s not innocent. She’s daring, bold, and, oh, gods, that’s so intoxicating to him!

‘Here?’ he asks: ‘really? You don’t want a bed, comfort? It won’t be—’

‘It will be perfect,’ she insists. ‘Anywhere would be perfect, but we’re here, and I don’t want to wait. Thirty years, Rumple!’ Her eyes are bright with unshed tears.

He understands. The pain of it all, and the relief and the joy at being reunited.

‘I thought I would never see you again,’ he breathes, tearing up himself, moving with her as she crouches on the mossy ground.

‘I’m here,’ she breathes, clutching his lapel: ‘I’m here, my Rumple.’

He kisses her, pulling her to him as they kneel on the damp grass. He must fix that, make it comfortable, but her hands sliding into his jacket distract him, and all he can do is hold her to him, his hands caressing her body, over the ratty clothes she’s wearing. He must fix that too…

‘Rumple,’ she whimpers. She’s pushing at his jacket, trying to get it off him.

Unthinking, he shrugs out of it. He’s almost in a daze, feels as though he’s dreaming. This…this can’t be real. He’s dreamed of her many times, of course, which was why he needed to touch her earlier, to be sure she was real. And…oh, gods, this can’t be a dream. He’s really holding her, kissing her, hearing her little sighs…

Belle feels him start, feels his hands clutch at her. He’s frozen, almost as if something’s shocked him.

‘What is it?’ she breathes, looking up at him. He looks stunned.

‘You’re real,’ he whispers, in the same tone as he did earlier, before she remembered him, when she was so confused by his reaction, his tearful promise of protection.

‘Yes, I’m real,’ she promises. ‘I’m as real as anything, Rumple. Here.’ She takes his hand and brings it up to hold in both of hers. ’See?’

‘I thought you were dead,’ he whispers, his voice breaking.

‘And that’s…that’s why you never came for me,’ she murmurs.

He nods, tears running down his cheeks. ‘I would have if I’d known. I would have come for you, Belle.’

‘I know,’ she sobs, kissing him. ‘I know you would.’ She kisses him again, and it grows heated quickly.

He can’t help himself now. He shouldn’t do this, but he’s helpless to resist. He will try to be careful, try not to hurt her; that’s provided she doesn’t push him away, which he’s still expecting her to do, as willing as she seems now. Why would she want him? Why—?

‘Rumple,’ she whispers, touching his cheek. She can feel him tensing, holding back. ‘Please,’ she says again, desperate. She doesn’t know how to make him understand. Must she scream it to the treetops?

‘I want you to make love to me,’ she says, because if he won’t trust her actions, perhaps he’ll trust her words. She never says what she doesn’t mean, and he should remember that she’s the one who decides her fate, no one else. She wants to be here, wants to do this with him.

‘You can’t take it back,’ he tells her, fearing she’ll regret giving herself to him.

She shakes her head. ‘I won’t want to. How can I make you understand? I’ve waited for this for thirty years. I was coming back to you when Regina caught up to me. I wasn’t gonna give up on us, no matter how much you fought me. It was always you, Rumple. I was coming back!’

This is news to him. His eyes widen. This means… She was coming back… They could’ve… Things might have been so different…

‘Oh, Belle,’ he breathes.

She smiles. ‘Now, will you stop stalling, please?’

He kisses her for an answer. Unfathomable as it is, she wants him. It’ll still fall apart, probably, because he is who he is, and he wrecks things, but maybe…maybe he won’t wreck this? Maybe not this time…

Thoughts fly from him as her hands touch him, smoothing and caressing gently. It’s like magic, her touch: it seems to have the power to soothe away all care, and he’s nowhere, now, but here. Nothing else is getting his attention, not until she’s satisfied. If she wants him, then…then she’ll have him. There’s nothing else he can do, nothing else he wants to do.

Belle smiles, feeling him soften. He’s not pulling away, not protesting: thank gods. She hadn’t expected him to resist so strenuously, to be so chivalrous. It’s charming, really, and tells her that, no matter what he may believe, what kind of power he may have, he’s also a good man, and she trusts him. Yes, she does. There is much she doesn’t know, but she trusts him, and he will trust her too, in time.

Rumplestiltskin is lost in her arms. He’s never felt anything like this before. She once suggested he had once been a man and he corrected her, calling himself a monster, and he is, but in this moment, here, with her, he’s just a man, in love with a beautiful woman, and he wants to be better than he was.

‘Oh, Belle,’ he breathes, catching his breath as she kisses his neck. ‘Belle, I…’

‘Hmm?’ she murmurs, kissing his jaw, stroking her hand through his hair. ‘Tell me,’ she coaxes.

Instead of speaking, he catches her lips in a desperate kiss. She kisses back eagerly, smiling into it as he pushes the cloak the man who called himself Jefferson gave her off her shoulders. She goes to work on the buttons of his vest. His clothes here are so different, no more dragonhide or leather, but they do the same thing: they mask what he wants to hide, but he’s not hiding from her, not now, and she smiles again, as he pulls the vest off himself.

He works on his tie himself, realising that some of his clothing will probably be odd to her. Tie discarded, he removes his cufflinks too, throwing them on the pile of his clothes. He reaches a hand back and passes it over his ruined ankle, bolstering it with magic so that it won’t be too painful to walk after this. He doesn’t want to be distracted by pain when his focus must be on Belle.

Belle has another cardigan-type thing on over a hospital gown. He peels that off, Belle pulls her arms free of the thing and they loop around his neck as she presses close. He rubs her back. The hospital gown is thin and worn, and he feels a brief flash of fury at Regina, but he’ll deal with her later.

Belle’s hands are close to his skin, and she’s delighted. She wants to touch every part of him. The fastenings on his shirt open easily enough under her fingertips, and now she can feel his chest under her hands. His heart is beating so fast.

He groans at the feeling of her hands and his own hands caress her over the too-often-laundered gown. He must find something better for her to wear, something more fitting the lady she is: fine silks and wools. Later, though: he’ll take her back to the shop and she can choose something. Now…or in a few moments, she won’t be wearing anything…

Belle sucks in a breath. His hands are magical: his caress is heavenly. She wants to melt into him, wants him closer.

‘Lie down with me,’ she whispers.

Holding her to him, he passes his hand out over the mossy ground. The air ripples a bit.

‘What did you do?’ Belle wonders, eyes wide.

‘Lie back and see.’

Curious, she does. ‘Oh!’ He’s made the grass soft, but not with dew: it’s just…soft. And it’s warm, as though the sun had been shining on it all day. It’s lovely.

Rumplestiltskin stares intently at her. He leans over her, taking her in.

She touches his leg, her hand resting on his thigh, just as it did at their first kiss. It’s almost too much for him. He leans down to her, eager for her hands, her lips, and there are long moments where the only communication is sighs and moans.

Belle feels as though the last thirty years have melted away, and she knows that this is what they would have been together if she’d been able to convince him back then that their love is true. She can feel his body heat, his leg against hers. Instinctively, she spreads her legs wider to let him lie between them.

Rumplestiltskin moans. He can feel her heat through the hospital-issue stockings she’s wearing. Oh, to be buried deep in her… And as if he wasn’t already aroused enough…

Belle feels what she’s sure must be his erection against her thigh. She takes a gulping breath. She’s never felt anything like it before, but she isn’t afraid. A little unsure, maybe, because she’s never done this before, but not afraid. She does know how this is supposed to work, though. Books told her so much about the mechanics, and the maids in her father’s castle told her things too. Well, she overheard the maids, because they would never talk about such things in front of her. She heard them talk sometimes when they didn’t know she could hear them. They were fairly frank about intimate relations then. Mostly, she listened to them talk about how it felt to be with a lover. She can understand what they meant now. She’s happy and excited, and nervous, because it’s her first time, and, mostly, she just wants him.

‘Show me what to do,’ she requests.

He moans a little, but nods against her neck, kissing her.

‘It can…it can hurt, the first time,’ he tells her. ‘I’ll try not to,’ he promises.

‘I know,’ she says. ‘I trust you.’

Gods know why: he’s done nothing to deserve it, but he nods, because Belle…Belle’s one of the few remarkable people who actually tell the truth.

He kisses her, and, carefully, not wanting to upset her, his hands move up under the hem of the hospital gown.

Belle gasps as his fingertips brush her thighs, but she pulls him back to her when he begins to pull away.

‘Don’t stop,’ she breathes.

Reassured, he lets his hands travel higher, and Belle kisses him fervently as his touch grows less cautious.

‘Lift-lift your hips, Belle,’ he requests, stuttering a bit. He can hardly believe this is happening.

She does. He curls his fingers around the top of her tights and pulls them down, her panties with them.

‘Mmm,’ Belle moans, and she smiles dreamily.

Rumplestiltskin pulls her shoes off her feet and draws the panties and stockings off, tossing them with their other things.

Belle’s chest is heaving. He’s beautiful, and he’s undressing her. She wonders if she’s dreaming. No. No, she couldn’t dream something so elaborate, with sounds and smells, and him looking the way he does, so endearingly amazed.

She’s almost naked. But for that hospital gown, she would be. He never thought he’d get to experience this with her.

Belle catches onto his open shirt, drawing him down to her. The kiss is intense, hungry. Belle delights in smoothing her hands over his chest. He growls when her fingertips trail lower down, and she catches her breath, heart pounding.

’S-sorry,’ he breathes.

She shakes her head vigorously. ‘I wasn’t afraid. That-that was exciting.’

She’s mesmerised as his eyes darken. She almost misses it when he calls her beautiful Belle. She flushes, and he smiles a bit, leaning down for another kiss, which she meets him in.

Rumple’s hand caresses sensuously over her breast and down to her hip, and she shifts a bit, wanting… She’s hardly sure what she wants, how to describe it… All she can think is relief: she wants relief, down there, where she’s aching.

He longs to undress her completely, but first he kisses down her neck to her collarbone. He feels it’s a bit too pronounced under the hospital gown, but he won’t dwell on his anger right now. Her little breathy noises are distracting him anyway, and he moves down, kissing between her breasts, bringing his hand back up to squeeze her breast.

Belle’s chest is heaving. If she could take off this garment she’s wearing… She pulls at it.

‘Let me,’ Rumple whispers, ‘please?’

‘Yes,’ she gasps, and she feels his hands on her legs…

Oh, gods, he’s sliding them up, the cloth bunching up with the motion.

‘Lift your hips again, sweetheart,’ he coaxes, and she does, and then wriggles to help him pull the garment off her.

Rumplestiltskin looks down at her. Belle watches him, wondering what he’s thinking. His expression is difficult to read.

What he feels is a mix of unworthiness, amazement, and anger. The anger is because she’s too thin: he can see her ribs, for gods’ sake! But the desire he feels, and the love he feels, pushes that down for now, and he concentrates on showing her his love and desire for her.

‘Oh!’ Belle cries out, when he leans down and puts his mouth on her breast. She moans, a trembling hand going into his hair as his hand caresses her other breast.

There’s wetness between her legs. She felt it already, but there’s a more of it suddenly and it makes her catch her breath. She wants to rub against something, wants to soothe this ache she’s been feeling for a while now.

Rumplestiltskin doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of her taste. Her skin tastes like nothing else, and she’s so soft and perfect. He loves her little catching breaths as he brings her rosy nipples to taut peaks. He loves how her fingers clench in his hair as he swirls his tongue and nips with his teeth.

He knows very well he was never good at this. His wife wasn’t impressed, at least. But Belle… Oh, beautiful Belle is flushed and panting, and all he’s doing is suckling at her breast. Her response makes him feel bold, confident, and he kisses and licks the underside of her breasts now, intending to travel down her body.

Belle’s chest is heaving. She can’t string a sentence together. He’s moving down her body and she quivers, having some instinct about where he’s going. The maids back home would say things about a lover’s tongue or fingers, and now she understands what they meant, or she thinks she does.

Rumplestiltskin kisses her hip and looks at her.

‘It, uh, can be easier if you’re somewhat prepared for what to expect,’ he says. ‘Can I touch you, Belle?’

‘Yes,’ she breathes, nodding. ‘Yes, Rumple, I want you to. Please.’

He hears her eagerness and it excites him.

He kisses her bent knee. ‘Just try to relax.’

Relax, he says, while he’s kissing along the inside of her leg. As if she could relax when he’s doing that, when his fingers are caressing her bottom, making her shiver down to her toes. How can she relax when she’s so wound up? But she must try, so she makes the effort to loosen her limbs.

‘That’s it,’ he murmurs, settling between her legs. He meets her eyes, and there’s hunger and need in them…for him. He can still hardly believe this.

He couldn’t stop now if he wanted to, though. The feel of her, and seeing her like this, exposed and trusting him with her body: it’s intoxicating. Right now, he’s not the Dark One, not a monster, not a beast: he’s just a man, and the woman he loves wants him to make love to her, so he will.

He dips his head and Belle gasps as he licks along the crease at the top of her leg.

‘Oh, Rumple,’ she sighs.

He moves a bit, lifting her legs over his shoulders, settling himself, his hands holding her, lifting her a little. And then…

‘Oh!’ she cries, as his tongue parts her folds and laps at her. ‘Ohhhh!’

The sounds she makes… She’s really enjoying this. Oh, and so is he. She tastes like nothing else. He’ll never get enough, not now.

Belle’s hands reach down to pet and tangle in his hair. Gods, this is heaven! His tongue is so sensuous as it licks at her. And now…oh, gods! Now he’s drawing shapes against her sensitive flesh with the very tip of his tongue.

He hums as she cries out, her fingers clenching in his hair. He can feel her now, rocking a little against the thrusting of his tongue, and he doesn’t believe she knows what she’s doing, but he thinks she’s ready for more.

Belle whimpers in protest when he pulls his head back and lowers her back to their mossy bed. She meets his gaze as he leans up to look at her, but she doesn’t get to say what’s on her tongue before she feels him stroke her with his finger.

She bites her lip. Then she smiles at him when she sees the concern in his eyes.

‘Touch me,’ she breathes, reaching up to caress his jaw.

He leans down to her, following her hand as she lowers it, and kisses her.

She moans into it as his finger slides slowly into her, and then slowly out.

‘That’s nice,’ she gasps.

He smiles and does it again, and he feels her clutching at him, quivering a bit.

Her eyes go wide as she realises what her body is doing.

‘It’s alright,’ he whispers: ‘your body knows what to do.’

She nods, trusting him. She breathes deeply as she feels her body react to what he’s doing, crying out when he adds another finger. Now, he feels thicker, and she clutches at him, feeling something building inside her.

Rumplestiltskin strokes his thumb over her gently, slowly circling it around her clit.

Belle cries out, her hips working in earnest now. She can hardly believe her body’s reaction, hardly believe that it knows what to do.

‘Alright?’ Rumple asks her.

‘Yes,’ she breathes. ‘Please kiss me,’ she requests.

He does, and she wraps her arms around his neck. She’s shaking, but this is joy, not fear. She feels so alive.

‘I love you,’ she breathes, their faces close, breaths mingling.

‘I love you too,’ he says, and, gods, the way her eyes light up, it’s wondrous.

He keeps his fingers moving inside her as he kisses down her body. He keeps his fingers moving as he puts his mouth on her again, licking as his fingers thrust.

Belle’s body arches as her hips work, and she cries out again and again as his thumb presses more firmly on her clit and his fingers curl inside her and his tongue teases her. She’s climbing ever higher towards a peak, and she knows that when she gets there, she will fall, and it will be beautiful.

And fall, she does. Rumplestiltskin feels her clench around him and then still, and then, oh, gods, she comes, breathless, saying his name, her face glowing. Oh, yes, that’s perfect, and it’s all he can do not to spill himself in his pants.

He looks at her as she comes back to herself. His heart thuds now, because, of course, he can’t imagine that she won’t regret this, but then Belle grabs a fistful of his shirt and pulls him to her.

The kiss is awkward, and he’s sticky with her cum, but Belle doesn’t seem to care. She’s not so much the highborn lady now. No highborn lady he’s ever met would condescend to let a man, or a woman, touch her like this, naked in the forest. No, Belle is something else, something wild and wonderful: she’s a force of nature, and, gods, he loves her.

‘That was wonderful,’ she breathes, emotion welling up. ‘Thank you, Rumple.’

He shakes his head. ‘No, thank you. That you trust me in this, Belle, it means more than I can say.’

‘I trust you,’ she says. ‘I want to feel you properly,’ she says, shifting a little, eager for more. ‘I want you inside me, Rumple.’

He drops his forehead against her shoulder, shuddering. Belle smiles and strokes his hair. She wonders if anyone’s ever loved him before. She knows he had a son, but that’s a different kind of love. She wants to hold him in the night, kiss him in the morning, chase all his troubles away. She wants to support him, help him, be the one he confides in.

‘I love you,’ he says, just as she’s thinking the same about him. ‘I need you, Belle.’

‘I’m here,’ she says, looking into his eyes as he looks at her. She strokes his cheek, smiling at him, and she’s ready for him when he leans in for a kiss.

He needs her in every way: to help him, to save him, to love him. Oh, he knows it’s too much to ask of her, but he also knows that if anyone could do all of those things, it’s her.

He leans away and she reaches for him, making a noise of protest, but he’s just shrugging out of his shirt. She watches, then, as he undresses completely. He doesn’t meet her eyes as he does so, and he looks rather self conscious, but she’ll chase that away.

‘Rumple,’ she murmurs.

He looks at her then, the tone of her voice catching his attention.

She looks him over, fascinated, and smiles.

‘You’re beautiful,’ she says, and there’s no lie in her voice. ‘Come to me,’ she coaxes, holding her arms out, reaching for him.

He goes to her, powerless to resist, and not wanting to anyway. He can feel her now, bare skin against his. She’s real and warm and soft, and full of light.

‘I want you,’ she says, looking earnestly at him.

He kisses her, humming as she runs her hands down his back.

‘I want you too,’ he breathes. ‘Oh, Belle, I’ve missed you.’

‘Me too,’ she says tearfully, ‘but we’re together now.’

He nods and kisses her again.

She draws her knees up as his fingers caress her, and she gasps at the feeling.

‘Mmm, Rumple.’ She can feel him, hard against her thigh. ‘Please,’ she whispers.

‘You’re sure?’ he asks.

She squeezes his shoulder. ‘I’ve never been more sure of anything. Make love to me, Rumple.’ She stares at him, hoping he can see how much she wants this.

‘I’ll go slow,’ he says. ‘Tell me if it hurts.’

She nods and he lines them up, using her juices on his hand as lubricant. His heart is hammering in his chest and there’s nothing else here but them, nothing else in the world that matters right now but Belle.

‘I love you,’ he tells her.

‘I love you,’ she returns with a smile, and gasps as she feels him enter her. It feels more than his fingers, and her first instinct is to tense up, but he’s going slowly, so she’s able to get used to it and relax after a moment.

She feels like she’s being filled up, and it’s very welcome. There’s a little discomfort, but she breathes through it.

‘Belle?’ he asks anxiously, watching her for signs of distress.

She rubs his shoulder. ‘I’m fine,’ she says. She smiles. ‘It’s ok, Rumple.’

He nods and moves again, and soon he’s fully sheathed inside her, and it’s glorious.

She catches her breath when he begins to pull out. He does almost all the way, and then he’s back, and they both gasp at the feeling, and then smile at each other.

‘You feel good, Rumple,’ she tells him, cupping his cheek.

He turns his head and kisses her palm.

‘You feel perfect,’ he says, and his voice is rough and makes her shiver.

He moves again, more assured now, and his growing confidence excites her. She feels herself clench around him and he groans.

He stares into her wide eyes, amazed. ‘Oh, Belle,’ he whispers, ‘oh, my precious, beautiful Belle, I never imagined… I never dreamed we could have this.’

‘I always hoped,’ she says, wrapping her legs around him as he thrusts again. ‘I was coming back to you. I wanted to be with you.’

He kisses her and growls as her hips tilt up to meet his next thrust.

‘Is that alright?’ she asks breathily.

‘Yes,’ he growls. ‘Belle, you’ve no idea how good you feel, so warm and snug around me.’

She smiles. ‘You feel wonderful.’ And she gasps as he grinds against her.

She tilts her head back, crying out, and he kisses and licks her exposed throat. Her skin tastes like nothing else and he’ll get addicted. Better addicted to her than to magic, the reasonable part of his mind supplies, and he knows it’s not wrong.

Belle nudges him, trying to get to his lips, to kiss him deep and long until they’re both breathless. He obliges, of course, and they move together as they kiss, spiralling higher and higher.

Belle can feel herself approaching that precipice again. Not just yet, though: she wants to hold onto this moment for as long as she can. She runs her hands down his back, feeling his skin and the way his body moves. She feels him inside her, connected with her, their bodies just knowing what to do. She feels the heat of his body, the weight of it on hers, the strength, and the gentleness. She reaches for another kiss and runs her fingers through his hair, smiling at his moan. So, the powerful sorcerer is a man after all: she knew it, and she smiles again at the knowledge that she can peel back his layers.

Rumplestiltskin is holding onto the moment too. She is warm and soft and gentle beneath him, and the way she welcomes him, moves with him: it’s nothing he’s ever known. He wants to hold onto it forever. He plunders her soft mouth and she lets him, clinging to him, her body clutching at him, her heels digging into his arse, urging him on.

She was right when she called his bluff all those years ago. He told her power meant more to him than she did, but it was a lie. Of course it was a lie. He was terrified to let her in. He’s still terrified to do that, but, oh, he feels a little braver here, in her arms, and if she could hold him forever, maybe, eventually, he’d be a good man again, a man who deserves this love she’s giving him.

‘I love you, Belle,’ he breathes earnestly.

She smiles, radiant and trusting. ‘I love you too.’ She kisses him sweetly.

They keep moving together, both delighting in the rhythm they’ve managed to find.

‘So good, Rumple,’ she breathes.

‘So beautiful,’ he returns, kissing her again. He tries twisting his hips on the next thrust and the way her body clutches at him makes him gasp.

‘Rumple!’ she cries. She’s at that precipice now and there’s no going back. ‘Oh, Rumple,’ she moans, feeling his thrusts get faster.

‘Yes, sweetheart,’ he pants. ‘Is it good? Tell me how it feels.’

Belle shudders as she feels herself break.

‘Ah, it’s wonderful,’ she breathes. ‘Rumple, Rumple, mmm…’

‘Gods!’ he cries, unable to hold on as she clenches around him. He lets go and they cry out together.

They stare at each other, breathing hard as they ride out their orgasms together. Belle smiles dreamily and raises a trembling hand to his cheek as she comes back to earth.

‘That was wonderful,’ she says earnestly.

He kisses her. ‘You’re wonderful,’ he says, burying his face in her neck.

Belle hugs him, smiling. They’re only just beginning. The thought that they can do this again, that they can be together, makes her so happy she could fly.

He kisses her neck and leans up to look at her.

‘Alright?’

She caresses his cheek. ‘Yes.’

He smiles. ‘Come on: I’ll take you back to town,’ he says.

‘And we can be together,’ she says.

He nods, his smile tearful now. ‘Yes.’

He waves his hand to clean them up and dress them again, and then holds his hand out to help her stand.

She leans into him and smiles, and they walk together, but before they leave the clearing, she looks back at the place by the well where they made love. Happiness bubbles up in her and she bites her lip and then looks up at Rumple, who stares back at her amazed.

‘Oh, Belle,’ he breathes, giving in as she reaches for another kiss. She smiles into it and then tucks herself against his side and walks with him through the forest, ready to begin a new chapter with him.

The end! Thanks for reading :)

#rumbelle fic #just forget the world #rumbelle #scribbles-by-kate's stories #mariequitecontrarie

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mariequitecontrary · 2 months ago

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If I So Happen to Fall

The first fic of many lovingly dedicated to Transformers One!!!

You can read this one shot here on ao3 <3

If I So Happen to Fall

Words: 1,928

With the threat of the Quintessons on the horizon, Optimus must face Megatron for the first time since their fight. It was time to do what had to be done…

Talk.

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elanorjane · 6 years ago

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mariequitecontrarie:

Gotta catch up on these!

@mariequitecontrarie Marie, you’re a doll! You not only caught up on these on AO3, but left a comment on every single installment. *hugs*

#love on ice #love on ice series

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rumbelle-ficbrarian-blog · 7 years ago

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Rumbelle crime-fighting fics?

OKAY SO THIS ISN’T AN ANSWER TO-THE-LETTER OF YOUR PROMPT BUT IT’S BAMF!BELLE AND VILLAIN FIGHTING! So without further ado, I present to you:

Lay Bare The Heart by @mariequitecontrarie. If you know me, then you know I love Marie’s fics more than anything. And if you really know me, you’ll know this is my absolute favourite fic still on AO3. I’m serious. Give it a try.

How do I love this fic? Let me count the ways...

#mariequitecontrarie #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Anonymous

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smartgirlsaremean · 7 years ago

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Most and Least Popular Fic by Kudos

Tagged by the delightful @nerdrumple I have 13 stories to my name, so prepare to see all but 3 on this list.