#rumbelle monsters ball

[kelyon]

Nephila Chapter 4: Anatomy

Read on AO3

Happy Halloween and happy one-year anniversary to the Rumbelle fandom’s favorite spider-porn! In this chapter, a pregnant Belle and the man-spider father of her child are finally reunited. 

Through the darkness of an underground cavern, shafts of light poured down like gold. Belle French was lifted into one of those beams, held up by the arms of an unspeakable monster. A monster with eight black eyes and dripping fangs and the happiest smile she had ever seen.

“Belle!” it cried. “Belle, you are back!”

The creature seemed so sincere, so full of joy to see her again. In spite of her better instincts, Belle found herself moved. Her heart swelled and she smiled back at him.

“Yeah,” she answered. “I’m here again. I-I didn’t know if you would remember me.”

The ridge over his top eyes furrowed. “But you are Belle,” he said. “You are mate. Forever.”

“Forever?” she squeaked. But she was more surprised than scared. “You didn’t mention that last time.”

The monster didn’t reply to that. Instead he slowly lowered his arms so that his head was directly in front of Belle’s stomach. He pressed one ear against her abdomen, moving her body around until he pushed against her bump. Then he rested. And listened.

“Hang on a second.” Belle pulled up her baggy tee shirt away from his face. The creature cocked its head in curiosity. She adjusted the fabric so the hem was now bunched up below her bra and her stomach was exposed. When she was done, it resumed the position. His face was cool and rough against her belly. The bristles of the chelicerae around its mouth tickled her as he moved. He was searching for something.

When he found it, he said, “Ah!” His whole body seemed to reax--his shoulders slumped and all of his legs went loose.

Tentatively, Belle reached out to put her hand on his head. She stroked the hair--and it was hair, wavy and soft and brown. It reached down to his chin.

“What do you hear?” she whispered.

“Young,” he sighed. “Our young.”

“Really?” her eyes welled up. “Ours?”

“Yes.” The creature’s arms shifted. Now he wasn’t just holding her, he was hugging her. Tender and sweet and loving. He was happy she was back. He was happy she was pregnant. 

Belle had never thought that anyone would be happy that she was going to give birth to a monster. But he wanted this baby. He loved this baby, before it was even a full-fledged bump. She had done the right thing coming here. This creature, the father, would do anything for her or their young. She felt that truth in her bones. For just a moment, everything was okay. 

Then she started thinking.

A million questions spun around in her mind: How could this thing hear an embryo inside her body? Was it just registering the fetal heartbeat? What was that heartbeat? Was it a healthy rate? Was the baby really okay? What else would he be able to tell her about her pregnancy? Wait--had he been expecting her to come back pregnant?

She pushed its head away from her stomach and slapped at its shoulders to get its attention. “Put me on the ground,” she said. “I want to talk to you, face to face.”

The spider-thing obeyed her without complaint. But once Belle was on the stone floor of the cave, it crawled up to the center of its massive, golden web. The monster towered over her. Belle had to crane her neck and squint to see it outlined in the half-light.

Not exactly face to face. 

Pulling her shirt down again, Belle crossed her arms over her chest. Pregnancy had made her breasts swell up and her nipples become more sensitive--and she really didn’t want to be distracted by that sort of thing right now. For all its fond feelings, this creature had turned her life upside down. Before anything else happened, she would give him a piece of her mind. 

“So,” she began firmly. “You know that I’m pregnant--that I’m going to have one of your ‘young,’ as you call it.”

“Yes.” The echoey answer came down from the shadows of the cave. 

Out of sheer irritation, Belle began to tap her foot. “Did you plan for that to happen?”

“Yes.”

Her mouth fell open. “Yes?” she repeated. “You wanted me to conceive and carry your offspring? And you didn’t see fit to tell me about it?”

“I told.” The voice sounded indignant. “We made a deal. You agreed.”

“I did not agree to--”

“You said mate!” 

The creature rappelled down from the web on a string of golden thread until its pointed legs touched the floor. The human-looking head and torso rose up from a spider’s cephalothorax. A ridged shell of exoskeleton covered his back and shoulders down to the waist, showing only the slightest hint of a golden underbelly. Unlike his sparkly face and hands, that bit of carapace was a glossy dark brown. It almost looked like an old-fashioned frock coat.  

The shell moved with his body when he bent at the waist to look her in the eye. Now they were face to face. It was hard to read his expression. He didn’t seem enraged, just terribly intense.

“You agreed to be my mate!”

“Yeah, but mating doesn’t mean…” 

This time, Belle stopped herself. She realized her mistake now. When she had made the deal with the creature, she had been thinking like a human. She had taken ‘mate’ to be the same as ‘fuck.’ She had thought her time with the spider had been a one night stand, no strings attached. She’d thought she’d gotten pregnant by accident.

She should have thought like an animal. So many animals only ever had sex when the female was ovulating, when conception was practically gauranteed. By agreeing to mate with him, she had been agreeing to have his child. 

And there was the language the creature had used. There was a big difference between ‘mating’ and ‘being a mate.’ Did it really mean what it had said? Did he want her to be his mate? Forever?

Belle put her hand over her stomach. Her anger had left her, and now she felt like a deflated balloon.

“Did you really plan for me to get pregnant?”

“Yes.”

“And do you still want me around? Do you want me to have your… progeny?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” She looked into his eyes--so strange, so black, but so full of expression. “Was I just the first fertile human to ever come into this cave?”

“No,” it said simply. “Not the first.” 

Belle blinked. “Wait, have you done this before? Do you have other offspring? Are there more things like you out there in the world?”

The creature looked away from her, but didn’t crawl back into its web. “Yes,” he said after a moment. His voice seemed quiet, almost sad. “Long ago. There was another.”

“Another woman?” Belle whispered. “Another human?”

He nodded. “And another young.”

“But only one? Hell, do your ‘mates’ only give birth to one, um, ‘young’ at a time?”

“Yes.”

Okay then. Well, at least now Belle knew she wasn’t going to give birth to hundreds of spiderlings. Thank God for small favors. 

“What… happened to your young? It’s not in this cave, is it?” She had thought that this thing was such an anomaly, such a scientific impossibility, that there was no way there could be more than one of it. She had thought he was alone, but what if he wasn’t? Or at least, what if he hadn’t always been?

“Left.” 

There was something different about this reply. Though it was just as monosyllabic and simple as everything else the creature had said, Belle got the distinct impression that there was more to it. He wasn’t just saying one word because that was all that needed to be said. He was only saying one word because it was too painful for him to say more.

“And what about the woman?” Not only was there another creature like him out there in the world--like him and like the child she carried--but there was also another woman somewhere who had been through exactly what Belle was going through now.

“She left too,” he said. Half of his eyes looked at the ground, and the other half darted back and forth around the cave. None of them looked at her. 

“But…” Belle tried to piece together the facts. “She lived? She was pregnant with your young, and she gave birth to… something like you, and… both of them lived?”

“Yes.”

That eased a worry that Belle had barely been able to admit had been plaguing her.

“How old is your young now? How long ago did all this happen?”

“Old?” the creature cocked its head. “Long… ago?”

Belle swallowed. She had been thinking like a human again. What was time to a thing like him? Did it even have numbers that he could count seasons or years in? Why would it need them? How would this creature in the dark measure the passing of days?

“Your young,” Belle tried again. “Did it grow as big as you?”

That wouldn’t tell her exactly what she wanted to know, but it was good data anyway. If the offspring had lived to reach sexual maturity, that would at least give her an idea of what she could expect from her own young. 

“No,” the creature answered. “He was small.” 

He held out his arms in a circle near his chest. Belle recognized the gesture as cradling a baby and her heart melted a little. Then, he bent down on his spindly legs and put his hand about a meter off the floor. Belle had the image of a boy’s torso on a spider’s body, running and playing around this cave, learning to spin webs just like its father. Finally, the creature raised itself up a little higher, so that its hand was two meters above the ground. So the young had grown up to be about two-thirds the size of the creature. For some reason, Belle thought of a young teenager, maybe a fourteen year old boy.

She wondered what the young had looked like. Not just how many legs or eyes he’d had, but things like what color his hair had been. Was his chin as pointed as his father’s? Did his eyebrows furrow in the same way? Did the young look like his mother at all?

Would her child look like its big brother?

Belle looked around the cave and found a rock to sit on. So many revelations in such a short time had worn her out. She rested her face in her hands.

The creature came over to her. “Belle?”

“I’m tired,” she explained. “I’m tired all the time now. I don’t like being pregnant.”

He swallowed. Was he nervous? “You don’t want young?”

“What?” Belle looked up.

The creature had its hands drawn up close to its chest. Her first thought was of a praying mantis about to strike. But then she realized that his fingers were moving. They rubbed together in a way that almost looked like fidgeting.

Was he nervous?

He circled the cave on his many legs, up and down the walls. His head wove around like he had something very important to look at just over there, nowhere near her. Belle read this behavior as evasion. She had never seen it in a predator before. 

He had made a complete circuit around before he spoke again.

“Will you… leave?”

Belle’s shoulders slumped. She knew what she had to say, and she knew that he didn’t want to hear it. Surprisingly, she didn’t really want to say it either.

“I’ll have to, eventually. People will worry if I just disappear. And I need food and water and--” she looked down at her belly “--medicine, I think. I still don’t know what to do about a doctor knowing what I’m pregnant with.”

“Stay.” It was looking at her now. All of his dark eyes were wide and full. “Please stay, Belle.”

She looked at the ground. When was the last time someone she’d fucked had even asked her to stay the night? Let alone stay for… however long he wanted her to stay. Forever? The time they had spent together could be measured in hours. It was not the stuff of a lifetime commitment!

And yet...

“I--” she didn’t know what to say. “I do have to go back tonight. The people I’m staying with will worry about me if I don’t come back. Everyone will worry about me if I just fall off the face of the earth. Do-do you understand that? I’m not alone. There are other humans who care about me, and I care about them.”

He turned his head. “I… care about you.” His voice was soft and muffled.

“I know.” 

Belle heaved herself off the rock and took a few steps under his legs. He was so large, she felt like she was in a cave within a cave. Over her head, his oblong abdomen was smooth and dark, with a slight pattern of speckles. Though he wasn’t yellow, she understood why another name for nephila was “banana spider.” Tentatively, she reached up to touch the underside of his exoskeleton. It was almost a shell, cool and hard, with patterns of bumpy ridges breaking up the smoothness. 

His legs scuttled in place as she touched him, and Belle withdrew her hand. “Was that alright?”

For a moment, the creature didn’t speak. Then, from high above her head, Belle heard the answer: “Yes.”

She raised her hand again, pressing the flat of her palm against him. “Does this feel good?”

Again, a long moment before he answered. She had the oddest idea that his hesitance wasn’t just reluctance to speak. Maybe he genuinely didn’t know if the sensations he was experiencing were actually pleasant or not. She couldn’t shake the thought that this creature had never been touched gently before. Or at least, it had been so long that the experience was strange.

“Yes,” he said at last.

Slowly, gently, Belle began to rub the shell of his abdomen segment. She tried to be soothing. Would he be soothed? Would he know that that was what she wanted?

Without thinking about it, her other hand drifted down to her belly. She touched the bump that barely even existed, the life inside her that only he knew was really there. She rubbed them all--her lover, her child, and herself. They were an odd and unnatural family, but she could not deny their connection. 

“Can you tell me about the woman before?” She couldn’t say why that was the thought at the forefront of her mind. She just knew she wouldn’t have any peace until she was able to resolve it. “What was her name?”

Again, the legs shifted, uncertain. “Didn’t say.”

Belle blinked. “She didn’t tell you? But she mated with you? She agreed, just like I did?”

“No,” it said softly. “Not like you. She… wanted. She… offered.”

Belle blinked again. Wow. She had made a deal for this thing to fuck her as an alternative to having it eat her. But this other woman… Had she really fucked a giant spider just for the hell of it? And she didn’t tell him her name?

Belle moved forward along his body. At the junction between the abdomen and the cephalothorax, there was a ridged orifice. Belle recognized it as a gonopore, the hole where sperm came from. Her mind filled up with facts from classes she had taken: Male spiders didn’t have penises. They scooped sperm up with special limbs called pedipalps and jammed them securely into the female’s genital opening, called an epigyne. 

In their particular case, this creature had impregnated her by filling up her vagina with his hand. That hand had obviously been covered in sperm. The process had resulted in the single most mind-blowing orgasm of her life. 

Odd as it was, she could understand how a person would deliberately seek out an experience like that, even at the hands of a monster. Perhaps the other woman had known or guessed what this spider would be capable of. Mating like this brought intense physical pleasure to a human woman. Belle knew that from experience. 

Did the creature get anything out of it, besides young? There hadn’t been any kind of climax for him. Arachnid procreation was mostly about a male pleasing a much larger female enough to avoid being eaten. Was there any pleasure in it for males? Belle looked up at the gonopore again. What kind of sensation could he feel there? Would that be an erogenous area? Should she touch it? Had the other woman touched it?

“Did she talk to you like I do?”

“No,” the creature said. “She… presented her body to me. We mated. She left, like you did. Then she came back. She was… rounder than you are. I heard the young clearly. She shouted and made noise at me. She called me Monster, Animal. Beast.”

But you are, Belle bit back the words. She lowered her hands away from the creature’s body. Walking out from underneath his cephalothorax, she looked at his face again.

He looked so sad.

“The other,” he went on. “She stayed. She had the young. Then she left. She left him here.”

Belle laid her hand on her stomach. She could have sympathy for a woman who found herself with both an inhuman child and a monster that wanted to mate for life. But it felt cruel for that woman to just leave both of them without a word of explanation.

“And in all that time you were together, she never told you her name?”

“No.”

“Did she name the baby--the young?”

“No.”

“Did you?” she asked. “Did you give your child a name?”

He cocked his head and made a noise, a sort of chittering chirp, more a song than a word. Belle tried to work out syllables that she could repeat into English.

“Bae-el-fi-re?”

His black eyes lit up in excitement. “Yes!” he cried. “Baelfire! Bae! That was my young.”

The joy and love in his voice almost brought Belle to tears. She couldn’t help but wonder how he would sound saying the name of their child, whenever they picked out a name. She had already told this creature her name. And she was damned if she wouldn’t name her child.

It was at that moment that Belle realized she wouldn’t leave him. Not forever. She couldn’t hurt him the way that other woman had.

“Will you--” Belle began, but then stopped herself. She started over again. “The last time I was here, I asked what your name was, and I didn’t quite understand it. Will you tell it to me again?”

He obliged her with another noise, a mess of garbled R and L sounds. She tried to piece it together. “Rum...ple-something? Rumple?”

He smiled at her. “Yes.” His voice was soft now. He sounded grateful.

“I know that’s not all of it, but it’s the best I can do for now.”

“Belle,” he whispered. His legs bent down so that his body lay flat on the ground. From this height, his face was only a few inches higher than hers.

She wanted to ask him more. She wanted to know what had happened to his other young, what was going to happen to her, what kind of name he would like for their child. These were all important questions, but in that moment nothing was more important than the simple act of being with him. Of staying.

She reached out to him. Earlier, she had been fascinated by the parts of him that were arachnid. Now she wanted to touch the parts of him that were human. She put her hand on his shoulder. The hard exoskeleton looked almost like a jacket, like a long coat made of crocodile leather. 

The creature--Rumple--didn’t pull away from her touch. Instead, he inched closer. His own hands hung in the air between their bodies. It was clear he wanted to touch her, but couldn’t dare to yet. 

So Belle took another step forward. “Do you…” There wasn’t really an easy way to ask this. “Can you mate now, even if we’ve already mated?”

Now it was his turn to blink. All eight eyes did so at a different time, and the effect was like a display of Christmas lights creating the illusion of movement on a static surface. 

“Why?” he asked. Was it her imagination, or did he sound breathless?

She moved her hand from his shoulder to his neck, to his face. She brushed one of his chelicerae with the back of her knuckles. The inner bristles there were surprisingly soft. He shuddered at the touch.

“For pleasure,” Belle answered. “We can do it because it feels good. Because it’s the only thing that does feel good in this crazy world.”

With agonizing slowness, Rumple brought his hand up to her face. He touched her cheek. His long, sharp, claws ran against her skin without the slightest hint of pain.

Belle closed her eyes and smiled. 

“She... the other… she wanted pleasure.”

Opening her eyes, Belle put her hand on top of his. “What do you want?”

He looked at her. All of his round, black eyes stared at her for a long moment before he answered: “Pleasure.” 

Her breath quickened, but Belle nodded. This was happening, and she wanted it to happen. She was going to fuck a spider. 

Again.

If he were a man, she would have kissed him now. But his chelicerae made his mouth oddly wide. More than that, the fangs and venom housed within his chelicerae were more of a hazard than Belle could manage right now.

Rumple seemed to know it. As they got closer to each other, he raised his head up so she could nestle underneath his chin. Her arms wrapped around his neck and his arms went around her waist and they held each other.

And it felt so good.

Eyes shut, Belle felt the tears welling up. But she wasn’t sad now. No, she was overwhelmed with an absurd feeling of safety, of peace. With her mind and her body, whatever happened, she would be alright. As long as she was with Rumple, as long as they were together, somehow things would turn out okay. 

She wasn’t just going to fuck a spider, she was going to make love to Rumple. Whatever he was, whatever their child would be, whatever happened to her career or her future--they were together.

She loved him.

They stood together for a while. Their hands explored their bodies slowly, almost lazily. More than once, Belle found her hands wandering down to his gonopore. She didn’t touch it directly at first, just let her fingers graze against it. She felt like she was a teenager again--curious to find out what a guy’s boner or another girl’s pussy felt like, but also reluctant to be compelled to do anything with that knowledge once she had it.

Rumple didn’t seem to mind one way or the other. Maybe he couldn’t feel anything. Real spiders didn’t have sensory organs on their pedipalps, which could make mating a clumsy process. What was this creature’s relationship to his own body? How could she give him pleasure like he had given her?

“What can you feel?” she asked.

“Heart,” he said. His hand was on her neck and her pulse was probably racing.

Belle bit back a smile. “I mean, for yourself? Can you feel me touching you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like the way I’m touching you?”

“Yes.”

“Can I do anything more? Something different? Faster, slower? Rougher, softer? Want me to go in circles?”

That was too many questions at once, and she knew he wouldn’t answer. But he held her closer and rubbed his face in her hair.

“Do I smell good?” she whispered. She worked her hands into the inside of his carapace. His skin was soft there, and his body was warm.

“Yes,” he answered.

“What do I smell like?” She was genuinely curious as to what he would say, how he would describe his senses and whether it would mean anything to her.

“Belle,” he whispered. He always spoke her name with reverence. “You smell like Belle.”

Squeezing her eyes shut to block off another onslaught of tears, Belle pulled her free hand out of the carapace and very deliberately moved it down along his waist and into his gonopore.

Rumple gasped. His body stiffened, but Belle did not move her hand. 

“Does that hurt, Rumple?”

“No.” His voice was different. One of his hands twisted in her tee shirt.

“You have to tell me if I hurt you. I’ve never done this before and I don’t want to get it wrong.”

Gently, he pulled her head back so they were looking at each other, face to face. “You too,” he said softly. “If I hurt you.”

“I’ll tell you,” Belle nodded. “If we do this right, we’ll both end up feeling very good.”

One hand was still in her shirt. He pulled at it, not roughly. “Sheer?” he offered.

Belle snorted at the word they had used last time for the act of her taking off her clothes. Strange that the other woman hadn’t taught him about clothing. Had she not worn any when she was around him? Was she a nudist? Or just a woman on a mission who wouldn’t let even a millimeter of fabric get between her body and the monster she wanted to fuck?

 Nothing good would come of thinking about that woman now. Backing away from Rumple just a bit, Belle pulled her shirt over her head and unhooked her bra. Her nipples stood out from her breasts, hard and red as gumdrops. Pregnancy and arousal had an odd combination of effects on her body. 

The creature cocked his head at her. He seemed surprised by how different she looked from the last time he had seen her. 

Belle sat on the stone ground to take off her shoes and socks. “My body is going to be changing a lot between now and when the baby comes. So don’t get too attached to me looking just one way.”

“Beautiful,” was all he said when she pulled off her shorts and stood naked in front of him. “Always.”

She swallowed. For about the thousandth time, Belle remembered what a truly fucked up situation she had found herself in. She was talking to a giant spider. She cared what the spider thought about her appearance. She was relieved when the spider said he would always find her beautiful. She was looking forward to having an “always” with a motherfucking spider. 

Stepping toward Rumple, Belle reached out her hand to touch his gonopore again. There was a ridge around the opening, made of a hard, shell-like material. The bumps were rounded and smooth. They felt good against her hand.

She applied a little pressure and the creature’s breath hitched. 

“Nice,” Belle said out loud.

For all her horny bravery, Belle wasn’t ready to dive directly into the orifice where his sperm came from. It was wet and sticky, even more so than any of the fluids she normally associated with sex. That kind of mess would be more appropriate for a third date. But the ridge… She could work with that ridge. And it would give him pleasure too. 

“Can you pick me up again?”

Of course he could. Of course his strength was inhuman. He held her in his arms and Belle wrapped her legs around his waist. Her pussy opened up to him, flush against his body. Her wetness left a shine against his dark brown shell.

“What do you want?” he asked her.

With one hand, she held onto his arm. With the other, she brushed back a lock of his hair. Her fingers trailed down to his cheek.

“I want to ride you,” she answered. “I want you to hold me up with your arms so I stay pretty much where I am right now. If you think you might drop me, please stop and put me down and we’ll think of something else to do.”

“I will!” he promised. God, he was so sincere, so heartfelt. 

Belle adjusted her position so that the ridge around his gonopore was pushing directly against her pussy. The hard, round bumps pressed against her clitoris and her vagina at the same time. 

“Oh, fuck yes,” she whispered. She rocked her hips against him. “Do you feel that? Do you like that feeling?”

Rumple’s arms clutched around her and he held her tight against his body. “Yes.”

“Good.” Her breathing was heavy. “I’m going to keep moving like this, over and over, until I can’t do it anymore. I’m going to try to come. Do you remember, last time, when you made me come? You did it four times.”

“Yes.” He didn’t have hips, exactly, but his lower half jerked forward, as though he was being led by his gonopore into her body.

She chuckled. “And if there’s anything I can do for you--any way you want me to touch you or move against you--just let me know.” Belle looked into his eyes, all eight of them. “I want you to enjoy this too.”

He nodded, and she began to grind. 

The bumps between her legs really were perfect for this. They were large enough that she could feel them, but not so penetrating that it was uncomfortable. Her movements did an excellent job of not satisfying her--they always left her wanting more. 

Unlike so many times with men, Belle felt like she was in control of her pleasure. She wanted to make Rumple feel good, but there was no demand, no urgency. Sometimes fucking a cock felt like a race against time, like she was there to satisfy it, like the male climax was the point of sex and her own pleasure only existed to make a man horny.

But this was more like fucking a woman, when orgasms were a nearly inexhaustable resource and lovers could spend hours trading pleasure back and forth between them. They had nothing but time, her and Rumple. They would have forever to learn the mysteries of each other’s bodies. They would have always.

No one--man or woman--had ever promised her that before. 

Her legs tightened around his waist, and Belle found herself clenching, the orgasm rising up out of her. She clung to Rumple as she came, bracing herself against his chest. As she came down from the first of what would be many highs, she looked up at his face. His eyes were even rounder and blacker than before.

“Belle,” was all he said.

“Rumple.” She gave him a sated smile and rested her head on his chest again. Then she told him something she had never said to anyone else before: “I love you.”

[emospritelet]

Indulgence

Third part of my Original Sin verse, in which demon!Gold goes to seduce human!Belle with his balls full of demonic seed…

This was supposed to be ready for Halloween, and has been in the works since early September, but I was sick, so it was late. I tagged it mildly dubious consent on AO3, mainly because she doesn’t realise he’s serious when he tells her he’s a demon. Not sure that would make a difference to our girl, but I tagged it for safety. 

[Part 1] [Part 2] [AO3]

x

Gold made his way slowly down the side street, the brass-handled cane he used tapping out a steady rhythm on the cracked stones. It was a dull, grey day, approaching dusk, but he still wore sunglasses with brown-tinted lenses, keeping what glare there was from his sensitive eyes. He much preferred to do business after dark, but humans were predictably reluctant in these matters. A cyclist passed at speed, spinning wheels throwing dead leaves and dirt into the air, and he stepped back calmly on one foot, the movement showing his lack of true need for the cane he carried. It was an affectation, a tool to make him seem smaller, less threatening. He wasn’t sure if it worked all that well, as the humans were still wary of him, but he had used the thing for years, and so he stuck with it. Besides, it looked good.

He paused outside an old three-storey building, looking it up and down as he gathered his thoughts. The place had been built in the 1920s, and held its own against its taller, more modern neighbours. A painted sign hung above the door, the curling letters black on a white background: Avonlea Books. A stone step marked the entrance, windows framed in pale blue displaying a collection of children’s books with shining covers, all concerning witches, vampires or ghosts. There was a display of paper leaves in red and gold, a carved pumpkin, and a stuffed black cat with green glass eyes curled beside an iron cauldron. Silver-grey strands of fake spider web stretched across the window, and Gold smiled to himself. Miss French was ready for Halloween, it seemed.

He had met the young bookstore owner quite by chance, when she had ordered a rare copy of Persuasion from him for her personal collection. Her initial email querying its provenance had been detailed and thorough, displaying a deep knowledge of the author and a true passion for reading. They had corresponded a few times before she had agreed to purchase the item, and she had displayed a wit and intelligence that had made him want to continue their interactions. She had intrigued him, had pricked at the depths of his dark soul in ways that he had rarely experienced, and he had found himself thinking of her at the strangest times. He had been due to travel to New York on other business, and so he had decided to deliver the book personally.

Miss French, when they met, had almost stolen his breath. She was delightful: a tiny ball of sunshine with the sort of pale beauty and inner fire that he found most alluring in humans, and could rarely find. She had made him tea, drunk as they sat in her tiny shop and discussed books, her scent making his mouth water and his skin burn with desire. The brief touch of her hand on his arm had sent shivers through him, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to use his magic to sneak his way into her dreams and let her feel the pleasure he could give her. She was breathtaking.

He decided then and there that he would see her again, and so he had sought books that he knew she would like, taking the liberty of emailing her with news of his latest acquisitions in the hope of securing another meeting. He had travelled to New York on four separate occasions for the purpose, and Miss French greeted him with warm tones and a slight blush in her cheeks every time. Her scent had changed from that first meeting, becoming rounder, more musky, drifting into his nose and making his heart thud in his chest with the urge to taste her. She wanted him, he could tell. Perhaps as much as he wanted her.

He had already left his mark on her, a warning to others who might desire her that she was already claimed, that she was under his protection as long as the mark lasted. It was done by a press of his lips, a damp circle on the back of her hand as he took his leave when they last met. It amused him no end that the gesture was seen as old-fashioned and gentlemanly. Certainly Miss French had blushed adorably when he had done it, and stammered out her own goodbye. To others of his kind, though, it was a warning. One with serious consequences, if ignored.

Putting his mark on her also had the effect of opening up her mind. It wouldn’t create desire, and he would never have bothered if he thought she found him repulsive. But she was attracted to him, he knew that very well. His mark would let her desire take form, would let her darkest fantasies come to life in her mind. She would dream of him, although not the true dreams in which he could touch her, in which he could taste her. Denying himself that pleasure was exquisite agony.

He thought of her waking in the night, gasping and reaching between her legs to give herself the pleasure that the dreams promised. It was enough to make him swell and harden in his pants, and he licked his lips at the images his mind conjured. He wanted to touch her himself, to make her scream with pleasure. He wanted to taste her. The encounter with Lacey only hardened his resolve. She was the one, and he would have her.

In the end, it was she that called him. She was looking to buy additional stock for her little shop, and wanted to sell an early edition of Middlemarch. He was more than happy to take it off her hands. In the circumstances. 

It had been two days before Lacey had visited him for their coupling, and knowing that he would have another purpose to his trip, Gold had delayed giving Belle a date for his arrival in New York. He left Storybrooke not long after Lacey had wandered out of his life, driving south in his Cadillac, travelling through the night and checking into his favourite hotel. He called Miss French that morning, informing her that he would be visiting the shop at five that evening to view the book.

She greeted him with a wide smile and a deep blush that made her blue eyes shine. A white shirt clung to her curves, cap sleeves baring her arms beneath a little red cardigan and the top three buttons undone to reveal the hollow between her breasts. Her legs were bare beneath the flared black skirt she wore, high heeled shoes giving her a few extra inches. He was surprised to see it in the winter weather, but the sight of her naked skin made his mouth water as he imagined running his tongue up her inner thigh, tugging her underwear aside to taste her. He licked his lips, and wondered if she could sense the desire he felt for her, burning deep in his belly. Her hand shook a little as he took it, and he bent to kiss her knuckles, breathing in her scent. There was an edge to it, a need, and he felt himself smile before he straightened up. Perhaps this would be easier than he had thought.

He pretended to study the book she handed him, making a show of bargaining over the price, although he had never intended to give her anything less than what she asked, and when the deal was done, he turned his attention to the true purpose of his visit.

“Well, Miss French,” he said, setting the book carefully in his briefcase. “It appears our business is concluded. A pity. I’ve enjoyed our conversation.”

“So have I,” she said. “How long are you in the city?”

Gold showed his teeth.

“I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he said, closing his briefcase with a click. “The shop won’t run itself, alas.”

“That’s a shame,” she murmured, and he tilted his head. 

“Well, if you should ever wish to dispose of other rare editions, I’d be obliged if you could give me first refusal. I’d offer you a very fair price.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would,” she said hastily, blushing a little. “It’s just - well, if this is your last night in the city, perhaps - perhaps we could have a drink?”

“A drink?” he said, allowing himself a tiny smile. “That sounds perfect.”

“Actually, I’m - I’m closing up now,” she said. “If you’re free.”

Gold straightened up, fingers flexing on the cane handle.

“I’m all yours.”

x

Belle had never met anyone quite like Mr Gold, and her instant and unexpected attraction to him had caused her some initial concern. She tried to make dating decisions based on personality traits and common interests rather than looks, but told herself firmly that this hadn’t changed with the arrival of the mysterious antique dealer. Mr Gold was, after all, intelligent, well-read, and with an appreciation for the rare and beautiful. Not that he wasn’t handsome; he had deep brown eyes and soft hair that hung around a sharp jaw and high cheekbones. But there was something else that drew her to him, her thoughts straying to him at the strangest times. There was an air about him, a heavy energy that made her skin tingle, that had made her breath catch at the first touch of his hand. Yes, she had to admit that she found him very attractive indeed.

She had wanted to ask him out the first time they had met, but had held off, thinking that impulsiveness wasn’t always one of her more admirable traits. He was much older than her, and she had told herself that he was probably married, although he wore no wedding ring. Still, it had always felt as though there was something between them. A weight to the atmosphere whenever he entered the shop, a spark of electricity in the air around them. The strength of her attraction was a little alarming, and so she had waited, all the while keeping an ear out for any mention of a wife or partner, anything that might suggest he was already taken. He wasn’t all that forthcoming with personal information, something she hoped to remedy.

The last time he had left the shop, he had kissed her hand with a slow press of soft lips. It was a gesture she would ordinarily have wrinkled her nose at, but which had made her heart thump and a heavy, insistent throb of desire start between her thighs. She had dreamed of him that night, a gloriously vivid dream in which he peeled off every stitch she wore and made her scream with pleasure. It made her blush to think of it, and his tiny, knowing grin when he had arrived that evening had almost made her suspect that he knew the erotic paths her mind had taken. It made negotiating the price for the book somewhat longer than it needed to be, but she couldn’t help thinking that he had gone easy on her, nonetheless. She told herself that asking someone for a drink was a normal, healthy part of adult life, and there was no need to turn it into a big deal. She also told herself that she had no intention of sleeping with him, even as she knew it was a blatant lie.

Once they left the shop, she took him to a bar around the corner, a small, humid place with good wine and terrible restrooms. Roni, the black-haired bartender, flashed Belle her usual wide smile, but eyed Gold with a suspicious, narrow-eyed stare as she set a bottle of wine and two glasses in front of them. She frowned at him as she turned away, and Belle was puzzled by her sudden hostility. Gold seemed unfazed, carrying the bottle to a nearby table as Belle brought the glasses. He pulled out her chair, waiting for her to sit before pushing it back, and then took his own seat. Roni passed again, still shooting him disapproving looks, and there was a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t think much of the service in this place,” he said lightly.

“I don’t get it, she’s usually so friendly,” mused Belle. “Do you know her?”

“No,” he said, pouring them each a glass of wine. “I shouldn’t worry about it. She’s probably worked out that I’m not really human.”

Belle giggled, raising a brow.

“Oh really?” she drawled. “Well, I suppose it is almost Halloween.”

“Here’s my costume,” he quipped, running a hand up and down his slim form.

“Terrifying.”

“I thought so.”

She grinned, reaching for her drink, and shook back her hair as red wine swirled in her glass, dark as blood. Gold reached for his own glass, taking a sip and setting it down.

“So what are you?” she asked. “Vampire? Werewolf?”

“Certainly not,” he said seriously. “I’m an ancient demon, proficient in the dark arts.”

“With a weakness for old books and antiques?” she teased, and he shrugged.

“We all have our hobbies.”

“I suppose even ancient demons have to pass the time between sacrifices,” she added, and he wrinkled his nose.

“Well, it’s been some time since I attended a thoroughly debauched ritual,” he admitted. “Getting a little old for that sort of thing.”

Belle giggled.

“Do demons ever get tired of doing demonic things?”

“Not really.” He took a sip of his wine, grinning at her. “It’s more a shift in priorities. I believe you humans are the same. As we get older, we start to focus on the more important things in life.”

“Defiling virgins out, family time in?”

Gold set down his glass with a smile.

“In order to do that, one must first have a family.”

“And you think having a drink with me is gonna fix that?” she asked. He returned her grin, spreading his fingers in a fan.

“Clearly it’s all part of my evil demonic plan.”

“Strange that I asked you out, then.”

“Perhaps you’re drawn to the darkness.”

It was said in a low voice, a throaty rumble in his throat that made her heart thump. Belle chuckled a little nervously, taking a sip of wine. It was good, warming her throat, and she took another, larger sip, sneaking a look at him over the rim of her glass. Something was pulling her to him, an alluring sense of mystery, of hunger. Perhaps it was darkness, after all. Odd, then, that she trusted him. Foolish, perhaps, given that she barely knew the man, but then she had always had a sense about people. His eyes caught hers, a sudden gleam of gold within their dark brown depths, and she shook her head, dropping her gaze. 

“Where were we before we entered this bar and went down this very bizarre path?” she said. “Oh yes, you were telling me what a terrible recluse you are.”

He looked amused at that.

“Ask any of my neighbours.”

Belle pursed her lips.

“Maybe I will,” she said coyly. “What’s your home town like?”

Gold sucked his teeth, setting down his glass and sitting back.

“Small enough that everyone wants to know your business,” he said. “Large enough that they never quite manage it.”

Belle giggled at that, taking another sip of her wine.

“Even after two years, I feel like I don’t really know anyone here,” she confessed. “Big cities are kind of impersonal, aren’t they? I have a few regulars, of course, but it’s not the same as friends. I mean, I love running the shop, don’t get me wrong, but it’s kind of lonely at times.”

“I see.” He continued to watch her, fingers stroking the stem of his glass. “And what did you hope for, when you came to this city?”

Belle could feel that her smile was somewhat rueful.

“I was hoping that the bookstore would be an amazing success and in five years’ time I’d have a chain of them and a beautiful loft apartment,” she said. “Now I’m mostly hoping that I can pay next month’s bills on time and have a little left over for a new pair of shoes.”

“A simple enough dream,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “What about the rest? Friends? Family?”

Belle wrinkled her nose.

“My parents are both dead,” she said. “That’s how I got the shop. Dad left me a little money, so I figured I’d make a new start, in a new city.”

She chewed her lip, feeling sad, and took a drink to try to distract from her melancholy.

“What about you?” she asked, her voice cracking a little. “Do you live alone?”

“Yes.” He reached for his drink again. “You?”

“Oh, ever since I came here,” she said. “The apartment only has one bedroom.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to live alone.”

“True,” she agreed. “But I don’t seem to have much luck with relationships, to be honest.”

“I find that hard to imagine,” he said softly, and she shrugged awkwardly.

“Some people say I’m - odd,” she ventured. “That I’ll end up alone with my books and a dozen cats. I don’t know, maybe they’re right.”

Gold smirked, and raised his glass.

“Sounds like something to celebrate,” he suggested. “Fuck the lot of them.”

She giggled at that, and clinked her glass against his. He took a sip, setting down his glass.

“So,” he said. “No enormous hulking boyfriend waiting outside to attack me for having a drink with you?”

“God, no!” she said fervently. “I mean, I’ve dated, but it never usually gets past the second night. Maybe I’m too picky. Or too weird.”

“You think you’re weird?”

“You heard the crazy cat lady thing, right?” She raised her glass. “Scared yet?”

“Certainly not.”

Gold took a sip of his wine, the tip of his tongue sweeping across his lips to catch a stray droplet, dark as blood. His eyes met hers, and she felt her breath catch in her throat a little.

“And what about children?” he asked softly. “Do you want to be a mother?”

“Yes,” she said immediately. “I guess I want it all. A job I love, a happy marriage and a couple of kids, and - and it occurs to me that this really isn’t a first date topic of conversation…”

Her voice trailed off lamely, but he smiled, settling back in his chair and spreading his legs a little wider.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said easily. “I find it’s better to be open about these things. Cuts down on the time-wasters.”

Belle laughed a little nervously, reaching for her wine.

“Careful,” she warned. “I’ll be telling you all my secrets soon.”

“Well, you already know mine,” he said, and she sent him an amused look.

“Of course,” she said earnestly. “How could I forget the professional defiler of virgins?”

“Retired,” he corrected, raising his glass, and she giggled.

“At least you haven’t run for the hills,” she noted, and his mouth twitched.

“I have no intention of running anywhere.”

“Good.”

There was a moment of silence, and she took another drink to cover it. Gold was watching her, fingers absently caressing the rim of his wine glass. The fingers were long and slender, his touch delicate, and she wondered if he was as careful with everything he handled. A heat was building in her, the throb of her pulse beating low down in her groin, and she squeezed her thighs together. One corner of his mouth pulled upwards, as though he could read her mind, and she tried to keep her thoughts out of the gutter. Gold put his head to the side.

“You said you didn’t date,” he said, and Belle pulled a face.

“Not really,” she said. “Nothing that counts as a - as a relationship.”

“And is a relationship what you want?” he asked. His voice was low and lilting. Soothing. A velvet tongue caressing her skin and making her shiver.

“I - it might - it might be nice,” she stammered, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks. “To have someone, I mean. Everyone needs someone, right?”

He smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming.

“You’re asking the wrong person.”

“Because the mysterious Mr Gold spends all his time alone, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Then why are you here?” she countered, and his smile widened.

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

He took a slow sip of his wine, his eyes catching and holding hers, making the blush in her cheeks deepen and an ache start low in her belly. Her heart was thudding in her chest, her skin prickling, as though it was too tight, and she sucked in a breath as he took another drink. He licked his lips again, and set down his glass.

“Do you live nearby, Miss French?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I live above the shop. Why?”

Gold shook back his hair, the tip of his tongue running over his lower lip as his eyes locked onto hers.

“I’d like to take you to bed,” he said quietly. “If you’re willing.”

“Yes! I mean—” She closed her eyes. “I mean - wow, that’s - that’s very - uh - direct.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and she caught a gleam of gold as his teeth showed.

“You said yes.”

“I did, didn’t I?”

She was blushing hard now, and she grabbed at her wine to hide it, almost choking as she took a large swallow.

“I - I don’t usually do this after I make a sale, you know,” she said, and he smiled.

“Nor do I.”

“So…” She gave him a rueful grin. “Are the two of us just a couple of book sluts, or what?”

Gold burst out laughing at that, his eyes gleaming.

“Imagine what could happen if I showed you my library,” he said, his voice a low, pleasant growl, and she pursed her lips.

“Telling me you have a library is serious foreplay, you know.”

He laughed again, a deep, rich sound that made her belly clench, and he reached for his glass, still smiling. She watched as he drank the last of the wine in it and set it down. A droplet ran down the side, a bead of deep red tracking across the base to spread around its edge. Gold licked his lips, raising his chin a little.

“Ready when you are.”

Belle blinked.

“What, you want to go now?”

He shrugged lazily.

“Why wait?”

Why indeed?

“Okay,” she said, and drank the last of her own wine, setting the glass down with a clink. “Let’s go.”

It was cold outside, and Belle shivered, leaning against him as she took his arm and they made their way back towards the shop. That atmosphere was still between them, heavy and electric, and her hands shook as she turned the key in the lock to let them into her apartment. It was as though she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the brush of his fingers on her skin.

The apartment was dark, and she dropped her keys into the little pot she kept on the table by the door and went to flick on the lamp that stood by the couch. She shrugged out of her coat, sucking in a breath as she felt Gold take it from her and draw it down her arms. Her skin was tingling, her heart thumping, and she felt his cool breath by her ear, the closeness of him making her belly pull and tighten. There was a soft thump from the couch as he draped the coat over its arm, and she gasped as she felt his hands at her waist.

“Bedroom?” he murmured, his lips brushing the nape of her neck, and Belle shivered.

“Yeah - uh - just give me a minute,” she said, and pulled out of his grip.

She trotted to the bedroom, rushing to turn on the lamp on the nightstand, hurriedly snatching up the few clothes scattered on the floor and stuffing them in the drawers. Her heart was thumping hard in anticipation, and she kicked off her shoes and stacked them next to the dresser, out of the way. She shrugged out of the cardigan, tossing it aside, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright, her chest heaving. Excitement, and a touch of nervousness. It was exhilarating. She tugged the sheets straight, smoothing a hand over the midnight blue coverlet.

“Come in!” she called.

When Gold entered the room, he had taken off his overcoat and suit jacket, a waistcoat over the shirt of dark red silk. His shoes and socks were gone, leaving bare toes that sank into the thick pile of the rug by the end of the bed. A heavy, throbbing darkness seemed to swell and grow around him, blooming outward to wrap around her and pull her to him, and she stepped forward to run her hands up his chest, rising up on her toes as he bent his head to kiss her.

Gold parted her lips with his, tongue snaking into her mouth as a low moan came from her. The taste of her was sweet and heady. Ripe. He ran his hands down her back and over her hips, cupping her rear and pulling her tight against him, and Belle moaned again, fingers stroking through his hair. It felt good to kiss her, better than he had expected, and he had thought about it a lot over the past few weeks. He tugged her against him, knowing she would feel the hardness of him against her, and she moaned again and moved her hips a little, rubbing against him and sending jolts of sensation through him. He groaned, low in his throat, hands gripping her buttocks, and her fingers twisted in his hair.

She had risen up on her toes, and he slid his hands up to her waist, finding the zipper of her skirt and pulling it down before pushing the skirt over her hips to fall around her ankles. Belle kicked it away from her, and he broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to hers as his hands moved around her body to pluck at the buttons of her shirt. Their lips were wet, her nose brushing his and her breath cool against his mouth, and her fingers stroked against his scalp as he unfastened the buttons one by one, down to her navel, letting the shirt gape open to expose her pale skin and the lace cups of her bra. She wore tiny high-leg panties in black mesh, and he could smell her arousal, a heady, musky scent that made him want to drop to his knees and taste her.

Her fingers had left his hair and were fumbling with the knot of his tie, and he helped her undo it, pulling the length of silk from around his throat and tossing it aside. Belle’s hands were shaking a little as she opened up his waistcoat, and he shrugged out of it, sending it to join his tie. He pressed his brow to hers again, tilting his head a little to capture her mouth with his, and she moaned as he kissed her, as his tongue gently stroked against hers. He let his hands fall to her waist, stroking upwards over soft skin to cup her breasts, his thumbs rubbing over the taut peaks of her nipples where they pushed against the lace of her bra.

His hands slid upwards, pushing the shirt from her shoulders, and she dropped her arms and let it fall to the floor behind her. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling, and he slipped his thumbs under the straps of her bra, drawing them down her arms as he turned his head and pressed his mouth to her neck. Belle rose up on her toes with a tiny cry, and he groaned as he sucked on her soft skin, tasting her. He reached around to find the clasp of the bra, unhooking it with a flick of his fingers and a tiny curl of magic, and she shook it from her, baring the pale mounds of her breasts with their hardened nipples.

He kissed lower, inhaling her scent, the delicate perfume of arousal that was surrounding her, and his mouth trailed over her breast to fasten over her nipple, sucking it in between his lips. Belle moaned, running her hands through his hair, and he growled as his hands cupped her, his tongue swirling over the taut peak. He kissed across to the left breast, tongue circling the nipple with a glistening trail of saliva before he sucked it into his mouth, and she let her head roll back with a gasp, her fingers tugging at his hair. Gold let the nipple slip from his mouth, straightening up as he kissed his way back up to nuzzle along her jaw to her ear, feeling a shiver go through her.

“Get on the bed,” he growled. “I want to taste you.”

She pulled back from him, her eyes flicking to his, her lips full and moist from his kisses. He watched as she climbed onto the bed in her underwear, lying back against the pillows with her knees up, her toes clutching at the dark blue blanket. He unbuttoned his shirt, watching her, one hand on her belly as it rose and fell with her breath. Her dark hair was spread out on the pillows, her eyes closed and lips parted. So beautiful. 

He shrugged out of the shirt, tossing it aside before taking off his pants and underwear. His cock was hard, his balls full and heavy, and he knelt on the end of the bed, watching Belle’s eyelids flutter as he put his hands on her knees and slowly pushed them apart. She opened her legs a little, letting him slide his hands up her inner thighs, and he inhaled deeply, drawing the scent of her into his lungs. It made his mouth water, and he bent to kiss her, the skin of her thighs soft as silk against his lips. Belle moaned as he kissed higher, his fingers stalking upwards to grasp the waistband of her panties. She lifted her hips a little, allowing him to draw them down, and he shifted backwards off the bed to pull them off at her feet and toss them away.

Belle had been beautiful fully-clothed, but naked she was perfection. His eyes roamed over her curves, the peaks of her breasts and the hollow of her navel, drawn downwards to the glistening pink folds of her sex. He licked his lips as he knelt between her legs, her scent pulling him to her, filling him with an urge to thrust his cock deep inside her and give her all that he had. He ran his hands up her thighs, pushing them apart, and bent to trail his nose up from her knee, following her delicious scent. She let out a tiny moan as his lips brushed her skin, as his hair stroked against her, and he pressed his lips to the glistening cleft between her legs, letting out a low, guttural growl at the first taste of her arousal.

He could feel his true form trying to assert itself, his long tongue coiling in his mouth, eager to be inside her, his tail itching at the base of his spine, wanting to lash out and bind her to him. It had been a long time since he had forgotten himself enough to lose control, but it was surprisingly difficult to suppress the demon part of himself in the presence of all her beauty. His hands slipped beneath her buttocks, lifting her closer to his mouth as he got himself under control. Perhaps just a little of his true form. Perhaps just the tongue.

He let it curl from between his lips, long and tapered, flickering over her wet flesh. Belle gave a cry of pleasure, arching her back, and he groaned in response, her flavour bursting over his tongue. She tasted of salt and musk and the ripe sweetness that meant he had timed his seduction to perfection, and his balls ached with desire, heavy with the seed he carried. His tongue pushed inside her, tasting her, stroking against slick walls and pushing through soft flesh. His cock twitched, eager to get inside her, to push deep and squirt the seed into her. 

Drawing out the tongue, he gently slid a finger inside her, and she moaned, pushing her hips upwards. His tongue caressed her, delicately stroking against her clit as his finger thrust in and out, and Belle gasped, her fingers dragging through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. She was whimpering, her body stiffening as her climax neared, and his tongue flickered rapidly until she let out a loud cry of pleasure, wet flesh clamping around his finger. He drew it out with a low groan, whitish fluid leaking from her, and his tongue slithered back inside to taste her bliss. His groan rumbled lower, a deep, bass growl as her flavour sent pulses of desire through his body to his groin. She was jerking and moaning, her fingers tugging at his hair, and he groaned again as he sucked the cum from her. She was ready.

He pressed kisses to her mound and down her inner thighs as he pulled back, and rose up on his knees, hands sliding up her thighs as he shifted forward to lean over her. Belle had closed her eyes, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving. He leaned on the palms of his hands, shifting his body weight until he was pressed up against her, his cock achingly close to the wet flesh he longed to sink into. Belle’s eyes fluttered open, a slow smile spreading across her face, and she reached up to stroke his hair. Strands of it had were caught on his cheeks, sticky from her juices, and she brushed them back.

“That was amazing,” she murmured. “I hope you still have the energy for the rest of it.”

Gold showed his teeth.

“Oh, I won’t lack for energy, I assure you,” he said softly. “Although you might, by the time we’re done.”

“Confident, hmm?” Her eyes gleamed with amusement. “I like it.”

She slid a hand down between them, reaching between her legs to take him in hand, her warm palm curling around his cock and squeezing. It made him growl in pleasure, and Belle made a sound of approval. The hand moved, sliding lower, stroking against his balls, and her mouth opened as she sucked in a breath.

“Oh!” she whispered.

Her fingers stroked delicately, cupping his balls, tracing their shape, and he gritted his teeth, the pleasure of her touch exquisite. She grasped his cock again, lining them up, and her eyes flicked upwards to meet his. He could feel the heat of her against the head of his cock, soft, wet flesh cushioning it, waiting for him to open her up and thrust inside.

“Do you want this?” he asked softly. “Do you want what I can give you?”

“Yes!” she breathed.

He eased into her, letting out a low groan as he slid deep, as he pushed all the way into her. She was slick and hot and perfect, opening up to receive and hold him tightly, and he let his cock grow a little longer, the head pushing up against the firm wall of flesh that his tongue had explored. Belle had arched up into him, drawing up her knees to let him fill her completely, and he slid one hand beneath her lower back, tugging her close as he began to move his hips in long, slow circles, grinding against her, his cock sliding in and out of her slippery heat.

Belle moaned, letting her head roll back, eyes closed as she felt him move inside her. It felt incredible, every thrust of his hips sending a pulse of pleasure through her, making her cheeks flush and her skin hum. He seemed to be able to reach every part that drove her wild, and she enjoyed the warm solid feel of his body rubbing against her clit, his cock hard and thick inside her, a rigid shaft with its head stroking her in just the right spot. She let out a tiny cry, drawing her knees higher, letting him sink deeper, and he growled in response, his thrusts quickening a little.

She reached up to brush the hair from his eyes, sweat making his skin tacky against her fingertips. For a moment it was as though his eyes flashed gold, his gaze intense, but then he bent his head to kiss her, lips pulling at hers, his tongue snaking into her mouth to taste her. She clung to him, legs wrapping around his back, and he groaned into her mouth, his hips jerking as he thrust into her. She could feel pleasure rising up through her body again, a tide of bliss waiting to sweep over her, and she kissed him hungrily, chasing her climax, wanting to let it take them both.

Gold was lost in her, buried in her velvet heat with his tongue in her mouth and her legs wrapped around him, holding him tight. He wanted to let his human mask slip, to be his true self with her. He wanted to let his tail spring out and curl around them both, to let his wings fold a tent of warm leather around them, trapping their moist warmth and their mingled scents and the rhythmic sounds of their pleasure. It was impossible, of course, and so he concentrated on how she good she felt, on how sweet she tasted, on the slippery layer of sweat between their bodies and the sounds she made as he fucked her.

He pulled his mouth from hers with a wet, sucking noise, his breath coming hard as he felt his cock harden further, his climax nearing. There was the tingle of magic deep in his groin, spreading up from his balls, waiting to flow into her. He ran his hands up her body, cupping her breasts before sliding up her arms, his fingers threading through hers as he pushed her hands down into the pillows, and Belle moaned and arched up into him, squeezing his cock and sending a jolt of pleasure through him that made him gasp out an expletive.

“Fuck!”

A smile curled the edges of her beautiful mouth, and he quickened his pace, the magic rising up, spreading through his groin, pulling the seed from his balls. A wave of pleasure rushed over him, and he came with a long, groaning cry, his cock pulsing, seed pouring into her in a burst of heat. Belle let out a loud cry, her flesh squeezing him, her body writhing against his as she came. Her flesh tugged at him, pulling the seed from him, drawing it deep, and he pumped his hips, letting her take as much as she could, letting it fill her. Her nails raked his back, a delicious pain mixed with his pleasure, and she jerked and moaned, her pale skin turned pink in her chest and cheeks, her dark curls awry.

His cock was still pulsing faintly, and he let his head hang low as he tried to catch his breath. She reached up to push lazy fingers through his hair, a slow, rhythmic stroking as he inhaled the scent of her, the heady perfume of her pleasure that had wound its way into his brain. The combination of her touch and her scent was almost soporific, making him want to purr contently, and he tried to shake it off, raising his head to grin down at her.

“Well well,” he said softly. “That was - unexpected.”

Belle giggled a little, her eyes sparkling, fingers still dancing over his scalp and making him shiver deliciously.

“You could say that,” she agreed. “You could also say it was amazing.”

“Oh, it was certainly that.”

He kissed her, feeling her legs loosen their grip around his waist and fall to the sides, smooth thighs rubbing against his hips. He was still hard inside her, and he let his lips pull at hers, wanting to stay there for a moment longer, buried within her. Belle stretched a little, pointing her toes. The movement made her squeeze his cock, and he let out a contented, rumbling growl. She reached up to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing over his lower lip.

“So,” she said. “You’re leaving tomorrow?”

“I am,” he confirmed. “As I said, the store won’t run itself.”

“Hmm.” Her fingers slid around to the nape of his neck, plucking at the soft strands of hair. “I guess that means you could stay here a little longer. If you wanted.”

Gold’s smile widened.

“I’d like that very much.”

He bent to kiss her, and she twined her arms around his neck, her tongue stroking against his as he rolled them onto their sides to pull her close. It wasn’t as though he needed to sleep, after all.

x

As the clock approached four, Gold tugged the knot of his tie tight around his throat, eyeing his reflection in the dresser’s mirror, his features shaded blue in the dim moonlight. In the bed behind him, Belle twitched and sighed in her sleep, rolling onto her back, and he turned slowly on the toes of his shoes to face her. The sheets had been pushed down to her waist, baring her breasts and belly, and he laid his palm on the flat of her stomach, smirking as he felt the spark of life inside her. He bent to kiss her, a brief press of his lips against her skin, giving her his protection once more. Her and the child.

Silently, he slipped from the bedroom, closing the door behind him and searching for his shoes and socks. Drawing on his coat, he fished in his wallet for a business card, a rectangle of thick cream card with his name and Maine address on. Hesitating only slightly, he wrote on the back in neat, slanting letters: Until we meet again x.

He set the card on the hall table, where she would easily see it, and after a moment’s hesitation, swirled his fingers with a muttered incantation, conjuring a rose to lay beside it, its red petals studded with dew. He shook his head ruefully at the gesture, but he suspected Miss French would appreciate it. If not his leaving in the middle of the night. 

He tugged the coat around himself. The mirror near the front door threw his reflection back at him, and he smirked to himself as he straightened his collar. Time to leave the all-too-intriguing human with her books and her tea and her dazzling smile and her gentle touch. Time to return to the relative sanity of his solitary life, free of the distractions she offered. For now, at least. It was not the end. 

He slipped out of the apartment, heading down to the street below, the cold air sharp in his lungs as he set off back to his hotel. Ducking into the alleyway that led to the bar where they had met, he felt a prickle between his shoulder blades, and paused, his fingers tightening on the cane he held.

“Well, you may as well come out and stop lurking,” he said, and a figure appeared, sliding from the shadows as it took form. The dark-haired bartender. Roni. She smirked at him, one eyebrow quirking in amusement.

“So,” she said. “You fucked her, then.”

Gold smiled as he settled the cane between his legs, fingers flexing on the handle.

“A gentleman never tells.”

“Gentleman, my ass!” she said flatly. “You tell her who you really are?”

“Yes,” he said simply.

“And she believed you?”

“Probably not.”

“Hmm.”

She curled her lip, and he raised a brow.

“Are you gonna tell her?”

“What, you think I’m a traitor to my own kind?” she said levelly. “Your business is your own, just don’t do it in my neighbourhood again. I don’t have the energy to settle territorial disputes. Might blast your nuts off without thinking it through.”

“Well, thank you for the warning,” he said dryly. “I’ll be out of your hair in a few hours.”

“Good.”

“I imagine when I see her again, it’ll be on my territory,” he added.

“When you see her again?” She folded her arms, red lips curving in a grin. “You like her!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said stiffly. “It’s for the continuation of our kind, nothing more.”

“She’ll be disappointed.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“You clearly don’t know her too well.”

“Are you telling me you do?”

She shrugged, grinning at him, and he could feel his irritation rise.

“You know, you could easily contribute to our dwindling numbers yourself, instead of giving me a hard time about it,” he snapped, and Roni snorted softly.

“I don’t think so,” she said, with feeling. “Can’t really get past the whole ‘having sex with men’ part.”

“What?” he said, bewildered. 

“Oh, I like girls,” she explained.

Gold stepped forward, feeling an unexpected surge of possessiveness.

“Miss French is under my protection,” he growled, and she rolled her eyes.

“I know that, I can smell you all over her,” she snapped. “Besides, she’s not my type. I like blondes.”

He grunted, satisfied.

“Well, good luck with that.”

“Good luck to you too.”

He nodded cautiously, stepping around her and heading off.

“Be careful,” she called after him. “Humans can be unpredictable. You may find yourself making a deal you don’t understand.”

“Never happened before.”

“First time for everything,” she said. “I hear things in that bar. Get a lot of visitors from our world, and there’s always one of our kind who manages to lose out to the humans.”

“Well, it’s not gonna be me,” he said coldly.

“If you say so.”

His jaw tightened, but he walked on, feeling her eyes on his back. There was a low-level feeling of unease creeping through him, a sense that perhaps he had underestimated the balance of power, that he had made a fundamental error in his grand plan. He shook his head, dispelling the unwelcome doubts. Belle would do as he predicted, which meant that sooner or later, she would come to find him. If only for the briefest of moments, he would see her again.

[dekujinsart]

“Oh beautiful light, do not be afraid. His darkness has longed for your taste for so long now, and such a wonderful taste you are... OUr TrUE lOve...”

Wishing a very Happy Halloween to everyone! Finally had an art ready for a holiday for once, and what better way to celebrate the spooky season than with something dark like Goop!Rumple seducing his lovely little maid.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Ficlet: Need

I’m tagging this as #rumbelle monsters ball since I think it’s in the spirit of the event, but it is anyem, not rumbelle.

Summary: Rumpelstiltskin accidentally summons a demon who knows exactly what he needs. 

Anyem: Rumpelstiltskin x Curupira

Rated: E

Need

Rumpelstiltskin will always maintain that summoning the forest demon was entirely accidental. Every time he has called upon the forces of nature to assist him with this particular spell in the past, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary has happened, and the spell has gone off without a hitch. Today, though, there has been a cloud of dark green, heavily pine-scented smoke, and now a forest demon is sitting on his workbench, grinning at him like a cat that’s got the proverbial cream.

For a long time, all he can do is stare at her. She’s a tiny little thing, all green and blonde and clothed in vines, and she looks as if she wouldn’t hurt a fly, that the most he should expect from her is a little harmless mischief. But the demons are as old as the forest itself, and the forest has been here for far longer than the Dark Castle ever was. They have forgotten more tempestuous magic than Rumpelstiltskin could ever hope to learn in a lifetime.

“Shoo,” he says eventually. “Begone.”

The demon makes a moue of disappointment, pouting at him as she taps her twisted feet against his chair.

“You’re going to have to do better than that if you want to get rid of me,” she says.

“I don’t suppose you can give me any clues as to how to go about that?” Rumpelstiltskin snaps. “You’re rather in the way of some very important work and time is of the essence.”

The demon just looks at him, clearly not believing a word he’s saying.

“It can hardly be important or urgent if you’ve managed to summon me,” she points out, and Rumpelstiltskin moves away from her to look out of the window, unable to betray any kind of weakness to a being much older and more powerful than he is.

The truth is, he has summoned her intentionally, or at least, his subconscious has. These past few days he’s been feeling a certain level of distraction, a specific itch that must be scratched if he’s to have any hope of ever concentrating again. When he called upon the forces of nature to help him, his magic decided that he needed help with the problem in his breeches rather than his spell.

“I know what you need, Rumpelstiltskin.” Her voice is low and husky, full of promise, and Rumpelstiltskin suppresses a groan at the back of his throat, because he wants nothing more than to give in to that promise, but he can’t afford to be distracted at this critical stage of his work. He hears her slip down off the workbench, her movements and footsteps carrying the rustle of leaves with them.

“Oh yes, I know what you need me for, Rumpelstiltskin. I know that you like to think you are content here in your castle, isolated and alone from the world that you have taught to hate and fear you, but I know the loneliness that lurks in the bottom of your darkening heart. Your desires are the same as any man’s, and you long to sink your aching cock into a woman’s wet and welcoming flesh.”

He feels her little arms snake around his middle, one hand coming down to cup his heavy crotch, squeezing gently.

“But women are crafty.” Her hands are gone, and this time Rumpelstiltskin cannot stop his groan. “Look at the last two women you had. They both left you in contempt. No, women cannot be trusted. A demon, on the other hand…”

Rumpelstiltskin turns to see her leaning back against the workbench again. Her smile is seductive, encouraging, and when she beckons him towards her, Rumpelstiltskin goes to her willingly.

“Demons by their very nature are untrustworthy,” he says.

“Precisely.” She’s close enough for him to touch her now, but she pre-empts him, reaching out and running a finger down his chest. “But at least you can always count on that, and you know that if you summon one like you have done, then they will be your willing servant for as long as you need to relieve that terrible ache.” Her finger reaches his trousers and ghosts over the bulge of his erection, desperate to be freed.

“I may be a demon,” she continues, “but my flesh is as wet and warm as any woman’s, and I would welcome you inside.”

The undulating vines she’s wrapped in fall away to leave her green-tinged skin bare; whatever shape she may hold normally, he can’t deny that she is most certainly a woman now, pert breasts with dark, pointed nipples just begging for Rumpelstiltskin to lick and suck, and fronds of the softest fern where a woman’s coarse nether curls would be, hiding her sweet centre. The air is heavy with the scents of earth and pine resin, and of something more indefinable but undeniably arousing.

She lies back on the workbench, opening her legs to reveal a plump and glistening sex, ripe and ready for him.

“What are you waiting for, Rumpelstiltskin? I won’t be around forever, you know, and the next demon you summon may not be as obliging or eager as I am.”

Rumpelstiltskin needs no more encouragement. With a simple finger snap his breeches are unlaced, and he takes his cock in hand, stroking himself to relieve the unbearable pressure before he lines up and thrusts home. She takes him all the way to the hilt in one smooth motion, her channel clutching at him and pulling him in, her ankles locking around his back to keep him inside. Her grin is sultry and lazy, and even though he was the one to summon her, Rumpelstiltskin knows that at this moment, he’s powerless to resist anything that she might do. He finds that he can’t bring himself to care, not when she’s bringing him the blessed relief that he has needed for so long.

He begins to move in her, a hard, fast rhythm that the cant of her hips manages to match stroke for stroke. He wonders if she’s feeling the same heady bliss as he is, but then again, her pleasure probably derives more from seeing such a great and powerful sorcerer come so undone from her body alone.

The feeling of release when he finally spills his seed deep inside her is unlike anything he’s felt before, a sense of satisfaction that settles into his very bones.

“You needed that, didn’t you, Rumpelstiltskin?” the demon purrs, uncrossing her legs from around his back as her vines begin to creep and cover her once more. Rumpelstiltskin can only nod mutely, pulling out and refastening his breeches.

The demon sits up, and then, unexpectedly, pulls him in for a long kiss. Her mouth tastes of moss and earth, disgusting in itself but refreshing in its sheer, raw naturalness.

“I’m sure that all your spells will work to your liking now,” she says once she finally releases him, licking her lips.

She’s about to vanish; Rumpelstiltskin has met with demons before and he knows the way they operate. Before she goes, however, there’s one thing that he must know.

“What’s your name, my pretty little forest demon? Should the need to summon you again ever arise, of course.”

“Oh, names have power, Rumpelstiltskin.” The demon tuts, wagging an admonishing finger at him. “You of all people should know that. But, should you find yourself in need of assistance to relieve future aches, then you are free to call me again. After all, your own hand can hardly compare to a soft lady’s flower, dripping with nectar.”

Rumpelstiltskin swallows; her words along are almost enough to make him hard again.

“My name is Curupira,” she says eventually, and then she is gone, leaving only the wisps of pine-scented smoke behind her.

Curupira. Whether Rumpelstiltskin summons her again or not, he will certainly never forget her name.

[notalwayslate]

Who Protects The Monsters Part 1

Summary: When a string of mysterious deaths are rumored to be the result of creature attacks, the town of Storybrooke calls upon legendary hunter, Gabrielle VanHelsing, to track down the murderous monsters. 

Unbeknownst to VanHelsing, his daughter Bell has secretly partnered with his greatest enemy, the king of darkness, Rumpelstiltskin, to prove that the real killer is a human who is framing these creatures of darkness for the murders. 

What happens when Belle the daughter of famed monster hunter, VanHelsing, falls in love with his sworn mortal enemy,Rumpelstiltskin?

For Rumbelle Monster's Ball

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21017084/chapters/49985492

The faint galloping stride of horses lured Belle’s attention away from the novel she was currently reading. Springing into action, her hands grappled over the numerous disheveled books laid out on her father’s desk. She let out a sigh of relief as her fingers found her secret leather journal buried beneath a sizeable volume on ancient werewolf folklore.

As the sound of horses drew nearer, she bolted out of her father’s office, making a beeline for her bedroom. Safely tucking the journal beneath her mattress, she headed for the living room, just as a loud thud hit the roof followed by storm of shrilling caws.

Concerned by the commotion she ran to the front door flinging it open. Inwardly she groaned at the unpleasant sight of Gaston Legrume standing in her yard with a handful of rocks in his hand. Baffled she was about to ask him what he was doing, when he pulled his arm back lunging a large rock up at the roof. A tiny shriek pierced the air, as a small black bird fell dead to the ground before her. A rush of anger flooded her heart at the sight of the poor dead creature.

“How dare you!” she roared storming down off the porch, heading straight for him.

Casually he looked down at her with a smirk of amusement, fueling her anger even more. Lifting her arm, she smacked the remaining rocks from his hand, before giving him a hard shove. Although she used all of her strength to push him, he stood unmoved, steady as a tree, peering down at her with a mocking grin.

“Your daughter is a feisty little thing isn’t she?” he chaffed his stare fixed on her, as he spoke to her father who sat on his horse a few yards away.

Incensed by his total lack of regard for the creature’s life he just took, she fought her primal urge to slap that smug grin off of his stupid face. Even though he towered a good foot and a half above her, she stared the buffoon down with a fury hotter than a thousand suns. Leaning over, he brought his overbearing presence mere inches away from her face.

“I was only trying to help,” he taunted her in a long drawn out patronizing tone. “This place is infested with crows. Every time I come here there are more than ever before. If I didn’t know any better I would say this place is cursed.”

“The only curse here is when you come around,” she spat out feeling a tad jovial as the arrogant smile fell from his face.

“Play nice you two,” her father chided, dismounting his horse.

Taking a step back from Gaston, she acknowledged her father’s words by giving him a curt nod. Her focus stayed on her father as she watched him take Phillipe back behind the house to the open paddock. Once he was out of view, Gaston’s looming shadow casted over her.

“I can only hope you have that same fire in the bedroom.”

“That is something you will never know,” she fired back taking a step forward to put some distance between them. She cringed as his pompous laugh slithered into her ears.

“Oh we will be married soon enough, and I assure you I look forward to seeing what else your crude little mouth is good for.”

“I will never marry you.”

She stomped up the porch stairs, ready to slam the door behind her, when he called out.

“You know, any maiden out there would die for the chance to have just ten minutes with me, let alone the honor of being my wife. What makes you think that you are so damn special huh?” he pondered bringing his hand up, stroking his chin, as if he was contemplating some great thought. “You know your father mentioned that you have been spending a lot of time with the Lucas girl over the last few months.”

Utterly confused as to where he was possibly going with this, Belle turned around shrugging. “So?”

“I’m just saying if that is the type of thing you are into, I’m sure we can come to some type of agreement. Our marital bed will certainly be large enough to accommodate another, I mean, as long as I am there of course. We can invite the Lucas girl in time to time, as well as other ladies, of my choosing.”

Scoffing she wasn’t the least bit surprised by his assessment. Of course if a woman showed no interest in him, his fragile male ego would assume she had to be gay. Turning on her heel, she walked back into her home, slamming the door behind her.

Stewing she retreated to her father’s office as the front door opened behind her. Not having the patience to deal with Gaston for a moment longer, she was about to tell him exactly where he could go, when her father’s face appeared in the doorway.

“I asked Gaston to go fetch some firewood.” He said smiling at her, taking a seat on the settee against his office wall.

“Thank you, Papa,” she breathed out a sigh of relief, moving to join him. Reaching for his hands, she sat next to him. “I’m glad your back. How did everything go in town?” “Fine,” he replied giving a stiff nod. “Mrs. Potts funeral is scheduled for the day after tomorrow. It appears that the scoundrels that broke into the morgue last night for some ungodly reason stole her eyeballs.”

Belle was certain that the temperature in the room had risen by ten degrees, as a nervous sweat built on her upper lip. Trying to keep her shaking hands still, she averted her eyes from his certain that they screamed loud and clear her guilt in the theft at the morgue.

. “Do they have any idea who the thieves were Papa?”

“The guard said the one man had papers, proclaimed to be a doctor, and the second man wore a rather large hat. But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember their names, or recall what their faces looked like.”

“Strange,” Belle croaked out, clearing her throat. It had been Rumple’s suggestion to send Dr. Frankenstein, and Jefferson to do the task. Judging by the guard’s fuzzy memory, it appeared that Jefferson’s special brew of coffee, worked perfectly. With the victim’s eyes secured, she just had to wait for Rumple to come back from his travels, with the collected ingredients needed for the spell. Soon they would learn who the real murderer of Mrs. Potts was.

“But on a brighter note the town is throwing a party next week in appreciation for slaying the monsters that killed those poor women. Gaston and I are to be their honored guests.” Her father looked so proud of the accolade that it broke her heart to speak ill of it.

The nightmare had begun four months ago, when Ashley Boyd, a young maiden of 16, was found floating face down in Lake Placid. The town was outraged by her death, and the outrage, grew into a mob of panic and fear, as Ashley’s older sister Drusilla emerged from the woods, claiming that she had witnessed a sea creature murdering her sister. It was only logical that a town gripped in fear of a monster turned to her father, Gabrielle Van Helsing for aid. Long retired, her father was as surprised as she was at the town’s accusations of a murderous amphibious monster on the loose. It had been almost 15 years since anyone claimed of a monster attack.

Although her father’s mind was still sharp as a tack for the hunt, time had betrayed his body, leaving his physicality waning. It seemed like a perfect match when Gaston, widely known for his superior hunting and tracking skills volunteered to assist her father in the hunt of this monster. With her father’s expertise, and Gaston’s physicality, no creature within a 100 mile radius was safe.

The town let out a sigh of relief when Van Helsing and Gaston returned with the head of the creature that had supposedly killed poor Ashley, but when her sister Drusilla was found a month later with her throat slashed, the town once again demanded the head of the monster that did it. Once again Belle’s father and Gaston rose to the occasion, bringing justice for the young maiden’s death, but were soon facing another murder, the latest being Mrs. Potts who was found strangled in the woods.

“Belle, you must really learn to get along better with Gaston.”

Rolling her eyes she tried to give her father some clarity on what type of man Gaston really was. “He’s terrible father. He’s conceited, and boorish, and he always says the crudest things when your back is turned. When you stop your…association with him, I plan on never seeing that troublesome oaf again.”

As her father’s grasp on her hands tightened she could sense that he was growing more irritated.

“And what’s so terrible about him, hmmm?” Her father scolded, his hold becoming unbearable. “He is a hero. He’s made a name for himself now, protecting people from monsters. At the festival next week, the town will be gifting him with the same honor they gave me all those years ago, an acre of land for every monster slain. Given time, he will have as much land as I do. He will be able to build an estate, provide you with the life you have been accustom to.”

With some force, she was able to pull her hands free from her father’s death grip. She bit her tongue trying to stop herself from lashing out and saying something that she couldn’t take back. It was true that she had enjoyed the life her father provided for her. They lived far out of town, on 27 acres of land, one acre for every monster her father had killed over his lifetime. He had cleared two acres of the land to build their home, surrounded by acres of undeveloped forest. She enjoyed the isolation, leaving her plenty of time, to read her father’s extensive collection of books on the supernatural.

While most little girls grew up with skills of cooking and sewing, Belle learned about the creatures of the darkness. She developed her writing skills by transcribing her father’s explorations, as he dictated his adventures to her. Many of the books that filled their library were written by her own hand. Secretly she had hoped to one day publish them, to educate the public on the creatures that they long feared. Although her father’s tales talked of monsters soulless nature towards violence, Belle secretly theorized that perhaps they were just misunderstood, and that it was man that brought the violence to the monsters.

“Now Gaston has let his attention be known to me that he would like to enter a courtship with you.”

Her eyes widened in fear. He wouldn’t. The father she knew and loved wouldn’t subject her to a life shackled to pompous arrogant ox.

“And I have agreed to it.”

Her stomach dropped, as tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Calm down child. It’s not marriage. At least not yet. But I think you should take the time to get to know him, see what he can offer. You might be surprised to find a little bit of your father in him.”

This couldn’t be happening. Shaking her head no, she wiped away her tears. Now, she thought to herself. Do the brave thing, and bravery will follow. She needed to tell her father the truth. She needed to tell him what she had secretly been doing the last few months, and with whom.

“Papa, monsters didn’t kill those women.” She shouted out waiting for his reaction, but was hit with his silence. “It’s just what someone, the real murderer, wanted us to believe. Those women died by human hands.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her father snarled. “Gaston and I caught the monsters that did it.”

“You caught monsters Papa, but innocent ones. Don’t you understand, there is a murderer about, and they have framed these creatures?”

“Enough!” her father‘s voice bellowed through the air as he walked towards his desk in a fit of rage. “I will not stand here and listen to these unfounded accusations on my character or your future husband’s. We hunted and killed the creatures that murdered those innocent women, and if you speak one more word of this fictional nonsense, than I will have no choice but to have you committed for medical observation for hysteria.”

Mouth agape, Belle stood shell shocked at her father’s threat. Who was this man before her? The man threatening to put her in an asylum was not the same man who raised her to be bold and courageous. He had changed over these last few months. These murders had boasted him back into the spotlight of the people once more, and it was obvious to her that he reveled in being their savior against the wicked in this world. Who needed a daughter’s love, when you had the admiration of a town?

Afraid that one more word may cause him to follow through with his threat, she glumly sat back down, clasping her hands together in her lap. There was still so much left unsaid, but if she told him that she had been investigating these murders behind his back with his sworn mortal enemy, the King of Darkness, Rumpelstiltskin, and had in fact fallen in love with him, and had been carrying on a relationship with him for the last few months, she was certain that she would be in chains at the asylum by sundown.

She sat motionless, but could clearly see her father pacing around, fiercely running his hands through his hair. It took several more minutes before he regained his composure.

“There are so many stories here in this library.”

With the soften tone in his voice, she chanced a glance at him, finding some type of solace in the spark of familiar warmth in his eyes.

“Have I ever told you my favorite story?”

The side of her mouth twitched, as the smile she tried to give him faltered under the weight of her heartbreak. She had joyfully heard this story hundreds of times before, but today her ears did not want to hear it.

“Once upon a time, there was a man. A ruggedly handsome man, if I do say so myself,” he chuckled.

“The man had dedicated his life to fighting the evil in the world. He fought many of battle, coming out of each one victorious, as well as a little wiser than he was before. As the man grew more enlightened, he learned of a weapon. A weapon forged of darkness, a dagger that wielded the power to lead all of the darkness and evil in the world. In the right hands, that weapon could be used to banish all of the ungodly creatures and monsters from the earth, freeing mankind from their villainous clutches.”

It was such a strange sensation to hear the familiar words of his story, but have them feel so foreign at the same time. The distorted perspectives that he father had instilled in her as a child about monsters and creatures of the darkness had been forever altered when she fell in love with Rumpelstiltskin. As her father continued with the story, she couldn’t help but wonder how he would react if he knew that she had held that very dagger of darkness in her hands a mere month ago.

“Soon the man decided that if was going to win the war against these monsters, that he needed the weapon. Legend had it, that it was in possession of their king, the King of Darkness. And so the man dedicated his life to finding the King and destroying him. He relentlessly searched for him, for the dagger, hunting down every lead, every whisper of where he may be. One tip led the man into a forest where he had never trekked before. Lost, the man wandered around the unknown forest for days until he stumbled upon an alarming scene. ”

Belle’s pulse quickened, her stomach twisting in knots. What was wrong with her? She knew this story. She lived this story, and yet today something anew was bubbling up inside of her. Flashes of a forgotten long ago sprung forth into her consciousness.

Her mother’s blue eyes. A yellow blanket. A small wooden cup of warm goat’s milk.

“The man was taken aback when he saw a woman lying motionless on the forest floor. Above her was a towering monster, a beastly thing growling and vicious.”

Screaming. Walls shaking with anger.

Closing her eyes she tried to barricade the flood of buried memories.

“But what astonished the man, was not the growling creature that he saw, but the young child, the young girl that stood between the woman and the beast. She couldn’t have been more than four but she stood tall, ready to defend the woman against the monster.”

Distressed Belle opened her eyes, as her father moved to sit next to her. He continued his tale, oblivious to the inner turmoil that his story was causing her.

“Her brave little blue eyes locked onto the man’s. It was in that exact moment that the man saw a kindred soul in the little girl. Without a moment of hesitation, the man rushed in, saving her from the beast. Sadly the woman on the ground, the girl’s mother, had already succumbed to her injuries.”

Feeling like her mind and heart was lost in a muddled haze, she blinked slowly, as her father brought his hand up to cup her cheek, tears welling in his eyes.

“It was that day that the man’s life changed forever. Although the man slayed many a monsters in his lifetime, his greatest accomplishment, his greatest achievement was getting to be that brave little’s girl father from that day forward.”

Looking into her father’s eyes, her sanity desperately tried to cling to the love and affection that she had for him.

“My brave little Belle,” he smiled gently in awe of her. “You were always a protector.” He brought his lips to her forehead giving her a light kiss, before standing up to move towards his desk.

She loved him. She loved him so dearly, that she stayed silent for years, burying the truth of that day, so far deep down, that she allowed herself to truly believe the story that he told her time and time again. But now, the secret of that day burned inside of her. She wanted to say it, but when she opened her mouth, the words burned her tongue leaving her speechless.

She didn’t really want to know, did she? She was going to leave it be, keep the trauma of that day buried until the memory of the monster’s face that day pierced her soul.

“And what about the monster?”

Her voice was tiny, fragile. She wasn’t sure her father even heard her until he stopped suddenly his posture stiffening. Be brave she thought to herself, knowing they were at the point of no return.

“What did the man do the monster?”

All she heard was her own ragged breathing, as she waited for his reply. Keeping his back towards her, he turned his head slightly, as she gazed upon the silhouette of his face.

“The man did what he did best. He slayed the beast.”

“You killed my father,” she whispered revealing the dark truth of that day, and just like that all of the suppressed memories of her father, her real father, came flooding back to her.

He was angry all the time. She would lie in bed at night, clinging to a yellow blanket, as her parents fought. The walls would shake, as plates and dishes shattered against them. Then one day, her mother bundled her up, told her father was sleeping and that they needed to be quiet. Her mother already had two small bags packed for them, and they left the house as quiet as two mice. They were a good distance away from the house, when Belle remembered her yellow blanket. Her mother had told her they couldn’t go back, but she had screamed as loud as she could, terrified to go anywhere without it. She wrestled her hand away from her mother, and bolted back towards the house to retrieve it.

She could see home in the distance, when her father came barreling out of the cottage, storming straight past her, his sights set on her mother. With a raging passion he grabbed her mother, shaking her before throwing her to the ground, her head crashing against a giant boulder. Running to her mother, she had tried to wake her up, but she wouldn’t move.

Her father was sobbing. She stood up, ready to tell him to help Mama wake up, when he suddenly dropped to his knees before her, blood spluttering from his mouth. A man she had never seen before stood behind him, pulling a long jagged knife out of her father’s back. Before she could even look away, the man slashed her father’s throat, his blood splattering upon her tiny face. Terrified as both of her parents lay dead before her, she stood frozen, her eyes locking on the stranger.

“I killed a monster that day,” Her father replied coldly.

“He was my father.”

He turned in a flash, his offended eyes boring into her. “I am your father.”

Looking back she couldn’t remember when she first started replacing the made up beast’s face with her own father’s. It made her wonder what other lies Van Helsing instilled in her at such a young age. What other history did he rewrite?

Awkward tension electrified the air between them, neither knowing what to say next.

She loved him. In all sense of the word he had been her father for the last 16 years, but this revelation made her question what type of man he truly was. He had experience in easily taking a human life, something she never thought he was capable of before. Did he have something to do with these women’s murder?

The front door slammed open, as heavy stomping entered their home. She didn’t have to look back to know Gaston had returned. Looking at her father, the anger in his eyes dissipated into a look of despair.

Her instinct was to go to him, wrap him in her arms, and tell her father that she loved him no matter what, yet she just stood there utterly completely lost to the flurry of emotions battling within her. She heard the creak in the floor board behind her as Gaston’s booming voice called out.

“So what’s for dinner?”

X

Belle felt as if she was having an out of body experience, as she went through the motions, preparing their dinner that night. She and her father had not said two words to each other, since leaving his office. She needed time to process everything, before making any life altering decisions regarding their relationship. For once she was actually grateful that Gaston was there for dinner, demanding as usual all of the attention, and conversation center around his favorite topic, himself.

She ate in silence, noticing her father drank more that night, than he was typically accustomed to. Belle had no doubt he was trying to numb his own pain over their argument. Gathering the plates, she made her way to the kitchen, as Gaston talked to her father about the town’s festival the following week.

“Of course Belle will need to be on my arm,” she heard Gaston command. “It would be an excellent time to announce the news of our courtship.”

Bile rose in her throat, at the thought of having to parade around town on that pig’s arm, pretending to be ecstatic over the thought of spending her life with him. She wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t do it. Her heart, her love, belonged to another. There was only one man she would spend the rest of her life with, and it certainly wasn’t Gaston. Wiping her hands, she threw the towel down, bursting into the dining room, poised for a fight.

“Don’t you think I should have some say in this conversation, since you are talking about my life?”

“Please Belle, men are talking here.” Gaston scoffed.

She clenched her hands into fists of rage. She would not tolerate another second of this bullish imbecile’s presence. She refused to stand there calmly as her very life was being dissected and planned right before her very eyes. Her back straightened, as she stood tall ready to unleash a tirade of every ill thought and notion that she ever thought of Gaston Legrume, when the sound of fluttering wings caught her attention.

Instantly she glanced towards the window, her eager eyes landing upon the familiar one eyed raven perched on the sill.

He’s back, her inner self rejoiced as a blend of relief, excitement, and arousal spread throughout her entire being. Her father and Gaston’s voices faded into the background as white noise, as she walked over to the window, placing her forehead against the cool glass. She ran her finger down the panel along the outline of the bird, silently cursing the barrier that was between them. She wanted to scoop the raven in her arms, tie a message of love to its leg, and send it back to its master.

“Get away from the window darling, you’ll catch a chill,” her father spoke softly, his first words directed towards her all night. Sighing, she stepped away from the window, watching as the raven flew away into the early evening sky.

X

Holding her breath, Belle tiptoed past her father’s bedroom door, his loud snores bellowing out into the night air. She grabbed her green cloak off the hook, fastening it over her crisp cotton white nightgown. Slowly she opened the front door, just enough, so she could slide her body through, closing it with one small click.

The cool dark night air awakened her senses as the full moon blanketed the forest before her in a warm inviting light. The last five hours had dragged on for what felt like an eternity. It hadn’t been until the sun had long set, and she feigned a headache, that Gaston had finally taken his leave, and her father shortly thereafter fell into a drunken slumber.

Entering the forest, she heard a crackling of leaves on either side of her. Although she couldn’t see anyone through the thickness of the trees, she knew she was being followed on all sides. While anyone else would be terrified of the sounds in the darkened forest, Belle felt a wave of calmness and peace wash over her. Here she was safe, here she was protected. Restless to see her lover, her pace quickened as she neared their usual meeting place, a small clearing by the river.

Once there, she closed her eyes as the sounds of the forest tickled her ears. She heard an owl in the distance, and the babbling sound of the river. Her pulse quickened as a congress of ravens whirled overhead.

Biting her lip, a warm body rush of desire filled her, as she felt his hot breath tickling the back of her neck.

“Beautiful young maidens, such as yourself, shouldn’t be left alone in these woods after dark,” his voice purred in her ear. “There are monsters about my dear, and you look good enough to eat.”

Heat coiled in her belly at the feel of his hands on her hip. Every lady like social grace she had ever learned went out the window as she pushed her rear out to brush against him. He let out a small hiss as she rubbed herself against his hard bulge.

“Minx,” he uttered playfully as she laid her head back against him, exposing her neck to his soft kisses.

“Well, what do you expect when you ah…” she paused as his slick wet tongue grazed against her pulse point. “When you leave me for seven days.”

“Trust me, my sweet, it was even harder for me,” he confessed, wrapping one arm around her waist, pulling her back flush against his body.

Part of her wanted to turn around and face him, missing the taste of his lips, but the continuous feel of his hard cock rubbing against her rump was too wickedly gratifying to stop. It felt so good. Judging by his staggered breath, he was just as aroused as she was. But before she surrendered to their fever of passion, her heart needed to say something first.

“I love you, Rumple.”

His grinding ceased at her words, as he wrapped both arms around her waist, laying his forehead against her shoulder.

“I love you too,” he professed.

“I don’t know if I could have lasted another day without you,” she confessed with a hint of sorrow in her voice. “Gaston asked my father today to court me.”

Fueled by jealousy his arms tightened around her.

“And my father agreed to it. They plan on announcing it next week. ” her confession was cut off by his clawed hand wrapping around her throat.

“You’re mine,” he hissed possessively.

After a moment, his grasp loosened enough on her neck so she could turn around to face him. His long green talons lightly scraped along her skin. Staring him straight in the eye, she leaned in close, his fingers still wrapped around her throat.

“And you’re mine, Rumpelstiltskin.”

His lips crashed hard onto hers, her mouth greedily welcoming the taste of him. His hand moved from her throat to her back, hauling her towards him. Delving her hand into his hair, she grasped it between her fingers, giving it a slight tug.

His tongue slid into her mouth, causing a pool of wetness between her legs. She didn’t want to wait a moment longer. Putting her hands on his chest, she pushed herself away, his lips desperately trying to follow hers. Slowly she took a few steps backwards as her eyes locked on his darkened lust filled stare.

Silently she brought her hands up, untying the cloak from her shoulders, feeling it fall from her body to the ground behind her. The crisp night air did nothing to cool her overheated body as she stood there before him in a sleeveless thin white cotton nightgown.

His hungry eyes roamed over her body as she stood before him, her chest heaving in carnal anticipation. Desire shot through her core, as he lowered his head, licking his lips, like an animal ready to pounce on its prey.

He took two long strides, before his strong hands lifted her, cupping her ass as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She wrapped one arm around his neck, the other she slithered down in between them, to unfasten his leather breaches. He plucked a kiss from her lips as her fingers grazed over his freshly exposed hard member.

“Hold on to me, love” he gritted out, as she wrapped both arms around his neck clinging to him, as he lowered them to the hard ground.

He placed one hand behind him, steadying himself to sit down with his legs out, as she straddled him. Face to face, she reached down, grasping his cock, lining him up with her entrance. She let out a soft cry, followed closely by his low groan, as she slid down onto his cock. Placing her forehead against his, the two lovers moved together as one.

He reached for her nightgown now bunched up at her waist, pulling it off over her head in one fell swoop.

“Beautiful,” he whispered as he peppered small kisses along her breasts. The sensation of his wet lips on her puckered nipples drove her wild, and she found herself grinding harder down on him. She cried out, as he held onto her hips, thrusting up, filling her as far as he could go. She threw her head back, her long hair tickling her bare back.

Lost in throes of passion, she was vaguely aware of their surroundings, until a horde of sticks snapping and leaves crunching intruded her ears. Eyes snapping open, she stopped mid thrust, as Rumple laid still beneath her. She held her breath, as her eyes scoured the forest around them.

Hundreds of glowing eyes surrounded the two lovers. Small eyes, big eyes, from the top of the trees to the forest floor stared upon them. It was not people who watched them, this she knew. It was his subjects, the creatures of the darkness.

She looked down at Rumple, his glittery green skin, sparkling in the moonlight, as his eyes held a question of a shy hope and fear. She knew she should be mortified, hide her naked body from their prying eyes, and yet she had no desire to do so. She loves their king. She wants to show them, prove to all of them that her world and their world of darkness can join together as easily as the two bodies before them.

She grinds against Rumple once more, drawing words of love and devotion from his lips. She knows the creatures eyes are upon them, as he lifts his trembling hands cupping her breasts. Glancing out into the forest, her eyes convey a silent promise to them all. She loves them, and will protect them with her dying breath.

Her climax draws near, as she quickened her pace, feeling him deep inside of her.

“You are their queen,” he proclaims. “My love, my life, My Belle.”

His words push her over the edge, as she tightens around his cock, drawing his own orgasm. Wolves howl into the full moon night sky as his seed pulses inside of her. Breathless she falls forward onto his chest, letting out a sigh of contentment as his arms quickly wrap around her.

They are still joined as she lays her head on his beating heart. Neither speaks as they bask in the afterglow of their love. She shivers as the night air sweeps over her naked flesh. She feels him move his hand, blindly searching for her cape nearby. He soon succeeds, covering them with the green cloak.

“If that is the type of homecoming I get, I should go away more often,” he teases stroking her hair.

“Don’t you dare,” she playfully chides, kissing his chest. She chances a glimpse into the forest, not surprised to see all eyes have disappeared. She knows that even though she can no longer see them, they haven’t ventured far, especially the wolves. They have a sworn oath to protect their king, and in turn now…her. There was no place safer for her to be, than surrounded by the monsters and creatures of the darkness.

As protected as she was in her lover’s arms she couldn’t dispel the growing worry in her heart. Soon they would learn the truth of who was really behind the murder of Mrs. Potts, and she prayed that her suspicions were wrong.

“So I take it you were able to acquire what was needed?” she asked a hint of uneasiness in her voice, as his hand lightly strokes her naked back.

“Yes,” his voice was low. She knew he felt no joy in the subject matter. “It took a little longer than expected, but I was able to obtain all of the ingredients we need for the spell. If things go as plan, we should be able to see the last few minutes of Mrs. Potts’ life through her own eyes.”

He took a deep breath, her head moving with the fall and rise of his chest.

“Sweetheart, I know this isn’t easy for you, if you…”

“No,” she interjected cutting off his concern as her chin pressed into his chest. “We need to know…I need to know the truth. If someone is killing these women, and framing monsters for it, they have to be stopped. Even if it’s…” she couldn’t bring herself to finish her thought. What type of daughter was she for even considering the notion that her own father could be involved in these killings?

Using one hand to push himself up from the ground, Rumple held her as he moved himself into a sitting position, with her straddling his lap.

“I promise you Belle. If by the slightest chance your father somehow is involved in this, he will be safe from me and mine. No harm will come to him by my command.”

She knows that his words are truthful, but wonders if he learned of her father’s threat to put her in an asylum, if he would still hold true to his promise. It was one thing to harm someone else, but if her father harmed her in any way, no promise would stop Rumpelstiltskin in exacting revenge.

“Time is of the essence. Should we go to the dark castle tonight to start the spell?” she inquired, stunned when he shook his head no.

“When all is revealed Sweetheart, there is no going back. Soon we will find if a murderer is from my world, or yours. Either way, as King of the Darkness I will have to bring some balance back to this world of chaos. There are many ways, many different paths that this could take us down. So forgive me, but just for tonight, I do not want to think about what lays ahead, but savor the now. Tonight is ours.”

Looking into his eyes, Belle could see that he was as worried as she was of what this spell would uncover. If Gaston or her father were somehow involved in all of this, she wasn’t sure what she would do.

“Tomorrow, then,” she agreed.

“You do know that no matter what happens tomorrow there is only one path that is certain?”

“Which one is that?”

Placing his hands on her cheeks, he gave her a small smile, his voice intent and sincere.

“The one where you and I are together.”

Rolling her onto her back, all worries of tomorrow faded away, as the king of darkness and his queen made love under the moonlight.

[abovethemists]

A Note on Monsterfucker’s Ball

Keep your fics and art coming! I’m keeping an eye out and marking down each one I see. I’ll be putting together the masterlist (hopefully) sometime this weekend but today on is looking pretty hectic in my real life. Happy Halloween everyone! 

[cannibalisticshadows]

Im writing the hot and heavy parts of my Monsterfucker’s fic! Too hot for me to handle 😅

[rumpledgoldenweaver]

The Wolf With The Red Roses

Written for the @thatravenclawbitch Monsterfuckers Ball (but there’s no fucking sorry) I wanted to finish it first but October is nearly over and there’s only going to be a couple of chapters so I thought I’d post the first one now. 

Belle has an admirer. A four legged one. With roses. 

“On a hot summer night would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?

Yes.

I bet you say that to all the boys”

Meatloaf’s powerful voice sounded slightly tinny over the ancient speakers at Granny’s Diner, not that anyone was taking much notice of him. In fairness the song really didn’t suit the day. There wasn’t a burning beach, it was the middle of October, certainly not a hot summers night. The fog which had grown denser as the day wore on apparently had no inclination to go crawling over the sand preferring instead to hang around in town making everything feel damp.

“We won’t be able to see the full moon tonight” complained Ruby.

“We won’t be able to see across the bloody street soon” Hook frowned as he shrugged his heavy black leather coat on “I hate fog” he opened the door to leave just as Belle tried to come in.

“Sorry love! After you” he stepped to the side letting her pass.

“Ever the gentleman Hook” she smiled

“I try”

Belle took a stool at the counter, ordered a hot chocolate “with a little extra flavouring please Ruby, I’m bloody freezing” Her ears picked up as she caught a little bit of the song, making her blush slightly because Belle had found herself a wolf who apparently had access to an entire garden of red roses.

The wolf had first appeared on the night of the August full moon. Walking home from a girls night at the Rabbit Hole, Belle had been unable to shake the feeling she was being followed. She’d stopped several times to listen for footsteps, zigzagged from one side of the street to the other whilst discreetly checking behind her using shop windows and the wing mirrors on cars, but couldn’t see anyone. She’d almost shouted out in fright when she saw the wolf sitting outside the library door. It wasn’t a particularly big wolf, it had brown fur tinged with grey, deep brown eyes and a rose between it’s teeth. Belle had stood open mouthed as it padded over, dropped the rose at her feet, appeared to almost smile and then ambled off down the street like it owned it.  Later it would occur to her that the animal seemed to have a slight limp.

Belle had tried not to think about it too much, however when September’s full moon came round the wolf had been back. Just after midnight as she’d been about to go to bed, a mournful howl had drifted in through the window. She’d gone downstairs, opened the door and there it was again with a rose between it’s teeth.

“You okay Belle? You look a bit flushed” Ruby carefully placed the glass mug down on the counter

“I’m fine, just the change in temperature” she picked up the drink, warming her cold hands on the mug and took a sip “how much extra flavouring is in this..?”  Ruby just winked as she served the next customer. Belle laughed, she took her book from her bag and started to read, managing to drown out the background music and the steady stream of patrons until

“A rare burger?” Ruby repeated sounding slightly incredulous “I can’t serve you that! You’ll be ill and then you’ll sue us!”

Belle pretended she wasn’t listening.

“I assure you Miss Lucas I will be fine. Now please just give me my order and I can be on my way”

“Okay fine” Ruby turned away muttering something about him obviously being a real predator.

Belle glanced sideways at the person concerned. It was Mr Gold the pawnbroker, landlord, money lender and lone wolf.

Wolf.

No don’t be so silly Belle she mentally scolded herself. Just because he has brown hair tinged with silver, deep brown eyes, eats rare burgers and has a limp does not make him the wolf. There are no such things as werewolves she told herself sternly, anyway he hasn’t got a rose between his teeth. She giggled at the thought. Gold heard and raised an eyebrow at her, then smiled. Wolfishly.

Stop it  Belle! She chastised herself again. However much alcohol Ruby had added to the hot chocolate obviously had gone straight to her head. Best not to have a second.

She was still laughing to herself later that night as she got into bed. Mr Gold the werewolf how bloody ridiculous. She stopped laughing though when an impatient howl rang out from the street below.

“No way” she got back out of bed, wrapped a dressing gown round herself and went downstairs to open the door. There was the wolf, somehow managing to look very smug, with a rose between it’s teeth.

For a minute neither one moved, they stood staring at each other in the cold, murky fog. Belle caved in first “Well… are you going to come in or are you going home?” The animal looked a little taken aback , it’s earlier bravado fading somewhat. Now that it had Belle’s full attention it seemed unsure as to what to do with it. “Make your mind up wolf, I’m not standing out here all night freezing my arse off” Belle pulled the dressing gown tighter, folding her arms across her body as if that would help ward off the cold. The wolf whimpered, shifting it’s weight across three paws, almost like a human would shuffle their feet, woofed in an embarrassed tone and then looked down the street towards the row of shops. It appeared to expect some sort of answer from her. Belle sighed “Look Skippy, Lassie, Pluto or whatever your name is, I don’t speak wolf, so if there’s a kid stuck down a well or something you’re going to have to do better than that”

The wolf rolled it’s eyes. Belle was quite sure wolves weren’t supposed to be able to do that however she wasn’t about to debate the issue “I’m going back to bed” she told it firmly “you can either come up with me or you can go to wherever it is you live, up to you” with that she turned round and stepped back through the doorway. The wolf thought for a moment, then gently pushed the rose towards her with it’s snout. Woofing softly it too turned and started off down the street. Belle picked up the flower, hurried back upstairs to her flat and went straight to the window. Parting the curtains just enough to see out, she watched the wolf as it crossed the deserted road, heading right for Gold’s shop. It looked around then pawed at the door till it opened, disappearing inside. Belle swore she heard it howl just as the door closed. She continued to watch the shop for a while, when there wasn’t any further activity she decided to retire for the night. Just as she decided to close the curtains, the lights inside the pawnbroker’s switched off one by one. Gold walked out of the shop, locking the door behind him. His face was half hidden in the shadows thrown by the street light. Suddenly he turned to look right at her, as if he knew she was spying on him. Belle ducked back behind the curtain but she was certain he’d seen her. When she dared to peak again he had vanished.

“I need a drink” she had some brandy somewhere, that would do. After pouring herself a large measure she sat down heavily on the sofa, closing her eyes. She wasn’t one for swearing but couldn’t help the “Fucking Hell” that escaped.

Mr Gold was a werewolf. Mr Gold was a werewolf who had been bringing her roses.

[itssandgirl]

the Creature from the deep (1003 words) by desdemona_1996_writes Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Rumbelle - Fandom, ouat Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold Characters: belle/rumplestiltskin mr gold belle once upon a time - Character, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Belle&rumplestiltskin mr gold Additional Tags: rumbelle monster’s ball, monster’s ball, Rumbelle Monsterfuckers' Ball 2019 (Once Upon a Time), monster fucking, Monster sex, creature sex, Creature from the deep, Sex with a monster, Primal Sex, Groping, Anal Teasing, Red Rose, Tender Sex, Moonlight, sex under moonlight, Touch-Starved, Lust Series: Part 4 of Monsterfucker’s ball Summary:

Written for rumbelle Monster’s ball

Monster: therianthrope/ Sea Creature

Late one restless night Belle finds herself wondering through the garden.but there’s something in the air. a tension that wasn’t there before.the very atmosphere in the still garden changing with his presence.she could practically feel that familiar heat.the primal lust in the atmosphere taking her breath away and her body responded.

[gwenore]

Monsterf*ckers Ball prompt- Belle is cursed as a werewolf & is forced to wear a pendant that suppresses her powers. She embarks an affair with Lord Gold, a werewolf himself who knows her secret. While making love for the first time Gold tells her to take off her pendant so she can let go.

It is sort of strange that I haven’t done any werewolf stuff yet. I am certain that I can do something with this and do some gothic werewolf smut. 

Thinking I want to try to upload one each week, so I need three more prompts I am certain that I have some I haven’t gotten too yet...

[eirian-houpe]

Gilded

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Maurice | Moe French, Gaston (Once Upon a Time)

Additional Tags: A Monthly Rumbelling March 2020 (Once Upon a Time), A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time), Not Canon Compliant, Canon Compliant, Work That One Out If You Can, it will all make sense, I promise

Summary: Belle fears she is to become trapped in a gilded cage of her father, and Lord Gaston's making, with no relief and no way to be herself... until she meets the enigmatic little man trapped in the darkest, shadowed corner of the castle's library...  Written for the March 2020 Monthly Rumbelling.

Read on AO3

Gilded

If ever she needed proof that the marriage her father intended for her was little more than a gilded cage, she had only to look at the vanity, with it’s delicate lace runner, on which a golden hand mirror was obscured by a brush and comb of burnished gold. She hadn’t touched them, any of them - preferring always to use her own things, not the things that were provided for her. Her own things gave her the comfort of remembering her mother, and it was a comfort… her only comfort, besides her books, and her dreams of adventure.

Belle wished for relief; she wished for release.

He knew, no, hoped that sooner or later she would find her way to him, to his lair, though not truly a lair in the exact sense of the word, rather… his shadowed corner of the library. So, he waited.

He had enchanted the items that his lordship had left for her in the chambers meant as her cage. In hindsight, if she were half the woman he thought her to be, it was a waste of time and magic. She would no more accept such gifts from the man who would be her master than she would accept the man himself; not without coercion. He seethed at the thought.

The Dark One wished for retribution; he wished for release.

The dream from which Belle woke the first night stayed with her mere moments, except for the final words, the compulsion that sat in the front of her mind, whispering over and over… Find me. She was certain that if she could have remembered more of the dream, she would have been more sure of who needed, or wanted to be found, but she could not, so spent the day - in the guise of getting to know her away around her future home - searching the castle for someone, anyone who looked lost or out of place.

She had no idea why it was so important to her, because it had just been a dream after all, but she’d had such dreams before and they had turned out to be insights into a hidden truth or a problem to be solved. Her mother always told her that it was her mind’s way of bringing her perception to the fore; things that she had noticed unconsciously, and which wanted her attention, and not any kind of second sight, or supernatural knowledge. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to ignore it. What if someone else were in trouble, some other poor soul taken from their home and put to work in a place they did not wish to be? Yet the servants - while not exactly happy - did not seem to be in any kind of enforced servitude.

The second morning, when she woke, there was a book resting on the bed beside her pillow. With a frown, she sat up and reached for the tome, pulling it onto her lap and flipping open the cover. Her eyes lit up with delight. The book was of ancient languages; languages older even than her father’s library contained.

Intrigued, she lost herself in the book, only looking up when her maids came in, worrying after her health, since she was still abed. With her nose in the book she allowed them to lead her to her dressing room, dress her and fix her hair. It was in near panic, therefore, that she flicked her head up from the book when they told her that his lordship wished to walk with her in the gardens.

“What? No… I… I can’t, I--”

“My lady, he’s to be your husband,” the oldest of her maids protested.

“And I have no wish to walk,” Belle protested, lifting her head, and tucking the heavy tome under her arm. “Is your lord the kind of man that would force a woman to do something against her will?”

The maids shifted uncomfortably, and so Belle pressed, “Well…? Out with it?”

“It’s just that… well, Lord Gaston is used to getting what he wants,” a maid answered, still fidgeting and all but wringing her hands.

“Then he’ll just have to get unused to it,” Belle declared with a nod, stamping down her own disquiet with determination. Then, she stalked away from the fussing maids, sat down in her drawing room, and opened up the book once more, losing herself to the hours.

“She denied me!”

“Oh, how tragic,” Rumplestiltskin answered Gaston’s roar of anger with the lilting bite of his sarcasm as the man stalked back and forth across the library carpet, blustering with more hot air, presumably, at the Dark One’s lack of response. “I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

There was an accented lilt to his impish voice, as he waved a hand flamboyantly waiting for the fat-headed ox to turn his irritation and blame to him, as though he had been the cause of Belle’s refusal to meet with the spoiled nobleman. He did not have to wait long.

“You know full well what I want from you, Dark One,” Gaston bellowed. “You will make her come to me, and you will make her mine!”

Rumplestiltskin’s voice lowered to a growl, a mere whisper of danger, as he said, “And I told you that there are things that magic cannot do and as much as you—”

“You forget—” Gaston interrupted, drawing breath against the eruption that was awaiting inside of the Dark One.

“I forget nothing,” he snarled, and dared a small step outside of the shadow in the corner of the room, his fists clenched at his sides and Gaston stiffened as though steel bars were wrapped around him, fighting for balance and for breath. “You may have command over me in this… for the moment, but nothing lasts forever, and the Dark One’s memory is very. Long. Indeed… Dearie.”

For all that she avoided the walk in the garden - though a walk in the garden was something she would dearly have loved, just not with her would-be jailer - there was little she could do to avoid dinner that day, or breakfast the following, and dinner again on the evening of the nest day. She committed, however, to non-commitment, refusing to allow herself to be drawn into speaking by Gaston or any other he brought to the table. She would decide when to engage in conversation and about what, so to Gaston, his father, noblewomen of the kingdom she remained polite, but distant. After each evening, she would respectfully excuse herself and retire to her rooms, dismissing her maids and leaning on her door after she closed it behind them almost with relief.

Only when she was certain she would be undisturbed, would she take out the book from where she had hidden it and continue reading, letting her fascination with the ancient languages; with the arcane tongues, and with Fairy in particular sweep her away to other places; other times.

He missed his wheel and the peace it brought to his unquiet mind. Without it there was nothing to keep his thoughts away, nothing to keep the sight from driving him to the brink of madness with uncertain futures, and knotted strands of would-be possibilities; nothing to keep the memories from returning, all of them. No one came to speak with him after his little demonstration of the folly in attempting to control the Dark One - certainly not Gaston, thank the gods - and the maids that brought the bowls of gruel and cups of water to his shadowy corner were barely there long enough to drop the tray, turn tail and run, lest they catch sight of the ‘evil monster’ in the library.

Neither had Belle succumbed to the natural charm of the book - oh, not magic of any real kind, only that he knew of her love of books, and of her cleverness and worldly knowledge. It was a marvel, he thought, just what one could glean from an oh-so-willing supplicant as Gaston. He growled then in remembrance of the infernal interference that had disadvantaged him and left him in his current predicament. Trapped in the shadows, to do the bidding of the greedy, errant lordling.

Damn her hide! His thoughts turned from Belle to the one responsible for it all, though as angry as he was, he couldn’t complain too much, because it seemed he was managing to turn matters to his advantage - find the loopholes, and lay the ground for the future. Still, damn her hide for her annoying interference.

Curling up into the most lightless part of the room he let go of his hard won control, and allowed himself to see…

The fall of a cup - the snip of scissors at the stem of a rose - the spinning of a wheel - mirrors… mirrors everywhere… a woven basket full of child and a dark night road - a warm burning fire in a stone hearth - the gentle brush of fingers through his hair.

“Um… hello?”

Rumplestiltskin startled out of his trance, spun on the spot even as he uncurled from the fetal ball into which he had curled himself, and dared to begin to unwind as the voice came again.

“Hello?”

Belle though she heard a sob followed by a soft moan as she crept into the library… find me… the words, half remembered now, filtered through her mind. Why hadn’t she thought to look there, in the library. She had looked everywhere else. She sensed movement from the corner of the room, where the light held little sway, and moved slowly toward the darkened space, half afraid that she would frighten whomever was there, and half afraid for herself; for what she might find there.

“Are you all right?” she called out softly as she approached.

“All right…” the echo came from the corner she approached, softly sing-song and accented strangely, almost crooning. “Yes, yes… quite all right.”

She stopped a little way away from the speaker, peering into the shadow to make out the shape - a wiry little man, from what she could see, which wasn’t much. It seemed as if the light shied away from him, or the darkness gathered to cloak him from sight.

“Was it—?” Belle started to ask, but then stopped herself.

“Go on,” the man prompted. “You can ask.” Then, with a chuckle, added, “I won’t bite, Dearie.”

Belle did - her lip anyway, drawing it between her teeth as she tried to work out anything she could about the person to whom she was speaking, and longing but not daring to ask who he was. Instead she finished the question that seemed the most important in her mind.

“Was it you that brought me the book?”

“Brought it? Brought it, no, but…” he giggle softly, and there was a sound as though he were clapping his hands, “but sent it. Sent it, yes. Clever girl. Clever, clever girl. Found me out, you did.”

Belle joined him, chuckling a little as he let out a sound of pure mirth, but as the laughter faded, founder herself asking, “Why?”

“Why?” he echoed, as though the question confused him, and in a shifting accent, and with a shuffled half step forward until she could see him more clearly than a mere silhouette, answered with a flourish of his arms, “Because I wanted you to read it, of course!”

“But,” Belle faltered, surprised, and then asked, “Why?”

“Because.” He answered, sounding rather peevish.

“Because what?” Belle pressed in spite of his apparent annoyance with her questions. “And who are you? And why are you hiding in the shadows?”

“What, who… why?” he repeated. “So many question. Questions, questions, questions. Why do you want to know?”

She opened her mouth to reply, but then stopped, her answer hanging in the air between then like a tangible thing; a cord ready to bind them. She remembered the voice she had heard in her head, the ending of her dream, and she held her breath as she and the strange little man spoke together.

“Because…”

“Yes…?”

“…you said to find you… and… and I… want to know you.”

Even as she answered, she surprised herself to discover that it was true. She did want to know this strange man who had sent her such a wonderful book to read; who seemed so strange, with behavior so bizarre and yet, even in the short amount of time she had spent with him - mere minutes - was strangely enticing.

He let out his impish little giggle, accompanied by the light sound of his clapping hands, and she heard the shuffle of feet and the silhouette in the darkness moved toward the light.

“Want to know me, hmmm?” he crooned, “The monster that lives in the dark. The beast.”

Belle gasped as the man stepped into the dim light at the edge of the shadow, one step… then two… to stand before her. Her head tipped in curiosity, taking in his strangely snakelike gold-flecked skin, his wavy hair; blackened teeth and nails, and golden eyes that held all the menace and darkness the world possessed. She saw, though, that they also held sadness, sadness and hope and longing. Compassion flooded her heart.

He held his breath as he stepped into towards light, almost faltered at her gasp, but took several, almost free steps into the room, no longer confined to the deepest dark - no longer in pain from the light. He held very still as her small hand reached out, steadily, to touch the skin of his cheek with her fingertips. His eyes closed. Never… never had he been touched like that, her fingers like feathers against his skin. Warm… welcome…

“Hardly a monster,” she said, and her voice was soft and filled with a kind of curious wonder as her fingers tentatively moved from his skin to take a strand of his hair between her fingers, as though feeling its softness.

He allowed it as long as he could stand, before the fingers of his own hand curled around her wrist, lifting her hand away from touching him, feeling the absence of her touch almost immediately.

“Oh, but I can be, Dearie,” he answered in a low, rumbling tone, and felt her shiver; watched as her skin pebbled with tiny goose bumps, and took a breath, his own responding as he felt the bonds of his geas beginning to loosen. If only…

“You sent me the book,” she whispered, and he tipped his head to the side, curious as to where she was going with the thought. “Why? Are there others?”

He chuckled. He knew full well what she meant, but wasn’t ready to test her yet - to really, truly test her. He was almost too afraid to be disappointed.

“This is a library,” he said as he let go of her and spread his arms, turning around in a circle. “What do you think?”

“You know what I meant!” she accused softly, and he took in a deeper breath and dropping all pretense at playfulness looked her deeply in the eyes answered her softly.

“Many, and I can let you see them, if…”

“If?” she questioned, and, he noted, shifting a little uncomfortably under the intensity of his gaze.

He leaned toward her then, almost nose to nose, and said softly, “If you’ll agree to visit with me… just a little time each day.”

“Agree, I…” she moistened her lip with a furtive sweep of her tongue, causing him to pull back; to fuss with his lace cravat for a moment, his eyes downcast. His heart lurched, fearing she’d turn him down; that the curse under which he was trapped in the darkest corner of Lord Legume’s castle would never be broken. Yet, when she began again, it was relief that flowed through him as he let his eyes rove over the dusty and neglected titles lying abandoned on even dustier shelves. That a place of learning such as this should be as neglected as it was in a castle full of thick headed lummoxes who were trying to attract the daughter of such an educated woman as Collette of Avonlea - in spite of such a matching attitude in her father - was not lost on him.

“Agree? I’d be delighted!” Belle said, and he looked up to find himself as trapped as he was by the geas set upon him, by the brightness of her beautiful smile. He remembered himself moments later, and flustered stepped away a little, for a time not even realizing that he had almost been standing in the light, and turned, almost dancing in circles with the sheer joy of her response, until her musical giggle reached his ears and he stopped.

“What?” he asked, as if bemused.

“For a moment there I thought I’d done something wrong, with the way you were staring at me,” she said, “but now…?”

She gestured at him in a way, he realized, that was meant to convey his expression of happiness.

“Yes, well,” he said as archly as he could, “Don’t get used to it, Dearie. I’m very serious. Yes, as serious as they come, now…” he wrinkled his nose, tipped his head to one side and asked, “Where were we?”

“You had just agreed to let me see the other books, like the one you sent to me, if I will visit with you daily,” she reminded him. “And I said I’d like that.”

He let out another gleeful giggle and clapped his hands together soundlessly.

“So,” she went on, “when do we begin?”

“Such eagerness,” he purred. “So very keen.”

“Well, there’s no time like the present,” she said earnestly, then he saw her frown as his expression became serious once more.

“Oh, but alas,” he began, “you must go and prepare for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Her frown deepened.

“Yes,” he said, wrinkling his nose, “With the young lord.”

“With Gaston?” she said, her voice high in pitch.

“Yes. You were, after all, invited, were you not?”

“Demanded, more like,” she snapped and began pacing back and for in front of him, throwing the occasional look of angry disparagement in his direction before she added, “And I have no desire to attend him. I already told him that. Several times!”

“Oh, I know all that,” said Rumplestiltskin, his voice reflecting his lazy boredom with the lord of the castle’s desires and demands. “But, just for the sake of argument, what if one little dinner with him meant that you could spend… longer in the library - undisturbed?”

“Really?” she asked, and he could hear the hopeful excitement in her voice.

“I can make sure of it,” he told her in a singsong voice, gesturing wildly with a hand held up, finger pointed to the ceiling as though the source of all their woes were above, the other arm across his chest. She stopped pacing and stepped into the edge of the shadow, and reached out to grasp his arm in excitement.

“You’re absolutely sure he’ll leave me alone?”

“Yes,” he hissed the words between his teeth. He was certain, because if the young lordling didn’t…? The threat was silent, and only in his head, but while he might be confined to the shadowy corner of the library, his magic was not. He did so love a good loophole.

“All right then,” she said, and began to turn away, but he caught her arm to hold her in place

Leaning close then, he murmured softly against the shell of her ear, “But let’s make this our little secret…” He felt her shiver again, before she nodded, and then he let her turn and walk away, and he retreated to his shadowy corner, humming quietly to himself.

Belle was awake almost with the cock crow the following morning. Dinner had been a dull and dreary occasion - boring, filled with talk of hunting and martial prowess, and not at all the deep and engaging conversation for which she longed. She rose and dressed quickly, almost before her maids had arrived. Now that she had found the library, and the strange little man with his promise of ancient texts, she was anxious to get there, spend time there; read the books he promised.

As soon as she was able, she hurried to the room and let herself in. There, she stopped suddenly and drew in a breath of surprise, wondering for several moments whether she had found her way to the wrong room. Gone was the dust, and the dank dreary darkness - all apart from the furthest corner; the one that hid the strange little man, but otherwise the drapes were open, there was a fire in the hearth to take away the chill in the air, and on a table near to the fireplace was set a silver tea service, and a plate with fruit and cheese, bread and honey.

“No need to stand on ceremony.” His voice came out of the shadows as it had the day before. “You’re letting in a draught.”

She couldn’t help but chuckle, came into the room and closed the door behind her. Turning back to address the shadow, she asked, “There. Better?”

“Much,” he answered. “Now come. Eat your breakfast, and take some tea.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?” she accused softly, though in a tone of amusement.

“I thought you wanted to read these books of mine,” he said.

“I do,” she said, and crossed to the chair beside the little table, and began to pour herself some tea. “But that doesn’t mean you can tell me what to do.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Dearie.”

Before she sat, she turned the chair so that she could see the dark shadows in the corner of the room, and if she peered hard enough, could just about see the shape of the man within. She searched the tray for a second cup and finding none, frowned.

“Won’t you join me?” she asked.

“Can’t,” he barked.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” he repeated.

“Whyever not?” she frowned in confusion and picked up a piece of cheese to nibble at, and a single round grape.

“Too much light.”

Belle frowned. “But yesterday you left your dark corner.”

“It was sunset,” he reminded her, and she heard a hint of sarcasm, before he declared, overly dramatic, “Not much light then.”

She harrumphed, and set down her tea, starting to cross the room towards the window as she said, “Then we’ll make some shadow, because if I’m going to spend any length of time with you, I won’t be talking to a corner of the room.”

She heard him giggle his strange little sound that made her smile without her ever intending to, and as soon as she reached the window she took hold of the drapes closest to his shadowed little corner, and tugged them closed, extending the shadow from the corner, out past the little table where the tea and the food sat awaiting her attention.

“Now,” she said, turning to face into the corner and gesturing to the shadowed table. “It’s no lighter than it was yesterday afternoon, so please, come and take tea with me.”

His giggle dissolved into the beginnings of a first word as he spoke. “I’d be delighted,” he said, echoing her words of the day before, and she returned to her place by the fire and, with barely concealed surprise, turned a second cup, which had not been there before, right-side-up and poured him a cup of tea as he shuffled closer.

He watched her curiously out of the corner of his eye, sipping his tea from the china cup, his little finger extended and straight, playful and yet serious, both at the same time. The closed drape provided just the right amount of shadow to allow him to extend his freedom almost the entire first third of the room, and in her presence he began to feel the effects of his confinement waning. Setting down his cup, he rose once more from the seat he had taken and stalked around his new demesne while Belle finished her breakfast and then daintily wiped her hands clean on a soft cotton cloth.

She turned first one way, and then another as if to find him, and he leaned down, around the high back of the chair to murmur almost into her ear as she looked the opposite way.

“Still here, Dearie,” he teased. “So, ready to begin?”

“Quite ready,” she said, a little breathlessly from where he’d startled her.

“Then let’s try…” he trailed off, miming as though he were searching through an unseen bookshelf and then suddenly made a face of great excitement, speaking more to himself than to Belle as he said, “Oh, yes! This one. You’ll like this one, I’m sure of it.”

From out of thin air in a drift of purple smoke, a large, thick tome appeared in his hands, drawing a gasp of surprise from Belle, and with a brief caress to the book’s deep brown cover, he opened it, and set it almost tenderly into Belle’s lap.

“So, you’re a sorcerer then?” she asked.

“Of a sort,” he said, and then before she could ask further of him added, almost crooning, “Take your time. I think you’ll find this one is full of surprises.”

He practically sang the last three words, then moved away to watch as Belle ran the caress of her eyes over the pages of the book, sometimes flicking back and forth between pages, but always with a look of wonder on her face.

He mused that it might not take as long as he had feared to find his freedom with her help, and found he had mixed feelings. On the one hand he could not stand being confined in this rotten place; locked in the only place in the entire castle where none of the muscle-bounds idiots ever came, unless of course they wanted something from him, and he longed for his freedom. Not only did he want to get away and back to his own Dark Castle, but he also wanted to show that annoying little gnat just how foolish she had been to act against the Dark One; how futile and dangerous her actions. On the other hand, even as little time as they had spent together so far, he enjoyed Belle’s company and now, too, enjoyed watching the expression of sheer joy upon her face as she read. It was also that joy that he must capture, to release the first strand of the geas that bound him. The impossible trinity of joy, sorrow, and trust; with the fourth and most impossible of them all - acceptance.

Each day she came, they did the same; danced the same, metaphorical dance, but he felt himself drawn closer to her somehow, and sensed the same in her. She would come in, and even before sitting down to take tea she closed the drape closes to his corner and teased, with some soft phrase or another, then head to the table where the tea was set beside her breakfast of bread and honey, fruit and cheese. The ritual of it, the happiness with which she entered the library and did all of those things was beginning to rub off on him.

The last day of the week dawned, and he found himself watching as the edge of sunlight crept closer and nearer to his shadowed corner, and he held his breath, not in anticipation of the pain the light brought him, but of the happiness he would feel the moment Belle came into the library.

Not a moment beyond the time he anticipated, the library door opened, and he heard her rapid footsteps heading toward the window as always, to close the drapes. They were half way shut, her hand grasping the heavy fabric once more, ready to pull it the rest of the way, when he finally called out, “Wait!”

She stopped at once and turned to face him in his not-quite-so-dark corner, and gave him a frown that was heavy with concern.

“What is it?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”

“No, no,” he answered calmly, though in a soft sing-song voice. “It’s just… I think that will be enough for today. No need to close it all the way.”

“But I…” she faltered, then began again. “I though you said the light hurt you.”

“I did,” he said. “It did.”

“Then—” she grasped the curtain again, meaning to pull it closed.

“But not now, see?” he stepped forward into the better lit, though still dimly shadowed part of the room beyond his darkest of dark corners. “I think you cured me of that.”

“What?” she asked, but he could feel the breathless hope trembling in her. “How?”

“Quite simple really, Belle,” he said “Seeing your happiness at reading my books is… freeing me from my shadows.”

A bolt of almost pure joy ran through her like lightning at his words, and before she knew what she was doing, she had crossed the space between the curtain and where he stood and threw her arms around his shoulders. She hugged him tightly, oblivious to his sudden awkwardness until the soft pat pat pat of his touch fell hesitantly on her back.

She drew back, though she still held on to his elbows.

“Oh,” she said, her face beaming with joy, “this is wonderful!”

He chuckled, and she laughed with him, and then taking his hand she tugged him toward the table so they could share their morning tea.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” he said as she steered him toward a chair and reached for the tea pot.

She glanced up at him then, taking in the site of his burnished skin, with his green-gold scales that so fascinated her. They caught her attention even more now that she could see him in the better light. She shook her head.

“I’ve had a lifetime of being served, and frankly I’ve had enough of it. It’s little enough I can do for all the joy you’ve given to me in letting me read your books. A small price to pay.”

She handed him his tea, and he accepted it with a chuckle and said darkly dramatic, “You might feel differently if ya knew who it was ya served.”

She sat back, her own tea balanced against her thigh as she asked, “Why? Who are you anyway?”

He frowned, and then spent very many minutes looking at her as though he thought she’d lost her mind.

“You really don’t know?” he asked, and tipped his head to the side.

“Don’t know, and don’t care,” she answered in a clipped tone, before taking a sip of her tea. “Though it might make it easier to know what to call you.”

She met his golden eyes as he appeared to study her, as if weighing up however she might react to the revelation of his name. Eventually he broke their gaze and took a sip from the teacup he held in his hands, and said softly, “You may call me… Rumplestiltskin.”

“Rumplestiltskin,” she whispered softly once, and again, the sound of it, the syllables making light dance behind her suddenly closed eyes.

“Careful, Dearie,” he teased, and she started, opening her eyes again, and giving him an apologetic smile as he said, “Too much of a good thing…”

He studied the blush that rose in her cheeks at his admonition, found it endearing, and surprised he studied her more deeply, allowing hope to flare in his chest. Could it be possible? Dare he try? Sharing her joy with him was easy; easy for them both, for what man wouldn’t want to bring joy to a beautiful woman? But sorrow after such joy - how could he ever earn her trust with such hurt?

Still, he had to try.

She sipped her tea, the blush alive on her cheeks, watching him and he could see a spark of curiosity in her eyes.

“What is it?” he asked, and she set down her teacup.

“May I ask you a question, Rumplestiltskin?”

“Oh, you can always ask,” he sang in answer, burying his thoughts of moments before in the necessity of the present; of having to forge this bond between them, even knowing what he would have to do in the end.

“Yes, but would you answer truthfully if I asked?”

“Well that’s the question, isn’t it?” He tipped his head. “Will the beast answer true, and if he says no he won’t, or yes he will, is he true in his answer?”

“You’re trying to confuse me,” she told him, though she smiled as she spoke, “And you’re not a beast.”

“Oh, but I am.” He rose from his seat, circling around behind hers, reaching over the ornate backrest to settle his hands on her shoulders. “All this time you’ve been coming, all the books I’ve shared, all this time we’ve spent together, and for what…?”

“Because it’s what I wanted,” she interjected even as he went on.

“…to take your joy and make it my own…”

“We shared.”

“…and now—” he stopped suddenly, frowning. “What do you mean, ‘we shared’?”

“We were both happy. So we shared the feeling.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but any retort he might have made dissolved in her gaze as she turned beneath his touch, because he knew she was right.

“We… did.” He said, coming around the side of the chair to perch on the footstool by her feet. He dared. He had to dare. “Would you… would you read something to me?”

Belle blinked, surprise showing on her face. “You… want me to read to you?” she asked, her voice echoing that surprise.

“Yes.”

“One of your books?”

“Yes.”

“Another about magic?”

“No,” he said, “Not this one. This one is a story of many years in the lives of its protagonists. It tells of their love. It tells of their loss; their attempts to find one another… through time.”

“If you know what’s in the tale, why do you want me to read it to you?” she asked, obviously curious.

Hesitantly, he reached out to take her soft fingers into his hand, expecting she would pull away. She did not, though the blush returned to her cheeks, even as she leaned a little closer to him, her expression concentration, her eyes roving his face.

“Because… I know the tale, but not the book,” he said, lowering his voice with each word he spoke, and she leaned closer. “And… I don’t know another that could read it to me. Not… the way… I need.”

He reached out with the fingertips of his other hand to caress her soft, pink cheek; held his breath lest she pull away, but again she did not. Instead, she caught his hand beneath hers, leaned in to his touch, so close their foreheads were almost together.

“I will read your book,” she said, her voice almost as quiet as his whisper had been, “if… you will promise to answer my question truthfully.”

“But how do I know, if I don’t know the question?” he asked.

“You’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?” she said, “Your story for my question.”

Belle didn’t know from where the impulse came to trap his hand, to lean so close, to breathe him in, but she could not stop herself; didn’t want to. She found that she felt more for this strange little man after only a week than she thought she could ever feel for Gaston. He clearly respected her for her mind. He indulged her curiosity; allowed her to read his strange and wonderful books, and conversed with her on many topics, rather than dismiss her as a woman. It set a strange and lonely ache inside of her. She held her breath as she watched him obviously considering her words.

Finally, he closed that narrow gap between their heads, his eyes meeting hers as he said, soft and low, “Deal.”

They seemed frozen in time, held in the moment, until in a swirl of wild purple, like the deepest of hillside heathers, she suddenly felt the weight of a book in her lap, and Rumplestiltskin slowly pulled away.

“Ask your question.”

“You are a sorcerer…”

“Not a question.”

“…So, how come you were trapped here, in the dark corner?”

“Ah, that,” he said, and pressed his fingertips together, watching her watch him as she waited for his answer and she could almost see the thoughts whirling around behind his eyes. “I lost my temper, and made a foolish mistake. One that I shall not make again, I assure you.”

“That’s not an answer,” she said with a sigh.

“Then you should have asked the right question,” he answered, but with such a silly expression on his face that she couldn’t help but laugh softly.

“All right, you trickster,” she shook her head, hoping that her tone took the sting from her name calling, “but I will get it out of you.”

“All in good time, Dearie. All in good time,” he teased, and then pointed to the book. “Now read.”

Chuckling, and still shaking her head, she opened the book, and translating the ancient tome as she read, began the tale.

It was a labor of many, many days, but not one that she minded. At first, they kept their place beside the fire. Sometimes as she read, they would share tea, and sit across the small table from one another, and after those first few, uncertain days, he returned to the place he had taken before the story began, perched childlike on the footstool at her feet, gazing up at her in rapt concentration.

As more time passed, as he sat at her feet, he began to close his eyes, resting his folded arms atop her skirts and rested his head there on his arms. It startled her at first, but only for a moment. Afterwards, she took comfort in the weight of his head on her knees, for the tale took a dark and lonely turn, and his nearness helped to keep the sorrow from overtaking her, at least for a time.

And then the first of her tears fell.

It was unexpected. It wasn’t even one of the passages that held as much sadness as some of the others she had read and yet, without warning, a word, or a sentence, maybe even the sense of the passage struck like a knife to the heart. Her voice cracked, heat flooded her eyes, and her breath hitched in her chest, Without the shadow of a doubt she knew - somehow she just knew - that her mother’s time was coming to an end. With her there, with Gaston and his family rather than at home, she would never see her mother again.

One moment he was resting, lost in the story, at relative peace. His arms were on her knees, his head resting on his arms, and though he was certain she hadn’t yet realized what she was doing, her fingertips brushed softly at the edge of his wild, curly hair. It brought him comfort; let him forget that he was the Dark One, and all the things that he had done; had had little choice but to do anything else. Her quiet voice and gentle touch was like his wheel. He lost himself in the touch much as he had in the story. The next moment, the peace dissolved and a torrent of sudden grief swept through him, over him, so hard and fast that he couldn’t breathe.

It was the splash of her tear on the back of one hand that made him remember himself, and he sat up, as suddenly as the emotion had come. It still came, relentless. It kindled in him the memory, the sure and certain knowledge of himself as an orphan, a lost and lonely, abandoned child, and tears rose unshed in his own eyes, as he met the brimming blue that overflowed onto Belle’s suddenly pale cheeks.

“Belle, my Belle,” he murmured without thought, and reached out to cup her cheeks as gently as he would a small bird. “Whatever is it? Whatever’s wrong…?

“She’s dying,” she wept. “She’s going to die… m-mother…!”

“Oh, Belle,” he whispered softly, and barely had the presence of mind to catch her when she threw herself from the chair and into his arms. He cradled her close; ran his fingers into her hair to guide her head to rest on his shoulder. His own captive tears found freedom and a track over his cheeks as he whispered, “Everything ends… we were all born to die.” She sobbed against him at his words. “Cold comfort, or none at all, I’m sure, but your mother,” he drew her back until he could look into her eyes, and she to his, “…she loves you, and has loved you since first she knew of you. She gave you everything, everything you need to guide you through your life to come, and it will serve you well.”

“Rumple…” her voice hitched in a sob, mid word, “…stiltskin…”

“Hush now, Belle… and rest…”

He wiped away her tears, and slowly fluttered his fingers in front of her face, trailing gentle magic… soothing magic, as she relaxed her desperate grasp on him, and slipped quietly into sleep. He lifted her then, carried her across the room to the chaise lounge in the lee of the window, set her down and tenderly covered her with a blanket he conjured from the air. Then he lifted one of her hands to plant a gentle kiss to the back of it.

“Forgive me, sweetheart. I didn’t want to make you see. I didn’t want to be the cause of this for you.”

He retreated to the chairs by the fire, turned one of them so that he could watch over her from afar, brooding over all of those who suffered at the hands and spells of those so-called guardians of all that was light and good. It was only as the sun that had begun its descent toward night when everything had begun had fully set, that he realized with growing wonder, trembling with badly contained excitement at the realization, that she had shared her sorrow with him, that he had felt it… shared her joy, and now her sorrow too.

When Belle awoke, it was still night. The candles in the library had burned down low, but the fire remained warm in the hearth, and before it, sat silent and unmoving, Rumplestiltskin gazed her way. Her guardian. She sat up slowly, keeping the blanket around her shoulders as she stood and approached him. This time it was her turn to sit at his feet. To lower herself to the footstool and look up at him, still unmoving as though lost in meditation. She laid her hands on his knees and softly called his name, and only then he blinked and turned his face, and a confused smile, her way.

“Belle,” he said softly, “You woke.”

“Yes,” she answered. “Just now. You… you watched over me.”

“Yes,” he said with a nod. “I brought this on you, Belle. All this sorrow and fear.”

“No,” she murmured. “The world brought this upon me… and upon you.”

He reached out to cup her cheek, and she leaned freely into his touch as he shook his head in wonder, his gold-flecked thumb idly and tenderly caressing her soft skin.

“How can you trust me,” he asked, “after all I have put you through; taken from you?”

“Shared with me,” she corrected him. “Rumplestiltskin, don’t you know? You have and always have had my trust.”

She felt him stiffen then, just slightly, and only for a moment, before his other hand came up to cup the other side of her face and draw her closer to press a firm but gentle kiss to the middle of her forehead.

“Oh, Belle,” he breathed against the damp spot before he pulled back and she could see him again. She reached up to trace the pattern of gold scales on his cheek as he continued, “My dear young woman, you cannot know what a gift you have given me with those words. To be trusted, knowing who I am and what I have done - even if you do not know - is beyond words that I can find to say. And all of this you have given freely.”

“What other way is there to give it?” she asked, confused as she sat back down on the stool and took his hands in hers, caressing his skin, soft in spite of the scales, as she asked, “To be confined within a gilded cage such as this one, and expected to give it?”

“No,” he said, “Not that… never that.”

“But tell me,” she craved, “I asked you once, and you gave me an answer that was no answer at all. Tell me true, my Rumplestiltskin, what happened that you were confined here, in the shadows, in the dark?”

“A long and sorry tale, of a boy abandoned by his father as a child, betrayed by his wife, and tricked into taking a path he did not truly understand in order to save his son, who was then lost to him through the interference of a fairy,” he said sadly.

“So you are the Dark One,” she breathed as all the pieces of her reading fell into place and she recognized the bones of his tale from what she understood of the powerful and most feared sorcerer in all the realms.

“Yes,” he admitted, and released her hands, taking a breath, which hitched as though he expected her to run.

She frowned softly, and reached out to take his hands again, wanting to show him that it made not one breath of a difference to her who he was. To her he was a man; a man that had shown her nothing but kindness and empathy, and if that was the worse the Dark One was to be to her, then she would accept him with all her heart and soul. He deserved better.

“What did she do to you?” she asked softly. “You said you were foolish, lost your temper. What happened?”

And so she listened as he told her the tale of how the Blue Fairy had given his son a magic bean; of a promise he made, and a promise he broke to the boy he loved more than anything in all the worlds, and how, because of that, and because of the interference of the fairy, with her bean, how he had lost his son - perhaps forever, though she sensed in him that he would never stop searching for his Baelfire.

Rumplestiltskin felt the final bonds break fast, one after the other as she spoke of her trust for him, and when she then reached out to take his hands in hers as he released her, after confessing his identity to her.

She didn’t care.

She accepted him for who he was.

Acceptance, the final key.

“I know you’ll find him,” she said softly, rising to her feet, as he came to his own, and tenderly took her in his arms.

“Yes,” he said simply, trying not to let himself be overcome with sorrow. He would like nothing more than to keep her light in his life now that he was free, but he could not - would not - confine her in a place she did not wish to be, and he expected she would not wish to be in his Dark Castle any more than she wanted to be where she was then, with Lord Gaston in the cage the lordling had gilded for her. He made a promise to himself though, there and then, that if what Belle had seen, as he tricked her into reading the enchanted Book of Sorrow, came to pass as she feared it would, then he would somehow save her from an obviously uncaring world, and from those who did not deserve her.

“Yes,” he repeated, “And now you must go.”

“Go?” she asked, confusion in her tone.

“Yes, go,” he said. “Go home from here, to the mother that loves you… and you must forget.”

“Forget? Forget you? I don’t understand.”

“Yes,” he said again, “Forget.”

He cupped her face again then in his hands, and before she could respond, stole for himself a single brief moment. He pressed his lips to hers, and after but a heartbeat felt hers soften beneath the press of his, part to admit him, and he moaned as their tongues caressed, sharing breath, even as the deep purple swirl of his magic began to spiral up to surround her, to take her memories of her time at Castle Legume, her memories of him, and all the fears that she had confessed, and then to spirit her away.

It was a harder and longer task to steal the memories of all the people in the castle just the same, but by morning he was done, and as the first rays of sun lit the path to the forest, he closed the doors to the castle behind him and set off for his home, casting his magic mid stride, and setting a watch-ward over the kingdom of Avonlea.

He need not have.

Barely a year later, a message came to him from Avonlea. The Ogre Wars had flared again and the kingdom was under attack. He gathered all that he could to understand what had driven them to war again after the price of their survival in the first Ogre Wars had been that they leave human kingdoms alone, and through following a certain magical thread to to the Mirror of Souls, he found his answer.

He could not blame the Ogres.

Magic took him to the castle of Maurice of Avonlea as flawlessly as it always did, but it wasn’t enough, not then. He had to make an impression - an entrance - to be sure the memories he had taken from Belle had not returned, that any decision she would make would be her own, and not based upon what had grown between then as she had unbound him from the Blue Fairy’s geas.

He sent a magical knock to sound upon the doors, while appearing behind all in the room, occupying none other than Lord Maurice’s throne. She was clinging to her father’s arm, dressed in a glowing golden gown. The color suited her. Like the sun.

“Well that was a bit of a let-down.”

They turned to face him, and while he tried to keep his eyes on the men in the room, he could not help but take in the sight of Belle and the way she was looking at him, in cautious curiosity, but with no hint of recognition in her eyes.

“You sent me a message,” he went on as the great lummox Gaston approached him with a naked sword. He smothered his rising temper in feigned boredom. “Something about um… ‘Help, help! We’re dying. Can you save us?’ Well the answer is…” He rose to his feet and slapped Gaston’s weapon down, giving the man a wicked glance for barely a second, before he added, “Yes, I can. I can protect your little town… for a price.”

He circled the room, coming finally to stand, finger extended and pointing at Maurice as the robed elder walked quickly his way.

“We sent you a promise of gold,” Maurice said urgently.

“Ah,” he purred, “Now you see um… I um… make gold?” he spread his hands, as though to mime the fall of gold from his open hands, shifting his gaze among those gathered in the room, flicking his gaze back and forth between the men and Belle. His heart began to beat a little more quickly as she still showed no sign of recognition, no foreknowledge whatsoever.

“What I want,” he kept his voice low, looking to Maurice again, “is something a bit more… special.” He kept his eyes fixed on the Lord of Avonlea, while pointing flawlessly over Marice’s shoulder as he finished, “My price… is her.”

She frowned, and the fool Gaston pressed an arm across her body as if trying to push her behind him.

“No,” Marice refused him.

“The young lady is engaged,” Gaston added. “To me.”

Feigning incredulity, Rumplestiltskin gestured grandly and in high pitched astonishment at Gaston’s idiocy said, “I wasn’t asking if she was engaged. I’m not looking for… love.” He was thankful his back was to all of them in that moment, not wanting to see their expressions while he gathered himself. “I’m looking for a caretaker,” he continued, turning back to them. His eyes on Belle, remembering what she had said to him about being tired of being served her whole life. “For my rather large… estate.”

Still gesturing grandly, now trying hard to jog anything within Belle that would cause her to remember him - to be sure of her own free will, he pointed and said, “It’s her… or no deal.”

“Get out,” Maurice ordered, growling after pointing at the open doorway, “Leave!”

Inwardly, Rumplestiltskin growled as Gaston pushed Belle out of the way, behind himself, and Belle quite obviously objected to his manhandling her.

“As you wish,” he said calmly, slowly walking between them all and feeling her eyes on him.

“No, wait!” she finally spoke, and he smiled, and turned back to her. In the back of his mind knowing that he couldn’t have simply walked away and left her there even if she had said nothing; even if the rest of Avonlea was to be razed to the ground, her would save her. She extricated herself from Gaston’s restraint, and approached him, frowning but fearless. She looked him up and down, and then said firmly, “I will go with him.”

Rumplestiltskin felt his heart soar, and he let out a sound of delight, clapping his hands together in glee.

“I forbid it!” Gaston exclaimed, while her father gasped her name, but Belle turned to them, like the determined young and beautiful woman he knew her to be.

“No one decides my fate but me,” she said. “I shall go.”

“It’s forever, Dearie,” he warned her, pointed joined fingers in her direction.

“My family, my friends, they will all live?” she demanded.

“You have my word,” he told her softly, and with a bow.

“Then you have mine,” she said. “I will go… with you… forever.”

[kelyon]

Nephila

My contribution to the Rumbelle Monsterfucker’s ball!!

Belle French is a naturalist called in to find out what’s been killing--but not eating--local sheep. What she finds will change her life. 

Read on AO3

"Nephila is a genus of araneomorph spiders noted for the impressive webs they weave. Nephila consists of numerous species found in warmer regions around the world. They are commonly called golden silk orb-weavers, golden orb-weavers, giant wood spiders, or banana spiders.

"The genus name Nephila is derived from Ancient Greek, meaning "fond of spinning.""

****

Even for late August, it was stupidly hot. Belle French trudged across the stupidly designed quad of the University of Maine’s Storybrooke Campus. The cardigan she had stupidly worn as part of her “first day of school as an adjunct professor” outfit stuck to her back. The sweater was further pressed against her body by the leather strap of the bag she had stupidly slung over her shoulder. And the bag was heavy with five classes worth of “getting to know you” one-page essays she had stupidly assigned her undergraduates and--most stupidly of all--promised to return for credit next class. 

She was the professor, goddamit, why was she the one with homework?

“Belle! Belle!” 

Belle heard the running almost before she heard the voice calling after her. She stopped and turned and saw Ruby Lucas sprinting towards her. In the years she’d known Ruby, Belle had seen her run in everything from sneakers to stilettos to those “barefoot running” foot gloves, but she had never seen her friend look as winded as she did right now.

“What’s going on?” Belle asked as Ruby got closer. “Is there an emergency? Is your grandmother okay?”

Ruby shook her head and gulped down air before she started talking. “Wheren.... Aus... la...ufrum?”

Belle blinked at her friend. “You want to run that by me again?”

With her hands on her knees, Ruby took another deep breath, which only improved things by a fraction. “Where in... Australia… are... you from?

“Melbourne,” Belle answered, then added, “Did you run all the way from the Bio Building just to ask me that?”

“No,” Ruby panted, her mind clearly going faster than her breath would allow. “The next thing I wanna know is, how far is Melbourne from Queensland?”

Belle gaped at her friend. What was going on? “What part of Queensland? It’s a big state.”

“I don’t know what part. But if you go to Queensland, can you crash with your parents?”

“I--No?” Belle gathered herself and squashed down her incredulity. “Ruby, that’s like asking if my parents can stay with me here in Maine while they stop down and go to Disney World! Now will you tell me what’s going on? Why do we need emergency trivia about Australian geography?”

 “Bio department got a call,” Ruby huffed. “The University of Brisbane is looking for field agents for a job, but they don’t want any specialists.”

Belle’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Ruby nodded. “I know! It’s weird. It sounds like they’re looking for general zoologists.” She put her hand meaningfully on Belle’s shoulder. “Like someone who still hasn’t picked out a specific branch of study even though she’s well into her doctoral process!”

Unlike Ruby--who had decided in middle school that lupine biology was her passion and had never strayed from that course--Belle had yet to find a specialization that she could stick with. All animals were equally fascinating to her--from bison to crocodiles to arachnids--and she had spent countless credit hours in one field, only to find her enthusiasm building for another subject. She had gotten through her bachelor’s and master’s degrees by taking basic classes and calling herself a generalist. After all, zoology was a legitimate discipline all by itself. Even if specialization was more likely to offer job prospects.

But… this was a job prospect. Wasn’t it?

“Why does the University of Brisbane want an unspecialized naturalist?”

Ruby handed Belle a piece of paper with a phone number scrawled on it. “I guess you’ll have to ask them when you get there.”

****

Four weeks, three interviews, and one extended leave of absence later, Belle got off the plane at the Mount Isa Airport. She was met by a short, gruff-looking man from the university. He took her bags and threw them in the back of a dust-covered Jeep.

“This is the real outback, isn’t it?” Belle shouted as they drove along a bumpy road. The loud Jeep pulled up clouds of red dust as it went.

“Not really,” the man yelled over the noise. He hadn’t introduced himself, but he wore an ID badge that said Leroy. “But it’s close enough that tourists can’t tell the difference!”

“I’m really not a tourist!” Belle grabbed onto the dashboard as the Jeep jolted over some unidentifiable obstacle in the road. “I’m with the university!”

“I know! You’re gonna find what’s killing the sheep!”

“Is that what this is about?” In all her briefings on this assignment, Belle still hadn’t been told why they needed someone who had no specialty.

Leroy pulled off the road and onto a paved driveway that eventually led up to a massive house.

“This property belongs to Mary Margaret and David Nolan,” he said when he cut the engine. “They’re sheep graziers, and they’ve noticed a diminishing return on their flock. Usually, they’d call it dingos and move on. But the shepherds aren’t finding bones or carcasses. They’re finding bodies, but they haven’t been eaten. There are only ever two bites on a sheep.”

Leroy hadn’t looked at Belle much on their ride to the Nolan station, but now as he sat in the parked Jeep with his hands on the steering wheel, he turned and looked her dead in the eyes. “They look like fang marks.”

“Well, God knows there are enough venomous animals on this continent. We have a list of usual suspects. What kind of snakes live in this area?”

“Sister,” Leroy opened his door. “I’ve lived in these parts for twenty years, I’ve never seen anything do damage like this.”

He took her bag out of the Jeep and lead her to an outbuilding off the side of the main house. The edge of a folded-over blue tarp flapped in the wind on the ground outside, though most of the material was weighed down by an object hidden inside the fold.

Leroy stood over the tarp, but looked at her before he lifted it. “Are you ready to look at this?”

Belle swallowed her fear and squared her jaw. “Of course I’m ready. I’m a professional.” 

“Okay.”

It was definitely a sheep, that thing on the tarp. And it was definitely dead. Belle couldn’t help but feel sorry for the animal’s untimely demise. Her heart and stomach both wrenched at the sight of its lifeless eyes, its stiff limbs and unnaturally twisted neck.

The condition of the animal was as Leroy had described: it wasn’t eaten or dismembered. The sheep didn’t even look as though it had been attacked--at least, not by anything with ripping claws or crushing mandibles.

But there were marks on the sheep. On the neck, about ten centimeters apart, there were two deep incisions. Belle got a pair of rubber gloves out of her bag and examined the marks. The whole of her hand fit in the space between the holes. She could fit two fingers inside of the wounds, they were deep enough to go up to her second knuckle.

“That’s definitely not a snake,” Belle said. She turned to Leroy. “Are you sure this was an animal? Do the Nolans have enemies? This could just be the work of some really sick human.” 

A new voice entered the conversation. “You really think a person is capable of that kind of torture to a helpless animal?”

Belle straightened up and looked at the new speaker. He was a tall man in khakis and a bush hat, an outfit that should have been practical, but just made him look like he was dressing up as Crocodile Dundee. He had spoken with an American accent, so it was entirely possible that he had, in fact, bought a new wardrobe in order to appear “authentic” for his trip “down under.” 

Folding her arms over her chest, Belle gave the man a look of incredulous disdain. “It can’t be a controversial opinion that in most conflicts between men and beasts, humans are the aggressors.”

The tall man laughed, an obnoxiously boisterous sound. He clapped Leroy on the back, as though he were a pint-sized sidekick. Leroy glared at him and shook off his hand. 

“Miss French, this is your expedition partner.”

“Clay Gaston,” the man extended his hand. He had a very white smile “I knew I was the braun to your brain, but no one mentioned your beauty!”

Belle shook his hand for just long enough to be polite and then pulled away. She decided to ignore the remark about her looks. “I’m Belle French, one-woman co-oprative between the Universities of Maine and Brisbane. Are you associated with an institute?”          

Mr. Gaston shook his head. “I’m a big game hunter, the Nolans hired me to kill whatever you find. No beast alive stands a chance against me. And no girl for that matter!” He gave another smile that Belle officially classified as ‘shit-eating.’

This was going to be a long, stupid, trip.

****

The next morning, after breakfasting with the Nolans and getting a few more answers than she’d had before, Belle set out to find her sheep attacker. The couple said that all the sheep with fang marks had been found within a hundred meters of an abandoned mine. Of course, the entire area was littered with old mine shafts, so that only sort of narrowed down the possibilities. But it was something to go on, at least.

Squinting in the merciless sun as she left the main house, Belle couldn’t quite believe that Gaston was sitting behind the wheel of the Jeep.

“Isn’t Leroy the driver around here?”

“Three’s a crowd,” Gaston said. “I drove around this ranch for a few days before you got here, I can get you where you need to go.”

“It’s called a station,” Belle muttered as she walked around the Jeep to get in the passenger side. 

When she climbed in, Belle saw a long rifle laying across the back seat. How had Gaston gotten that through customs? She gaped at it, then turned to Gaston. “Tell me that’s a tranquilizer gun.” 

The man scoffed and started the Jeep before Belle had her seatbelt on. “The Nolans hired us to get rid of the thing that’s killing their sheep. Your part is to tell me what to shoot at. I’ll take care of the rest.”

The sight of the gun and Gaston’s cavalier attitude about this whole expedition gave Belle a stomach ache. But she shook her head and tried to focus on their mission.

“So what’s your plan, Mr. Gaston?”

“Follow the mine shafts,” he said. At least he kept his eyes on the road. “If we find a body, we can try to track whatever killed it. If all goes well, we’ll find the thing, kill it, and bring the body back to the Nolans tonight. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go back and try something else tomorrow.”

In the vast catalogue of “bad plans,” that wasn’t the worst. Belle reminded herself that Gaston was a professional hunter and tracker. And the same people who had hired her had also hired him. He couldn’t be as much of an idiot as he seemed. 

After an hour in the dusty wasteland, Belle spotted a white lump in the distance. Gaston drove the Jeep off the dirt road and pulled up to the animal. With her rubber gloves covering her to the wrist, Belle examined the carcass. Like the one on the tarp back at the station, this sheep was uninjured except for two red puncture wounds. 

Unlike the sheep at the station, this one was still warm.

“It’s close,” Belle said. The sheep’s blood was still wet and tacky on her gloves. She hastily removed them. “You think it’s in the mine?”

Gaston made a show of looking around the flat expanse around them. “Something this big can’t just hide behind a bush. If we don’t see it, it’s not on the surface.”

Belle exhaled slowly through her nose. He wasn’t wrong. There was a hole in the ground only a few meters away from where they stood, where the sheep had been attacked. They were right on top of a mine. Something could have very easily come up from the ground, attacked the sheep, and run back home.

“But it doesn’t make sense,” Belle muttered. “Why would an animal kill a sheep and not eat it?”

Gaston shrugged. “Maybe it thought the sheep was something else? Like, sharks think that people are seals when they bite them.”

“Maybe,” Belle said. “But what does it want instead? And how would it know that there was prey but not know what it was?”

Her brow furrowed in against the sunlight, Belle squinted down at the sheep. There was something glinting beside the carcass. Belle crouched down to get a closer look. The sparkling thing was gold against the red dirt. 

“Is that jewelry?” A dropped necklace would be evidence that this senseless slaughter was in fact the work of people--maybe some cruel teenagers or the Nolan’s cutthroat rivals.

But when Belle examined the thing, she saw that it wasn’t any kind of chain. It was thin as a hair, at risk of blowing away in the wind. It almost looked like some kind of golden thread. 

“Are we going to the mine or what?” Gaston said.

 Still squinting, Belle followed the line of the thread as it wove around the sheep and over the brush and into the hole in the ground. She stood up and slapped the dust off her shorts. 

“I think we have to,” Belle said. Though the animal’s access point was right in front of them, Belle had no interest in rappelling from a hole in the ground down into the unknown. She turned to look down the dirt road, and then back at Gaston. “Where’s the entrance?”

****

The mine was dark and cavernous. The entrance had been at ground level, a few hundred meters away from where they had found the sheep. As they went on, the path sloped steeply downwards into the earth. The only light came from their battery-operated torches. Belle held her light in one hand and left the other hand free as she walked. Gaston had an LED light mounted on his shoulder and used both hands to hold his rifle. The LEDs gave off a cold, bluish light that gave Belle a headache. She’d had her torch since she was a kid, and it gave off a warm yellow glow that made it easier to trace the gold-colored threads that hung all around the stone mine walls.    

“I can’t tell if I’m Orpheus or Theseus,” Belle remarked. “Descending into the underworld, but following a golden thread so I don’t get lost in the maze.”

“Is that from a movie or something?”

Belle opened her mouth, but then decided it wasn’t worth it.

There was nothing alive in the mines. In the light of her torch, Belle didn’t see any signs of animals--no bones or scat or likely habitats. There was nothing here but dust and rocks and strands of golden thread. As they went deeper into the mines, the threads became more frequent, the spacing of them denser and harder to avoid. Weaving around each other over and over, the threads almost seemed to form a narrow tunnel.

Gaston ducked, but couldn’t avoid scraping his head against the threads. He pulled the gold out of his black hair and grimaced at the sticky strands. “This isn’t real gold, is it? We’re not literally walking through a gold mine?”

“No,” Belle said. “Honestly, these look like cobwebs more than anything else.”

Giving up the subtle approach, Gaston used the butt of his rifle to clear away the rest of the tunnel. “You think a spider did all this?”

They emerged into a vast space, like a cathedral in the middle of the mine. There were a few boarded-up mine shafts above their heads, letting in narrow beams of sunlight. Looking up, Belle realized just how far under the ground they were.

Then the beam of her torch caught the golden threads again. But the threads were no longer sparse trails, or even the dense mass of the tunnel. Now they formed a sprawling, asymmetrical web that covered the entire space of the cavern. Belle and Gaston both looked up at it, gaping.

“Yeah,” Belle said. “I think that’s a spider’s work.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Gaston swallow. “A spider that’s big enough to kill sheep but not hungry enough to eat them.”  

Belle nodded. “I wonder what it really wants.”

She didn’t see what happened next. Her first sensation was of motion beside her, of Gaston falling over and shouting out, “Oof!” Then a hard crunch and half the light went out. All the illumination from the LEDs vanished. 

A man screamed. Gaston! Belle swept her yellow beam over the ground, frantically searching for him.

But he wasn’t on the ground.

She saw him, five meters up in the air, his body already wrapped up like a mummy and dangling by a golden thread. He was struggling to break free, but with every second, Belle could see his movements become weaker and more disjointed. In no time at all, he was still.

When Gaston’s wrapped-up body spun around, Belle saw two large fang marks on his shoulder. She screamed.

“Shhhh,” a raspy voice came from the dimness. “Don’t make noise.”

Belle swung her torch all over the room. “Who’s there? Where are you?”

“My home,” the voice said. “You trespassed.” 

Heart pounding, Belle tried to stay calm. “Your home?” she asked, still looking for the source of the voice. “You live here? With that spider around?”

“Not a spider,” was the only answer. “Spiders are small.”

Belle worked very hard to keep her panting from becoming hyperventilating. “Then what killed Mr. Gaston?” 

“Not killed,” came the sound of the voice. A voice Belle could no longer swear was human. “Not yet. You should go before I eat him.”

Gason wasn’t dead? And the thing in the mine with her was going to eat him? “Wait!” Belle thrust a pleading hand into the darkness. “Take me instead!”

In the dim light, she saw the outline of a creature. It stayed in the shadows, but she could make out a head cocking to one side. It was looking at her. 

“You?” the inhuman voice asked “You would… take his place?”

Belle fought to keep the fear out of her voice. “If I did, would you let him go? Could you let him go?”

An appendage came from out of the shadows and prodded at Gaston’s limp body. Then it discarded him, and turned to Belle. She could hear many legs moving in the darkness, coming closer to her. 

“Why?” The creature’s voice was high and low at the same time. It was a chirp with deep and menacing echoes. 

“I can’t go back without him. He’s my responsibility. I have to protect him.”

“You?” it said again. “You so small, so weak? He should protect you.”

“He tried and you see where that got us.” Belle nodded to Gaston’s rifle. It had been knocked out of his hands before they had even seen the creature. 

“So,” it hissed, “to save your male, you would feed me? Let me bite you?”

“You wouldn’t even need to use your venom.” Belle ignored the urge to vomit as she discussed her own slaughter. “I’m small enough that I think you could just eat me. If your physiology is the same as the smaller species in your genus.”

“That’s personal information,” the monster said stiffly. 

“I wouldn’t even fight you, at least I’d try not to. I--” It took a moment for Belle to make sense of what the thing had just said. “Was that a joke?”

“Hmm?”

“W-when I mentioned your genus, you said that was personal. Was that humor?”

It made a sound then, a high-pitched twitter that repeated a few times. After a moment, Belle realized it was laughter. This monster could speak English. It could hold a conversation. It could make a joke. 

This thing in the cave was more intelligent than most of her undergraduates. 

With a bizarre sense of relief--even though the danger was far from over--Belle began to laugh as well. This was just one of those days, wasn’t it? Like her favorite comedian said, adult life is already so goddamned weird, this might as well happen. 

The creature stopped laughing and Belle became aware of it looking at her again. 

“I don’t have to eat,” it said. “Not if other needs are met.”

“Really?” Belle asked. “Will you let us both go? Will you stop killing the sheep?”

“Other needs,” it repeated. “Must be met.”

Belle gulped. “Okay. Um.”

“Pretty human.” Was she nuts or did the creature sound thoughtful? “Pretty human wants her male to go free.”

“Yes,” Belle whispered. “No matter what, don’t eat Gaston.”

“No,” it agreed. “Ugly human stinks. No good for anything.”

“But,” she made herself say it. “You can eat me.��

“Yes,” the creature hissed. “I can. Or.” It didn’t finish the sentence.

“Or?” Belle asked. “Or what?”

“Or you can choose, pretty human.”

Belle’s hands clenched into fists. “Tell me what I can choose.”

“Choose,” it said, “what you will be. Will you be meal? Or.” It waited again, waited an eternity before it gave Belle the second option. “Will you be mate?”

For a very, very long moment, Belle didn’t remember to breathe. She stood in the dark cave, in the beam of her torch, surrounded by golden webs, every bit as paralyzed as Gaston. Her mouth opened and closed. Her lips tried to form words but no sound would come out of them. 

“W-w-what do you mean by ‘mate’?”

The sound the monster made was simultaneously amused and lustful. “Females should be bigger,” it said. “Ten times bigger than males! I should be afraid of you. Instead, you are afraid of me.”

“I am,” Belle admitted. “I’m afraid of things I don’t know, things I don’t understand.” She took a deep breath. “But I’ve found a pretty easy way to get over those fears.”

“Oh?” She could hear the creature scuttling in the darkness. It seemed to be all around her, examining her from every angle. 

“Yes,” she gulped. “Usually, I stop being afraid once I know more about the thing that scares me.”

Research had long been her weapon against a world that didn’t make sense. If she knew enough about a danger, then she knew how to avoid it, or how to survive it. It was an attitude she found common in doctors and economists, and naturalists like herself. All the good ones, anyway. They believed that forewarned is forearmed. 

Of course, the other side of that coin was someone had to have the first-hand experience that went into the books that future generations used for research. It was all well and good to arm yourself with knowledge, but at a certain point, if you were really serious about advancing science, you had to do something no one else had ever done. You had to do the brave thing, even if only so future generations could look at your work and see what not to do.

It was pretty clearly documented what happened to the prey of nephila. Belle herself could confirm the process of paralyzing a victim through venom and wrapping it in silk for later consumption. The creature had already done all of that to Gaston. If she agreed to be the creature’s meal, it would do that to her, and she would also get a first-hand view of its devouring behavior and digestive processes, though any notes she might make on such matters would surely be lost to science forever.

But did anyone know what happened to a human body in the process of arachnid copulation? What could happen, under those circumstances? Science had never found a specimen as large as the one that had made the webs in this cave. Science had never come across an invertebrate that expressed a sexual interest in humans. 

Now, Belle had both.

Besides, she had been hired specifically to find the thing that had been killing the Nolan’s sheep and to get it to stop. This creature seemed to be killing without feeding out of misplaced sexual energy. Surely, the most logical method of saving the sheep was to get the creature to expend that sexual energy. On her.  

This was the discovery of a lifetime. This would provide groundbreaking data for twenty different fields of study. This was literally her job. Who else would ever have this chance? Who else would ever take it? She had to do it. For the sake of the Nolans’ sheep, for the sake of Gaston’s life, for the sake of her own intellectual integrity, she had to fuck this monster.

“Well?” the voice came from the shadows, even more hushed than before. “Choice?”

Belle swallowed. It was one thing to see the rightness in doing something, but it was another thing entirely to actually do it. Besides, there was one more thing she had to know before she gave it her answer. 

“Step into the light.”

It did as she asked. One leg emerged from the shadows, then another, and another. The legs rested on thin points that gradually tapered up to joints and grew thicker from there. From the way it teetered on its points, Belle could tell that this creature didn’t usually stand on the ground. It was a weaver, after all. It was most comfortable in its web. 

The points of the legs were dark brown, but halfway up the colors changed to include a band of yellowish gold before it turned dark again. Every leg had that coloration, it was a sign to evoke fear in potential predators. A warning, that this thing was venomous. 

A warning Belle and Gaston would have done well to heed.

Belle looked up the height of the creature, at the legs that just kept going, until high above her head, she saw the rest of it. It had an oblong abdomen, as long as she was tall. At the cephalothorax, where a regular spider would have had a head, this thing kept going. It looked like it had a waist--not an abdomen, a waist that developed into a chest. It had shoulders and arms and five-fingered hands. It had a neck and a head and a face that looked like a man.

It was grinning at her. 

She had been afraid before, when she hadn’t known the true nature of this beast. Now that she knew, now that she saw it… “afraid” didn’t even begin to describe the feeling.

Black eyes clustered around the creature’s face, two large main eyes and then multiple smaller ones. Intellectually, Belle knew there were six more eyes than she was used to looking at on one face, but right now she was far too overwhelmed to count them. It looked at her, the gleam of her torch reflecting in all of its shiny black eyes.

“Choice?” it repeated. The mouth looked human, but with stubby chelicerae protruding out from the sides like an old-time moustache. That was where the creature had its fangs. “Meal or mate?”

Shaking, Belle took a step closer to it. “Mate.”

Instantly, two legs came from behind her and scooped her up. As she was lifted up into the air, Belle couldn’t fight her body’s instinct to wiggle and squirm. But then, another leg pressed itself onto her chest.

“Stop,” the creature said. “You look yummy when you do that. Remember, you are mate.”

Chest heaving, Belle tried to think. Of course her frantic motions would look like some small animal fighting for its life! She couldn’t act like that, or it might spur on a feeding instinct instead of a sexual one. She had to stay calm. She had to think like a spider.

“What does a mate do?”

The legs that held her lifted her up even higher, setting her in the center of the asymmetrical golden web. The creature let her go and Belle grabbed onto the silk threads, bracing herself for a fall.

But she didn’t fall. Belle looked at her arms and saw that they were sticking to the web, without her having to hold on to anything. About half of the threads were coated with droplets that looked like dew. She could reach one hand out to the droplets, and as soon as she touched them she found that she couldn’t move her hand away from the thread. She was stuck.

In a spirit of having nothing to lose, Belle reached her other hand out to a thread that had no sticky droplets. That one she could touch freely, she could run her hand back and forth over the impossibly thin golden thread. 

She plucked at the thread, like a harp string, and felt the vibrations emanate all around her. The creature was below her, balancing delicately on eight thin legs. It only walked on the threads that had no droplets, safe from the traps it had laid for others. When she touched the thread, it reacted, perking its head up to register the vibrations.

It was coming closer to her, approaching her from below. Black, lifeless eyes looked up at her. Eyes like that shouldn’t be so expressive. Belle shouldn’t have been able to discern curiosity and wonder in eyes that were nothing but eight round voids.

“You are mate,” it whispered. Its strange voice sounded almost awed. “Mate is queen.”

Climbing up the thread on all its legs, the creature came and looked Belle in the face. Even the human parts of him--it, Belle corrected her thoughts, even the parts of the spider that looked like a human--were colored for camouflage on the forest floor. The hands were green-brown and ended in sharp black points that looked like filed fingernails.

He--it--brushed away the strands of hair that had escaped from Belle’s ponytail. It touched her face and cocked its head to look at her. 

“Pretty mate,” it said.

“Thank you,” Belle said. Maybe that was stupid, but good manners never hurt. 

The creature’s skin was mottled into a tortise-shell mixture of green and brown and black, with flecks of iridescent gold shining through. And it was skin, Belle was pretty sure. This wasn’t an exoskeleton. How was it possible that this thing was both an arachnid and a vertebrate?   

He seemed as fascinated with her as she was with him. His hands slowly trailed down from her cheek to her neck. But it got confused when it reached her khaki jacket and the blouse underneath.

“Wrong,” it said. The thing had eight eyes, but only two eyebrows to furrow in confusion. 

“I’m wearing clothes,” Belle explained. “It’s… kind of like fur? That I can take off?”

That did not seem to help him understand. “Wrong,” he said again.

“You know how sheep have that wooly white stuff on the outside? Have you ever seen it come off?”

Realization dawned. All eight eyes widened in delight and his fanged mouth cracked into a smile. “Sheer!” it squeaked. “I can sheer human mate!”

“Gently!” Belle cried before he could get carried away. “Please be careful with me.”

It looked into her eyes and spoke softly in its inhuman voice: “Mate is small. Mate is weak. I will be gentle.” 

Belle swallowed. “Thank you.”

His five-fingered hands were clumsy, but Belle was impressed that he was even trying to undo her buttons. She’d had human dates who would just rip her blouse open when they’d started making out.

 While his hands slowly exposed more of her skin, his pointed legs caressed her body. It was a strange and not entirely pleasant touch--like being softly stroked with a pool cue--but she appreciated the effort. He was being very gentle.

Once he had undone the buttons on her jacket, her blouse, and her khakis, the creature only had to push her sports bra up and her underwear down to get access to everything he wanted. 

It looked her up and down and Belle had never had so many eyes on her body at once.

“Mate,” it whispered. His voice was thick and heavy. “Perfect mate.”

A shiver went up Belle’s spine. God help her, she had never felt so sexy. The mine was surprisingly warm and she felt herself opening up to this creature. She wanted to let him in to her body, and not just for the pursuit of scientific endeavors. Her nipples hardened and she twisted her body on the web, trying to get closer to him.

He saw what she was doing. With his long, thin legs holding him onto the web, the creature drew nearer to Belle. They were face to face, torso to torso. Her legs were spread, she waited for him to mount her or skewer her or rub up against her in an animalistic passion.

But he didn’t.

He touched her face again, gently, all eight of his eyes looking into hers. There was something about him, something about his eyes and his soft touch. He looked at her like he adored her. But how could a spider be capable of adoration? And how could Belle possibly be worthy of it?

With a strong but tender jerk, he pulled her stuck hand away from the web. Her arms were still stuck, they held her up in the middle of these golden threads. But now both her hands were free.

“Thank you,” Belle said.

The creature didn’t say anything. It lowered itself a little, so he was looking up at her again. He raised his chin, exposing his neck in front of Belle’s free hands. A few eyes looked at her expectantly.

“Do you want me to touch you?”

“Please?” it hissed. “Mate touch?”  

 Belle’s heart fluttered. It sounded so sad. How long had it been alone? There couldn’t be any females of this species. If there were, her creature would have mated already and there would have been spiderlings and in short order the entire continent of Australia (if not the entire world) would have been covered in golden webs and all life would be prey to this apex predator. 

She reached out her open palm to his cheek. With a sigh, he closed most of his eyes and leaned into her touch. His skin was warm and only slightly rough. She touched his cheek, his jaw, but when her fingers brushed against the flesh that sheathed his fangs, he jerked back.

“No!” he said in a fervent whisper. “Not there!”

Belle swallowed. “Does it hurt you?”

“Hurt you!” he said. He tilted his head in the dim light, showing off the venom dripping from his fangs. “Hurt sheep, hurt prey, hurt smelly male human. Not hurt you.” His two largest eyes bore into her. “Never hurt mate!”

Again, Belle felt her soul soften at this gentle monster. He was so intense, so insistent, so aware of his strength and her weakness.

“Do you know what names are?” She wanted to give him something, something more than just the physical release they had initially dealt for.

He cocked his head at her. “Name?”

She nodded. “It’s something you can call me, to separate me from other humans, so you don’t have to keep calling me ‘mate,’ unless you want to.”

“Mate is separate,” he said reverently. “Mate is nothing like other humans. Mate has name?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded. “My name is Belle.”

“Belle,” he said in his strange voice. The multiple tones gave her name a musical quality. It was clear that he had never said the word before, and Belle felt that she had never before heard anyone really say her name. 

She never wanted anyone else to say it again.

“Do you have a name?” she asked him. “Do others of your kind call you anything?”

With a series of strange clicks and grunts, he made a long poly-syllabic sound that started with an R and ended with “in.”

“I don’t think I can say that,” Belle said apologetically. “I’m not as good with my mouth as you are.”

“Belle,” he said again, dismissing her shortcomings in his adoration. “Belle, you are perfect.”

He put his hands on her again, on her neck and her chest. He ran his palms over her breasts and rubbed her nipples with his thumbs. 

Belle moaned and he stopped at once, his black eyes wide.

“No,” she explained. “No, that feels good. I like it when you touch me. I really like it when you touch me there.”  

Nodding slowly, he put his hands on her again. His pointed legs kept him suspended over her on the web. Gently, he trailed his fingers over the curve of her waist, his eyes looking down between her legs. 

“Taste,” he whispered. His largest eyes looked at her face, the rest of them looked down below her waist  “Want to taste.”

“Okay,” Belle said without hesitation. “But what about your venom?”

He was already climbing down the web and he looked up at her as he answered. “Careful!” he said brightly. “Feels good!”

Whenever anybody went down on her, the only thing Belle didn’t like was how she had no idea what was going on. That wasn’t so bad if the person knew what they were doing--if all Belle was aware of was electric bliss then it didn’t matter what technique they were using. But when guys didn’t know what they were doing and all Belle felt was a mildly pleasant warmth, then she would have liked to know what they were trying and hope that they would listen to her suggestions. 

But the spider, the monster with a name she couldn’t pronounce, did not need her help. The shock of his first touch burst up her spine and made her shriek.

“I’m okay!” she cried before he could stop. “That was good!”

“Yes,” he said, lifting his head up from between her legs. “I know. I smell. Belle feels good.”    

Fuck, Belle thought. How did he know what he was doing? How did this animal know how well he was mating her? Just by smell? Just by reading her body and sensing the animal in her? How much of an animal was she that she could accept him into her?

Probing and licking, his tongue explored her everywhere. Belle was so wet she couldn’t feel anything but pleasure, a steadily-mounting glow that rose higher out of her with every move he made. He pressed down against her heat, pushing his face into her, flicking his tongue over and over, everywhere around her cunt. 

“I’m going to orgasm,” she gasped, more as an explanation than anything else. He was working her up so perfectly, but would he know what would come of his efforts? “I’m going to shake and scream, but it’s good. It’s very good. You’re not hurting me. Fuck!” 

The sticky web behind her held her down, kept her from writhing and jerking like she would have if she were free. God, if someone was doing this to her on her bed in her crappy apartment she’d be thrashing on the mattress and covering her mouth with her hand so she wouldn’t wake the neighbors.

But Belle didn’t have to worry about that here. They were in a cavern, kilometers away from any settlements. They only person who could hear her moans and wails was Gaston, and he was still knocked out cold.

She would have to get him to a hospital when this was all over. 

For now, Belle let loose her cries. She shouted and screamed and pressed herself as close as she could to the creature that was dedicating himself to her pleasure. 

He didn’t stop, didn’t seem aware that she had climaxed. He kept his mouth on her--did he even use it to breathe?--and plunged her into another wave of ecstasy. 

Belle whimpered and moaned as a second orgasm built up and then released. Her body hung limp against the sticky threads, but her legs were still open and the spider still had his mouth on her, relentless and hungry.

After her third orgasm in a row, Belle weakly tried to close her legs. She couldn’t even feel her pussy anymore. “Please stop,” she gasped. “Just let me catch my breath.”

The creature pulled away from her with a squelching sound. Ribbons of fluids hung and dripped between their connected bodies. When he looked at her, somehow his eyes seemed even wider and darker than they had been before.

“Belle is pleased?” He rested his hands on her waist.

“Oh God, yes,” she answered. “You were--that was amazing!”

“Belle is happy?”

She looked down at him. Her hands were free enough that she could reach down and touch his face the way he liked so much. His cheeks were moist and sticky and Belle felt her body clench.

“I’m happy,” she said. Why did it matter so much to him? “You made me happy.”

Under her hands, she felt him swallow. “Now,” he gulped. “May I mate with you?”

Belle let out a chuckle and leaned her head against the threads. “Of course! You know, in human mating what you did isn’t even necessary. It’s just polite. Extremely polite to do it three times.” 

He didn’t answer. He crawled up the web to face her, to press his body against hers. One hand touched her face, stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. His other hand stayed in the space between their bodies. Belle looked down to see what he was doing, but he tilted her chin up to hold her gaze. 

“Don’t be scared,” he whispered.

“I’m not,” Belle answered. “I’m curious.”

His wide mouth broke into a smile. Now his fangs dripped with more fluids than just venom. The smell of her completion on his face only made her wetter.

She felt his hand against her, felt some strange new wetness sliding against her pleasure. Slowly, the creature pushed his fingers into her cunt.

The fingers didn’t move. He wasn’t, well, fingering her. She couldn’t quite tell what he was doing. She had never been fisted--was that what this was? He was so slow as he entered her. His hand felt so much bigger than any cock she’d ever taken, bigger than even her most adventurous sex toys. Thank God he’d already given her three orgasms!

Belle panted as he pushed himself deeper into her. Her hips rocked with a needful motion. Was he going to thrust? Was he going to fuck her properly or just fill her with his hand?

When she looked at the creature, he had half of his eyes closed in bliss. The other half gazed down at her. “Belle is good?”

“Can you move your arm?” Belle gasped as her body undulated back and forth. “Can you match the way I’m moving?”

It took a moment, but he figured out what she wanted. They rocked together, as tightly joined as any two lovers in the history of the world. Belle’s body shook the entire web and the creature pushed himself against her for stability. She cried and moaned with deep, guttural noises and she had to hastily tell him that this was good, he was good, she was feeling so good.

The orgasm rose out of her belly, deeper and stronger than the three she’d had from his mouth. Vaginal orgasm, Belle thought, categorising the experience even as she lived it. Biologically, she knew, there was no difference between a vaginal orgasm and a clitoral one--but this sure as hell felt different.

She came apart with a mad rush, every inch of her jerking and thrusting against the creature’s hand.  Her body clenched around it with so much force she almost thought she heard a crack. Had she broken his wrist in her passion? It wouldn’t have surprised her. Fuck, but she had never been fucked this well!

The creature moved with her, thrust for thrust and jerk for jerk. He clung to her with one hand and fucked her with the other. He made strange, chittering, animal noises and Belle knew that he was voicing his pleasure. He grunted out his desire, his passion, his burning need that only Belle could satisfy. Pushing into her again and again, the creature trembled and shook on its web, all eyes closed in ecstasy. 

When she couldn’t come anymore, she lay back on the web loosely. The creature delicately pried her away from the sticky golden threads and wrapped her in his arms. Belle sighed and rested in his embrace. Had she ever before felt so exhausted? So sated? So full?

For a while, she dozed in the creature’s arms. He seemed to have no interest in letting her go and she wasn’t exactly ready to walk back to the Jeep. The two of them spoke together, pillow talk without pillows, exchanging questions and compliments, both of them coming down from a wonderful high.

All too soon, another noise entered their conversation--a harsh groan of pain from the cave floor.

“Gaston!” Belle all but leaped away from the creature. How could she have forgotten about Gaston? The venom must be wearing off. He was waking up. He probably still had head trauma. She needed to get him back to the Nolan’s!

Grabbing onto the smooth threads--not the ones covered in a sticky dew that trapped prey--Belle slid down the web and jumped the remaining distance to the ground.

“Could have carried you,” the creature said, still in the center of the web. 

Belle smiled up at him and began to put her clothes to rights. “I’m sorry I have to leave,” she said. “But he really should go to a hospital.”

The creature looked down at Gaston, who was making a valiant effort to roll over in his golden cocoon. “Deal’s a deal,” he shrugged, his arms pulled tightly across his chest. “You may go.” 

“I, uh, I had a good time,” Belle said lamely. 

But the spider was already retreating into the darkness.

She wanted to shout after it, but what could she say? Stay, wait, let’s have dinner? It was ridiculous. She couldn’t pursue a romantic relationship with a spider! Why would she even want to? And she couldn’t even come back to this godforsaken cave for another round of the best sex she’d ever had in her life!

If the only reason it had been attacking sheep was out of misplaced sexual energy, then when Belle had relived that energy, she had negated any possibility of it happening again. The Nolans would be happy, but she would never have a reason to come back here.

And--Belle just now realized--all of her scientific justifications for this little experiment came up to nothing because her results could not be replicated and no one in the scientific community would ever believe her!  

“Fuck!” Belle shouted as she kicked a rock with her hiking boot. What a stupid waste of time! The only thing she gotten from walking into this stupid cave was the ability to walk back out again with stupid Gaston! 

Belle sighed. Right. Gaston. Hospital.

She took out her pocket knife and cut the golden silk away from his body. After she helped him sit up, she rubbed some feeling back into his hands. The bitemarks in his shoulder were the size of American quarters. His skin was cold, maybe numb. Would he be able to walk?

“How you feeling, buddy?”

Her expedition partner rubbed his head. “The hell happened?”

“We found the sheep killer, don’t you remember? It was a giant spider.”

“How big, like a foot?”

Belle laughed. “Close enough. It bit you, and then I picked up the rifle and shot it. The pieces are too small to put into specimen bags, but at least we know it won’t be a problem anymore.”

Gaston nodded, still too zoned out to point out any holes in that story. “Told you,” he slurred a little as he spoke. “Told you it was a good idea to bring a real gun.”

“Yep,” Belle said as she helped him stand. Step by step, she helped him out of the cave. “You really saved the day.”

****

   On the walk back to the Jeep and the drive back to camp, Belle was able to refine her story. The caves held nothing new, no groundbreaking discoveries in biology. Just a larger-than-average golden orb weaver that had been biting local sheep and injecting them with venom. Belle told the Nolans that the thing probably hadn’t even known what to do with prey that large. But the most important part was that it wouldn’t bother anyone again. 

She tried to apply that mentality to her own experiences in the cave. It had happened, but it wasn’t that big a deal. It wasn’t going to change her life. As soon as she got back to the station, she had taken the longest, hottest shower of her life. Warm water ran over her and she tried her best to wash away the memory of the creature. 

A few days later she was back in the states, lecturing to dead-eyed teenagers and expanding her knowledge in the library instead of on the field. She tried to focus on her research, tried not to think of it as a cop-out that she was back inside, reading about other people’s adventures instead of having one of her own. 

Belle found herself getting restless and moody, snapping at her undergrads and crying at commercials on TV. It was mid-October and everywhere she went there were Halloween decorations. Every cartoon spider and every fake web stuck out to Belle, leaving her in a curious emotional state, a mixture of depression and horniness.

“Honestly, Ruby, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Belle said one night when she’d been so distraught she’d actually picked up the phone to call her best friend. “I’ve never felt this weird before in my life.”

“Are you sure it’s not just PMS?” Ruby said over the sound of club music. “When are you gonna start your period?”

“Oh my God, Rubes! That’s it!” Belle fumbled in her purse for her day planner. “I’m supposed to have my period…” She didn’t finish the sentence. 

Her last period had been in August. She was more than a month late. 

“Oh my God, Rubes,” Belle said, in an entirely different tone than the last time she had said it. “I have to go back to Austraila.”

“The fuck for?” Ruby shouted into the phone. 

Belle found herself staring at a blank space in the middle distance. She hardly believed herself as she said the words:

“I think I’m pregnant.”                

[emospritelet]

Temptation

This is my second Monsterfuckers’ Ball fic, following on from the Macacey smut in Part 1. Having seduced Father MacAvoy, Lacey goes to find one of her own kind. The pawnbroker has been expecting her.

[Part 1] [AO3]

The moment she stepped into Storybrooke, he felt it, a tickle at the nape of his neck, a creeping tingle running down his spine, as though someone was whispering his name from the shadow realm. His true name. It had been years since he had used it. He called himself Gold, when the humans asked, as so many of them did. They were curious creatures, using up their short lives in a frenzy of eating and drinking and fucking, with precious few taking the time to acquire knowledge of the old ways. Lucky for him, he supposed.

He had not seen one of his own in years, ever since he had carved out a large and lonely territory in Maine. Isolation was one of the reasons for coming so far to the north-east of the country, but he had to admit that a slower pace of life was also something he enjoyed, having passed relatively unscathed through the rage and recklessness of his youth. There were too many incubi clustered in Las Vegas and Los Angeles, and he much preferred the relative peace of small town Storybrooke. Solitary by nature, there were only three reasons he could think of for another of his kind to seek him out. It had not happened in some time, and the last encounter had ended in violence and death. For the intruder, anyway.

He pushed the porcelain cup he had been dusting back on its shelf, getting down from the stepladder and striding to the door of his shop. It was cold outside, a stiff breeze blowing from the south west, and he lifted his nose, catching a scent on the breeze. A succubus: a female. That didn’t mean she wasn’t there to challenge him, of course, nor did it mean that she didn’t want his assistance in some dark ritual. However, there was an edge to her scent, something that made his skin tingle and his cock swell in his pants. So. She wanted to mate.

He stepped back into his shop, closing the door behind him and walking to the back room. It was unlikely she would approach him until she was ready, and he certainly had no objection to that. She would need to find a partner first, and take the seed from him, the first step in creating a demon child. There would need to be at least a little planning and preparation before that could occur, unless of course she decided to go to that dive of a bar and grab the first desperate drunk she could find. There were certainly enough of those in Storybrooke, but he hoped that her taste would be a little better. He certainly wasn’t keen to touch the likes of Keith Nottingham, even if only by proxy.

It was somewhat ironic, he reflected, that his kind were dependent on humans to reproduce, but the process itself was certainly pleasant. It had been decades since he had been approached by one of his own for the purpose, and he wondered what form she had chosen to make her way in this world. Humans offered little in the way of temptations of the flesh, in his opinion, but he had grown used to them, and had something of a preference for petite brunettes. His mind wandered briefly south, to New York, and his latest deal for a first edition Oscar Wilde. He licked his lips at the memory of clear blue eyes and a soft voice, shapely limbs and small feet. Petite brunettes with a love of reading and a penchant for impractical footwear, then.

Smirking to himself, he took a seat at the workbench, bending to look over the old watch he was preparing for sale. It would no doubt take his would-be partner a little while to complete the first stage of the process. He had time on his hands until then.

x

It was six days later that it happened.

He could sense a change in the air, a pulsing electricity that coursed through his skin and made the hairs on his arms rise. He had been working late, cataloguing the latest collection of antiques that he had purchased. The other shops in Storybrooke had long since closed, the time inching past midnight, but he was still there, clad in the slim-fitting suit and tie he had adopted as part of his human persona. The silk he wore felt pleasant, a sensual softness against his skin, but he would shed it in an instant for the one coming to him.

He stood, walking through to the main shop and turning to glance at his reflection in the mirror that hung behind the counter. Brown hair fell around his face. streaked with silver at the temples. He was not a tall man, but the humans were nonetheless wary, keeping their distance even when they sought him out to make their petty excuses and to beg him to buy their trinkets. They still seemed to fear him, despite him speaking in low tones and showing his teeth in cold smiles. Perhaps they could sense the darkness in him. It mattered not.

The shop doorbell tinkled, and he smiled, the low light from the lamps gleaming on the one gold tooth he wore as he took in the reflection over his shoulder. She was small and pale, dark chestnut hair falling around her shoulders in shining waves. A short black dress hugged her slender figure, her legs long and shapely. High-heeled shoes lifted her a few inches taller than she would otherwise have been, but her height was perfect. She was perfect. A delightful human form, to be sure. She reminded him of someone, but he shoved the image away before it could interfere with the matter at hand. Something to think on later.

“What’s your name?” he asked, and her full lips curved in a soft, secretive smile.

“Lacey,” she said. “What’s yours?”

“Rumplestiltskin,” he whispered.

He turned to face her, and she pursed her lips, walking slowly towards him with her hips swaying invitingly.

“Quite a mouthful,” she said, and her eyes flicked up and down him, lingering between his legs for a moment. “I do appreciate a long - name.”

His grin widened, and he gestured to the curtain that covered the doorway to the back room.

“Would you care to come through?”

“I would.”

She walked past him, hips still swinging and her tight rear end twitching. He caught a whiff of her scent as she passed, and let out a low, guttural growl of arousal, his cock pushing against his underwear, eager to get inside her. He followed her through, letting the curtain fall behind him and looking her over slowly before meeting her stare for stare. The dress she wore clung to her curves, slashes at the neck revealing the pale skin beneath. He longed to uncover every inch of that skin, to let his tongue flicker over her and taste her. Who had she chosen, in the end? Whose seed did she carry? His cock was growing harder, throbbing, insistent, and he licked his lips, leaning in to let his nostrils flare, drawing in the mingled scents. His eyes widened, and he drew back.

“You chose the priest?” he said, surprised, and she grinned, raising her chin.

“I always did like what was forbidden to me,” she said. 

“How did you manage to enter the church?” he asked. “Bit of a risky prospect.”

Lacey reached into the neckline of her dress and tugged at a thin gold chain, pulling out a round, dark stone. It swung back and forth on the chain, seeming to eat the light around it.

“Brimstone amulet,” she said carelessly.

“Ah.” A smile tugged at his lips. “Providing temporary protection from consecrated ground. A tricky thing to make. Don’t you need the tears of an angel, or something ridiculous?”

“You know your amulets,” she said, looking impressed, and he inclined his head.

“I’m in the trade, as it were,” he said. “A rare item. Difficult to procure.”

Lacey shrugged, kicking off her shoes and wriggling her toes on the wooden floor.

“I know a demon who knows an angel.”

“A useful contact,” said Gold. “Perhaps you and I can do some business.”

She looked him up and down very deliberately, and raised her chin.

“There’s only one deal I’m looking to make tonight.”

“Indeed.” Gold took off his jacket, shaking it out before hanging it on the nearby coat rack. “Perhaps you should take it off for the duration, though. Dark magic mixed with light - well, those things can be volatile.”

“Point taken.”

She reached behind her, unfastening the clasp of the gold chain, and set the necklace on the desk behind her. Gold was intrigued, and wanted to study it further, but he doubted she would let him. Perhaps they could make a deal for another in the future, though.

“The amulet was effective in getting to the priest, I take it?” he said, and she pursed her lips.

“As much as it needed to be,” she said. “It gives off a scent, of course, but then they burn a lot of incense in these places, so I guess he didn’t notice.”

“Well, perhaps his mind was on other things,” said Gold, looking her over. “And he a man of God. For shame.”

Lacey smirked.

“Oh, I’ve had many a priest, in my time,” she said softly. “All supposedly holy men. All eager to get a taste of me, and most without me offering. I clearly wasn’t the first they had touched. Just the first to fight back.”

Gold chuckled.

“That must have been an - interesting - experience for them,” he said, and Lacey’s eyes gleamed, blue as moonlight.

“I’d like to say they had a chance to reflect on the sin of forcing those in their power to endure their touches,” she said. “But they didn’t. I took what I needed and sucked the life from them. Ironic, really.”

“Father MacAvoy doesn’t strike me as that type,” he remarked, and she shook her head, her mouth twisting a little.

“No, not him,” she said. “He’s a good man, not like the rest of them. Although it has to be said he didn’t put up much of a challenge. Some initial protest for my poor soul. It didn’t stop him fucking me.”

“Well, I could hardly blame him,” said Gold lazily. “Take off the dress.”

“Why don’t you come here and take it off?”

He licked his lips, a low growl rumbling out of him. Lacey’s breath caught, her eyes widening, and he could sense the excitement rising within her, making the air around him spark and tingle. Stepping forward, he reached for her, hands sliding over her hips as his mouth found hers. Lacey moaned, grasping at him, her fingers pushing through his hair as her nails scored his scalp. It made him growl again, and he shoved her against the wall, his tongue pushing into her mouth, tasting the sweetness of her as he slipped one leg between hers, his thigh pushing up against her groin.

Lacey moaned again, thrusting her hips, rubbing herself against him, and her hands slid down from his hair to grasp his tie, plucking it open and tearing it from around his neck. Gold cupped her breasts with his hands, pulling his mouth from hers to nip at her jaw, his tongue stroking against her throat, tasting the salt of light perspiration and breathing in the scent that had drifted into his nose six days earlier. The scent that told him of her need. 

He reached down, gripping the hem of the dress and tugging it up her body, and Lacey raised her arms as he stepped back to pull it over her head. Her body was pale and smooth, her breasts tipped with dusky pink nipples, and as he watched a pattern of shining blue scales rippled over her skin, her demon form coming through in her excitement. She was beautiful, her body firm and lithe and perfect, and he growled again as he ran his eyes over her. The scent of her pleasure was strong, making his cock throb and his balls ache. She would have drawn the seed deep inside her, holding it there until it could be released. Until he opened her up and took it from her. His tongue flicked against his teeth, eager to taste her, and he jerked his head to the side.

“On the bench,” he rasped.

Lacey smirked, pushing past him with a sway of her hips, her hair gleaming in the light as she turned on bare toes to face him. She reached behind her, boosting herself up onto the workbench with the heels of her hands, her breasts bouncing as she did so. Gold reached up, letting one finger bend slowly forward, and she lowered herself onto her back, arching up off the bench as she drew up her knees. He stepped forward and ran his hands up her slender calves, fingers sliding over her knees and pulling them apart. 

The soft cleft at the apex of her thighs was glistening with fluid, and he let his hands stroke up her legs, pushing them further apart, baring her to his sight and his touch. Gold let his tongue grow long and tapered, flicking it over the soft skin of her inner thighs, moving up with gentle, rhythmic strokes. Lacey moaned as he licked her, circling the sensitive nub at the top of her cleft. His tongue flickered over her wet flesh, and he could taste the priest on her, musk and salt and a certain human sharpness. He let the tongue push inside her, sliding deep to where the taste of salt was stronger, and felt his cock grow harder as he recognised her need, as he tasted the seed inside her. He let it thrust in and out, licking against the barrier of her flesh, the tip probing the tight entrance to her inner chamber where she held the seed.

Lacey moaned, pushing her hips upward, and he growled deep in his throat, his tongue teasing her as he tried to find a way inside. She wouldn’t open for him until he was inside her, until his cock was buried deep within her and he was ready to burst, but the teasing felt good, his tongue pushing at her, circling and swirling. He pulled it back a little, rubbing against her inner walls, and she let out a cry of pleasure, her fingers twisting in his hair. She was close. She was ready. It wouldn’t take long. His tongue slipped out again, dripping with her juices, dancing over her skin before he swallowed her down, and he straightened up, shrugging out of his waistcoat and bending to take off his shoes. He wanted to be in his true form for this. 

Lacey let out a low growl, writhing on the bench as he shed his clothing, her rapid breathing and bright eyes showing that she was eager for his touch. Tiny scales bloomed to life on her face and chest, spreading over her skin in patches of glittering blue and silver, and he heard his own growl rumble outward as her long tongue flicked out, tasting his scent in the air. He tore off his shirt, pushing down pants and underwear in one, noting the scales rippling up from his fingers and coating his forearms in gleaming gold. Lacey scooted backwards a little, long tail sweeping out from behind and lashing the air. He could feel his own break free, stroking up her legs as he climbed onto the bench on his knees. She pushed up on the heels of her hands, plump breasts heaving as she licked her lips.

Gold ran his hands up her thighs, pushing them apart and sliding his fingers beneath her buttocks to pull her upwards. His fingertips dug into her skin, black claws sinking into her. Lacey let out a high-pitched cry, arching her back, pushing up to meet him as her head rolled back, and he felt the head of his cock push at the soft heat of her entrance. His balls ached, hanging low and heavy, rubbing against her, and he let out a low groan as he thrust inside her, sliding deep. She purred, running her hands up his arms and over his shoulders to plunge into his hair. He felt his tail stroke against hers, and let it wrap around her ankle, tugging it upwards to let him push deeper.

His cock was buried deep inside her, and he let it lengthen further as his hips pumped and he thrust hard and fast, ramming against the firm barrier of flesh that her body had created, seeking to break through. Lacey moaned and writhed, legs wrapping around his back, her tail twisting around his, her body now covered in glittering blue scales and her eyes gleaming like moonlight. He kissed her again, long tongue stroking her mouth as he pushed and thrust, feeling her heat and her wetness coating him, feeling her begin to open up, that tiny hole starting to widen, squeezing the head of his cock as it pushed inside. He felt as though he was going to burst, pleasure coursing through him, and he groaned into her mouth as he came hard, his cock pulsing, shooting hot seed into her.

She tore her mouth from his with a shriek as she came, and he felt a rush of fluid all around him as she let him enter her fully, releasing the priest’s seed to mix with his. It felt incredible, and he let his balls contract, reversing the flow of fluid as the tingle of their strange dark magic tickled at his skin. His cock pumped, drawing the hot seed from her body and into his, the feel of it intensifying his orgasm, making pleasure crash through him. He growled and snarled, tail lashing in his excitement as his balls grew heavy with seed once more, and Lacey dug her nails into his shoulders as she pumped against his cock, helping him draw every drop from her. Her flesh was clamped around the head so hard it was exquisitely painful, but he felt her relax a little as he took the last from her, as he drew the seed deep and kept it safe.

He let out a low, guttural groan as he slowed to a stop, his head hanging, and Lacey murmured contentedly, her tail uncurling from around his leg to stroke over his back. Its touch was gentle, almost affectionate, and he shivered a little as it brushed over his legs and licked at the soles of his feet. She released him with a sudden softening of her flesh, letting him pull out of her, and he pushed up on his hands, licking his lips as he looked down. Her scales were fading a little, the human form showing through in pale patches, and she sent him a slow smile, eyelids fluttering.

“That was fucking awesome,” she drawled, and he grinned.

“Glad to be of service.”

He pushed back, getting down from the bench and pulling on his clothes, the shop feeling cold after the heat they had shared. Lacey watched him, leaning on her elbows, dark curls tumbling over pale shoulders.

“I never did this before,” she admitted. “Not with the goal of actually reproducing in mind, anyway. Not with someone like you.”

“Someone like us, you mean?” he said, tying his shoes with practised tugs of his fingers.

“Yeah.” She stretched languidly, pointing her toes. “It felt different with you. Fucking ordinary men has its pleasures, I guess, but there’s the danger I might just get a little over-excited.”

“Leaving a very dead human in your wake,” he agreed. “Self-control is one of the first things you need to learn as a demon, if you want to survive in their world.”

“Oh, I only do it to the ones that deserve it,” she said. “It’s not my fault their souls are more delicious than their personalities, right?”

He had to grin at that.

“I daresay you’re doing the rest of the world a favour,” he said. “There are a few in this town who would benefit from your attention, if you feel the need.”

“Nah, I’m good.” She stretched again. “Maybe if I swing by this way again.”

“Maybe so.”

He straightened up, pulling on his shirt and feeling the pleasant whisper of silk against his skin. Lacey slipped from the bench, snatching up her dress and pulling it over her head.

“Are you leaving right away?” he asked. “You’re welcome to stay and have a drink. I find myself in the mood to be unexpectedly sociable.”

Lacey shook her head, looking regretful.

“I’d better get back,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “There’s a ritual I was planning on being a part of. I just had an itch that needed scratching before I could concentrate properly on summoning dark powers, you know what I mean?”

“Concentration is important in these things, I find,” he said.

“Yeah.” She pursed her lips. “And it was a pretty distracting itch. Made it hard to think about anything other than getting well and truly fucked.”

“Then I’m happy to have scratched it,” he said smoothly.

He zipped his fly, buckling his belt. His balls were very full, and his pants were a little tight because of it, making him very aware of what he had just done, and what he still needed to do. It made his lust rise up once more, his desire to perform the final part of the dark dance of creation swelling within him. His cock twitched, and Lacey watched him with a knowing smirk, her head tilted to the side and her expression curious.

“Who’s it gonna be?” she asked. “I mean it’s none of my business, but you’ve got your eye on someone, right?”

“Perhaps.”

“Hmm.”

She stepped into her shoes, running fingers through her curls in an attempt to tame them, and tugged her dress straight.

“Is it someone from the town?” she asked, and he shook his head, buttoning his shirt.

“No,” he said. “Not someone from the town.”

“Well, that’s always better, I guess,” she said. “What does she look like?”

Gold smiled.

“Actually, she looks a lot like you,” he said. “Brown hair, beautiful blue eyes, soft pink lips… Delicious in every way. Or so I predict.”

“Really?” She looked pleased at that. “You have a type, huh?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he said. “I’m hoping the encounter will be every bit as pleasant as this one. I shall certainly endeavour to make it so.”

“Well, accept my congratulations in advance,” she said, shaking out her hair. “She going to be willing, you think?”

Gold showed his teeth.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.”

She smirked in response, and stepped towards him, her hips swinging back and forth. He tugged his waistcoat closed, and Lacey ran her hands up his chest, rising up on her toes as she placed a soft kiss on his mouth. She sank back on her heels, looking very self-satisfied.

“I’m gonna get out of here,” she said. “Look me up if you’re ever in Memphis.”

Gold grinned at that.

“I don’t really get out much.”

“Bit of a loner, hmm?”

“Aren’t we all?”

She chuckled softly, and stepped back, brushing herself down and letting out a heavy, contented sigh.

“Goodbye, Rumplestiltskin,” she said, and sauntered off.

He heard the cheerful tinkle of the shop’s bell as she left, and finished buttoning his waistcoat, crossing to the standing mirror to check his appearance. His skin was humming, desire making his blood sing in his veins and his lips tingle. He looped the silk tie around his neck, knotting it tightly, and smiled darkly at his reflection, his eyes gleaming gold for the briefest of moments. He had a seduction to plan.

[ao3feed-rumbelle]

the Creature from the deep

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/34g4fNu

by desdemona_1996_writes

Written for rumbelle Monster’s ball

Monster: therianthrope/ Sea Creature

Late one restless night Belle finds herself wondering through the garden.but there’s something in the air. a tension that wasn’t there before.the very atmosphere in the still garden changing with his presence.she could practically feel that familiar heat.the primal lust in the atmosphere taking her breath away and her body responded.

Words: 1003, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 4 of Monsterfucker’s ball

Fandoms: Rumbelle - Fandom, ouat

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M

Characters: belle/rumplestiltskin mr gold belle once upon a time - Character, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Belle&rumplestiltskin mr gold

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Additional Tags: rumbelle monster’s ball, monster’s ball, Rumbelle Monsterfuckers' Ball 2019 (Once Upon a Time), monster fucking, Monster sex, creature sex, Creature from the deep, Sex with a monster, Primal Sex, Groping, Anal Teasing, Red Rose, Tender Sex, Moonlight, sex under moonlight, Touch-Starved, Lust

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/34g4fNu

[mariequitecontrarie]

All of Me: Chapter 16

The Fic: Belle French is a pudgy librarian who’s in love from afar with “town monster” and ace reporter, Mr. Gold. Little does she know, he’s head-over-heels in love with her, too. Chapter Summary: Belle and Emma go shopping in Portland to prepare for a big night out with Gold and Neal at the Storybrooke Winter Gala. Emma runs into an old high school rival and shares a secret. Rating: T A/N: Guys, it’s been 84 years! Much love to @galactic-pirates and @magnoliatattoo for putting up with me. Artwork by the talented @wizzygold @a-monthly-rumbelling: “I’m not dressed for this.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | 

Stay with Me (bet. Ch 9&10) | Spiked Chocolate (bet. Ch 16&17) | Pieces of Me (Q&A)

ON AO3

“The quickest way to know a woman is to go shopping with her.” - Marcelene Cox

***Three weeks after Belle has moved out of her parents’ house and into Marco’ s.***

Belle picked up the telephone to call Gold at the newspaper, her day planner spread open on the desk.

Yes, it was old-fashioned, writing things down on a calendar and lugging the thick planner around in her bag, but she liked old-fashioned. She liked books, and fountain pens, and the rustle of paper—both crisply new and faded with age. Besides, she didn’t trust iPhone calendar apps.

She’d forgotten Daddy and Edith’s anniversary one too many times thanks to those finicky electronic calendars. Whenever it happened, she rushed to write a card at the last minute but instead of being grateful, Edith seemed to enjoy shaming her for “neglecting her family.” Personally, Belle felt anniversaries were about the couple celebrating each other…but her thoughts were veering way off course. If she ventured down the dark road of worrying over Edith, she could end up in bed with a box of snowball cakes for the rest of the day.

But falling into depression was less likely now that she no longer called her father and Edith’s house home. After three weeks of living with Marco, there was no denying how much better she felt; the freedom of coming and going as she pleased was a heady sensation. Sometimes Gold joined her at Marco’s house in the evening and the three of them played Scrabble together. Once, she had insisted Marco not cook dinner after cooking at the restaurant all day long and dragged him to Emma’s house for a family dinner where Henry chattered about school and his friends and made everyone laugh until their sides ached. 

But most often, Marco would come home from the restaurant and the two of them would eat a pasta and salad dinner, and then spend the evening in the comfortable quiet of his small, cozy living room. His overstuffed couch and chairs were such a contrast to the hard, slick leather furniture Edith filled her house with, and Belle loved sinking into the corner of Marco’s huge couch and covering up with a fluffy throw blanket.

Sometimes they would make small talk about their days but on most evenings, Marco would be bent over a notebook making notes for the next day’s specials at the restaurant, and she would pull out her laptop to research books to add to the library. Usually, either the Cooking Channel or HGTV played in the background. She’d had an older television in her bedroom at her parents’ but no cable connection. Marco, however, had a new flatscreen and Belle indulged in her love of watching House Hunters International, which combined two of her favorite pastimes: seeing home interiors and a peek at exotic destinations.

Gone were the days of being chased into her bedroom, hiding her diary, and hoarding snacks. Some days, the years spent in Edith and her dad’s frosty household seemed like a bad dream. 

At least twice a week, Belle offered to pay Marco rent. It didn’t seem right to eat his food and live in his space and offer nothing in return. But he refused every time she asked. “No,” he had said this morning over breakfast, flipping eggs with a stubborn twist of his lips. “We are family, Bella. La famiglia. And when life is hard, family is a soft place to land.” Her eyes had burned with grateful tears, but she kissed his cheek and ate her breakfast and let him fuss over her until they went their separate ways—he to the restaurant and her to the library.

Besides, she thought as she punched in Gold’s number, she didn’t have time for wallowing.

She needed to talk to Gold about the annual Storybrooke Winter Gala today. On impulse, Neal had bought four tickets and insisted he and Emma and Belle and Gold make a double date of the occasion. He’d even arranged for their next-door neighbor, Ana, to watch Henry.

Every December, the Mayor’s Office hosted the gala to benefit the city schools. This year, all proceeds would go toward school Arts programs—music, theatre, writing, and art workshops. Emma and Gold usually attended every year, Gold to cover the event for the Times and Emma to capture photographs to accompany the story. Belle had never been invited to the ball before, though, and she wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Part of her didn’t want to be seen in public with so many shiny glossy people she couldn’t measure up to, but another side of her was excited to play princess for an evening.

She glanced again at the date and punched in Gold’s phone number. Today was Friday, November 16th. Thanksgiving was next week, which meant the gala was only three weeks away. There wasn’t much time to get ready. Finding a dress could be difficult and she would probably need to take it to a tailor, too. The thought of shopping for formalwear made her palms begin to sweat.

“Gold,” he answered on the first ring.

“What are you wearing?” she asked in a rush, followed by a breathless pause.

He answered with a laugh, the deep, rich sound making her spine tingle. She imagined him setting down the newspaper proof he was holding to turn in his chair to peer out the window toward the library. Since her office was in the back of the building he couldn’t actually see her, but she felt the admiring burn of his eyes all the same.

She heard a rustling sound as he set down the pages. When they talked or spent time together, he always gave her his full attention. It was certainly a refreshing change from Sean distractedly glancing at her during one of his marathon video game sessions and asking her to repeat what she’d said for the third time.

“A naughty call in the middle of the workday?” Gold drawled into the phone. “Sweetheart, men dream of these sorts of calls from their girlfriends. It’s not even my birthday.”

Belle blushed. She hadn’t stopped to think how awkward the question would sound out of context, but now that it was out, she teased him right back. “Mmmm nothing naughty to say today but just wait till it is your birthday,” she said. “Now that you mention it…”

“Yes?” He drew out the word, filling it with expectation and making her giggle.

She could almost see him leaning forward across the desk, a mischievous gleam in those caramel eyes.

“When is your birthday?”

“January 14th,” he answered promptly. “And tell Marco I prefer ice cream cake.”

“You prefer every cake,” she shot back, smiling into the phone. When it came to baked goods, Gold had an enormous sweet tooth. “But I think it can be arranged.”

“That’s excellent news. Just don’t tell Marco how many candles to put on it because the thing will be melted before we have a chance to slice it.”

Belle knew he was still self-conscious about the difference in their ages. She also knew exactly how to soothe him when he worried. “Then it’s a good thing I prefer mature men.”

“Indeed,” he said, sounding pleased.

She flipped her planner forward and marked his birthday on the calendar in bold, red ink, surrounding the date with fat, bright hearts. The birthday of the man she loved was an important day—far more worth remembering than the wedding date of her stuffy stepmother and emotionally unavailable father. At least she knew Marco wouldn’t snoop through her things and read her planner or her diary. But she was digressing again.

“Now, back to my question,” she ordered, feigning sternness. 

“You have my full attention, General French.”

She laughed and rubbed the thick holiday gala invitation between her fingers. Its embossed gold lettering and sprigs of holly in metallic ink screamed expensive. Everyone knew the Storybrooke Winter Gala was the social event of the season. From the chilled seafood towers bursting with crab claws and lobster tails to the elegant champagne cocktails, no expense would be spared.

Belle fanned her warm cheeks with the cardstock, her clammy fingers leaving damp smudges at the top of the matte stationery. “The invite says formal attire, but you’re almost always formal. Were you thinking suit or tuxedo?”

 “At the moment, I’m in my usual. I did opt for the socks with the turkeys today as a nod to next Thursday.”

Belle giggled and dragged her teeth over her lower lip. His Thanksgiving socks were adorable and he was being terribly sweet in his attempts to put her at ease. She wanted to go to the gala, but she didn’t want to look like a country bumpkin who had never been anywhere. Gold had attended fancy dinners and parties all over the world. He’d been to a State Dinner with the President, for goodness sake, while Belle had never ventured beyond the Portland city limits. “You know what I mean. It’s not like we can show up in sweatpants and be all ‘sorry, I’m not dressed for this.’” Oh, how she wished.

“Sweetheart, you can wear anything you like. You’re gorgeous no matter what you have on. That said, I’m not really the proper person to offer advice on evening gown selections. Why don’t you talk to Emma?”

She sighed. “Honey, I have talked to Emma. We’re both going shopping and we both need to know. It’s not like we can ask Neal for guidance.” Exasperated, she pushed a curl off her forehead, wondering why she had to explain this. “You know what he’s like. Emma said, ‘Neal would dust corn chips off his construction clothes, zip a hoodie sweatshirt over it, and head out the door.’ That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

Gold burst out laughing. “Sounds like my boy. I’ll make sure he’s dressed appropriately.”

“Anyway,” she continued, “there’s not much of a boutique circuit here in Storybrooke and I’m not exactly a candidate for Rent the Runway.” She sucked in the inside of her cheek as soon as those last words were out. Since they’d started dating, she’d been making a concerted effort not to say self-deprecating things about herself. At least not out loud.

Gold hadn’t seemed to notice her negativity, though.

“Which would you prefer I wear? Tux or suit?”

The image of whirling on the dance floor with Gold in a sleek black tuxedo was doing crazy things to her insides. “Tux,” she said in a breathless whisper. “Tux sounds good.”

“Tux it shall be then. And Belle?”

“Yes?” She was still picturing Gold in black tie and her stomach was doing gymnastics.

“Love,  I meant what I said: you’re gorgeous no matter what you wear. We’re going to the gala so we can dance and eat shrimp cocktail and support the Arts, not so you’ll worry over competing with silly girls and stupid women who wouldn’t know true beauty if it ran over them with a sleigh.”

“I wish you and Emma and Neal were going to be the only ones there,” she murmured, feeling silly. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t known about the gala and been given every opportunity to decide against going. The event had been on the calendar for weeks, yet the closer it came the more she fretted about fitting in. An inexplicable craving for belonging tightened her chest.

Gold hummed into the phone. “This is about more than a dress, isn’t it, sweetheart?”

She closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath, letting the weight of his understanding settle over her like a comforting mantle. Her head lolled forward until her forehead rested upon the top of her desk. The smooth, cool grain of the wood felt good against her flushed skin and she forced out another lungful of air. Gold didn’t deserve to be at the wrong end of her short fuse. She tried to tell herself she belonged at the gala because he’d invited her, but the heart didn’t always believe the head—no matter how sensible the head was being.

“It matters to me that I at least look like I belong, even if it isn’t true,” she admitted.

Gold was quiet for a long moment. “It is true, sweetheart. For as long as I draw breath, you will always have a place to belong. If Marco, Emma, Neal, and Henry were here, I know each of them would say the same. I also know it’s going to take more than hearing the words to make you believe it. You have to know the truth deep down. I love you so much, and I only hope and pray that one day you’ll see yourself the way we see you.”

Belle pressed her lips together, muffling a sob. “Thank you for understanding,” she whispered tearfully. “I love you.”

“It’s nearly five. I’m coming over to the library.” Through the phone, she heard the distinctive click of his pocket watch as he snapped it closed. “When I get there, I’m going to kiss you till you’re breathless, then take you out for a nice, quiet dinner, just the two of us. How does that sound?”

Belle smiled and wiped her tears and her worries away with a tissue from the box on her desk. “It sounds perfect.”

“So we’re here.” Emma sucked down the dregs of her iced latte in a noisy slurp and wiped her hands on her black jeans. “Portland. Boutique Row. What do we do now?” She tossed the cup in the trash can inside the door.

Like aliens on a foreign planet, they hovered inside the doorway of Posh, the largest formal boutique in the city.

Belle eyed Emma suspiciously. “I thought you said you knew about shopping.”

“Yeah, for denim and dry fit. Where to get the best doughnuts. And the occasional piece of leather. Not evening gowns.”

“But you’ve been to this gala before?” she pressed.

“Yeah, as the photographer. No one pays attention to what you’re wearing when you’re behind the camera. I got away with black pants and a dress shirt three years running.”

Belle looked her friend up and down. Perspiration was dotting Emma’s temples. Her cheeks, ruddy from the winter air outside just moments ago, were ashen. She knew that deer-in-headlights look: Emma was on the verge of an anxiety attack.

Belle ran her teeth over her lower lip, discouragement slithering around her and squeezing the air from her lungs. “Are we in trouble?”

“It’s possible,” Emma acknowledged, then shook her head hard enough to cause her ponytail to sway. “No. No! We’re two grown women. We can handle one small town formal.”

“You make it sound like war,” Belle said wryly.

“It’s worse. Other women. Rich, polished, cold as ice.” She rolled her eyes at a chic blonde dripping in Chanel and carrying a Louis Vuitton handbag bigger than Belle’s suitcase. “Maybe we should invest in suits of armor.”

“Or maybe we should eat them for supper.”

Emma snorted, their laughter breaking the tension. It was rare for Emma to be intimidated, and Belle patted her shoulder. Misery loved company, and somehow knowing she wasn’t alone in her insecurity gave her hope for more than the hunt for an evening gown. “We can do this, as long as we do it together.”

Emma’s reached for Belle’s hand and squeezed. “Right. Together is better.”

”Exactly.”

Emma gave a long, slow whistle and they moved into the store like two people tied together in a three-legged race. “Where should we start?” Belle stared at the array of gowns and began to shuffle through the racks, heading in the direction of the plus sizes. She’d come here expecting to have maybe two choices in style but after a few minutes of browsing, to her surprise, there were many gowns in her size—short and long, tight and flowing, beaded and glittery. And though she hadn’t tried on a solitary dress, she was still convinced there wasn’t one in all of Portland designed to flatter her physique. In one fell swoop, she’d gone from zero choices to too many. So many dresses, so little time, and so much Belle.

Even the eggnog lattes and cream-stuffed doughnuts she and Emma had feasted on in the car on the way here left her feeling hollow. She was at her worst at formal events—the last one she’d been to was her high school senior prom and not one person had asked her to dance. She’d gone stag simply so she didn’t have to sit in the house with her father and Edith. With the exception of going to the refreshment table to sneak brownies, she had sat in the corner the entire time.

But she wasn’t in high school any longer. She had a handsome escort in Gold and friends to spend the evening with. The steeply priced gala tickets had already been purchased and paid for and supporting the Arts in their schools? She couldn’t think of a more excellent cause. Besides, backing out three weeks before the event was paramount to announcing you had no interest in seeing Hamilton. It simply wasn’t done.

She squinted in the direction of the lingerie. Spanx were what she needed—something to suck her in and smooth her out—injected with industrial-strength elastic.

“Black. Black is the slimming choice,” Belle decided aloud, pushing through the rack toward a plain A-line silk sheath gown.

At least if she stuck to basic black, she and Gold would match. Like two penguins. One sleek and sophisticated, the other round and plump, carrying a lot of blubber around to make it through the hard, cold, South Pole winter.

“No black! Black is the safe choice,” Emma countered, smacking Belle’s hand when she reached for the hanger on another simple, nondescript black gown with clean lines.

“And that’s bad why?”

“Because it’s drab and washes you out. Go for color. Like gold.”

“Suddenly you’re a Pantone expert?” Belle winced. “A gold dress? Isn’t that a touch…cliché?”

“Alright. We’ll keep looking.”

Belle nudged Emma in the direction of a tall, willow-thin woman with striking black and grey hair and the pointiest red stilettos she’d ever seen. “Maybe we should ask someone. I think she works here.”

Emma squinted and slid more dresses down the rack. “The one with the scarf on?”

“It’s a poncho.” She knew that much.

“Wait! Wait! Try this emerald one! Gold will go crazy when he sees you in this!” Emma whipped a dazzling, jewel-toned gown with a daring thigh-high slit off the rack. Belle stared at the stunning gown then glanced back at the saleswoman. “Five minutes ago you didn’t know anything about dresses.” “You’re right, I don’t. But I know my father-in-law and he’s going to love that dress. Well, he’d love you in a life-sized paper bag, but this dress will make even Mr. Smart Ass Newspaper Dude speechless. God, I can picture him drooling already!” She thrust the dress into Belle’s arms and gave her a playful shove. “Go try it on. And remember, the only person who has to know how beautiful you are…”

“Is me,” Belle finished. They’d had this conversation often during their walks over the past few months, and Emma had reminded her yet again on the two-hour drive here. She fingered the rich velvet skirt with trembling fingers. Now she had to walk the walk. “I’ll try it. What color are you looking for?” she asked, backing into the fitting room.

“Black.” “Emma!” she whined.

Emma yanked the fitting room curtain closed with a laugh. The dress was crushed velvet with full-length sleeves, hard to find, even in the middle of a brutal Maine winter. She slid into the gown, the silk-lined velvet feeling decadent against her skin. Even without the back completely zipped, she liked the look. Emma was right, she realized, turning this way and that in the three-way mirror.

The scoop neck hugged her shoulder blades, emphasizing her thinnest feature—her shoulders—and the color made her blue eyes sparkle and skin creamy even under the garish fluorescent fitting room lights. It was a few inches too long for her 5-foot, 1-inch frame, but the skirt length was easily remedied at a tailor. Not hating it, she took a deep breath, lifted the skirt so she wouldn’t trip, and opened the curtain. She hoped Emma was nearby because she didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself. Those stupid little fitting room closets were designed to thrust you back out onto the floor where commission-hungry salespeople could tell you how good you looked and convince you to buy.

“Em,” she called out, “could you zip—” She swallowed the rest of her words. Emma was face-to-face with a dark-haired woman, and looking even more nervous than she had when they walked into the boutique. “Emma? Emma Nolan?” The stranger wore a smart navy pantsuit and a light blue silk blouse, and her blood-red lips spread in a wide smile. Everything about her, from her perfectly coifed hair to her buffed, nude pumps, screamed suave and important.

“Yeah, who’s asking?” “It’s me, Regina Mills. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. We graduated together from Storybrooke High! I sat next to you in Mr. Walsh’s English class.” “Oh, hey.” Emma kicked the carpet with her boot, looking anything but thrilled to meet an old high school friend. “Good to see you. You remember Belle French, I’m sure. She graduated the year after us.” Regina frowned at Belle, making a small scar on her upper lip stand out. “Sorry, doesn’t ring a...bell.” “It’s fine. We didn’t really travel in the same social circles anyway,” Belle said.  Regina pouted, as if trying to decide if Belle’s remark was a put-down.

Well, she could interpret the comment however she wished. Belle didn’t care for the change that had come over Emma since Regina had appeared or the barely-veiled insult that she wasn’t worth remembering. Now that she’d had a good look at her, she remembered Regina well enough. Then again, it was hard to forget the most popular girl to ever come out of Storybrooke High School. Student body president, prom queen, and girlfriend of Daniel Colter, captain of the football team. Belle would have called her a high school cliché, except that Regina had carried her smooth, flawless reputation into adulthood. She was still the most beautiful woman Belle had ever seen close-up.  “I’m just in town for meetings today. I’m an attorney and planning to run for office next term.” Regina’s frozen smile was back in business. “I’m thinking start small with state Senate and work up from there. So, Emma, what have you been up to since graduation? I haven’t seen you since we walked across the stage.” “Um, well.” Emma shoved her hands in her pockets and looked toward the racks of dresses. “Emma is a gifted photographer,” Belle said, sliding to her friend’s side. If Emma wasn’t going to boast about her accomplishments, she sure as hell was going to do it for her. “How exciting!” Regina’s grin was wolfish, her dark eyes sparkling. “Are you exhibiting your portraits at any galleries?” “Uh…” Emma looked at the floor. “No time,” Belle put in. “Right, Em? You’re much too busy with your son, Henry and your husband, Neal.” “Oooh, a husband.” Regina’s eyes flashed again, reminding Belle of a shark circling its prey. “Is he a doctor?” “Nope.” “Hmmm.” She tapped a red nail against her jaw. “A lawyer then?” “He’s in construction,” Emma said, looking to Belle for help. “For your information, he runs his own construction company. He’s built most of Storybrooke’s new buildings in the last ten years.” Belle glared at Regina, daring her to make another cutting remark. “So he’s a working man,” she said, managing to make the term sound neither positive nor negative. “Yeah. Yeah. He’s great.” Emma’s laugh was feeble and she ducked her head.  Regina clapped her hands. “This has been fun, catching up. We should do this again sometime.” She flashed another gorgeous, winning smile, and moved in the direction of the lingerie. “Best of luck on the campaign trail,” Belle called after her. Waiting until Regina was out of earshot, Belle whirled on Emma. “Excuse me, but what the hell was that?”

“Never mind. We have shopping to do.” Emma cleared her throat and tried to slide past her, but Belle held her ground.

“The shopping can wait. Who died and crowned Regina Mills queen?”

Belle had zero patience for people who clambered for social standing and pronounced themselves better than others. Having been so often on the receiving end of other people’s sarcasm, Belle rarely talked down to people. But standing up to bullies didn’t count. Something about watching Emma cower in front of Regina caused an angry fire to blaze in her belly. Maybe she was lousy at defending herself, but she’d be damned if she’d let anyone walk all over her friend. Emma shrugged and studied the dresses. She was pretending not to care about the awkward encounter, but Belle knew better. “I don’t like small talk. ‘Hi. How are you?’ she parroted. ‘Oh, I’m fine, how are you?’ News flash: nobody’s fine.”

“Em…”

“No matter how she makes it sound, Regina and I weren’t friends in high school, we were competitors.” She rolled her eyes. “She reminisces about Mr. Walsh’s English class like that was the only time we saw each other. I guess she forgot about the four years we spent one-upping each other on the cheerleading squad, softball team, and the debate team. Always trying to be smarter, stronger, and skinnier than the other. We were out for blood.”

“Then why are you letting her get under your skin?”

Emma sighed and pulled on her ponytail. “You know Cora Mills?”

“Cora Mills, the mayor? Of course.” Belle suppressed a shudder.

Regina’s mother, Cora, had been mayor of Storybrooke for as long as Belle could remember. Cora was a cold, calculating woman, but what she lacked in lovable qualities, she made up for in efficiency. She ran Storybrooke like a machine and no one could argue with her methods, not even Gold, who was paid to search out everything. From the few times Belle had met her, she realized Cora wasn’t mean so much as devoid of emotion.  Beyond a perfunctory review of the library budget once a year, Belle was fortunate to rarely communicate with the Mayor’s Office and even when she did, it was strictly emails between Belle and Cora’s assistant. The library and its services were beneath Cora’s notice; so long as Belle didn’t ask for too much money, she stayed under her radar—which was exactly the way she liked it.

Emma wandered to a bench next to the row of fitting rooms and plopped down. “My mom always wanted to be like her, you know.”

“Really?” Belle would never have expected sweet, kind Mary Margaret Nolan to want to emulate Cora Mills.

Emma smirked. “Once, a long time ago, Mom even tried bidding against her for Mayor but she was too nice. She was laughed out of the first debate, and it’s a good thing because the town would have walked all over her. Since Mom couldn’t be like Cora, she decided the next best thing would be for me to be like Cora’s daughter, Regina. I spent every day of high school trying to beat Regina for one reason: because my mom couldn’t beat hers.”

“Wow,” Belle said. “I would never have known. Your mom is such a great teacher and your parents are like a fairytale marriage. Talk about relationship goals.”

“Exactly. The thing with my mom is she’s incredible just as she is,” she said. “Former prom queen, straight-A student, a born teacher. She’s smart and pretty and married to the perfect, charming husband. And she loves Storybrooke—but not for me.”

“But your parents live in Storybrooke.” Confused, Belle furrowed her brow. “That seems like a bit of a double-standard.”

“Yeah.” Emma shook her head. “’Why do you want to take pictures of engaged couples and local pet adoptions?’ she said, mimicking her mother’s innocent tone. “She would rather I was out on the front lines of some war documenting the dying.” “Like Gold used to?” Belle nodded in sympathy and claimed the empty side of the bench. She knew all too well the feeling of being expected to be someone you couldn’t be and dashing parental hopes in the process. “She feels like you shouldn’t be satisfied with a simple life.” “Bingo! And she resents the hell out of Gold for telling me what it’s really like out there. I think that’s why I’m closer to him now than I am my own parents. He understands weakness and failure in a way I don’t think they can. I’m not some conceited little bitch who’s hiding in the bathroom to throw up everything she eats to fit in anymore, but sometimes that really sucks, you know?”

“Yeah, I do.” Belle’s heart clenched in sympathy. Sometimes she still got sucked into the vortex of her own self-pity and forgot that everyone—even gorgeous, wonderful Emma—was fighting a battle. Trying to be yourself was hard work. It was so much easier to toe the line of people’s expectations, to do and say what made others feel comfortable and safe. “So there’s Regina, first conquering the state of Maine, then the world.” Emma put her head in her hands. “And here I am...not running for a spot even on the PTO. Married with a kid and pregnant again.” “You’re pregnant?” Belle slung an arm around Emma and dragged her against her side in an awkward hug. “Oh, sweetie, that’s amazing!” “Ya think? Emma sniffled but looked hopeful for the first time since they had entered the boutique. “Really? I wasn’t expecting another baby. It just happened.”

“Henry is going to be a big brother!” Belle squealed, excited enough for both of them. “Does your mom know yet?”

“Are you kidding?” “What did Neal say?”

Emma shook her head and touched her belly. “You’re the first soul I’ve told.”

“Me?” Belle crowded closer to Emma and drew her head down on her shoulder. She smoothed Emma’s hair back from her temples, soothing her the way her mother used to when she was little while she tried to process the news. To think she was the first to know about the new addition coming to the Cassidy household. She hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t think I’ve ever been first in someone else’s confidence. At least not...well there’s Gold, of course.” She felt Emma nod against her shoulder. “I know what you mean. I’ve had friends. Acquaintances. Then when I met Neal he satisfied any need I had for friends. He’s a great husband and I love him to pieces, but it’s not like this. Like us. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Belle.”

“Me too,” she said, tears scalding her eyes. She’d known it was true—had felt the stirrings of their bond deep in her spirit ever since their first real conversation at Henry’s birthday clambake. Between family dinners, walks, and girls nights out, the invisible force between them only grown stronger. Somehow acknowledging their friendship out loud made it seem more solid. Precious. As important to her as her love for Gold, but in a different way.

“Now stand up,” Emma said, fishing into her pocket for a crumpled tissue. “I wanna see this dress!”

Belle shot to her feet and smoothed the skirt, her fingers fluttering around the waist and hips while Emma zipped up the back.

“I love it,” she said, motioning for Belle to twirl around.

“Really? You don’t think it makes me look like a medieval strumpet?”

“Hell no!” Emma whistled as Belle turned around again. “You’re stunning. All we need now are Spanx and shoes. And maybe some lingerie for the after-party?” She wiggled her eyebrows.

“Maybe.” Belle’s face flamed at the thought of wearing a negligee for Gold. “What about you?”

“We’ll get to me after lunch.” She patted her still-flat tummy. “There’s a place down the street serving yummy cheese-covered waffle fries and this kid wants some now.”

Belle’s stomach growled in answer. “Lead the way.”

Their waiter was clearing the lunch plates at the café when Belle heard a knock on the window. She did a double-take as her father waved through the glass with a sheepish smile. Her turkey club sandwich, which had tasted so delicious a few minutes ago, now lodged in her stomach. What was he doing here in the city?

“I’ll grab the check, Belle. You go talk to him,” Emma urged. “If I see things are getting bad I’ll come outside and rescue you.”

Nodding, she gathered her coat and made her way outside, wondering what would bring her father looking for her in Portland of all places, when she hadn’t seen him once on the streets of Storybrooke in the three weeks since she’d moved out.

The air was frigid even in the sunshine, and she seemed to grow colder with every step she took toward her father.

“Daddy?” She wrapped her arms around herself to keep from reaching for a hug. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s the Portland flower show.” He brushed a bit of pollen off the sleeve of his coat. “I was in the neighborhood and saw you having lunch in the window.” “Ah.” Her dad attended the vendor-focused flower exhibition every year. She should have prepared for the possibility of running into him in town, but she’d completely forgotten it was this weekend.

“We haven’t heard from you in weeks, darling. Edith was devastated when you collected your things and left us.”

Belle gave a noncommittal grunt and thrust her cold hands in her pockets. Edith was devastated? Perish the thought her own father actually missed her.

“Marco treating you well?”  he asked gruffly.

“Like family,” she retorted, her voice carrying a sharpness she hadn’t intended.

Her father’s face paled and she instantly regretted her tone. There was no call to be so mean-spirited, especially when it somehow succeeded in making her feel worse instead of better.

He sniffed. “Will we see you for Thanksgiving?“

Belle looked into the clear blue sky, distancing herself from his hopeful gaze. "Marco’s cooking a huge feast, so I’ll be eating with him and Gold and the Cassidys.“

“Christmas?“

She blew out an exasperated breath and hugged herself again. “Let’s push through one nightmare holiday at a time, okay?“

He huffed. “I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad.”

“Are we still talking about holidays, or are you referring to other bad situations?” She thought back to the horrible family dinner she’d put Gold through when she’d tossed a roll at Edith’s head and stormed out. “I can’t live like that anymore. I won’t.”

“You’ve changed, Belle. Is this…is this Gold’s influence on you, then?” He seemed to deflate before her eyes, this giant of a man shriveling down to a pathetic shell. “When did you become this way? So stubborn. So willful.” His lips shook as he spoke. “If your mother were alive, she…”

“But she’s not, Daddy,” Belle interrupted. “Mother hasn’t been with us for years. She’s not here to tell you what to do and what to say, and for that matter neither is Edith. You’re the one who changed. It’s as Erskine said, you don’t even see me. Maybe you never did.”

“Belle!” Emma jogged over to the rescue, her breath a white cloud in the cold afternoon air. “Hey, Mister French. We really gotta get going if we’re going to finish shopping and I promised Henry I’d be home in time to tuck him in.”

“Great. I’m freezing anyway.” She looped her arm through Emma’s and mustered a sad, parting smile for her father. After years of trying to gain his attention and approval, she wasn’t sure when she would see him again and at the moment, she didn’t care. “Take care of yourself, Dad.”

###

[rufeepeach]

37 — meeting in prison AU for Rumbelle. (Optional EF setting; it popped into my mind for some reason.)

A/N: I really enjoyed this one! Enjoy :D

He hears her hurled into her cell. A high cry, a whimper, and then the door slammed.

They never lock prisoners in with the Dark One. Never. Snow and Charming are too kind for that, at least. Or maybe they just think isolation will soften his mind.

Through the dark silence of the cell, the girl begins to cry.

He shifts, scuttles, tries to find a spot in the cell to sit where he cannot hear her. It is an impossible task; she stops abruptly when he sighs.

“Is anyone there?” her voice comes high and frightened.

“‘Tis just I, dearie,” he trills, his voice sharp and mocking but his heart not in it. “They’ve trapped you alone with the Dark One, fancy that!”

“Oh,” she sniffles, but she does not scream or renew her sobs. “Well at least I’m not alone, then.”

It’s a brave answer, if somewhat foolish. “Some would say you would be better off alone,” he says. He cannot hide the bitterness creeping into his voice. “Better that than trapped alone in the dark with me.”

“If you could hurt me you wouldn’t be here,” she replies, shrewdly. “You’d be out there, hurting them.”

That brings him up short. The sobbing waif has a mind, then. Perhaps a conversational companion wouldn’t be such a burden, at least until they move her elsewhere. Or until Regina gets up the nerve to cast the curse, whichever comes first.

“Y-your name is Rumpelstiltskin, isn’t it?” she says, after a long moment in silence. “I’ve read about you.”

“They write books about me now?” he muses, with a spiralling gesture nobody but him can see. “How quaint. And what do these books of yours say?”

“That you barter in firstborns and hunt children for their pelts,” the woman replies, with a note of irony in her voice. “Is that true?”

“I’ve… facilitated the occasional adoption,” he replies, idly. “The pelts would be a waste of time, however. Any tanner will tell you that adult flesh hardens into better leather, and you get more of it per kill.”

He hears her sharp intake of breath. He has shocked her.

“That one was a quip,” he advises, when she does not speak. “Not serious.”

Her gusty sigh is accompanied by a laugh of relief. “Oh,” she says. “Of course.” She pauses, then speaks again, “That’s why you’re in here, isn’t it?”

“Why? Because our illustrious rulers have no sense of humour? I quite agree.”

“No,” she chuckles again, and it’s a pleasant sound, a reprieve from dank, dripping water and his own mutterings. “Because you… ah… facilitated an adoption?”

“Oh yes,” he grins into the darkness, leaning his head back against the stone wall. “Dear Cinderella, who tried to break our bargain.”

“They say you tricked her,” she says. Rumpelstiltskin shrugged.

“She didn’t read the contract, so desperate was she to don that pretty dress and run off to the ball. The words 'you owe me your firstborn’ weren’t even in particularly small print. I cannot be held responsible for other people’s idiocy, can I?”

Silence. He sighs.

“I was very easily apprehended,” he says, betraying a secret he has no business speaking aloud. “And Cinderella’s baby will be born healthy.”

She doesn’t reply. They sit in silence for a long time.

“What was your crime, then?” he asks, when the stifling quiet has become tiresome.

“I started the ogre war,” the woman replies.

He should have known her immediately by her accent. Who else would they throw down here, with him?

“Princess Belle of the Frontlands,” he murmurs, toying with her title, “The girl who tortured an ogre child.”

“That’s what they say,” she says, and he can hear her gritting her teeth, her voice tight and bitter.

“Is it true?”

“No.”

“I suppose that’s what they all say,” he muses.

“I was trying to save the poor thing!” Belle cries. “I was… you don’t care.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, dearie,” he trills. “I am interested in what you have to say. Please continue.”

“I…” Belle trails off, and sighs in frustration. “My fiance wanted a war. He tortured the child to punish its tribe for its role in the war a century ago. He wanted to provoke them.”

“And why would he do that?”

“He had to prove himself,” Belle mutters, with a depth of disdain that impresses even Rumpelstiltskin. “He thought he could provoke the tribe into a fight, buy an easy victory, and prove to his father he was no longer the runt of the litter.”

“Well,” Rumpelstiltskin drawls, thinking of the wreckage and devastation of the following months, the villages razed and crops burned. “That was a miscalculation.”

Belle snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

“Then why are you here, and not he?” he queries. “Surely he would not blame his blushing bride!”

“I was no longer his bride,” Belle replies, simply. “I refused to marry him and threatened to expose him. I miscalculated too. I thought my father would believe me… but he needed men and arms more than he needed a daughter.”

“Ah,” Rumpelstiltskin sighs. It is a sad story, and one undeserving of an innocent woman. There is nothing so dangerous, he thinks, as a strong man with something to prove.

“Yeah,” Belle replies.

“Even the great Snow White will not hear your pleas for clemency?” Rumpelstiltskin enquires. “I, at least, am guilty of what they have accused me of.”

“I have told my story loudly and clearly everyb day,” Belle replies, stoutly. “And they continue to buy arms from Gaston’s father, and throw Gaston’s soldiers at their enemies. They are allies of Snow White and detractors of Queen Regina. They call me a monster, so why should they listen?”

“Why indeed?” Rumpelstiltskin murmurs.

He has no more to say. It seems neither does she.

After a while, he hears her whimper. Her stomach growls so loudly, he can hear it in the next cell.

“Belle?”

“Yes?”

“Can you keep a secret?” he asks. He can almost taste her confusion.

“Who would I tell?”

It’s a fair point. He waves a hand, and hears the clatter as an array of dishes laden with hot food appear before her. He can smell the meal wafting through, although the cavern walls prevent him from seeing it. He hears her cry out with delight.

“I have let them believe I am powerless down here,” he says. “I would prefer if that myth was maintained.”

“Mmm-hmm!” comes the response: he chuckles, as her mouth is clearly full of food.

“Thank you!” she gasps, as she pauses for breath. “I haven’t had a - thank you so much!”

“You’re very welcome, dearie,” he says. He wonders if he should demand payment, some price to be exacted when the world ends and they are both free.

But he keeps his mouth shut. He does have a karmic debt to pay, after all.

“What do I owe you?” she asks, when the sounds of her ravenous eating have calmed somewhat. “I don’t think I’ll have a firstborn any time soon.”

He considers the question. She has nothing to offer him, not really, and he didn’t ask for payment in advance. Sometimes, maybe, a meal can just be a meal. Kindness can just be kindness, even from a monster.

“Consider it a gift,” he says, lightly. “One monster to another.”

“Thank you,” she breathes. “I… I don’t think you’re a monster, Rumpelstiltskin. Any more than I am.”

“That’s a full belly talking,” he says, indulgently. “Sleep it off and you’ll regain your senses.”

“No. No, I’ve… I’ve heard more of your deeds than just Cinderella. I heard you helped Prince Charming to reawaken Snow White, is that true?”

“The fool was lost in the endless forest,” he says. “Someone had to fish him out.”

She snickers. “And now you provide free food to a starving prisoner. Not so monstrous after all.”

“You promised to keep secrets, dearie,” he sing-songs. “Don’t be putting it around.”

“Who would I tell?” she asks again. He waves a negligent hand and banishes the dishes. A moment later, she yawns, and he imagines she has gone to sleep.

If she awakens with a pillow beneath her head, its twin beneath his, then there’s no one to know but the rats.

—

It is eleven pm before Gold’s stomach rumbles.

He has forgotten that, in this world, he needs to eat. His body in Storybrooke is none so powerful as he had been in the Enchanted Forest, weak and human once more, and so his invulnerability to hunger and exhaustion have fled. It’s been a steep learning curve, these past twenty-four hours since the Saviour arrived, and he can’t say he’s enjoying his renewed frailty.

Perhaps when the curse breaks, and magic returns, his strength will return. For now, he continues to acclimatise.

The door to the shop swings open. “We’re closed, dearie!” he calls out. “Come back tomorrow!”

“Your light was on!” A voice comes through, low and feminine. A voice he recognises, although only the voice. His one-time cellmate survived the journey, then. He only knew her a few weeks, and most of that in silence as she slept or read the books he summoned to entertain her. He’d liked her, though. She was smart, and funny, and her company had lifted those long days.

He is curious, too curious. He never saw her face.

He comes through the curtain, to see an astonishingly beautiful woman standing in his shop, clutching a take-out bag from Granny’s.

When she sees him, there is no recognition in her eyes. But then, why would there be? His face and voice have changed immeasurably, and even had they not, she is still cursed. Mr Gold’s false memories fill in the blanks. Here she is Lacey French, the flighty daughter of an oafish florist. She is engaged to Gary Hunter, and works as a waitress at Granny’s Diner. She is unhappy, but then, everyone is unhappy here. Such is the nature of the Dark Curse.

“I told you,” he says, but gentler now, gentler than he intended it. “We’re closed.”

“I saw your light on,” she says, pressing on with false, brassy confidence. “I thought you might be hungry, since it’s so late.”

“Why would you presume I haven’t eaten at home?” he asks.

“I had a hunch,” she says, shrugging her slender shoulders. She really is remarkably pretty, he thinks. He’d assumed it impossible her face could match her mind and her heart, but here she is, proof that inner and outer beauty can coexist. He wonders if the outfit she wears, a sinfully short, tight black skirt and sheer blue blouse, would have been her preference had she her true mind about her. He assumes not, but then, how would he know?

“Why?” he presses. Of course she does not know. Some small, instinctive part of her remembers that once upon a time he fed her, and that part is reaching to repay the debt. Lacey doesn’t know, but somewhere deep down Belle does.

“Was I right?” she challenges back. This new girl has all of Belle’s stubbornness, but none of her ability to pause for thought. His stomach growls again, betraying him.

She laughs, and hands him the bag. “Bottom one has extra pickle,” she says. “The usual.”

“Indeed,” he murmurs, remembering now his visits to Granny’s, curse memories sliding neatly into place. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, don’t let it get around.”

She winks, and settles herself in. They eat in silence.

“What do I owe you?” he asks, when they’re finished. Lacey shrugs.

“’S on the house,” she says, swallowing her final mouthful. “A burger’s just a burger, right?”