#rumbelle angst

[kelyon]

Dark Mistress 22: Confession

Belle tells Rumple everything

Lots of trigger warnings on this one, see the note on AO3

Read on AO3

In a cloud of wine-red smoke, Belle transported Rumpelstiltskin just outside the ruin that had once been a castle. After a hundred years of disuse, the road leading to the front gates should have been overgrown with weeds and taken back by the forest. But nothing grew in this place. The soil was poisoned. The trees were charred black. The forest undergrowth was nothing but cinders. It was like this everywhere. The circle of the Dark One’s destruction stretched as far as the eye could see. 

Rumpelstiltskin looked around with wide eyes. When they had left the clearing, it had been the dawn of a lovely spring day. In his world, birds sang and flowers bloomed and lambs frolicked across grassy fields. Here, a cold fog hung over the land. It was as silent as a thousand graves. 

“This is the Gray Forest,” he whispered. Then he looked to her. “Isn’t it?”

She’d heard the name before. Whenever humans spoke of forbidden lands, where evil lived, where monsters came from, the source of all their misfortune, they always said it was the Gray Forest. 

“I call it the palace of ashes.” She turned from the forest to the two mounds of stone that had once been the front gates. When the fire had hit, the iron bars had melted like wax. Some of the stones had exploded in the heat. Belle walked under the memory of an archway. “When I was a girl, they called it Avonlea.” 

It had been a long time since she had physically walked the grounds of her wasteland. Too long, perhaps, since she had evidently forgotten the destruction that flowed through her veins. 

In front of the gate, there was a large expanse of lawn. It had been the head gardener’s pride and joy to have a smooth, even field of grass. It was the first thing visitors saw when they came to the castle, her father had insisted on that. It was a mark of status. Everyone who saw the lawn knew that his family was wealthy enough to maintain land that had no practical purpose whatsoever. 

She walked past the dead lawn with Rumple trailing behind her. He moved even more slowly than usual, stopping every few steps to look around. Belle led the way, but stopped when he stopped. The sound of his breathing was the loudest noise she’d heard in this place in decades.

“This used to be a rose garden,” she told him when they reached a patch of burned-out thorns. “They told me my mother loved roses.” 

She swallowed. She had known this would be difficult, but she didn’t have a choice. He had to know everything. She had to tell him everything.

“She was my first murder, you know.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at her, his mouth half-open, but he said nothing.

“When I was born,” she explained. “The story goes that as soon as I drew my first breath, my mother took her last.”

“Oh,” Rumple said. “Well that’s--”

“You want to say it’s not my fault?” She almost smiled at how well she knew her spinner. “You may be right. Still, it is a terrible shadow for a child to grow up under.”

The tomb was near the rose garden. It was a grand sculpture of polished marble, the coffin placed upon a wide plinth and the effigy resting on top. Belle had only ever known her mother as this statue--a beautiful woman, lying on her back in a stone dress and jewels. Blank eyes stared up at the sky, as they had for more than a hundred years. She had a book in one hand and a rose on her chest. The tomb had been spared the worst of the blast. The stone was singed and weathered, but carved letters still spelled out: COLETTE. 

“My father couldn’t stomach the thought of burying my mother in the ground,” she told Rumple as they passed. “So he had this built, had it set up outside, in the place she loved.”

Some of Belle’s earliest memories were in this garden. Papa would take her out here to run and play until it was time to give her back to her nurse. He would hold her up to the stone box and tell her that her mother was inside, and that she would be so happy to see her little girl so lively. He had meant well, but the image of a dead woman watching her from inside a statue had given her nightmares for months. And all of that was before she had found out the details of how her mother had died. 

She turned away.

“The stables were over there.” She pointed to a spot closer to the castle. Thinking of the stables made her remember how they had burned. The horrible screaming sound the horses had made. The stableboys who had rushed in to save the animals before thinking to save themselves. Not that any of them could run from the inferno that was coming. Not that any of them had a chance. 

She shuddered. So many deaths, all on her hands. So much blood, all on her hands. 

“Mistress?”

Rumpelstiltskin’s soft voice snatched Belle away from her waking nightmare. She blinked, felt the heat on her eyes. Tears. She wiped them away with her palms. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

He shook his head, a little sadly. “I’m not afraid of you, Mistress.”

He held out his hand, but she couldn’t bear to take it. She wasn’t good enough to touch him, or the child he carried.

“If you’re not afraid of me yet, then we need to keep going.”

****

They crossed the yard, which brought them close to the stables again. To calm her mind, she tried to speak of something happy.

“I was afraid of horses, when I was a little girl. I refused to learn to ride, and my father indulged my stubbornness.” She gave a weak smile, which Rumpelstiltskin returned. “It wasn’t until I met the man who would be my husband, that I first sat atop a horse.”

“You were married?”

She nodded. “Briefly. But I knew Gaston for years before the wedding. He told me how much fun I would get out of riding, how much freedom. When I told him I wasn’t brave enough, he told me that if I did the brave thing, bravery would follow.”

Rumple made a rueful sound. “That’s a pleasant thought.”

“Yes,” she said. Thinking of Gaston put a heaviness in her heart. “He was a good man, my husband. He didn’t deserve to die the way he did.”

Her spinner came up beside her. “How did he die?” 

He spoke like he already knew the answer. Of course he did, he wasn’t a fool. Yet he had asked anyway. He wanted to hear it from her lips. Perhaps he understood how much she wanted to tell him.

“I will show you,” she promised, “when we get there.” 

They went to the temple next. Most castles had temples on their grounds, so the nobles would have the gods close at hand. This was where Belle had been named as an infant, where she had declared the mysteries of the faith as a child. After she had first taken on the powers of the Dark One, Belle had hoped that the mere act of entering the holy place would break her curse, or destroy her instantly. It hadn’t, of course. The gods hadn’t seemed to notice the most evil creature in the world desecrating their home with her presence--or with her fire.

“I was married here,” she told Rumple as they gazed over the rubble. “Gaston didn’t have to marry me, I tried to release him from his obligation. The poor man had courted a lady, there was no need for him to shackle himself to a… to the Dark One.”

 “Wait.” He rested on a crumbling half-wall and caught his breath. “You were not always the Dark One?”

She shook her head. “No one is born with this curse, they must kill for it. The previous Dark One was the second murder of my life.”

“The Dark One can die?”

She nodded. “Most of us go mad first, if we have no purpose to keep us sane. If you live long enough, do enough dark magic, have enough voices in your head… It can be very tempting to let some secrets slip. Tell a human about the only weapon that can kill you, let them see that you just so happen to have it with you when you’re making a deal.” She sighed. “I thought it was an accident, when the Dark One did it to me.”

Rumpelstiltskin looked at her. His eyes did not waver. “Do you want to tell me?”

She had never told anyone. Much of that night she tried to forget herself. But it was right, to tell this part of her story to Rumple. He needed to know everything. 

Two walls met in a corner that had only partially been destroyed. There was part of a window frame, with a few shards of colored glass still embedded in the stone. They were the only color in this place, these shattered fragments of holiness. She sank down onto a stone under the window, with her elbows resting on her knees. Hunched forward, she protected her body while she bared her soul. 

“What do you know about the Ogre War?”

Rumpelstiltskin answered quickly, like he was being given an examination. “The first one? It was more than a hundred years ago, Milah’s grandfather fought in it. They say the field of battle stretched all the way from the sea coast to--to the Gray Forest.” He blinked at her. “Here. Your home. You saw the First Ogre War?”

“I ended the First Ogre War,” she corrected him. “And, yes, I saw it too. This castle used to be the safest place in the kingdom. We used it as a marshaling grounds for the soldiers. Then as a refugee camp. Then a hospital. It would have been a morgue, a mass grave.” She looked up, at the gray dust all around her. “Which is what it became anyway. But before that, I saw it all. I came of age during the years of the war. I did everything I could to help, we all did. In vain, of course. There was no beating them.”

“I know.” Rumpelstiltskin sounded as weary as she felt. Somehow, that helped.

“You do know, don’t you, Spinner? You know exactly how desperate a person has to be to risk summoning the Dark One.”

He gave her a slight nod. “What deal did you make?”

She looked at her hands. “My Dark One was a man. Later, I found out his name was Zoso. I snuck out into the forest on my own, called on the power of darkness--I had read about doing that in a book--and when he appeared, I begged him to help us. I said I would do anything.”

“What did he want?”

She spent a long moment looking at Rumpelstiltskin before she spoke. Of all the people in the world, he had the most reason to sympathize with her, the least reason to judge her. 

The Dark One had no need for human wealth or mortal influence. For all her blue-blooded nobility, Belle had as much to offer the Dark One as a penniless spinner. When she’d called Zoso, there was only one thing she’d had that Rumpelstiltskin had lacked when he called her.

“My virginity,” she said at last. “It was the most important thing about me in those days. I grew up hearing about my duty to save my virginity for my husband, so there would be no doubt about my family’s honor, no question about whose children I gave birth to. It was proof that I was a young woman of virtue and proper upbringing. It was all the goodness in my heart manifested as a physical attribute--and the Dark One wanted me to sacrifice it, in the mud on a forest floor.”

Rumple was already by her side. He knelt in front of where she sat and offered his hands to her. This time, she took them, squeezing his fingers in her palms.     

“I said yes, of course. What else could I do? People were dying, what did my honor matter? And so he--” Her voice caught. Rumpelstiltskin squeezed her hand, but she didn’t stop. “He was wearing a cloak. A cloak of pure darkness. He wrapped it over me, and lay down on top of me on the ground. He--It hurt. He could have used magic to keep me from feeling the pain, but he didn’t. He could have done anything to make such a thing easier on a crying child, but he didn’t. Hell, he could have just not raped me!” She practically screamed those last words, crying out at the injustice done to her. “But he didn’t.”

He was kissing her fingers now, rubbing his face against the backs of her hands. If only she could allow it, Rumple would hold her in an embrace that would never end. 

She pulled him close, bent down, and kissed the top of his head. When he looked up at her, his eyes were wet with unshed tears.

For her. He was sorry for her.

“Will it help,” he asked, “if I tell you that you have never been so cruel to me? Not once.”

She kissed him again. “My Rumple,” she murmured. “You are better than I deserve.”

“No,” he said quickly. He sat up just enough to kneel in front of her. “No, sweetheart, you deserve much better than me.” He rested his forehead on her knee. “You deserve more than the man no one wants.”

She raised his chin. “I want you,” she told him. “I hate thinking of my life without you in it.”

He opened his mouth, but then closed it, accepting the truth with grace.

Belle continued her tale. “When the Dark One was finished, he rolled off of me and fell asleep--or at least that’s what I thought. I saw a dagger on his belt. A name was written on it. I didn’t know what it was, I didn’t even know if it could hurt him. But I took it anyway, and hid it in the folds of my skirt.

“When the Dark One woke, he told me that because of some technicality in our deal, I would be at his disposal whenever he wanted me. He said terrible things about what his appetites were, what he would make me do, who he would make watch. I kept getting more and more angry. I had the dagger in my hand and I--I killed him. Stabbed him through the heart. And suddenly, my name was on the dagger. And I was the Dark One. And he was laughing.”

She covered her face with her hands, not stopping the tears this time. She let them flow. She let her sorrow and her rage fill up the whole of her being--then let them trickle down her cheeks. Rumple stayed beside her, huddled at her feet, clinging to her legs, holding her with all his might. Silently, he offered every comfort she would accept.

Belle allowed herself his touch. She let herself be comforted. For as long as Rumple wanted to love her, she would accept his love.

When there came a break in the tears, she touched his head. He looked up at her, tried to read her face. He was silent but watchful, hopeful. She ran her fingers through his hair. 

“Your hair is like silk,” she murmured. “Have I ever told you that?”

He shook his head, “No, Mistress.” 

The title made her wince. “Belle,” she told him.

“What?”

“Belle. It’s my name. You may use it if you want to.”

“Belle,” Rumpelstiltskin repeated. He tested the name, trying it out. The way he said it made his lips form a smile. “It’s beautiful.” 

She felt different, now that she had told him some of her secrets. The weight of them was still there, but it had shifted, somehow, become less burdensome. There was something better about having these things be brought into the light. She stood up and helped him get to his feet. 

****

They walked away from the temple and into the main building of the castle. Holding on to Rumple’s hand, she led him up missing staircases to a second story that should be nothing but rubble on the ground. As long as they touched each other, the magic would work for him as well as for her.

She remade the library. The ashes remembered what they had been. She made the cinders form back into floors and shelves and books--all gray and white and black. Her favorite room, a ghost of itself.

“I never got a chance to read all the books in my mother’s library, though I did put forth a sporting effort.” 

Rumple looked up at the newly-created ceiling arching high above his head. “I’ve never seen so many books in all my life.”

She heard the reverence in his voice, and took some joy in knowing that he valued the place she loved most in the world.  “There used to be a ladder on wheels, to help a person get to the top shelves. I used to slide back and forth on it, when I was a child.”

“What did you like to read?”

“Adventure stories. You know, far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise.” She shook her head. “My own life was so impossibly dull. Before the war.”

Still holding his hand, she led him to her favorite corner of the library. The windows here always caught the most of the evening sun, so she could stay up late on summer evenings without bothering to light any candles. The once-blue ashes of a large and well-worn book had formed on top of an exceptionally comfortable chair.

“I read this book over and over,” she told him. “Gideon and Alma were better friends to me than anyone I knew in the real world.” The warmth of remembering her favorite book grew cold as she remembered everything else. “I always was a funny girl. They said that about me behind my back--servants, courtiers, even relatives  when they came to visit. ‘A beauty, but a funny girl.’ And that was before all the magic, that was just me that didn’t fit in.”

Rumple squeezed her hand. “I know what that’s like too,” he said. “Even before the war and my ankle and being a coward, I was never really the right fit in any company I kept. I never wanted to be alone, but--”

“It’s easier,” she finished. “Sometimes being around people is impossible.”

He nodded, then looked at her. “It’s easy to be around you.”

Belle felt her cheeks grow hot. It took her a moment to realize she was blushing. She turned away from Rumple to compose herself. 

“We need to keep going.”

****

In the library, she had shown him the best of herself. In the temple, she had told him of the evil done to her. Now, as they climbed the phantom stairs up to her bedchamber, she would show him the evil she had done.

“At first, in the early days after I took this curse, it was easy to pretend that I was still human. Everyone wanted that, I wanted that. I told my father that the Dark One killed all the ogres, and left out the part where the Dark One was me. I can look human, if I make an effort.”

She stopped on the landing, and showed him. She started with the hand that held onto his wrist. Her black claws lightened and shortened into delicate fingernails. Her skin became flesh instead of scales, pink and soft. He touched her, gently, rubbing his fingers across her palm. 

The transformation crept up her arm to her face. In Rumple’s expression, Belle saw how her features changed. Rosy lips, human teeth, round cheeks that grew rounder when she smiled. He took all of them in with wonder. A honey-brown ringlet fell into her vision, instead of a black wave. Her hair was back to being a wild mess of curls, the bane of every maid who tried to comb it. 

Rumple’s eyes were so dark she could use them as a mirror. She could see her human eyes look back at her--blue and white as a summer sky. They used to sparkle with merriment. She used to make faces at her reflection. She used to be so pretty, so pleasing. Even if she was a funny girl, at least she was a beauty. 

Sometimes people told her she looked like her mother.

In this form, she was shorter than Rumpelstiltskin. If she chose to, she could walk into his embrace. She could nestle herself under his chin and let him hold her. It would feel so right, so natural. He could kiss her on the forehead, wipe away her clear tears. He could tell her that everything was going to be alright.

But it wouldn’t be. No matter what he said.

“This is the mask I wore, to hide the monster I was inside. I tried to be normal. I tried to sleep, I tried to eat. When I married my husband, I kept my body like this when we were in bed together. I--I think that’s why I was able to become pregnant.”

Rumple’s eyes widened. “You did have a child.”

“No.” She took away the enchantment, went back to her monstrous form. “I didn’t.”

She led him into the recreation of her bedchamber. Like the library, it was made of re-formed ashes and charred remains. Still holding Rumpelstiltskin by the hand, she took him to the ghost of her bed. It was as disheveled as it had been when she’d woken up that fateful morning. The heavy coverlet was thrown back on itself. The linen sheets had been pulled off the mattress and sat in a crumpled heap. 

“As I said, I was still trying to sleep at night. This was, perhaps, half a year after I was cursed. It was getting harder and harder to keep up the pretense. I had so much power, and such a burning need to use it. But Gaston and my father kept treating me like I was just a girl, like I had to be protected from the world. They didn’t know I had a thousand years of evil in my head, memories of committing the most horrific deeds. I lived with those thoughts every day and they treated me like my greatest concern was picking out ribbons for my hair!”

She was clutching Rumple’s hand now, pressing her claws into him so deeply that they pierced his skin. A trickle of blood ran down from his palm. His teeth were on edge from the pain, but he had made no sound of protest.

“Blood,” Belle whispered. 

She passed her other hand over his flesh and took his injury unto herself. Pain sliced across her perception, but it was nothing. All that mattered was that Rumple stayed safe. 

“I woke up to blood.” She could not look at the bed. She could not look at his face. “Under my legs. Staining the sheets. Red blood. It wasn’t mine, I knew that as soon as I saw it. I knew everything that had happened. I knew that just by existing, I had killed my child.” She closed her eyes, waited until her voice was steady before she spoke. “My third murder.”

“No.” Rumple said immediately. “No, Belle, sweetheart. Don’t think like that. Don’t do that to yourself.”

She kept her eyes closed, and continued her grisly tale. “The servants heard me crying, screaming. Instead of facing me themselves they ran and got my husband.”

The form of Gaston rose up from the spot where he had died. His ashes still had fragments of bones and teeth. She recreated him as best she could--tall and broad, with a square jaw and a cleft in his chin. That early in the morning, he had been out riding. He was still wearing his boots and coat when he’d stormed into the room.

“He saw everything. Saw the blood. Saw me as I truly was. He’d wanted a child so badly, had been so glad when I told him. He thought that being a mother would cure me of my strangeness. Then he saw me sobbing black tears into blood-stained sheets. The first thing he said was, ‘What have you done to my son?’” 

Belle’s voice began to break. “As if I had chosen this! As if I wanted it! As if--as if I had miscarried just to spite him! As if I had no pain of my own. But I had pain. I would show him my pain.”

Now, as then, the Dark One’s free hand held a plume of black fire. She closed her fingers around it like a fist, then unleashed it at the figure of Gaston. The ashes crumbled and fell, silent as snow. His real death had been nothing so peaceful.

“His hair and clothes burned first. He tried to bat out the flames but there was no stopping this. His skin burned and blistered and peeled away. He had the most beautiful blue eyes and they melted in his skull. He screamed, as he died. He was a strong man, a brave soldier, no older than twenty-five. His short life ended with him terrified, crying like a child.”

She was shaking. Rumple held on not only to her hand, but her whole arm. He pressed against her, as close as he could get.

“The maids came in next. They’d heard the noise. There were two of them. Deline was young, in training. She gave me gossip and liked to flirt with the pageboys. Arnta had been my maid since I was a child. She comforted me every time I woke from nightmares.

“I killed them both. Without a thought. All I knew was that they were in my way. They were there, and then they were burning.”

Her teeth chattered, but she pressed on. “The whole room had begun to burn. The carpet caught, then that spread to the bed and the tapestries and the timbers in the ceiling. More people came, when they smelled the smoke. I remember them coughing and falling back from the heat. I walked through the fire like it was nothing. They saw me, and they called me a witch, a monster. They were right, but I killed them just the same.

“Understand, these were people I loved. People I had grown up with, some of them my own kin. I had taken on this power to save them from ogres, but I couldn’t save them from me.”

She sobbed so hard it bent her over double. Rumple was still there. He said nothing, but he held on to her, with both hands and a white-knuckle grip. 

“I went through the whole castle like that,” she said when she had enough air to speak again. “I killed everyone. I burned them all. My father, when he saw me coming, he pulled out his sword to stop me.” She shook her head. “I turned the sword into a flame and made it stab him, over and over until he burned from the inside out. There was no thought, no intention. Just pure evil.”

“Belle,” Rumple murmured. 

“The fire burned through the castle, onto the grounds and then the forest. There used to be villages near here, full of families. Smiling mothers, happy babies, doting grandparents--the fire moved too fast for them to run. It burned so hot it killed people without touching them. It burned and burned, and I was in the center of it. All of this destruction is on my hands.”

Gently, she removed the illusion of the castle that had been. Now she knelt with Rumple on the ground, in the gray dust of what used to be her people. 

She pulled away from him. He didn’t need her magic, now that they were on solid ground again. There was no need for him to touch her. She walked back to the rose garden, back to her mother’s final resting place. She stood and stared at the statue. If only she could be stone. If only she could have switched places with her mother. If Belle had been born dead, none of this would have ever happened.

After a moment, she heard the thump of Rumple’s staff as he came near her. She turned to him, and tried to gather herself. She tried to put on a face that resembled sanity. He stood by her side. Together, they looked out at the barren wasteland.

“So,” she breathed. “Now you see what happens to the people I love.”

He shook his head. “I’m glad you told me, sweetheart. Especially about your child.”

Belle winced. “You understand now, don’t you? Why I was so afraid about you being pregnant?”

“Of course I do,” he said. He put his hand on his belly. “It’s hardly a fear without merit.”

“If my magic was good, I could keep you safe,” she told him. “But as I am, the best I could ever do would be to take the danger away from you and give it to someone else. A price must be paid. There must be a balance.”

“I know,” he said. “You say that every time you take my pain away.”

“You mean every time I give it back to you.” 

She faced him, her hands helplessly half-reaching. He met her halfway, and took her hands into his own.

“I am darkness,” she told him. “I am pain. I cannot be anything else. Do you understand that?”

“I do,” he said. He closed the gap between their bodies.

“That’s why I had to show you this. You had to know what my magic is capable of--what I am capable of. I didn’t want to lose you, without you knowing everything.”

He put his hands up to her face, holding her cheeks. His brown eyes poured his soul into her. “You will never lose me, Belle. No matter what you do. I love you.”

Belle threw her arms around her spinner. She kissed him, as long and deep and loving as she could. Please, she prayed to every power in the universe. Please let this work. 

She waited for a sign. To see some glow, to feel some new light in her heart, to notice some change in her body. She kissed Rumpelstiltskin again and again, with fever, and passion, and desperation.

But aside from the warmth of his touch and the pleasure of kissing him, Belle felt nothing. Certainly nothing magical. When she looked at her hands, they were still as white and as hard as a corpse. 

Breaking away from Rumple, she rested her forehead against his. His breath was heavy. His hands moved freely around her body. He rubbed her back and traced her curves. If she said it was allowed, he would lay her down in the ashes and worship every inch of her, his love unhindered by the death she caused. 

She put her hands on his arms and he stopped immediately. Now it was her turn, to hold his face and look him in the eye. Her sweet spinner. Her beautiful Rumple. 

“I love you too,” she told him. “But it’s not enough.”

“What?” He shook his head. “No. What do you mean it’s not enough? Sweetheart.” He took her hands and held them in his own in the space between their hearts. He smiled. “If we love each other, how can that not be enough?” 

“Because you are not just yourself!” She tried to pull her hands away, but he held on to her and she had no strength to fight him. “Because love is sacrifice and there are things you cannot sacrifice for me.”

“Belle.” He tried to touch her, but she pulled away. She staggered backwards to put distance between them. 

“Rumple,” she choked. “Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you would choose me over your sons?” 

“Sons?” His eyes went wide at the word. Slowly, his hands lowered. No longer reaching out for her, he cradled his round belly. “Is it a boy?”

That was all the answer she needed. All the True Love that existed in Rumpelstiltskin belonged wholly to his children. As it should be. He was a good father. Of course he would put them first. 

“It is a boy,” she told him. “Healthy and human, as far as I can tell.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “And he has a father who loves him more than anything in the world.”

He tried to wrap his arm around her waist. “And a mother who--”

“No.” She evaded his grasp, floating up into the air to stay out of his reach. “No, Rumpelstiltskin, I can’t.” She spread her arms wide. “This whole place is a monument to what happens when I try to love. I cannot do that to a child, not again. Never again.”

He looked up at her. “Please. Please, Belle!”

“It’s too late!” she cried. “It’s too late for me. It is a miracle that this is the worst that has happened to you. It will be another miracle if your child remains healthy and human. Having me in your life will only make things worse.”

“No!” he shouted up at her. “That isn’t true. You can’t--”

“You know my name,” she declared. “You may call me when you’re ready for me to take your child from your body. Aside from that, I will never see you again.”

“No,” Rumple wept. He dropped to his knees. “Please, Mistress. Please don’t leave me alone!”

She was already casting the spell that would take him back to his home. “You won’t be alone,” she offered her final words as a comfort. “You will always have your family.”

A family that would never include her.     

#Dark Mistress #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #rumbelle angst

[aragornonthecob]

#what can i say #i thrive on angst #rumbelle #rumpelstiltskin #mr gold #belle gold #belle french #6x04 #once upon a time #ouat

[depressedstressedlemonzest]

Belle finds a scroll that maps out a meteor shower that she wants to see. She asks Rumplestiltskin to join her, but he dismisses her, and the idea. It's not until Jefferson tells Rumple that Belle was asking him out that Rumple entertains the thought of watching the meteor shower with her.

#whooo second rumbelle fic #one i've been thinking about writing since watching Skin Deep back in November #but I had to get ALL THE CONTEXT before I could write rumbelle #now? be ready #they're coming #rumbelle #belle ouat #ouat rumple #rumplestiltskin #belle x rumple #jefferson #wingman jefferson #ouat #once upon a time #dark castle #maid belle #baelfire #enchanted forest #rumplestiltskin/belle fluff #belle/rumple fluff #woobie rumplestiltskin #fluff and angst #slight angst #bff rumple and jefferson #even if rumple can't admit it

[peacehopeandrats]

Darkness

It was the darkness that broke his heart. Years ago. Ages ago. What was nearly a century ago and might as well have been more. On the side of the road his kindness made him vulnerable and the darkness overpowered him. It tricked him. It schemed its way into his heart and began an infinite lifetime's worth of manipulation from kindness to cruelty. From weakness into power.

Now it had ended him.

As Rumplestiltskin, bent on hands and knees, felt the grit and pocked hardness of the paved road beneath him, he wondered if his fate was to be controlled by roads. At once powerful and sure of its destination, a road could take you to what you loved most: a long lost son, a friend, the person you loved... They were meant to be signs of hope for the future. Yet this night was proof that for him roads insisted upon continuing to do just the opposite: a son lost on his journey, a friend walking away to his distant mansion... and now he cowered in exile, sent to his heart's final demise by the woman he loved.

There was no way of knowing if she lingered or if she had quickly walked away, heels tapping out a rhythm of pain equating to a hammer driving nails through flesh. He imagined the sound for a moment, knowing he deserved the pain of each tap. Magic kept him from seeing her, kept him from hearing her, but it could not remove the anguish. All he knew now was the darkness and the empty road, leading to a place he would never again see and a heart he would never again feel beat against his own.

Darkness and the road. This was his fate.

He lingered for what felt like an eternity, weeping her name, knowing it would never bring her back. She was lost, just like everything and everyone he had ever loved. All he had left was the pain and the pitch black of the night that he wished would swallow him whole.

Forever.

Taken from the Monthly Rumbelling post here:

Sorry to use February. I didn't see one for March.

#angst #Rumbelle #Ouat #prompts #Saturday Shorts

[abovethemists]

#rumbelle #skin deep day #fluffapalooza 2023 #there is no fluff in season 5 #just sadness #and yet it was a better season than 4 or 6 #then again I like the angst

[rumbelle-scream]

LET'S GOOOO! after an explosive first time, richard gold and belle french absolutely fuck it all up. LET'S GOOO! (im on ch 12)

Accustomed to Her Face by tjmystic (if the link doesn't work!)

#scream abt fanfics YESSSS #you can't spell 'rumbelle' without 'pain' 'angst' 'misunderstanding' 'hate sex' #rumbelle #belle x rumple #rumplestiltskin #belle french #belle ouat #ouat #once upon a time

[dealmxkerofgold]

In the light that streamed through the doorwindow, Belle actually looked like an angel that, for some reason ( perhaps, by mistake? because he sure as hell did not deserve it ), was sent to brighten his lonely existence, and, for a moment, Gold just stared at her — at her beaming smile and her eyes, the loveliest shade of blue he's ever seen, and her cheeks, rosy from excitement ( she must have acquired a new book or had a good chat with Ms Lucas, he noted absent-mindedly, as if the reason for her excitement was so obvious... and to him, it was ) — and the nasty little voice inside his head that guided so many of his actions in the past suggested he forgot about the silly endeavor he'd decided to pursue this morning, grabbed his cane and accompanied the love of his life to diner for lunch.

Gold shut that voice up — perhaps, for the first time in his life, but he was going to do the right thing. He was going to let Belle go. She'd brought so much light and happiness into his life, he owed her that much.

So he limped around the counter to stand directly in front of the librarian, his cane forgotten, took her small hands into his slightly larger ones, took a deep breath and began:

"Belle. I..."

The plan that he formulated in his mind in the quiet of his too large house this very morning was to let her down easy, to start from afar and explain to her his reasoning in great detail.

But now that he was actually going through with it, holding her hands and looking into her deep blue eyes that have always been so understanding and compassionate and even loving when she looked at him, he found he couldn't bear to drag this out longer than was absolutely necessary, so he went on, as quick and calm as he could, even though his voice sounded as if every word hurt him on its way out.

"Sweetheart," and he mentally scolded himself for using this endearment because the word itself and the memories of all the times he called her that made him soften — his voice and his eyes, and a small, sad smile even lifted the very corners of his lips — and now saying what needed to be said, pushing her away hurt even worse, "I am a bitter, violent, ugly man. If you’d known all the horrible things I've done, you wouldn’t give me the time of the day, let alone love me. Which is how I know that what's going on between us is wrong and we need to stop it before everything gets complicated."

Unable to deny himself the pleasure of caressing her soft, delicate skin one last time, he cupped Belle's cheek with one of his hands, stroking his thumb over her cheekbone, looking almost enchanted and certainly on the verge of tears.

"You are a beautiful, kind, intelligent young woman, who's got a bright, happy future ahead of her. You deserve someone much better than me. Someone who would love you and cherish you in the way I will never be capable of. So, I guess, what I'm trying to say is..."

With great reluctance, he moved to pull away, dropping both his hand from her cheek and her hand from his hold, taking a deep, shuddering breath in an attempt to regain his composure even as a single tear made its way down his own cheek:

"Good day, Ms French."

[ OPEN for Belles; set either in the au where Belle wasn't locked up during the first curse or in a human au ]

#once upon a time rp #ouat rp #rumbelle rp #『 ic 』 #『 open starter 』 #here have some beuatiful angst 🥺 #I know this starter turned out rather... drabbl-ish 😅 #but I so very much want to see Belle dissuade him and tell him he's being stupid 👀 #also maybe kiss him silly 😌 #first curse AU verse ttba #human AU ttba

[eirian-houpe]

Time’s Curse - Chapter 4

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Victor Frankenstein | Dr. Whale

Additional Tags: AU, Original Character(s), Non Storybrooke, London, The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), Angst, Pining, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Murder, will add others as necessary

Summary: Never fall in love - such is the admonition given to Rumplestiltskin. Blue sees fit to interfere with his plan to reach a world without magic by sending him there herself so that he can pursue his quest to find his son, but he is not alone in this world without magic, nor does it appear that he is entirely free to live his life as he would wish. In the course of his seemingly fruitless search for Baelfire, Rumplestiltskin takes a job as a history teacher at an exclusive private school, and there meets Isabelle - the French teacher. All of a sudden that interdiction against falling in love seems to be really important.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 4 - An Ordinary Life

Transitions were always hard, new lives harder. It wouldn’t be the first time of course, that Rumplestiltskin had changed from one identity to another, but for some reason, trying to be ‘normal’ was proving to be a challenge. It seemed the past was always trying to pull him back.

The head teacher’s office was such a melting pot of Clorox, dark brew coffee, and cheap air freshener to disguise the mingled scents of adolescents or sickness - probably both - that it propelled him instantly back to the incident with the doctor that he had only just days before been discussing with Cambridge. There was even a black and white print poster of famous people throughout history, most of whom did not even look like themselves, with a blank space in the corner next to the question, “You?”

The head teacher returned to the room, and apologized for having had to deal with a discipline issue, and to thank him for waiting. A woman clearly close to retirement; the lines of weariness clear on her face. 

“My pleasure,” he answered quietly.

“So… Mister Gold - Sheridan…” she smiled at him, and fixed her graying hair back behind her ears. She was clearly flustered,  So he sat and waited for her to regain her composure. He wanted this to go well, after all.

“Been at this school for thirty years now,” she volunteered. “The last ten as the head teacher, and so much has changed. Depressing really - I feel so old.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  If only she knew about old; feeling old. The march of centuries weighed heavily on him at that moment. To distract himself as much as to compliment his prospective employer, he said, “You don’t look it.”

“You’re too kind,” she said, but he knew he had reached her with that. “Oh, to be as young as you.”

Gold chuckled. “Hardly,” he said. “Fifty two isn’t young, Miss Evers.”

“Well, you look good for it, Sheridan.”

“Dan is fine,” he told her, suddenly feeling like Sheridan was such a mouthful, and at that moment, sitting in a routine job interview, for a normal job, he was enjoying feeling ordinary; inconspicuous.

Far from inconspicuous was the sudden noise coming from beyond the window behind the head teacher, and he looked that way to see a handful of rambunctious students in untidy uniforms following a woman not much taller than they. She wore a plaid green plaid skirt with cream colored, woolen tights beneath; a grass green blouse and a dark blue, almost black cardigan over it all.  Her chestnut hair was piled atop her head, and lit almost aflame by the sun that bathed the seemingly impromptu educational party.

For many long moments he sat, as if mesmerized, unable to look away, finding himself warmed by the beauty that graced her as she laughed at something one of the students said.

Miss Evers turn to glance in the same direction, a knowing smile drawing a blush to his face as he said, “Ah, that’s Isabelle, our librarian, and French teacher. Unique among our staff and the students adore her.” He thought, and tried not to remark that he doubted they were the only ones, which only served to deepen his blush. “She always seems to prefer al fresco education - rain or shine.  They really engage.”

“It seems like you all do wonderful things here,” he said, pointedly trying to draw the attention away from his obvious admiration for the librarian turned teacher.

“We do our best, Dan,” Evers said, “but somehow we feel like we’re pushing that boulder up the ever present mountain of inner city disadvantage.”  She sighed. “That’s the only thing that worries me, I have to be honest.” At his puzzled expression she added, “About your application.”

“Ah,” he said, feeling suddenly crestfallen, his stomach knotting in fading hope.

“Don’t get me wrong, Mister Gold,” her switch back to a more formal address did not fill him with confidence. “I heard from all your references and I can’t fault them. They’re impeccable.” He sighed with relief. At least Cambridge had done right by him in that regard. He’d been highly worried that she wouldn’t. “But… well - this is the inner city, and not an affluent comprehensive out in the suburbs.”

“Pardon me saying,” he interrupted, “but kids are kids.”

She nodded agreement, “And our kids, as you’ve seen,” she gestured through the window once more where the teacher and her class seemed intent on studying something low on the ground.  He quickly looked away again. It wasn’t seemly for him to suddenly be thinking about the alluring curve of the diminutive educator, “our kids are great, but they don’t have those same privileges, and… well… I worry that you’ve led too sheltered a life to appreciate that.”

He let out a sudden burst of humorless laughter, adding, “You’d be surprised,” to the end of it, so as not to appear too manic; too desperate.

“Mister Gold–”

“Dan.”

“Dan,” she nodded then continued, “Most of our students struggle so much to understand the present… the world around them.  Their reality.  How do you hope to get them engaged with the past; to bring history to life.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. She could have asked him no easier question. “Miss Evers,” he began, “I don’t need to bring history to life, because it already lives. It isn’t abstract tales of kings and queens, politics and wars. It’s you, and me… it’s those students and their families. Your shirt, for example. You could explain the whole history of colonialism, imperialism and slavery.  The blood, sweat and tears that brought us to being able to walk into Marks and Spencers and pick out a shirt for work or school… it’s incredible when you think about it.”

She fiddled with the collar of her shirt, and he knew he’d made her uncomfortable and should have regretted it.  He didn’t, just raised an eyebrow at her look of almost guilt.  Evidently he’d hit the mark on where she shopped for her work clothing.

“My point is,” he continued, “It’s all around us - history. It’s a part of us, and teaching it is just about making people understand that.  Everyone loves history!”

She raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“I know.” he corrected. “It’s about making people see that who they are now, is because of what came before.”  He gestured to the window, and asked, “May I?”

She nodded, a look of intrigue on her face, and as he stood to walk to the window, she too stood from her chair and followed him.

“That building over there,” he gestured to a drab, depressing looking building with tall towers on one corner and an even taller chimney. “It used to be a mental hospital - an asylum - did you know that?”  She shook her head, “And that one,” he pointed not too far away from it, to a building he knew was on the next street over. “A slaughterhouse.  Did you know a couple of hundred years ago they took the bones of those slaughtered animals, ground them up and made porcelain from them?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, just went on, “If we just turned back time and walked that street we would hear the lowing and the wailing of people and cattle each condemned to madness and death.”

“You certainly have a macabre way of putting things, Dan,” she murmured, and he worried he had traveled just a little too far to the darker side of history, but he shrugged.

“Not too far from here is where the suffragettes used to meet. A turning point, a real change for good.”

“I see from your resume that you knit,” she changed the subject.

“I do,” he said, “and weave, and even spin.”

“You put Helen to shame.”

“Helen?”

“Our domestic sciences teacher.  Can’t even iron a shirt without putting more wrinkles in than she’s taking out, let alone make or sew clothing.”

“Well I love to,” he said, “especially to spin my own wool, but I find it hard to talk about. Hard to teach.”

“Unlike history?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Unlike history.”

“And the curriculum?” she said, “You’re up to date.”

He nodded. A lie.  He had downloaded the document, but hadn’t ready it. The time at the computer had given him a headache enough without plowing his way through something he knew was going to be drier than dust.

“Well…” she seemed to have one more reservation. “For a history teacher, you’re a bit on the young side.”

He almost jumped back in surprise.

“I’m fifty two,” he reminded her.  Going on several centuries - older than you can count. he didn’t say. “A rather old fifty two.”

She smiled then, and seemed to be considering something, considering him, and he did likewise, thinking of himself in terms of the lifetimes, the generations he had lived before the curse… after the curse in Cambridge’s thrall… each year lived, each moment past made it harder yet to live in the present, in the moment without darkening your soul. Eternity was little more than a progression of moments in the present, ignoring the ghosts of the past to try to live.

He gave himself a mental shake, the voices encroaching on him again - the murmuring, hissing annoyance of all those centuries past, all those lives, the voice of all the Dark Ones before him.  It had been happening a lot of late, the more years he suffered since the curse, the more it seemed the past wanted to catch him up and crush him before he could reach his goal, before he could–

He had to concentrate, to hold on to the inconspicuous, to the ordinary - to normal.

Miss Evers shook her head and gave a little laugh, lost, it seemed, in past moments of her own.  Was it as dangerous for her as for him?

“I have to say, Dan, I’m impressed with this application - very impressed.” She blushed then, and lowered her voice to make her confession, “I’ve been somewhat suspicious of why someone with your credentials would apply to our struggling little school.  You’re frankly everything we’ve been looking for, and… well… even if you weren’t, you’d still be getting the job.”

“Oh?” he asked, his own suspicions somewhat stirred.

“No other applicants,” she explained with an apologetic smile.

He could not help but laugh at that.  It was probably the most ordinary thing that could have happened to him in that moment, and his laughter was, apparently infectious, because Miss Evers apologetic smile, became first a nervous, and then more hearty laughter to join with his own.

The laughter soon died though as Evers shared, “There’s a plaque on my street, you know, right there on the corner below the street name.”

“There is?” he asked, though the prickling along his spine told him he shouldn’t.

She nodded, and returned to her desk to sit and take a sip on her coffee.  He followed her lead, retaking his seat across the desk from her. “There were many plague victims who died on that street. One of the worst hit areas of the city apparently.”

Memory laced with pain assaulted him at the mention of plague. It surprised him with its vehemence because he had long since laid that memory, and his feelings for his former wife - indeed his former wife herself - to rest.  Milah was nothing to him any more.  Worse than nothing if he were honest.  Forgotten remnants of a cuckolded past laced with hate.

“I see,” he said mildly, pushing the thought away, and forced a smile to his face. “You see, I told you that we are history.”

She chuckled again. “I have a feeling about you, Dan, and aren’t we supposed to listen to our instincts?”

“I suppose,” he agreed, though he wasn’t sure that he agreed.  Feelings had never been helpful for the Dark One… had always led him astray, in fact - his own at least.  Some of his best deals had been made when he was hard and cold, calculating. No room for feelings in that. No… feelings were the opposite of everything he stood for… Weren’t they?

He found his eyes flicked through the window again, to where Isabelle was moving among the students, speaking to each with little touches here and there that reminded him of someone. But no… that someone was dead. Regina had told him so.

He smiled and stood, “Well… if there’s nothing else, Miss Evers, I will… see you in August, I suppose.”

“Of course,” she, too, stood. “But August will be here before you know it, Dan. That’s another thing about getting older,” she added sagely. “Time goes by faster.”

“Or not,” he whispered, looking down at his hands, his normal hands. In that moment he missed the claws and scales.

Ever’s must not have heard, because she added, “And children.” The words jolted him from his growing self loathing.

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

“Children,” she repeated. “I have three. The oldest is in her twenties, and I promise you time has flown.  Only yesterday she was playing dress-up with princess dresses, and next week she’s moving in with her girlfriend… a house of their own.  Can you imagine?” She shook her head. “Do you have any?” 

Another flash of memory and pain.  He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t deny Baelfire. Wouldn’t.

“A son,” he told her. “But… I lost him.” He didn’t understand why he would tell that to a complete stranger, especially when he knew she would take it wrongly. “I mean… I don’t know where he is. We lost touch.”

He turned away from the awkward, sympathetic expression on her face. He couldn’t stand her pity.  He’d find Bae… one way or another, and with or without Cambridge’s help. He heard Miss Evers shift in her seat, and glanced at her again to see she looked as if she were about to make some kind of comment. Instead she simply said, “See you soon, Mister Gold.”

With a nod, he stepped out beyond the threshold of her door, turned to look along the corridor to watch as two teenagers who had been standing, heads together, thick as thieves, looking at their phones, scurry away like cockroaches.

“Yes,” he said aloud but quietly. “See you soon.”

He left the school and prepared to walk the mile or so back to his modest home - a town house, two up two down - but he couldn’t help feeling as though he were walking with one foot still in the Enchanted Forest. He had not experienced that sense of dislocation in a long time. It bothered him. Everything like that had meaning.

He took the long way home, and it took him down by the wharf, another painful reminder of a past that seemed ever to be encroaching in the new, cursed life in which Cambridge had trapped him with her interference and her false promises.  He should have crushed her like the bug she was centuries ago; when she first gave Baelfire the bean.  His head began to ache - an understatement for it pounded like the painful beating of his heart. Another symptom of living in a world without magic… as if that magic were trying to reach across worlds and pull him back; enticing - daring him to try and reach for it, even knowing that he could not.

Wearied, dizzy, he reached out to try and support himself on something - anything - nearby. He leaned against the hood of a nearby car, only lightly, but the car alarm still sounded and to him was like the one of many wails of pain out of that long dead time in the Enchanted Forest, reaching through worlds and through time. He pushed away from the car, escaped from its insistent cacophony, only wishing he could walk away from the cacophony of pain-born memories just as easily.

#rumbelle #angst #romance #eventual smut #time's curse

[books-and-beauty90]

Hello everyone! I would like to share some information on my character. I have decided to open up and portray Belle the way she is supposed to be played. For those of you who don't know, Belle has some health problems and is disabled. I write Belle the way I do for personal reasons and to raise awareness for sick and disabled people.

For those who don't want to write or talk to me That's fine but please don't be mean or rude to me, or my characters.

BELLE'S INFORMATION AND BACKGROUND

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

{PHYSICAL DISABILITIES}

Belle has A weak immune system, asthma, a low blood pressure disorder, Seizures, Cerebral Palsy (she was born with it) ALS frequent fevers, she has problems controlling her body temperature and has a lot of mental issues from abuse she suffered from in the past. She is also partly paralyzed from the waist down so she uses a wheelchair to get around places.

On top of everything else she is also disabled, Belle can not take care of herself, her husband has to do everything for her. She is on a special diet, She needs Rumple, to help her with every day activities, give her all her medications and keep a eye on her mental and physical health.

Belle is in ||diapers|| since she is paralyzed from the waist down and can not walk due to a horrible car accident she was in not long after the First curse was broken, she also suffers from memory loss and brain damage so she has trouble remembering or understanding things sometimes.

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚

{Mental disability's}

PTSD, Severe anxiety, Depression, claustrophobia, she's bipolar and has separation anxiety she does not like being away from her husband for long periods of time.

Belle takes medicine to help her conditions, but what she has can not be cured. However, she tries to live each day to the best of her ability.

🌹📚🌹📚🌹📚🌹📚🌹📚🌹📚🌹📚

{Roleplay Information about Belle please don't judge. XD }

𝑵𝒂𝒎𝒆: Belle Colette Gold

𝑨𝒈𝒆: 19 𝒕𝒐 25

𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚: 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕, 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒇𝒖𝒍, 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒚, 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒍𝒚, 𝒔𝒉𝒚, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒎𝒊𝒅, accepting, smart, cautious, can be out going when she wants to be, stubborn.

𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆: 𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒆𝒅/ 𝑩𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓, 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒍 𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝑩𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔, 𝑩𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒖𝒔𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓, 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔, 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒑𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒖𝒕𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒏.

𝑹𝒂𝒄𝒆: 𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒊𝒂𝒏

Relationship status: Happily married

𝑳𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔: 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅 𝒕𝒐, 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄, 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅/ 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚, 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝑻𝑽 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒏𝒆𝒚, sleeping, 𝒈𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔, 𝒂𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒄𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒏𝒖𝒈𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒍𝒐𝒕𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔.

𝑫𝒊𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆𝒔: 𝑩𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒅, 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒎𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒆, 𝒅𝒐𝒄𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔, 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑽𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒔, 𝒓𝒖𝒅𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒐𝒑𝒍𝒆, 𝒂𝒓𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒇𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒚𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑽𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒖𝒔𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒅.

𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒕𝒉𝒔: See's the good in others, believes in redemption, tries to be independent even when she can't. Can read other languages, always puts others before herself no matter what.

Weakness: Hates being sick and disabled, doesn't like depending on others or admitting when she needs help. Keeps things to herself even when she shouldn't.

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚: may be added later

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

{ABOUT THE ADMIN}

Name: Belle (yes it's my real name)

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Relationship status: currently single

Location: Arizona mountain Standard time

Likes: Roleplay, writing, once upon a time, Robert Carlyle, animals, helping others, reading, sleeping, cosplay (sometimes) acting, singing, making friends, hiking, swimming, camping, going on walks, watching movies. And more!

Dislikes: Rude people, being bullied, being ghosted, being ignored, liers, judgemental people. People who discriminate others.

Writing information: I enjoy writing Angst, Romance, hurt|comfort, Romance, fluff, sad dark themes, pretty much everything is on the table besides NSFW *Not immediately*

I'm as descriptive as you are detailed, literate to semi literate.

Single or multi ship: Single

Ships with cem: Rumple|Mr. Gold (any bobby characters but I prefer Gold💙)

Shipping status: open

I Can write up to five or ten paragraphs or more, depending on the day and how I'm feeling.

Other roleplay platforms: Facebook, discord: Belle Rose Gold#6482|Twitter: bookworm 409 inbox is always open for chatting or to discuss roleplay ideas!

#roleplay #roleplay partner needed #once upon a time #ouat #rumbelle #angst with a happy ending

[daryldixonfanfiction]

What you fight for! Pt.7 - strawberries and cigarettes *18+

Masterlist

summary: Daryl tries to keep it in his pants, buts it's more then difficult when the girl hes crushing on is indulging a certain candy next to him.

Warnings: a steamy lollipop moment in Daryl's pov, Daryl is obsessed with her curly hair, angst, pining, sexual themes in dreams and thoughts, Daryl has thoughts of having her in the backseat, protective!Daryl, age gape, Daryl being a softy and a gentleman, mentions of bruise, brief mentions of almost previous rape.

wc: 6.9k

Daryl found it hard to focus on the road. 

The sun glowed on her just right, and when it hit her brown eyes she looked angelike, her curls glowing like a golden halo. He wanted to move his fingers true her curly hair, smell that soothing scent of shampoo, pull back the two strands of looks that had fallen into her soft brown eyes behind her ear. 

Oh, how he craved to touch her. 

He should stop before he drives them into a tree - and he does so by pulling his lingering gaze away from her back on the road. She obliviously looked at the map in her lap, because he had told her to, even though he didn't actually need help in navigation. But he was selfish and wanted her to ask him questions about where they were going as it was mostly the only time she would talk. 

He had notest her becoming more quiet, avoiding his gaze and he knew it was his doing of his pore words from that morning. But he never intended for this and the more she distanced herself from him the more he felt drawn to her, wanting her to look at him, engage in conversations. And when they had been smothered in silence that he before had no problem with, he would ask her how much longer before he had to take another road,  even though he already knew the answer. But he couldn't help himself when the look of accomplishment covered her lips, her eyes and her face and even if it was subtle, he always caught it and he would smile to himself because she was just…perfekt. 

He noticed how she would get lost in the scenery speeding by her window and how she was engrossed in writing and drawing when there wasn't much else to do. She leaned against the window once more, gazing to the outside fields and he did the same without notesting, mirroring her against his own window. Then a rumbelle from her stomach broke the silence in the humming vehicle they had been smothered in sins she had told him to turn left and follow highway 76. He suppressed a chuckle, glancing her way as he drove with his one hand firmly on the wheel.

"There's some protein bars in the back,” Daryl offered, still looking ahead.

Julia shakes her head, “I’m not that hungry.” She denied softly, but her stomach rumbling again told a different story - and she kicked herself inwardly as she felt heat begin to blossom on her cheeks. Embarrassed of being caught in a silly lie she didn't know no way she felt the need to lie about in the first place. It was stupid. But Daryl didn't say anything and instead reached behind her seat and easily took out three bars from his pack, then offered them. She hesitated, then gave in. 

“Thank you.” She said, taking one from his hand.

The sweet and tasteful chocolate-bar melted in her mouth, the nuts crunched satisfyingly with every chew. As she glanced towards Daryl, watching how he ripped the package open with his teeth, tossing the raper aside and shocked to see how he finish it of with onely tree bites as she still was on her first. She found it amusing how he always ate so care free with no manners, how he smotherd the melted chocolate on his fingers against his pants that would have been avoided if he had kept the raper on. But of course he wouldn't, it was Daryl after all.

Dragging the back of his hand over his mouth, she couldn't help but let out a little chuckle notesting it did nothing to clean the residue of the melted chocolate on the corner of his mouth. Just like a child. Daryl glanced her way in question, 

“What’s so funny?” He asked with some still in his mouth.

Julia shakes her head, still smiling as she stares at the smudged chocolate spot. It was just adorable and he didn't even know it. She pointed to her own mouth, making him look at himself in the rear view mirror to see what she was referring to - making him wipe it off with his sleeve. Then began to dig into his second bar and Julia watched in amusement at his clear liking to sweets. When he finished it, he checked himself in the mirror making sure this time he got it all.

Puting the raper neatly away in her bag she then shugged some water down, the chocolate making her terribly thirsty and when she finished, about to put the lid bak on, Daryl nudged her arm, his hand oustreched towards her.

“Give me some.”

Julia handed him the bottle of water without much thought and never before has she seen someone down water that fast. Like he had been deprived of water like a man lost in the desert. And it was impossible to not stare at his adamsappel bobbing up and down his throat with every gulp he swallowed. Her fingers itched to touch him, but she pulled herself together. He held the water bottle to his mouth unaware of her sinfully drooling over how his bicep flexed. The fabric on the denim jacket looked like it would burst. He looked so strong and firm without even trying - and she couldn't help but to remember how bulky he felt under her touche when he had been on top of her, thrusting inside of her. and even then he had been so gentle. 

Daryl drank until the need for oxygen was unbearable, handing back an almost empty bottle and offered an out of breath, “Thank’s,” wiping away the axes' water on his lips.

And she aced for his lips to be on hers once more.

“Oh,” She said, snapping out of her engrossed daydream and putting back the water bottle in her pack, suddenly feeling the need to busy herself, beginning writing down the first thing she knew she would need on their journey or she would bleed true her pants eny day now. 

And her prayers must have been heard when Daryl not long after stopped at an abundant gas station that was looted with abundant cars.

Finding the auto store loted but walker free Daryl gave her the ‘okey’ to stay inside as he began to siphon fuel from the cars outside. Julia didn't waste any time, beginning to go to the shelves that were mostly empty, but when she found a big box of tampons she almost squealed as she no longer needed to dred of what she would do when her monthly came. The only thing she hoped to find but didn't was painkillers, but she knew she could handle the cramps even though hers tended to be severe sometimes - to the extent of throwing up and almost fainting.

After having consumed all that water earlier nature called and she moved to the ladies room in the back. She knew the place was empty as Daryl had cleared it, but she couldn't help from being hesitant when entering.

Having the rare moment of privacy, away from his watchful eye she pulled out the gun she had taken in secret, back at the house. Knowing he would take it the moment he knew she had it. 

She had never handled a gun before, the only knowledge of it was from action movies and watching others kill walkers. She had taken it because after what happened she wanted to feel safe, to protect herself and him if it came to it. But she knew she would not kill someone, it felt impossible to do so inside herself. 

Somehow she managed to take the fully loaded klip out, fumbling with the disarmed gun clumsy. It felt surprisingly heavy and smelld of gunpowder and metal. Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror the gun looked out of place in her hands, it felt as if she did something she shouldn't. 

Even though she knew she was free to do whatever she wanted, there was this obligation to do what he said, because he kept her safe and he knew more about all this than she did and she had agreed to do what he said when it came to going on this journey - to find the scientists that had become her life purpose. So for now she hid the gun away in her pack once more, hoping she would never have to use it.

…

Exiting the auto shop she moves towards Daryl, who is siphoning fuel into a red dunk. He looks up at her and regards her before questioning,

“Everything okay?”

Julia could feel herself getting nerves, worried he had already smelled the secret she was keeping from him.

“Mmmh,” she assures, “Why do you ask?”

“You were gone for a while. Was almost  going to look for ya if you took any longer.” 

Oh.

She watched as he leaned his back against the car, waiting for the dunk to get filled as he lightened a smoke, cupping his hand to shield it from the wind.

It should be illegal how he made a bad habit look so good. And wasn't it dangerous to smoke while handling gas? But she knew better than to question him.

Thinking about it she never knew he smoked, but on the other hand a lot of people did. Daryl took a long drag before letting the smoke pass true to his lips, the smoke cloud blowing away with the wind. And she couldn't help but notice how it made him relax, look more at ease. 

Roaming true her bag, Julia offers one of her lollipops she had found on her way out. Daryl stared at the pink and read raped up candy in her hand, shooting her a confused look. She offered  him a soft smile and insisted,

“Here.”

“Na, I’m good,” he drawls, blowing the white smoke away from her direction.

Unwrapping the candy, as he crosses his arms over his broad chest with the sig still between his lips, she looked at the half full dunk then to the siphon and asked curiously, 

“How does it work?��

“The siphon?

“Yeah,” she confirms, placing her pack on the car and plops the candy into her mouth. Daryl explains as he lets the sigaret hang from his lips,

“It’s when liquid travels against gravity.” He began, “mmh hmm,” Julia hums. “The liquid travels up and over the crest of the tube, the weight of the liquid goes into this,” he points to the red dunk, “It pulls the rest of it over the crest, causing the tank to drain.”

Julia swirls the candy in thought as he puts the lid back on the filled up dunk and takes the tube out of the filler neck opening and continues to the next car to fill another dunk of fuel. Julia follows, caring the heavy dunk and Daryl questions as he works the tube down the tank,

“You understand?”

“Well…only the part about liquid traveling against gravity,” she confessed, putting the dunk bak on the ground “The rest was too… complicated.” 

He hummed in acknowledgement, then put the tube to his mouth, sucking the fuel out, then let it drain out into the dunk and spat out the burning taste of gas.

Daryl leans against the car just like he did before and Julia glanced at his side profile. Silently studying him from head to toe. He was a very handsome man, smart. It felt like he had experienced far more of life than she had, had so much knowledge, had the answer to her every question and always knew what to do. 

She found him so capable. Safe. Everything a man should be she saw in him.

The taste of sweet cherry ingolfs her mouth and she takes the candy out to speak,

“Maybe next time I can fill up one du-

“Na,” Daryl cut her off. “You don’t need to be doing shit like that. Gas ain’t good for ya.”

“Gas isn't good for you either, you know.” Julia countered and Daryl gave her a look making her drop it knowing he wouldn't change his mind. She just wanted to be helpful when he did so much. Protecting her, going on this journey.

Plopping the candy back into her mouth she put her pack back on and the dunk along to start refiling the truck. But before she reached the truck, Daryl had caught up to her and took the heavy dunk from her grasp, caring both effortlessly.

“Thanks,” she said looking up at him and he gave her nood in response.

“Can you hand me that funnel?” Daryl asked her, handling the dunks to refuel the truck. "It's in the back.”

“Okay,” she responds and retrieves the funnel to him, happy that she helped in any way.

…

It had been a good day so far, but still the sadness creeped in when there was nothing occupying her wandering mind. She had tried to distract herself in the journal, but when she realized she was drawing his eyes that she found so beautiful, she put it back in her pack and just stared out the window, watching Virginia's landscape speed by, In hop of thinking of anything else that didnt pain her heart.

What confused her the most was how could he be so normal about what had happened between them, how he kept being close to her even though he had told her it was wrong? And she just didn't understand. Nothing made sense any more. All she knew was she liked him and he didn't reciprocate those feelings, not in the way she wanted him to. And why did he all of a sudan wanna be close, talking more than he had done with her before? It made her distancing herself from him so much harder, painful even when she was so drawn to him. Maybe she would forget about her unrequited feelings for him if he wasn't being so kind, so protective and if he wasn't currently staring her way. She wished for him to keep his pools of deep blue on the road.

She could feel his gaze making a home on the back of her haid, but she couldn't look at him right now, because, if so, she feared for her feelings to deepen even more and it would all be so much more painful in the end. And she wondered, when someone rejected someone, wasn't the normal thing to do, not to give the other mixed signals - to keep to their words of rejection and regret? 

Virginia. America's heartland.  It's late autumn scenery was breathtaking and even more so in the golden sunset and for a moment she just admired the view. Thinking about everything and nothing at once while tasting another lollipop that tasted of strawberries. Her grandparents used to grow them.

–

Daryl struggled once again to keep his focus on the road. And even more so when she was so carelessly sucking on that damn candy stick. Making sinful sounds every time she would drag  it between her plump lips that he knew were soft, because he had tasted them that night he could not get out of his mind.

The memory forever plays on repeat.

She was just like candy, sweet and addictive. But he would not let himself give into that craving. Even though every time he would nudge her to get her attention, just to make her look at him, hear her soft voice and he knew he wasn't truly keeping to his own promise. It wouldn't be long before he broke it. 

No.

He wouldn't let himself do that. 

He couldn't.

He had to protect her from himself. 

He would only end up hurting her more then he already had. She deserves someone that was worthy of her soft-heartedness, her untainted soul. And he knew he wasn't worthy of her kindness, that he never would be, so he had to draw the line. Telling her it had been wrong because she deserves someone who was as good as her, he would never be that. All he could do was to protect her, do whatever it took in order to keep her safe, and he had already failed her in that. 

It ate at him, gilt burning in his gut every time he would stare at her for too long and he would see that bruise on her delicate throat that had turned bluish purple. Now and again he would catch her unintentionally scratching it, making him worry it was hurting. 

That picture of her underneath that monster, pushing her down on the bed, forcing her legs open as she fought against him, silenced with that disgusting man's hand around her throat. And if he haven’t followed his gut filing to go into that room when he had she would have been raped and killed and God knows what more by the other men in the house. And it felt like he was more traumatized than she was which worried him. 

She had been deathly quiet just after he dragged her out of the house but then it was like it never had happened in the first place. Because of course she was so selfless and good - and all she did was to care for him, soothing him with her kind words and her soft touch.

He will forever be undeserving of her.

And that was when he realized how strong someone could be without any physical strength. That her emotional strength was something far beyond, something he needed and never wanted to live without. When he thought about it she had always seen through him, been there for him when he had been weak, vulnerable and he could only feel undeserving, but it had meant everything to him.

He flexed his wrapped up hand, and even though his knuckles were aching all he could think of was her touch from the night before. When she had told him it would not heal and then softly wrapped it up again. He had been close to kissing her then, too close. Just by her touch she had him folded, and how she looked at him with her kind eyes, he knew he would do anything she asked. He would bring the moon down for her if she so desired, and he had never felt something so strong and so delicate for someone else, and that scared him in a way. Because he knew there would be no limits for what he would do in the name of her. 

After all, he already had. With no regret - no second thought. It had been cristall clear of what he had to do in order to insure her safety.

Did she even know what she was doing to him? 

What was she putting him through?

And right now she was putting him in true hell and she had been doing so sins she had found them damned lollipops she had found in the auto-shop. The strawberry scent filled his nostrils and he could feel himself hardening in his jeans at the sight of her sinfully sucking on that candy that he wished was himself. But he wouldn't let his mind go there, not any further at least. But then the thought of the candy being his finger she was sucking on as she deeply locked eyes with him - or even better, if it was-

He shook his head to himself, trying to think of anything but that, because if he did he would stop the car, show her what she was doing to him as he would have her over and over again in the backseat until she begged him with her sweat voice, chanting his name like a prayer over and over until she fell apart under his touch.

Fuck.

He closed his eyes then looked her way and he shouldn't have. Because when he did so, she plopped the candy out of her mouth, a string of saliva followed, her lips pretty and swole glistening with the red color of the candy that just begged him to give in, inviting him.

Damnit. 

He had to do something, he could not take this much longer. A beautiful, naive girl inches from him, sucking on a lollipop like it was him. Firmly Daryl tries to get her attention by calling her name but she is somewhere else in her pretty little head, thinking of something so interesting she didn't hear the second time either, making him become incredibly frustrated. So with no option left he reaches over and takes the candy out of her mouth, being met with her pretty bambi eyes and surprise written all over her soft features.

“Hey! What are you doing?” She questions.

“You are supposed to be keepen your eyes on the map.” 

He should be keeping his eyes on the road.

Julia rolls her eyes, then looks at him and demands, “Give it back.”

“Nah.”

“What do you mean, Nah?” She tries to snatch it back, but his arm being superiorly taller than hers makes her groan in frustration when it was impossible to reach.

Then she tries a different tactic by pulling at his jacket by his biceps, and even though she pulled with all of her might with both of her hands to get it back, it did nothing.

“Daryl!” Julia whines and his eyes almost roll back to the sound of it, “Comon, Daryl! Give it back!”

Still holding on to his clothed bicep she looked up at him with big puppy eyes, her brows furrowed, “Please,” she begs. And there was an immediate reaction as she did so, even though his face became unreadable, his arm felt like it was flexing even more in her hold. 

His eyes went back and forth between her and the road they were still driving on and Daryl fought for his life not to fold. Julia could feel him giving in slowly but surely. She then tilts her head at him and bats her eyelashes, “Pretty please? Pretty, pretty please?”

She could see him visibly swallow before he looked away from the road looking down at her and she knew if she wanted a chance it would be now when he was completely disarmed, the focus on her and not on the candy he had taken hostech. And the way he decided to do so was beyond her.

As she tried to snatch it back, it was as if all of a sudden he snapped back to reality - and before she could attempt to stop him, he told her with that stupid smirk that looked so good,

“Nah,” plopping the candy into his mouth, making her frown in complete frustration with this ever confusing man that was probably around the same age as her dad - that more acted as a child. 

Daryl couldn't help but be amused by her pouting. He knew she was upset but he was left with no other choice. And the way she looked when she got mad was the most adorable thing he'd seen. Even though he knew he shouldn't - but he so badly wanted to see her frown with her soft features, see her wrinkle her nose and hear her whining that made his eyes roll back, imagining her beneath him.

What was this girl doing to him? 

…

As the last light dips beneath the horizon, Daryl spots a fighting spot by the edge of the forest. He drives them off the road true the open grassland into the protection of tall pine trees. 

The engine hums into silence as Julia's eyes almost drift close. Daryl's voice stopping her from doing so,

"We'll stop here tonight.” Daryl informed. 

Julia yawned, “We aren’t there yet?” 

“Nah, common.”  Daryl's answers as he gathers his pack. "Let's set up camp so you can get some shut eye.”

“I’m not even tired,” Julia argues.

Setting up camp Julia began to feel a heavy sense of dread and she didn't understand way. Last night was no problem, neither was the night before, so why was today different?  

They arrange their sleeping bags after dinner. Daryl dimmed the lantern to its lowest setting, creating just enough light to not be swallowed by the night. 

The dark, the cold, and the vulnerability of being asleep all made Julia very uneasy. She couldn't help but fight sleep even though being terribly tired. The thought of possibly being woken by a living nightmare, like she had been in that car when she was taken, disoriented and frightened, and in the house she had thought it would be safe enough to rest. 

That happening again, struck a fear so deep she didn't know if she ever could be okay.

Julia stared into the darkness of the forest, tall trees surrounding them. But then she looked up and the sky was clistar clear, stars shining brightly, forming constellation after constellation. She counted them, like sheep before one fell asleep. Her mind calmed enough for her eyes to get heavy, her breathing slowed down until she finally drifted into a deep sleep that she hoped would take her far away from the fear of nightmares she had experienced and the heartache that troubled her so deeply.

–

Daryl watches over her as she sleeps soundly, protected by the warmth of the sleeping bag he was happy he could provide. He washes her face twitch and how the steady pace of her breathing moves her form up and down. Her face looked so peaceful, so beautiful and serene, without a care in the world. 

Her hair fell in her face making her frown. Daryl tucked the curls away, pooting the hair behind her ear. Soft. He gently caressed her cheek and just admired her there and the beauty she possessed. 

He could stare at her for hours and never get enuff.

–

Julia was woken by his warm touch on her face. 

His fingers gently dancing along her skin. They were lying on their sides, facing one another, gazing deeply into eachothers eyes. Her heart drummed in her ears, butterflies dancing in her stomach. And for the first time she smiled at him and he returned it just as softly as his thumb dragged along her lower lip, slow and gentle, making her close her eyes, and just focus on his touch.

The only man she would let her touch her like this was him, and only him, no one else.

Oh, how she had missed this. 

Missed him. 

And she was so happy. 

A soft giggle escaped her lips as she returned to deeply gazing up at him. Daryl Dixon, was the most beautiful man she had ever laid her eyes upon. There was this rare beauty in his deep blue eyes that looked so softly at her she feared she would melt. The way his hair curtend his dashing face and the way his stubble framed his jaw so handsomely and the lines of aging had her admiring each and every single one. 

Daryl watches her back, his blue eyes wandering across her face down her neck. He softly touched the bruise on her trout. Creating goosebumps there, making her shiver of simply his touch. She shuts her eyes for a moment and sighs contently as she lens into it.

His pupils are blown with desire, his jaw clenched and muscles tensing as if he’s trying to hold himself back, and he tells her, his voice deep and rubeling,

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do yah?”

And Julia simply smiles softly, before leaning up and presses her mouth to his cheek. His hand on her neck shot out, and she jolted when he pulled her in by cradling her head, leaning in and kissing her just like he did that night. Hungry and starving.

And oh, it was heavenly. 

Her hands fist’s on his color as his tongue danced with hers, his other hand tilting her chin up to get better axes. His stubble tickled her, but she could care less. Because finely, finely, his lips had returned to hers and she wished for it to never stop. 

The warmth of Daryl’s body pressed against hers creates a safe haven, momentarily replacing the fears with the undeniable comfort he provides. The dread and the fear melts away, it feels like she can finally breathe without her heart strings being pulled.

His nose pressed into her skin as they kissed, and he spoke even though his lips weren't the ones talking. And she didn't understand. Then, when his lips began to fade and his face began to blur and the voice calling her name from some distant place, repeatedly calling for her as she was shaken. She opened her eyes, meeting his ocean blues staring down on her newly woken form, as she was blinking past the wetness in her eyes.

“Hey, hey.” He soothed softly, worry covering his features and Julia realized she had been crying, but it had been tears of joy, of happiness. But being met with the reality it had all been just a dream, more felt like it was breaking her heart. Because it had been too good to be true. What she had longed for to be real. And she knew he would never reciprocate those feelings, touch her that way, nor kiss her like her heart aced for so terebully.

Now real tears did fall and the ace was once more heavy in her chest. She tried to blink them all away, but the wetness just kept coming, making her cheeks raw and her vision blurry. She wished she could have more control of her emotions, but it was all too much, overwhelming her like it had never done before. She had never had such a vivid dream and woke up crying this way. And it didn't make it easier with him drying her tears away as he softly rubbed the back of her hand,

“Hey, hey. It was only a bad dream, you're okay. I got you. I got you.”

As her tears began to slow and she had calmed enough to speak, she took a shaky breath,

“It was a happy dream.”

He searched her face - then, “You’re crying,” Daryl stated, 

He had been terribly worried when he saw her serin face turn into her crying in her sleep. He had panicked, anxiety spiking as he shook her awake. Fearing she was reliving the horror she had been true. So he didn't understand when she told him ‘it was a happy dream’. 

One last tear fell and he wiped it away - watching how she closed her eyes as his thumb lingered there - simply because he couldn't handle seeing her sad. It crushed him in a way he didn't know he could feel. But then she looked deeply into his eyes, her brown eyes shining as she smiled sadly and she told him, 

“Because I wished it was real.”

Daryl froze at her words.

Her confession sent guilt spireling, digging into him deeply - a confession he knew the reason behind, because her eyes looked just as sad as they did that morning, when she had been so happy and he just went ahead and ruined it all.

This was why she was crying.

Because of him. 

Because of what he had said.

There was so much he wanted to say but he didn't know how to. To confess what he truly felt inside. But he was teribull with words. He would only mess up again, creating more harm than good. 

Julia lowered her eyes to turn away from him. She didn't know how much more of this she could take before it all became too much again. And there was shame in how she had dreamed of him in that way, like it was rong, just like he had said. Then before she could do so, he pulled her in by the waist into his arms,

“Come here,” he said softly. 

She was surprised but didn't shy away from his hand holding her lower back, pressing her body into his warm chest and her head beneath his chin. Her hand naturally fists his jacket as the other was curled into herself. His steady heartbeat and his calming breath soothes her until she falls asleep in his arms. 

…

Daryl woke up to sunlight. 

He didn't sleep as much as he should have. There had been too much on his mind keeping him awake. Julia was already awake, cooking them breakfast as she did her morning routine, fixing her hair for the day, and brushing her teeth. 

Finishing her second braid with a rosette of some white fabrike she continued to stir the oatmeal. Her hair looked longer this way and her aperens even softer, if that even was possible? Plaiting two portion of breakfast Daryl seated himself as she turned down the gas stove,

“You're up early,” he said and Julia handed him his plate, along with a spoon.

“Yah. I was so hungry I thought I was going to die if I didn't get up and make something.”

Daryl hummed and dug in. They both ate in a comfortable silence as the morning sun brightened up another day - though the noticeable chillier weather and natural light had become darker by each passing day. 

Julia rinsed the dishes in the nearby stream as Daryl packed up the truck for their continued journey..

…

Silens was unending inside the car.

Julia was being avoidant, not once looking his way. It bothered him. She had been sad - and in the morning he had been naive and thought everything was going to be okay. But the way she looked far away through the window, he knew she was far from it. 

She didn't draw nor write that he knew she liked to spend her time doing. She just started with a map in her lap, with that look in her eyes. He wanted to do something, but didn't know how to, it felt like he never did.

Hours passed on. Daryl drifted away in his own thoughts as julias gaze never left the window.

Boredom eventually makes Julia move her attention from the tree's speeding bay and opens the glove compartment, finding a cassette. She studies it in her hands before putting it back. As she reaches forward to do so, Daryl stops her.

“Let’s hear it,” he encourages. “Could be something worth listening to.”

Julia gives him an unsure look. Hesitating before she puts it into the player. Daryl presses play and turns up the volume. The car fills with tons of an old song he hasn't heard since his mother was alive. 

‘Love will abide, take things in stride.

Sounds like good advise

But there's knowone there by my side’

He leans back in his seat, his left hand on his thigh, tapping along to the all familiar rhythm as he sighs in content. Julia thinks he doesn't like the music that's playing and moves to turn it off.

“Oh, no wait,” he stops her, “No, leave it. Leave it. Oh this is good. This is Linda Ronstadt. Do you know who Linda Rondstadt is?”

“Yeah, I’ve listened to some of her songs.” Julia finally says, “This is my favorite song of hers.”

Daryl hums, smiling as a memory pups up in his head. He rarely remembered good things of his childhood but he could clearly remember his mom singing along as she did laundry in the summer sun. It was before she had turned to drinking wine, when she still smiled and still sang - wearing that yellow sundress she always wore in the summer, that his father didn't approve of, due to his jealous tendencies and her beauty that had everyone turning their heads. 

God, his mother was beautiful. 

She will forever be the most beautiful woman he’ll ever see. But from the moment Julia passed true the prison gates - there it was. That familiar beauty he couldn't put his finger on, but it was there and he had tried to deny it. Now being with her, he knew, and there was no denying. So he simply admired her from afar, quietly, or at least tried to. 

He would not put his feelings into words, because there were not enuff words that could possibly be enuff, no words that would do her justice. Neither would he be close - like he craved for so badly. The only exception had been last night. He had to, because he couldn't handle her sadness, the tears in her eyes. He was in agonizing pain, because he knew if he gave in like he had done, he would only hurt her, maybe even lose her. He didn't know how, but he knew good things never last for him. Not for Dixons. It never had.

Song after song played in the care. Julia didn't seem as sad nor quiet. She seemed to forget her sadness as she mindlessly sang along the country tunes. It was as if she had forgotten he was there or maybe she wasn't aware she was singing? But he didn't care. Her voice was so beautiful he never wanted her to stop.

The last song comes to an end, the car once more smothered in  humming from the engine. Julia washes a distance hurd endlessly walks true overgrown fields in the horizon. He notices the change in her demeanor. He worries the sadness in her eyes had returned, that he could no longer distract it with music that had seemed to work so well. But then Julia lens back in her seat to lock true the wind shield and she is the one that asked him a question and even though it's isn't much it’s something and she asks him,

“What if we don’t find them? What if they're gone?”

“We're gonna find them.” He tells her matter of factly.

“How do you know?” 

“I’m persistent.” 

And Julia knew that he was a very capable man. He was a tracker after all. This was what he did best. But she couldn't help but to feel this doubt the closer they were, fearing she would yet again get her hopes up only to be left disappointed. To be left with the dread, of what would be the point of going on, what would be her purpose in life, her driving force if not she could save humanity and make everything right.

“And what if they're not in Pittsburgh?”

“We continue west. Wyoming.”

Julia nods, tracing their way west from highway 70 to 76. It would be a long drive, maybe 25h, but she prefers that then walking true six states that would take them months.

“So, we're in Wyoming then?”

“Somewhere close to Cody.” Daryl tells her and Julia begins to look at the state maps to get a closer look. And when she locates it with her finger, Daryl senses her question,

“If we don't find them there, the odds are they will be holding up in another hospital in a nearby city. Ain’t to many of ‘em in Wyoming.”

Julia hums with her eyes on the map, “Chee-Yen,” She tries to word one of the cities.

“Cheyenne.” Daryl corrects her.

“Che-” she begins "really?" Daryl looks at her and nods in confirmation. 

Julia continues naming the cities, “Cheyenne…Laramie…Casper–  Julia puts down the map book in her lap, her hands resting on top of it, “Way are you doing all of this?”

Daryl looks at her, taken back by her straightforward question. And he didn't know what to say. Or more, how to say it.

“Seems like the right thing is all.” 

Julia studies him, something is different, she can feel it, but she was so curious remembering how he had been so dismissive of this in the beginning. When he told her to forget it, that it would get her killed in the end.

“What do you mean?”

And Daryl wished for her to stop asking questions. To stop being so curious. Even though he had been the one that had longed for conversations in their smothered silence.

“You know.” He simply told her. As if it would shut her up before she would find out the real reason, his deepest truth that needed to be kept from her.

“What?” She pushed on and Daryl relents with the half hearted truth,

“I thought it was nuts. But then…

“Then?” She prompts eagerly.

Daryl sighs softly as he squints against the midday sun, “Then your scar convinced me I guess. That it’s real. And I believe youre doing the right thing… That maybe… a cure is possible.”

His confession made her smile brightly at him, and he thought for a moment time had stopped. He wanted to kiss her, stroke her soft cheeks, feel her pigtail braids between his fingers. His heart beating so hard against his chest he worried she could hear it.

“You really believe I’m doing the right thing?” She asked, hope glittering in her eyes.

“Yah,” he said earnestly, making Julia's heart swell. 

"Yah it is,” she echoed,  “I’m gonna make it right again, for the ones we lost. I want to give people a chance. That’s all I want… Do you think that’s too much to ask for?”

“No,” he said. Because anything she asked for was his life mission. Seeing her like this, with hope in her eyes and a peace in her smile he couldn't feel anything but to do right by her.

Pt.8 Masterlist

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #fanfics #twd fanfiction #daryl dixion imagine #apocalypse

[kazoosandfannypacks]

A few tropes I've seen in Captain Swan AUs that I adore

(by no means a comprehensive list, nor are these present in every fic!)

David and Emma are siblings. In almost every modern au, David is Emma's overprotective older brother, and Mary Margaret is her sister-in-law. They are almost never her parents.

Liam is alive! Victory!

Liam is not alive! Angst!

Rumbelle must be fixed. There is an innate realization in CaptainSwan fans that Rumplestiltskin has committed too many errors and Belle deserves better, so I'm delighted by how many modern aus pair her off with someone else entirely, as a treat. This often pairs well with a Liam Lives AU.

Elsa! Elsa only showed up in half a season of ouat, but she's often given a sister or close friend role for Emma, and that's honestly very beautiful.

Jefferson and Hook are friends. These guys literally never interact in canon, but they have a good fanon friendship for whatever reason

While the villainization of Milah, Neal and Walsh is common in fics, I have never seen a fic in which Graham is the evil ex boyfriend. In this house we honor Graham Humbert.

Brennan Jones is a bad dad, always, in every universe. I remember reading a fic where not only was Brennan still alive and being a bad dad, but Cora was Killian's stepmother, and there was a section where Bennan told Cora off for something she did and I thought "wow, you know you're a bad parent when Brennan Jones calls you out on it."

#once upon a time #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #anti rumbelle #belle french #graham humbert

[kelyon]

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

What the Rumbelle fandom needs now?

ANYTHING though I will also accept NEW BLOOD. We've talked before about the trouble with being in an old fandom whose show has been off the air for years. The old guard is still around and sometimes we get new people, but it will never be the hive of creativity that it was when we had one week between episodes to fix whatever nonsense the show threw at us.

MORE SMUT. Rumbelle has a reputation, dammit! The internet as a whole is going though a stage of prudery, but I am on the side of UNABASHED FILTH. I want writers to take risks! I want to be offended and grossed out! I want to discover new kinks through fanfiction!

More angst/drama (in fics). In today's world, I understand the impulse to use fandom as a retreat from troubles. But sometimes escapism can also come from reading about how bad off fictional characters can have it! This goes with my earlier point of wanting writers to take risks. Write something that makes people sad! Remember how angsty Rumbelle used to be before we knew it would all be okay? Live in that moment! Rumple spent 30 years thinking Belle was dead and never knew he loved her! SAVOR THAT ANGST! Tear out my soul! Please!

#tmi tuesday #rumbelle #write smut and angst so I'm not the only one doing it!

[the-chipped-cup-awards]

2024 Chipped Cup Awards - Masterlist

Here, once again, are the winners of the 2024 Chipped Cup Awards

FLUFF:

Family: Tea and Roses by @thatravenclawbitch

Comfort: Struck By a Golden Arrow by @avatoh

Fix-it: Ritual by @peacehopeandrats

Reunion: A Dream is a Wish by @rowofstars

SMUT:

Kink/BDSM: On The House by @kelyon

Romance: Brandy, Apples, and Spice by @rufeepeach

Comedy: Accidents by @peacehopeandrats

Threesome: Fulfilling a Fantasy by @thescholarlystrumpet

First Time: Queen Takes Knight by @emospritelet

PWP: In the Dark and Wicked Hours by @rowofstars

ANGST:

Death: Strong for Belle by @desperatemurph

Hurts So Good: To Have and To Hold by @thatravenclawbitch

Misunderstanding: Unexpected But Not Unwelcome by @tickletorso

ROMANCE:

Date (overall) Lost and Found by @peacehopeandrats

Courtship: The Sweetest Dream by @threepwoodmarley

First Meeting: Portrait of the Heart by @chippedcupwrites

GENERAL:

One Shot: Pages of Reverie by @chippedcupwrites

Series: Lover’s Leap by @eirian-houpe

Novel Length: Mountains, Streams, and Magical Things by @peacehopeandrats

Short Fic: Babysitting by @timelordthirteen

Holiday Centric: Brandy, Apples, and Spice by @rufeepeach

Remix: Our Masks by @lotus0kid

Crossover: A Blade for Belfrey by @eirian-houpe

Dark Castle: Marble by @peacehopeandrats

Storybrooke: Leaving Storybrooke by @peacehopeandrats

"Missing Years": The Tent of Infinite Adventure by @peacehopeandrats

Wish!Verse: Deception by @eirian-houpe

SPECIAL CATEGORIES:

Golden Lace: The Storybrooke Whisky Appreciation Society by @threepwoodmarley

Woven Beauty: Undefined Desires by @worryinglyinnocent

Background Swanfire: To Have and to Hold by @thatravenclawbitch

Afterlife: Granted by @peacehopeandrats

Drama: Love Me Before the Last Petal Falls by @deliriumsdelight7

Supernatural/Sci-fi/Horror: The Cunning by @mareyshelley

Comedy: Lacey and the Tramp by @chippedcupwrites

AU-Original: Wretched Beginnings by @poorobscureplainandlittle

AU- OUAT: Tales of Gold by @JurisLadyAnna

AU-Other Media: The Black Swan by @deliriumsdelight7

Creature: The Finfolk’s Bride by @chippedcupwrites

Unexpected Twist: Contract by @kelyon

Bobby Squared: A Blade for Belfrey by @eirian-houpe

Trope: Love Me Before the Last Petal Falls by @deliriumsdelight7

English Language: To Nurse by @charon53

EVENTS

RSS: If You Will Be My Queen by @eirian-houpe

Fluffapalooza (Fic): The Tea Shop by @peacehopeandrats

Fluffapalooza (Art): Kiss Me Again, It’s Working by @milaeryn

Monthly Rumbelling: The Landlord and the Princess by @Rumplerose (AO3)

CHARACTER AWARDS

Belle: The Not So Dark One by @charlotteashmore13

Dark One!Belle: Rags to Riches by @alphashley14

Lacey: Sore Hearted Souls by @nerdrumple

Spinner!Rumple: Witch and Spinner by @Strummer_Pinks

Dark One!Rumple: Gilded by @eirian-houpe

Wish!Rumple: Once There Was a Wish by @peacehopeandrats

Mr. Gold: The Caretaker by @thestraggletag

Detective Weaver: Forgery by @peacehopeandrats

Baelfire/Neal: A House Built With Love by @of-princes-and-savages

Gideon: Finding You by @clarahue

OC Rumbelle Child: The Zoo by @peacehopeandrats

Villain: Cora in On the House by @kelyon

BFF/Wingman: Mountains, Streams, and Magical Things by @peacehopeandrats

ART

Fan Art: Kiss Me Again, It’s Working by @milaeryn

Graphic Art: And Love is When Someone Who Even KNows Your Scars Stays To Kiss You by @chippedcupwrites

AU In Art: Belle Isn’t Fascinated by the Idea of Marrying Gaston by @notonlymice

Fluff Art: Belle French and the Dork One by @chippedcupwrites

Angsty Art: In My Memory It Doesn’t End by @ace-cf-cups

Comic/Graphic Novel: Wearing Each Other’s Clothes by @angelqueen13art

Use of Color: Kiss Me Again, It’s Working by @milaeryn

Video: Your Beauty Never Ever Scared Me by @chippedcupwrites

SUPERLATIVES:

Best Artist: @chippedcupwrites

Best Author: @kelyon

Best New Author: @ace-cf-cups

Best Rumbelle Fic: The Language of Flowers by @deliriumsdelight7

Best Anyelle Fic: Let’s Spend the Night Together by @ifishouldvanish

Best Anyem Fic: Tyger Tyger by @shakespeareanhoneybadgers

Rumbelle Lifetime Achievement: @jackabelle73

#the chipped cup awards #cca 2024 #award ceremony

[ace-cf-cups]

Happy Skin Deep day!

As many other events/things in this fandom, last year I was watching from afar while this year I strive to actively participate in the life of Rumbelle fandom ( also this sounds very fun ), so I wanna try playing "Fluffify This!")

In short, send me angst prompts to turn them into fluffy ficlets about Rumbelle!

Golden Lace, Woven Lace, Woven Beauty and Anyelle/em prompts are also accepted.

#rumbelle #rumplestiltskin #belle french #rumbelle fic #anyelle #anyem #fluffapalooza #fluffify this

[peacehopeandrats]

How to Date a Librarian

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, Gideon (Once Upon a Time), Prince Charming | David Nolan, Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Ariel (Once Upon a Time), Original Characters

Additional Tags: Rumbelle Secret Santa 2022, RSS 2022, Fluff, Angst, Humor, Storybrooke (Once Upon a Time), Missing Years, Family, Awkward Dates, Romance

Summary: With a new, restless baby, the Golds are struggling to find peace. Belle isn't getting enough sleep, Gideon doesn't feel like he has enough attention, and Rumple just wants to make his wife feel special. When their usual hamburger date gets rejected, Rumple turns to his friends for advice. David knows about love life after children, but his take on it is royal and less than helpful. Jefferson wasn't always a single father, but as a man who never went anywhere after his child was born, his dates are a little off from the norm. Enter Regina, who out of everyone, knows how help Rumple create the grandest of gestures hidden within a display of power. Meanwhile, Belle is left to struggle with her own troubles. If she tells Rumple he's trying too hard, she'll hurt his feelings or worse, make him shut down entirely. Ruby and Ariel to the rescue! Will our favorite couple ever find their happily ever after, or will they have to give in to the fact that clumsy dates are just the start of their new beginning?

Created for @leni-ba for the Rumbelle Secret Santa of 2022.

Read on AO3

How to Date a Librarian - Chapter 1

Darkness filled the main bedroom of the Golds' pink Victorian, making Rumple shuffle uneasily through the space to find the edge of the bed. At three o'clock in the morning all of Storybrooke was silent and still, at least that was the case now that he'd managed to get Gideon back to sleep. Their newborn was an exceptionally needy being, wanting contact at all hours. He also had a powerful set of lugs. It was a miracle that none of their neighbors were complaining about the noise. Then again, they were probably afraid to say something, lest the terrible Dark One turn them into toads.

"Is he really asleep?" Belle’s gentle moan was muffled by the covers that piled up around her shoulders.

"Finally," Rumple assured her as he got into bed.

She snuggled close and let out a deep sigh. "Do you think he’s so uncomfortable because he can still see his past?"

"I doubt it." Rumple didn't want to think of that horror. No one should have to endure visions of the things Gideon had told him about, let alone someone so small and innocent. He felt cursed as a parent, forever unable to reach through some magical void and solve the problems of either of his children after he had created them himself.

Read more on AO3

[Chapter 2]  [Chapter 3]  [Chapter 4]  [Chapter 5]  [Chapter 6]  [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

#Rumbelle #Rumbelle Secret Santa #fluff #angst #humor #storybrooke #missing years #family #awkward dates #romance

[abovethemists]

Ashes and Fruitcake

Summary: It's been one year since Father Gold's Christmas Eve tryst with Belle. They're both still dealing with the consequences of that fateful night. A sequel to Brimstone and Mistletoe.

A/N: I finished my Christmas fic and it’s less than a month late! That’s progress people. 

Read it on AO3

*

His name was Gideon. 

Gideon French. 

Gideon French. 

The name taunted him, it mocked him, it damned him. 

Gideon had been a valiant warrior, defeating the Midianites with a mere 300 soldiers, his faith in God leading him to victory. The name was an insult meant to shame him with his own cowardice. Father Joseph Gold was anything but valiant. 

He wasn’t sure where he had first heard the name, only that he’d become aware of it through some small town osmosis. He’d known Belle was pregnant, of course. No matter that she’d stopped attending church some months back, it was hard not to notice the change. She hadn’t said anything to him, hadn’t approached him, and so he’d left her alone. If the child was his, she would certainly come to him. 

No, Belle must have some other lover in town, someone free to be with her as she deserved. No matter that he never saw her with anyone else. No matter that she seemed smaller, and wanner and lonelier with every passing week. 

It was really none of his business. He was her priest, and not even that anymore, not since the final Sunday she’d shown up in his pews, some time in mid March. 

For that, at least, he could take full blame.

After the midnight service last Christmas Eve, he’d panicked. Following their tryst on the altar, Belle had come back to his small rectory behind the church, braving the cold for the warmth of his hearth…and his bed. They’d made use of that bed. At the time, he’d been so drunk on Belle’s kisses, on her presence, on her very being, that he had no space for shame or fear. But Christmas morning dawned cold and bright and oh so clear. The snow melted away to a muddy sludge and Belle had slipped away just as easily. 

She had appeared on the third pew that following Sunday, her face downcast, as if she feared to look at him. And he knew, then and there, that she regretted what had happened between them. How could she not? So he kept his distance. Belle stopped volunteering for bake sales and Sunday school classes, and eventually he stopped seeing her in church altogether. 

It soon became clear why. Belle, so perfectly petite, a fact he had once delighted in, could not long hide the belly burgeoning beneath her blouses. Even without the idle gossip that followed her down the street, he’d have had to be a blind man not to notice. And he knew, knew without a shadow of a doubt, the child was his. 

The first time he’d seen her in that state, outside Granny’s diner on a warm spring day, he’d wanted to run to her. For one wild moment, he’d wanted to tell the world this beautiful woman was bearing his child. He’d wanted to hold her in his arms, tell the church to fuck off, and beg her to marry him. 

But then their eyes had met across the street and before he could approach her, she’d hurried off in the opposite direction. 

And Belle never approached him. She never showed up at the church doors late at night to accuse him, to demand he acknowledge what he had done. She never found him in the diner or spoke to him at all. And so he let himself believe that she had found another lover. That perhaps some strong, handsome, younger man, a man who was available to her, had shown up in town. That must be the reason. Belle would tell him if the child was truly his. Soon there would be a diamond sparkling on her ring finger and he would be called on to oversee her nuptials to this mystery man. He would do it, do it with as much of a smile as he could muster. He would see his Belle happy, even if, especially if, it wasn’t with him.  

But he was never approached for his professional services either. He never saw Belle on the arm of another man and no news reached his ears of a boyfriend or fiance. Quite the opposite in fact. 

Over the course of several months Belle went from a liked and vital member of the community to the town pariah. It was remarkable that in this modern world, a town like Storybrooke could still be so backward. He heard confession from most of the sinners in town. He knew exactly what they got up to better than anyone else. To see them shun Belle for one simple mistake, one he was probably at fault for, shattered his heart more than anything else. 

It seemed the central reason for their hatred of Belle was her refusal to name a father for her baby. Every woman in town imagined it was her husband who had done the deed and they hated the beautiful Belle for it. Every man who had harbored dreams of claiming Belle for themselves resented that she’d clearly chosen someone else. No one had the slightest idea of who the father could be, and so it was everyone and no one. If she’d just named a man, everything would calm down. 

But she never did. 

And he never asked because he was afraid. He was afraid she would regret their night together, and even more afraid that she wouldn’t. Because if she didn’t, he would be forced to make a choice, a choice he was neither prepared nor willing to make. 

It was a weary walk the few yards to his home that Christmas Eve night. Belle hadn’t been in the congregation for that evening’s service, nor had he expected her to be. But he couldn’t help but think of her tonight of all nights. What was she doing even now? Putting her son to bed, whispering to him about the wonders the next day would bring? Rocking him as she sang carols in her slightly off tune voice? He’d never seen the child up close, but he imagined he had dark eyes, golden brown as they gazed up at the blue eyes of his mother. It was a serene scene, a beautiful one, one with no place for him. 

At least it wasn’t snowing this year, he thought as he trudged up the lane to his front door, the weedy overgrowth on the cobblestones dried and brown and crunching beneath his steps. Despite the cold, it had been a sunny day giving way to a cloudless starry night. There would be no white Christmas, no getting snowed in. It was for the best. 

The rectory was dark, quiet, and cold as he entered, shutting the door behind him and shrugging off his coat to hang it on a hook beside the door. He flicked the lights on and the modest little house came brightly into view. The first floor was a small living room open to a kitchen with a rickety wooden table, older than Gold himself, wedged in beside the fridge. Narrow stairs at the back of the house led upstairs to his bedroom. He closed his eyes at the sight. A year ago tonight he’d been stumbling up those stairs with Belle’s arms around his neck, their mouths fused together as though they’d never get another chance and couldn’t stop kissing for one moment, even for breath. They’d been right, it turned out. 

He turned away from the sight of the stairs, going instead to strike up a fire in the hearth, the little stone fireplace enough to keep the small space warm once it got going. Once there was a nice blaze sapping the chill from the air, he slapped his hands against his thighs, glancing around for a distraction. There was the TV, not that he got many channels, and not that he was much in the mood for The Grinch or Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer or any other holiday special that would be airing tonight. He could read a book. He could plan out his sermons for the new year. Or…

He had a bottle of whisky, gathering dust in the back of his cupboards. 

Gold took an unconscious step back toward the kitchen. Before he knew it, he’d thrown open the cupboard doors, pushing aside the tinned vegetables and ravioli until he spotted it. He shouldn’t imbibe, he knew. It was a slippery slope, one he’d seen his father ski down as fast as humanly possible. It was in his blood. He could all too easily be just like his father, a drunk who abandoned his own son. 

The thought sent bile creeping up the back of his throat. 

No. Gideon wasn’t his child. Belle would have told him. She would have said something over the past year, given him some sign. 

His fingers itched for the bottle. He wasn’t certain why he even kept it in his home. It was almost as though he was constantly testing himself, testing his own will. He would hold fast in this, even though he’d failed so spectacularly in other tests of his self control.  

A knock on the door startled him, and he slapped the cupboard door closed. A quick glance down at his wristwatch told him it was nearly 8:30. He could only imagine the desperate soul driven to his doorstep so late on Christmas Eve. It was no doubt someone looking for counsel in this season of togetherness. It could certainly make one feel alone, he knew. 

This was good, Gold reasoned, a distraction. He would offer an ear and advice to his parishioner and then head to bed. Tomorrow was another day, one with no less painful memories of Belle. But time would ease this heartache, time would ease everything.

He opened the door with a benign smile on his face, one that fell almost immediately into a look of shock. The object of his recent thoughts and all his desires was standing on his doorstep. 

She looked different from this time last year. Gone was the festive little red dress with gold accents. In its place, a long down puffer coat that covered most of her small body. It seemed after a full winter in Maine, Belle had finally invested in weather appropriate clothing. 

“Hey,” he said, otherwise struck dumb by her presence. 

“Hey,” she replied. 

They stood there for a tense moment, just staring at each other. Eventually Belle asked, “May I come in?” 

“Of course,” Gold said, backing out of her way and letting her into his small living quarters. 

“Where’s Gid– your baby?” he asked, stumbling over the words. If Belle noticed, she didn’t let on. 

“Mary-Margaret is with him,” she said. “Thinks I’m running a last minute errand.” 

“Ah,” he said, by way of answer. Mary-Margaret Blanchard was another town pariah like Belle, after her affair with the married David Nolan had resulted in his divorce. It made sense the two women would band together. 

“Here,” she said, thrusting out her hands, and Gold realized for the first time that she was holding a small bundle wrapped in plastic wrap. He reached out for it, instinctually. 

“Fruitcake,” she said with a nod as Gold took the package. It was hard and quite a bit heavier than its size would let on. “It’s probably terrible. I’m not much of a cook. But it’s Christmas and fruitcake seems to be the type of thing you make at Christmas even if no one really likes it or wants it. I suppose I could have done gingerbread or sugar cookies or something more crowd pleasing but I’ve always been a bit off I guess.” 

She finished off her rambling, twisting her now empty hands together. Gold stared down at the fruitcake. 

“Thank you,” he said after a moment. “For thinking of me.” 

“Of course,” she said with a nod. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Merry Christmas,” he returned. 

They stood there for a long moment, the silence hanging between them like something tangible. It had been ages since they’d seen each other, even longer since they’d exchanged more than a word. Yet here she was, looking up at him with those crystal clear blue eyes, the ones that haunted his dreams. Then Belle spun around moving through his small living space, stopping at the framed painting of the Virgin Mary hung above his second hand television set. 

“She must have been terrified, huh?” she asked, still looking at the painting with her back to him. 

“I beg your pardon?” Gold asked, not following her train of thought. 

“She was alone,” Belle continued. “An angel springs up and tells you you’re going to have a baby, immaculately conceived. I bet no one believed her. They probably all thought she was a harlot. I bet she faced stares and condemnation.” 

Gold set the fruitcake down on his kitchen table with a louder than expected thump before crossing the small living room to where Belle was standing. 

“I know that feeling,” Belle said, her voice so quiet he almost couldn’t hear her, despite the close space. His mouth went dry at her words, silence enveloping them but for the crackle of the fire. 

“Belle,” he began, his voice rough.

“I’m moving away,” she said suddenly, turning to face him. 

He felt his stomach drop, as though he’d missed a step going downstairs and was now in free fall. 

“Excuse me?” he asked. 

“I’m moving,” she said again. “In the new year.” 

“I see,” he said, dumbly. He didn’t see. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t fathom that Belle would disappear from his life altogether, no matter that their relationship had been nonexistent over the past year. 

“I…” she began, before trailing off. “Do you have anything else to say?” 

“Where?” he blurted out. 

“Boston,” she replied with a wry twist of her lips. “The anonymity of city life seems appealing for some reason.” 

Gold nodded. Boston. That wasn’t too far. It wasn’t the other side of the country. Perhaps she could visit. Perhaps he would see her again. 

“Why?” he asked, rather dumbly. Belle gave him a choice eyebrow.

“You know why,” she returned, stepping over to the squashy loveseat beside the fire and sinking down on it. Gold remained standing where he was. “There’s no future for me here.” 

“Not with that attitude,” Gold quipped and Belle gave him something that was almost a smile. 

“If it was just me, I could stay,” she said, softly. “I could bear the weight of the stares and whispers. But it’s not just me. They’ll treat my son differently. He’ll always be the boy without a father. In Boston, no one will care.” 

“The boy without a father,” he repeated, the words rasping out of his dry throat. He’d once been called the same. 

“Yes,” Belle said with a nod, her gaze steady and piercing until he could no longer look at her. He stared into the fire instead, the flames dancing and licking against the wood until spots formed in his vision.  

“Well, I suppose that’s the real reason I came here tonight,” Belle said, standing up once more, her energy restless. “Horrible fruitcake notwithstanding. I didn’t want you to hear it through the grapevine that I was gone. I wanted to tell you face to face.” 

“Why?” he couldn’t help but blurt out. He and Belle had shared one magical night a year ago and had barely seen each other since. No one would think it odd for her to leave town without notice to him. There was only one reason she would tell him. There was only one reason for him to know. 

Belle’s eyes widened for a second, before she schooled her features. 

“Because I care about you,” she said with a little shrug. “And if our positions were reversed, I’d want you to tell me.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, needlessly. Of course he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d been in the same position in the same church for two decades. He didn’t move on, up or out. He stayed in his comfort zone, like the coward he’d always been. 

“I know,” she said, with a wan little smile. “I wouldn’t want you to. Storybrooke suits you. I can’t imagine it without you.” 

“It could suit you too,” he said in a small voice. “It seemed to, once upon a time.” 

The sad smile fell from Belle’s face as she shook her head. 

“Not anymore. And I have to do what’s best for Gideon, give him his best chance.” 

Gold felt himself nodding, as if against his own will. It felt as though he was watching his own body from somewhere far away, unable to control his own movements. He wanted to yell at her to stay. He wanted to demand an answer to the question that had been burning on the tip of his tongue ever since that day last spring when he’d spotted her outside of Granny’s, her white button down shirt straining across her midsection. She couldn’t just leave. She couldn’t take away his son, not if the three month old babe he saw her pushing around town in a pram had even the slightest potential of being his. 

But his cowardice choked him. 

Belle reached out a hand, her knuckles brushing against the back of his hand. He wanted to grab her hand, to pull her back to him, to keep her with him. Instead he balled his hand into a fist. 

“Okay,” she said, looking up at him a little wistfully. “I guess this is goodbye then.” 

He didn’t say anything as she stepped away, back toward his front door. She was about to leave, forever. He would never know Gideon’s paternity and it would haunt him until his dying day. She was leaving. 

Idiot! He felt his subconscious yelling at him. Stop her! You fucking idiot! 

“Belle, wait,” he called after her. 

She stopped, turning back to face him with a wary look on her face. 

“Is…is he…”

Belle crossed the few steps between them, pressing a finger to his lips before he could finish his question.

“Don’t ask me something you don’t want the answer to.” 

His hand came up to take hers, pulling it away from his lips. He held her small hand loosely in his own and she didn’t pull away. 

“Is he mine?” he asked, his voice low but sure, all traces of fear and nervousness gone. 

Belle let out a shallow breath, her exquisite eyes wet and shining and she looked up at him. 

“You know he is,” she said in a whisper. 

It was like a dam had broken. He knew, had always known, of course he did. But he’d had plausible deniability until this moment. He had a son. A son! And he’d lost so much time with him already. 

His hand tightened around Belle’s, pulling her closer to him. 

“Why didn’t you say something?” 

“I didn’t want to ruin your life.” 

“So you’d ruin our son’s instead?” he demanded. 

Belle blanched at his words. Our son. 

“You never said anything,” she countered. “That morning, a year ago, you could barely stand to look at me. I took advantage of you. I made you break your vows! You hate me!” 

“You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do,” he said, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek. “And I could never hate you.” 

Belle looked up at him, wide eyed. 

“Then why did you cut me out? Why were you so cold?” 

“I thought you must regret it, in the cold light of day. Even if I was…available, you could do so much better than me.” 

She shook her head, tears spilling on her flushed cheeks. “I don’t regret it. I could never regret it.” 

He pulled her to him, pressing his forehead against hers and breathing her in, the sweet scent of her hair and skin and breath, everything a lure to draw him in. 

“I’ve been so stupid,” he said with a sigh. 

“No,” she said, pulling back to look at him. “Why would you up end your life, everything you’ve ever known, for me?” 

“Because I love you,” he said simply. “I have done from the first moment I saw you.”

Belle sucked in a ragged gasp. 

“You love me?” she asked, her voice small and wavering, as if she could scarce believe it. 

Gold could do nothing but nod, tears springing to his eyes and choking his speech. God, he loved her. He’d always loved her. Why did he ever question it? Why would he not admit it, even to himself? He felt unburdened suddenly, as though a loadstone had been taken from around his neck. This was love, real love, a rare and precious gift. God could never condemn such beauty. His feelings for Belle could never be a sin. He wanted to tell her again and again. But he’d settle for kissing her. 

He pulled her firmly against his chest, kissing her hard on the mouth. Belle didn’t resist, her arms winding around his neck as she melted into him.

His hands trailed down over her curves, hidden beneath the thick down of her coat. He wanted to rip the offending garment off her, he wanted to take her to his bedroom and show her with his body how much he loved and adored and missed her. But a moment later, Belle was pulling away, a firm but gentle hand against his chest. 

“I can’t do this again,” she said, breathlessly. “We can’t do this.” 

“Why not?” he begged, his hands still gripping her through her coat. 

“Because it won’t change anything,” she said with a shake of her head. “It won’t change our circumstances. It’ll just make it harder for me to leave.” 

“Then don’t leave,” he said, pulling her into another kiss. She gave in for longer this time, her hands tracing over his chest, going to wrap around his waist. He pushed her coat open, his hands skimming over her sweater, pulling at it until he could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers. Belle shivered beneath his inexpert touches, her mouth opening and her tongue tangling with his. Their kisses were messy, and hungry, and devouring. Belle’s coat hit the floor a moment later and then he was maneuvering her back onto the loveseat, blanketing her body with his. 

Belle’s legs wrapped around his waist, holding him to her as his mouth slipped away from hers, across her cheek and down her neck. She gasped as he bit lightly at her shoulder, her fingers carding through his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. He traced the v-neck of her sweater with his kisses, coming to rest between her breasts, breathing in the sweet scent of her. They were fuller than the last time they’d done this, and he marveled at the change, cupping her breasts with his hands. 

“So beautiful,” he said, looking down at her, dark hair spread across the arm of his loveseat. 

He massaged her right breast through her sweater and Belle let out a moan, her hands going to grip on to his forearms. 

“Don’t do that,” she gasped. “You’ll make my milk let down.” 

“Then I’ll lick up every drop,” he said, his voice husky. “I want every part of you, Belle.” 

She looked up at him, her eyes blown wide and lips parted. He couldn’t help himself. He had to kiss her again. Kissing her was as necessary as breathing. If only he could kiss her enough, he would prove to her that she should stay, that he loved her and wanted her. That there was no reason to ever leave Storybrooke when she had everything she needed right here, in his arms. 

Belle’s hips gyrated against his, her core grinding against his hard cock through all the layers of their clothing as her hands carded through his hair. Her breathing was growing more ragged, her legs tightening around his waist.  

She gripped on to him so tightly he thought she’d never let go as she thrust herself against him. His cock was painful trapped inside his trousers. He wanted to be inside her, he wanted to feel her come apart around him as she’d done a year ago, the night they’d made their own miracle in Gideon. But Belle was chasing her bliss, rubbing against him and creating such delicious friction he was certain she was going to make him come in his pants two Christmases running. 

He thrust against her, burying his face in her neck as he spilled himself, the feeling of post orgasmic shame attempting to creep in. He quashed down the feeling. 

Belle gave a shuddering gasp, throwing her head back against the arm of the loveseat as she came. Her face was rapturous for a second, beautiful and angelic, before it took on a more pained expression. Gold watched the change with a growing sense of dread. 

They were both breathless for a moment and Gold pushed Belle's hair back from her sweaty brow, kissing her temple. They were both still fully dressed, no clothing displaced. They'd technically done nothing wrong. And yet Belle's face looked conflicted. He wasn't sure if she was angry about what had happened, or frustrated, or just sad. She certainly didn't look like a woman who'd realized she wanted to stay in a small town and make a life with her parish priest. He felt his heart sink as he watched her. 

“I have to go,” she said finally. Gold just stared down at her. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I have to feed Gideon,” she said. “I have to let Mary-Margaret get home. I’ve already stayed here way too long. I–I didn’t come here for this.”

“I know you didn’t,” he assured her. 

“I’m sorry,” she said with a shake of her head as she sat up, gently pushing him off her. He rolled to the side as Belle scooted out from under him, standing up and pulling her sweater straight, fussing over her appearance. There was a love bite blooming on her neck, her hair was mussed, she looked like she'd been up to exactly what she had been. Gold knew he was no better, the front of his pants wet and sticking to him.   

“Don’t leave,” he begged again, still lying prone on the love seat. “Don’t take Gideon from me before I even get a chance to know him.” 

“Would you claim him?” she asked, finally meeting his eyes. “It would change everything for you. You would lose your job, your home, your whole life as you know it would be destroyed.” 

“But I would have you,” he said earnestly, hopping up from the loveseat and reaching for Belle. Weighing the two on a scale wasn’t even fair. Belle and Gideon would win. They would win every time.

“Will you still feel that way tomorrow in the cold light of day?” Belle asked. 

“I…” he came up short. She was right. He would be jobless, homeless, he would have nothing to offer either Belle or their child. They were better off without him. They would always be better off without him. He’d never been anything but a burden for the few who’d ever loved him. He loved Belle too much to be her burden. 

Belle nodded, accepting his non answer. 

“You’re married to the church,” she said, lifting her hand to glance across his cheek, feather soft. “and I’m the other woman. There’s no place for me here.” 

She picked her coat up from the floor, wrapping it around herself protectively before looking back at him sadly.

“I love you too, Joseph,” she said, a shiver going through him at the sound of his given name on her lips. “You should know that.” 

And then she disappeared into the night. And the coward that he was, he let her go. 

#rumbelle fic #fic: brimstone and mistletoe #raven's fic #rumbelle #angst #slightly smutty #mostly angst