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thescholarlystrumpet · 7 years

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All Through the Night Rated Explicit

Smutty one-shot for the @a-monthly-rumbelling January prompt: “I don’t mind if we sleep in the same bed tonight.”

Bae's nanny, Belle, harbors a secret and - she's certain - unrequited crush on her employer, Bae's father. But secrets can be tricky things to keep when people get trapped together by a thunderstorm, with no electricity and only one bed.

Bed-sharing!smut with some feels and added child!Baelfire cuteness bonus. Tropes abound!

A/N: Big thank you to @rumple-belle for both encouraging me to just go ahead and write this and for beta-ing it!

On AO3 HERE

“I don’t mind if we sleep in the same bed tonight,” Baeley asserted, holding up a corner of his quilt to welcome her under it.

Belle bit back a smile at his earnest little face, completely unaware of dimensions and how she’d never possibly fit in the nook he occupied. A growing boy of six and a half, he’d be too small, himself, in a year or so.

“Well that’s very sweet of you but I’ll be just fine on the couch.” She smoothed the blanket up under his chin.

“Oh. Are you sure? It’s kinda lumpy.” The boy’s expression twisted with distaste.

Belle cocked her head to one side, “Are you worried about my comfort or does someone not want to sleep alone like a big boy? Is it because of the storm?”

Bae’s lips pursed. “Nuh-uhh. I am a big boy! I’m just being nice. You can sleep wherever you want.” he grumped, sounding oddly like his father in his rush of obstinate defensiveness.

Accustomed to her young charge growing more mercurial at bedtime, Belle gentled her tone. “I know you are, Bae. You’re growing up so fast! But even big boys can dislike big scary sounds like thunder. Even I get scared of it sometimes, you know.”

He wrinkled his nose at her. “You don’t get scared of nothing.”

“Anything,” she corrected automatically.

“Anything,” Bae echoed dutifully. “Right?”

“It’s alright to be afraid, sometimes,” she assured him, rather than face more questions. If only he knew…

Sure, she was lying about the thunder. That hadn’t frightened her since she was younger than Bae. But Belle definitely lived with a large and overarching fear. One that consumed her thoughts and left her more than her share of sleepless nights. It was as adult a fear as she had ever felt: the fear of revealing her most secret heart to one who would surely reject it. Belle lived in the shadow of an undeniable and overwhelming attachment to the most unsuitable and indifferent man she knew - her employer and Bae’s father, Mr. Gold.

Loving Bae was easy. Most days, when he wasn’t cranky from staying up too late, he was an absolute delight; sweet, intelligent, and highly inquisitive. He kept her on her toes and she treasured the way his eyes lit up whenever she helped him to discover new facts about salamanders or satellites or whatever new subject had caught his fancy that week. They went to the library every weekend so he could stock up on books for them to read together. Now that he was on chapter books, he would even insist on reading to her, at times. Bae was her little darling and she loved him unequivocally.

His enigmatic father, on the other hand, was another story. He should have been nothing more to her than the father of her charge, the man who signed her checks. He should have been a glorified roommate, since she’d finally agreed to move into their guest room after that messy break-up with Garrett left her homeless. He should have been a friend, co-parent, or mentor. He should have been anything but the object of her increasingly embarrassing fantasies, the one person in town whose very silhouette could make her heart jump into her throat, the man she couldn’t stop picturing as the quintessential part of her someday Happy Ever After.

Belle had been raised on fairy tales. Or rather she raised herself once her mother passed away and her negligent father stopped even trying to be a parent. Belle had wanted that knight on a white horse so badly as a girl, as a teen, even into early adulthood. Unfortunately, in Storybrooke, there had only been Garrett and his gas guzzling car, and his possessive grasp, and his wandering eye.

Mr. Edmund Gold was certainly no Prince Charming but he had rescued her anyway, in her time of need. And his brusque manners weren’t so off-putting once she’d gotten to know him. He could be surprisingly funny, even charismatic when his guard was down. And the way he was with Bae these days was so alien from the way she’d first seen him (the way the whole rest of town still saw him), all warm affection and playful teasing. Belle liked to think she’d been an influence for the better in that regard.

It was just about three weeks ago, while Gold and Bae were playing, that Belle had first realized she was falling in love. In a moment of weakness, she’d let herself imagine what it would be like to have Mr. Gold look at her with the kind of affection he only ever bestowed on his son.

“Bae?”

The velvety voice of the man himself, broke Belle’s reverie. He stood in the doorway of the tiny room dressed in flannel pajama bottoms and a shaggy robe, his long hair still damp at the very ends. He had a battery powered lantern slung around his wrist on a cord, the blueish light throwing his already striking features into a deep, shadowy bas relief.

They’d been just coming back from the lake, the sun sinking fast toward the horizon, when they got caught in a sudden downpour. A streak of lightning lit the sky, followed in seconds by a roll of thunder. The raindrops felt sharp as needles against Belle’s skin, blown hard by the rising wind. Returning to town on foot, as had been the original plan, would be impossible. They made a snap decision to head to Gold’s cabin, instead. All three were soaked and shivering by the time they arrived. For a day that had dawned quite warm and sunny for fall, it had come to a rather miserable end.

Belle had ushered Bae into a hot shower to warm his numbed fingers and toes while Gold attempted to build a fire. Unfortunately, the wood was all damp and refused to catch. There was a single electric space heater that helped a little, but was useless once the electricity went out. Bae’s room wasn’t too chilly, small as it was, and the boy was packed in with as many blankets as he could tolerate.

“Papa!” Bae threw back the quilts and blankets to extend his arms toward his father.

Gold looked askance at Belle. “He’s still up?”

Belle blushed and rose from the edge of the bed where she’d been sitting. “We were… just talking about the storm.”

“Is that so, son?” Gold perched on Belle’s abandoned seat, bracing one side with his cane as he hugged Bae back thoroughly with his free arm. “I hope it’s not too loud out there for you to get some sleep.”

Bae shook his head, his eyes already drooping with exhaustion. “Belle is scared of the thunder so I said she could sleep here with me. Is that okay?”

Gold chuckled and ran his fingers over a cowlick in Bae’s dark curls. “Well, I don’t quite think there’s room for her here, but I’ll make sure she stays safe and dry, alright?”

“Okay. So she can sleep with you, tonight?” Bae asked, settling drowsily back against his pillow.

Gold made an indecipherable sound at the back of his throat before turning his head to cough politely into his forearm. Belle’s cheeks burned, the air suddenly thick in her throat. There was a moment of stark hesitation before Gold leaned in to kiss Bae’s forehead.

“I know you’ll sleep like the dead once you settle down. Just all this excitement keeping you up. Close your eyes,” Gold ordered softly.

Bae obeyed.

Belle could tell him something a thousand times, cajoling and convincing, occasionally even bribing him to do it. His father need say it only once. Such was the kind of quiet power Mr. Gold could exude.

Belle would never admit it aloud but she’d had more than one little fantasy feature Gold giving her orders of an entirely different nature. She closed her eyes and rubbed the spot just between them, above her nose. It was an entirely inappropriate thought to be having at this time. Gold was probably a little peeved at her for not getting Bae properly settled. This was the third time father and son were saying good night, Bae having bounced up and out of bed twice to ask Belle for another story.

They hadn’t brought his reading material for a day by the lake and the only book Belle had on her was definitely not child friendly. Instead, she’d told him variations on fairy tales that her mother used to tell her, personalizing lead characters with traits Bae would recognize as his own.

Two such stories in, Belle had felt herself being watched. She’d looked up to find Mr. Gold’s eyes fixed on her, his expression intense and unreadable. Bae had also noticed his father and gotten so excited to share Belle’s stories that he leapt out of his blanket nest and it took several minutes to ease him back into it.

Third time, it seemed, was indeed the charm. Bae’s face had gone slack, his breathing even, as his father rose slowly from the bedside.

Gold inclined his head back toward the living room and the two of them adjourned, shutting the door to Bae’s room to just a sliver. He hated when his door was fully latched.

Belle shivered in the main room of the cabin, the higher ceiling and poorly insulated windows making it much draftier than either bedroom. She didn’t have a change of clothes, but luckily Gold had found a spare pair of fleece pajama pants and a sweater. The clothes smelled musty and were comically long in both arms and legs, but she was grateful enough to be dry that she didn’t complain. Gold was similarly outfitted in his spare pajama pants and a T-shirt with that ugly, tattered bathrobe thrown atop it for warmth.

Belle turned to face Mr. Gold, hoping he wouldn’t be too upset at having to put his son to bed a third time that night. She had no real defense for not putting her foot down. The truth was, she spoiled little Bae like he was her own. She’d never really been a nanny before this, and now she was starting to understand that perhaps she ought to have stayed a babysitter and part time librarian instead. It was easier when there were dozens of children to mind. With just one to focus on - and one she already adored - her judgement could get a little clouded. Then again, Belle could see such a world of difference from the unhappy child Bae had been a year ago. It was little wonder that she couldn’t help but indulge him.

Mr. Gold had been rather stiff with his son when she first met them both, as though he feared the child would break if he handled him too often. Mrs. Gold had only recently left and it was clearly a sore spot for both father and son. Bae was pale and entirely too serious for a five year old child. Gold was distant and uncertain in his attempts at showing affection. He’d apparently only hired a nanny to provide supervision and enforce the house rules, seeming genuinely confused the first time he came home to find the two of them crawling around on all fours, pretending to be dinosaurs.

Early on, he had even reprimanded Belle for letting Bae “take advantage” of her “tender nature.” She’d have taken the latter part as a compliment if it weren’t for the way he frowned when he said the word “tender,” almost like it was a dirty word. It was one of the few times Gold had really gotten her goat. Children needed tenderness, she told him, emphatically, to be reassured that even when they were naughty, they were loved. She’d let everything she’d been holding back up until that point pour out of her: how lonely Bae was, how he longed to spend time with his father, how difficult it was to be a child expected to behave like a small adult. Gold had listened to every word she’d said with a grave expression. Belle feared for her job by the time she was through, but she could not have stayed mum if her life depended on it. She should have known even then that she was already too far gone. Gold had been silent a long time before simply nodding and dismissing her from the room.

She’d spent a week on tenterhooks, flinching every time he addressed her. Yet he never reproached her for her tirade, or even mentioned how inappropriate she had been to lecture him in his own home. That weekend, however, was the very first time Gold stayed home from work and went with them to the park on Sunday. Bae had been overjoyed for the chance to play with his father and it quickly became a new part of their routine. Gold could still be prickly at times and Belle had learned to read when he was getting overwhelmed so she could step in and distract Bae with another activity. Overall though, the relationship between Bae and his father had grown in leaps and bounds - much like the youngster himself, who seemed to shoot up like a weed in the sunshine.

After that, Belle had also been a lot less afraid to speak her mind, when it counted.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Gold,” Belle began, noting how heavily Gold leaned on his cane, his shoulders slumped with weariness after such a long day.

He waved his free hand. “It’s no matter. He’s had a lot of excitement today, it’s only natural he’d have trouble settling down.” He limped to the couch and lowered himself gingerly. “I, on the other hand, may need to sleep through the next century just to recover,” he smiled thinly.

Belle returned the smile with a tired one of her own. “Well, Rip Van Winkle, I have a feeling a certain human alarm clock won’t let that happen any time soon.”

He gave a short huff of amusement. “Just as well, not really sure I’d like having a long, white beard just yet.” Gold ran a hand down his very clean shaven face.

“It was good enough for Gandalf,” she shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing her forearms for warmth.

“Ah, now there’s a fashion icon worth emulating,” he replied dryly. His brow creased. “You must be freezing. My apologies. Let’s get you to bed.”

Belle blushed again at his words but he didn’t seem to notice as he was focused on standing up. He inhaled sharply, swearing under his breath as he heaved himself to his feet. Belle flew to his side, attempting to help support his bad side but he waved her away.

“I’m not an invalid,” he snapped, wincing again as he tried to take a step forward.

Belle frowned. “I know… but, it’s been a long day and I thought…”

“I don’t need a nurse, Miss French.”

Belle sighed. She was exhausted too but it wasn’t in her nature to stand by and let someone suffer. Even if they were being a pratt about it. “Well that’s good because you’d be a terrible patient. Now, do you want a hand or would you rather be stubborn and suffer?”

His lips thinned as he gave her a hard look. When she returned it, flatly, the corner of his mouth quirked upward for just a moment before he looked away. He cleared his throat. “There’s, ah, there are some extra blankets in the chest at the foot of the bed. I was… going to fetch them.”

“Okay then. I’ll be right back.” Using her phone’s torch function, she went to the aforementioned chest and threw it open. Inside was a mess of fabric, tarnished silver, and and what she really, really hoped was not a giant spider web. She tried not to think about that last part as she reached in and fished around for something that felt blanket-y. She pulled out two swaths of scratchy wool, grimacing at the way they felt in her hand. After a few more minutes, she determined they were the only passably blanket-like things in the pile and closed the trunk.

She returned to the living room to find Gold on the sofa, bent double to massage his calf. She held up the hunks of tartan patterned wool. “Did you mean these?”

He looked up, quickly pulling his hands from his leg, fingers flexing in the open air before settling in his lap. “Yes. Those would be the ones.

Belle bit back a face of disgust. She didn’t fancy sleeping under these harsh, dusty things but beggars couldn’t be choosers and at least she was dry. She set one down to shake out the first.

“Ahhh, Mr. Gold?”

“Hm?”

She held up the blanket - what was left of it. “I think you might have a moth problem.” There was a gaping hole in one side and several smaller ones dotting the rest like Swiss cheese.

Gold’s face fell. “How about the other? Let me see…” He started to stand and reach for it, grunting and swearing again, then muttering an apology for swearing as he regained his seat. Belle handed him the first blanket and picked up the second. Unfurled, the second was almost worse than the first; nearly as much hole as blanket.

Gold’s jaw went still and tight as he stared at the woolly remains, nostrils flaring.

“Mr. Gold?” Belle eased onto the seat beside him.

He swallowed audibly and spoke without turning to look at her. “Mothballs. They told me I’d need mothballs. When I put the blankets in the trunk, I forgot.” He ran his hand over the tattered cloth in his lap. He looked at at her, almost unseeing. “They’d be very disappointed.”

“Who?” she asked, softly.

Gold’s mouth fashioned the tremulous ghost of a smile. “My aunts.”

He looked smaller than usual and rather lost in the thin, pale light of the lantern. Belle was overwhelmed with the urge to pull him to her, to rest his head against her breast and stroke his hair. Instead she gripped his upper arm, very lightly, just a little touch to know she was there, that she cared. Gold looked at her hand on his arm as though he’d forgotten he was capable of being touched.

Belle leaned in just as a flash of lightning illuminated his face. He was oddly beautiful in his sorrow and she was immediately ashamed for thinking so.

“They… they meant a lot to you,” she surmised.

Gold met her eyes, again, his own dark and fathomless. He nodded. “They were all I had,” he stated simply. “And these,” he indicated the blankets, “were all I had left.”

Belle knew it was just the storm and the quiet dark, just the exhaustion setting in and tearing down both their walls, but she didn’t care. She was fully and brilliantly alive in this moment, only inches from the man she loved, and he was being more candid with her than he’d ever been before. She might never get another chance to be with him like this, again.

“I know what that’s like,” she admitted.

“Do you?”

Belle nodded. “When my mother died, I was left on my own. All I really had were her books. They became like friends, cold comfort for a lonely little girl.” She huffed a small laugh at her own self pity. “When we moved, my father made me choose only one favorite to bring with us. He said we wouldn’t have room in the new place. One out of a whole library. I thought he was so cruel for that.”

“He was.” Gold agreed solemnly. “Monstrous.”

Belle paused, uncertain if she was being mocked, but Gold’s frank expression didn’t change. She allowed herself a small smile. “The joke was on him, though. Rather than work in his flower shop like he wanted, I got a job at the library after school. So I could read all my favorites as many times as I liked.”

Gold gave a low little chuckle. “I always knew there was something of a rebel in you, Belle French.” His voice was a low rumble, accent deliciously thick, the ‘r’ rolling off his tongue in a way that made her want to chase it with her own.

His breath was warm as it wafted across her face, still smelling sweet from the lemonade she’d brought to the lake. She tilted her face toward his just a fraction more and his gaze flicked from her eyes to her mouth and then back. A crack of thunder sounded, so close it may have well been in the room, and Belle shivered.

Gold pulled back, blinking rapidly, “I… I think I ought to get some rest.”

Belle deflated against the couch cushion. “Oh. Oh, right. Well, uh, at least let me help you.”

His brow furrowed. “Help me what? I’m already here.” He indicated the couch. He hoisted the holey blankets over his lap. “These are… less than expected but they will suffice for the night.”

Belle crossed her arms over her chest. “You are not sleeping on this lumpy couch with barely enough blanket to cover one limb at a time.”

He pursed his lips, “Miss French….”

“Mr. Gold….”

“Well, where on earth should I sleep, in your expert opinion?”

Belle rolled her eyes. “In the bed.” She stood, grabbing his cane from where it had fallen to the floor. “Don’t be such a fussbudget. Come on, I’ll help you into the bedroom.”

Gold made a blunted noise of outrage. “Do you think I’d be such a negligent employer - nay gentleman - as to let you freeze to death out here on the couch?”

“So, what? You’d rather martyr yourself for my comfort?”

“Yes!” he splayed his hands in exasperation.

Belle paused in her efforts to get him to take his cane and stand. “That’s… sweet. In a misguided sort of way.”

Gold’s eyes scrunched closed and he pinched the bridge of his nose, just between his eyes, with his forefinger and thumb.

Belle sighed. “Look, I know the mattress isn’t huge but it’s bigger than Bae’s bed so I think there’s plenty of room for the two of us to share.”

Without moving, Gold made the same strangled sound as he had before at Bae’s similar suggestion that they share the bed. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose before opening his eyes and removing his hand. “I hardly think that is… appropriate,” he said, without much conviction.

“Appropriate is in the eye of the beholder and the only one to behold it would be the six year old who suggested it in the first place. I think we’re on safe territory, Mr. Gold.”

It rankled her just a little that he was being so dense about this. In a little over a year, he’d barely just begun to treat her as a human being, let alone any kind of companion. Tonight he’d been so open, almost easygoing, or as easygoing as the Town Misanthrope got. She’d started to think maybe there was a chance… the way he had leaned toward her, the way he’d looked at her just moments before… that perhaps her attraction was not wholly one-sided. If that was the case, why wouldn’t he want to share a bed?

He licked his lips and, without a word, held out his hand. Belle placed his cane into it. He leaned on the cane, but did not object again as she came around to his bad side and helped him rise. Leaning on her and the cane, he limped into the bedroom.

She helped him get situated before crossing to the other side and sliding under the heavy quilt. The bed was chilly and also covered in a layer of dust (Belle made a mental note to send a cleaning service out once they got home). The blankets were unevenly distributed and sheets twisted down at the foot so she found herself sitting up and running her hands along the edges to try and fix them.

Gold shifted uncomfortably beside her as her wandering hands brushed his legs once, and then a second time. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

“They’re uneven,” Belle groused, tugging at a sheet.

“Good God, woman, relax. You are off the clock. I am not Bae and I can fix my own blanket,” Gold snatched it out of her hands, rolling onto his side, away from her.

“Well, at least Bae knows how to share properly,” she replied, snaking an arm over his shoulder to pull the blanket back. “You’ve got the long end and if I don’t flip it, we’ll both have cold feet!”

He resisted for a moment before releasing it with a grumble. Belle set them to rights, smoothing the sheets up and blanket down. Gold was curled in a tight, unmoving ball and she made a face at his back.

At last she sank into the mattress, her body relaxing. She closed her eyes and let her mind meander through her day. It had been a beautiful day at the start. Gold had taken them out in a rented motorboat and shown Bae how to fish. They didn’t catch anything but that hadn’t been the point of the exercise. Bae had happily listed every fish fact he knew while his Papa listened attentively, and Belle had wished she could take a surreptitious photo. Gold looked ten years younger, lounging in the sun with his boy, relaxed and thoroughly happy. He’d even smiled at her a few times, in the brisk distracted sort of way he occasionally did these days.

Once they got back to shore, Belle had taught Bae how to recognize edible berries and they’d collected handfuls to add to the picnic lunch she’d packed. Belle kept stealing glances at Mr. Gold over Bae’s curly head. It was just so rare to see him out of a suit, dressed as he was in jeans and long sleeved shirt. The suits were always lovely and well tailored, and gave her plenty of thoughts about slowly unwrapping him like a present. Dressed down he seemed… human, like his sharp edges had been filed down. He’d caught her looking more than once, and they’d both quickly looked away.

Now she could feel the warmth of his body beside her, seeping into the sheets. She breathed out heavily through her mouth, fighting down the urge to snuggle up behind him. It was ridiculous, feeling this way for a man who could be so infuriatingly opaque. One minute they were swapping childhood stories and he looked very much like he wanted to kiss her. The next he was a human boulder, shutting her out in every way possible.

She must have drifted off at some point but a crack of thunder jolted her awake. She and Gold had rolled closer in their sleep, he on his back with an arm flung over his head and she on her side, facing him. He must also have shed the bathrobe at some point because he was only in the T-shirt now. There was barely enough light to make out his facial features but it occurred to her that he was smiling softly, unselfconsciously. She pulled herself up onto her elbow, cupping her cheek in her hand.

What would it be like to wake up like this and belong in a bed together? To lean in and kiss him awake? To have a playful little tussle before stripping each other bare and making love ‘til morning?

He made a soft little sound and Belle fancied that he was agreeing with her fantasy.

“What do you dream about, Mr. Gold?” she whispered, lowering her head back to the pillow.

Another little sound, low and masculine, greeted her query but then he fell silent and Belle fell back asleep.

The second time she woke, the rain had stopped and the moonlight shone strongly through the window. Belle had curled into Gold’s side, one arm slung over his waist. She held very, very still, listening to the thud of his heart beneath her ear. Despite the rain and the dust and the old fusty clothes, she swore she could still smell a hint of his cologne and she inhaled it deeply, trying to commit this moment to memory. The arm beneath her had fallen asleep but she couldn’t bring herself to move just yet.

She felt a rush of warm breath against the top of her head.

“Belle.”

His voice was more air than sound but it was loud enough in the now-quiet early morning.

Feeling guilty of trespassing, Belle began to shrink in on herself. Until she realized he’d used her first name. Gold had never called her anything but “Miss French” or, rarely, “Belle French”,” never just Belle. She loved the way it sounded on his lips.

“Yes?”

He released another, shakier, breath. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.”

“I… I need you to move.”

Disappointed, Belle began to slide her arm away when she realized that it had not been, as she thought, at his waist. Her arm had extended across his belly at an angle toward his hips. So as she began to roll away, her hand skimmed across… oh. Oh.

They both froze.

Belle moved first, lifting her hand away and pulling herself up on her other arm, tingling with pins and needles, to look at his face. Gold was wide eyed and slack jawed, his lips parted as he seemed to be taking one very deliberate breath after another. He studied her with an expression that bordered on fear.

Belle gathered all her courage, though her mind was sluggish with sleep and foggy with pent up desire.

“Is that… Is it because of me?” She lay her hand on his chest, noting how his heartbeat had accelerated.

“Belle,” he whispered again, almost a whimper as he added, “Belle, please…” His eyes roved her face in the moonlight, asking a question he could not seem to form with words.

“Please, what?” Tentatively, ready to pull back at any sign she was unwelcome, she slid her hand downward, toward where she’d felt him hard and straining beneath the sheet. “Is it… I want to touch you, Edmund. May I?” Her heartbeat was thudding in her ears and her pulse seemed to have relocated itself to the apex of her legs. She’d wanted him so badly for so long and it seemed like she must be imagining this happening, even now. It took every effort to keep her hand from shaking.

He shuddered just slightly as she said his name, his eyes closing briefly before reopening on her face. “Why?” His tone was incredulous.

Belle hiccuped a giddy little giggle. “Because I’ve wanted to for months? Because if I’m just dreaming again, I don’t want to waste it? Because… because you’re finally letting me? Pick your reason, Mr. Gold.” Seeing the look on his face, she self-corrected, “Edmund.”

He made a needy little sound at that and lifted the hand that lay between them to stroke the side of her face. “And how do I know I’m not the one dreaming?”

Belle smiled gently, leaning toward him until her mouth just barely hovered over his. “Only one way to find out,” she breathed. Her eyes shut, she made a silent wish before closing that infinitesimal space and kissing him. For half a second she feared he’d push her away but then the hand at her cheek slid into her messy curls, his fingers tangling between them as he held her fast. His other arm came up to wrap around her shoulders, lips parting to allow the tip of his tongue to dart between them.

Belle met that volley with a flick of her own tongue and Gold moaned into her mouth, tightening his grip. She slid down the bed, needing to be even closer, flinging a careless leg over his hips. And oh yes, there he was, pressing hot and insistent against her inner thigh. He ground himself against her as he devoured her mouth, the hand not buried in her hair tracing her waist and hip like he was learning every curve by heart.

She snaked a hand upward, running her fingertips through the baby-soft silver hair at his temples. She’d always wondered if it would feel as good as it looked and it absolutely did. They broke apart from kissing only to gasp for air, Gold breathing half a swear word into her shoulder as she moved to straddle him completely. Belle nipped at his earlobe as she centered herself on the rigid line of his cock, bringing both knees forward to gain friction where she needed it most.

His lips found purchase along the long column of her neck, trailing biting kisses up and down its length as she shivered with pleasure and shimmied her hips against his. His hands traveled down to grasp her arse and squeeze. Belle hummed her approval and he did it again, the tips of his fingers sliding to the crease at the back of each thigh, agonizingly close to her heated core. She was embarrassingly wet already, her panties sticky and clinging, twisting with her increasingly desperate undulations.

Growing frustrated with the many layers between them, Belle sat up.

Gold’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he looked up at her. “Is, ah, is everything….?”

“Oh God yes,” she nodded. “Just... too many clothes, don’t you think?”

Gold made a low sound of agreement, a smile on his kiss-swollen lips. “Whatever you say, Miss French.”

“Mm, can I get that in writing?” she teased. “And I thought we were on first name basis, now.”

He looked down. “I’ve never been fond of my first name.”

“Oh.” Belle bit back a frown.

“But I like it when you say it.” He met her eyes again, his tone the quiet, confessional one he’d had on the couch earlier that night. “I… like a lot of things when you say them.”

Belle felt herself melt a little inside and dipped down to press her lips to his. He kissed back hungrily and it was all she could do to pull away long enough to tug off the loose sweater. They teased and tasted one another until they were both breathless and she touched her forehead to his.

“I’d like to see you,” he murmured.

Happy to oblige, Belle kissed the tip of his nose and sat up again, feeling his cock twitch against her.

He inhaled deeply, “Fuck. You’re…” His hands shaped her waist, gliding over her ribs to cup each small breast, the nipples already pert with arousal and the chill air. She trembled as he flicked his thumbs simultaneously under their sensitive undersides before then running a thumb over each nipple. He shook his head, hair fanning on the pillow below him. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

Belle blushed deeply, the color running from cheeks to chest.

Gold continued caressing her nipples with his thumbs until she was squirming, little mewling noises escaping her involuntarily. With a hand at her waist, he wordlessly directed her to lower one breast over his mouth, using his lips and tongue tease her as his other hand moved down toward the juncture of her thighs. She shifted her hips to allow him better access and he slid his hand beneath the elastic band of her borrowed pants, finding the soaking gusset of her knickers with his fingertips. He groaned at this discovery, the sound reverberating against her breast. Belle turned to allow him access to the other breast and gasped as one knuckle slid deftly along her cleft.

“Less clothes,” she mumbled, moving off of Gold to shuck her pants and underwear. Before she regained her place atop him, she tugged at the hem of his T-shirt, giving him a meaningful look.

He frowned. “Are you certain?”

Belle raised both eyebrows. “You ask that, now? Maybe I should remind you what you do to me, Mr. Edmund Gold…” Kneeling on the bed, the cold causing gooseflesh on every exposed patch of skin, she pulled his hand between her parted thighs. His fingers just barely skimmed her nether lips, coming away glistening with her arousal. He stared at them, spellbound before returning his gaze to her face. The pure adoration in his eyes was enough to leave her momentarily stunned.

She choked back an unexpected lump in her throat before gingerly reaching for his shirt, again. “Yes?”

Gold nodded, allowing her to help him sit up and divest himself of both shirt and pants. The moment they were both nude, he hauled her atop him and fervidly captured her mouth. She kissed him back with equal exuberance, rolling her hips as her slickness coated his erection. The blunt head nudged her clit and she made a needy, throaty sound that Gold eagerly swallowed. He bucked his hips beneath her, hitting the same spot again and Belle pulled back with a swear on her lips.

“Please, no more teasing… I need you,” she pleaded, almost mindless with the steadily building ache at her core. She ground herself against his cock, the head nearly slipping inside her.

“I don’t have any…” He forced the words out with some difficulty, his thighs below her tense, the muscles strained and quivering.

“Protection? It’s ok. I’ve got an IUD. And I’m clean.” Raising herself up and wrapping a hand around his shaft, she bit her lip and looked down at his face. “Please, Edmund?”

“Fucking hell, Belle,” he rasped, gripping her hips with both hands, nearly hard enough to bruise. As he lowered her hips, she guided him inside her, both hissing with pleasure as flesh met flesh, wet and hot and oh so deliciously ready. Inch by inch he filled her, her inner muscles already clenching and fluttering, until he was fully seated.

“God, you feel fucking amazing.’ His voice was almost a growl, hands still at her hips as she adjusted to the feel of him inside her.

Belle leaned in to kiss her way up his jaw to his ear. “You do too.” She canted her hips, rising up just a little before sliding back down, then repeated the motion. He rolled up and into her downward movements, echoing and answering the language of her body. “So good…” she crooned, as they began to establish a rhythm of short, sharp thrusts.

Gold’s breathing was harsh and ragged, his parted lips brushing her neck, her shoulder, her ear, whatever they could reach. Belle ducked her head to kiss his cheek, his jaw, nipping playfully at his earlobe and at his voluptuous bottom lip as heat began to spiral up her spine and down her legs. Conscious of how quiet it was without the storm, Belle held back the moans and half formed words that kept bubbling up, bursting to escape in shuddering gasps. She was getting close, slipping a hand between them to press at her sensitive little nub and riding him faster. Every fiber of her being was focused on their joining, on the way their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, his hands moulding to her flesh as he hit all the right spots within. Her peak hit her suddenly and with a blinding force. Gold’s dull nails dug into her skin as her pussy milked him hard. She felt his teeth sink into her shoulder to muffle his moans as he reached his own completion.

Belle grasped his face between both hands and kissed him soundly. “That was worth waiting for,” she murmured against his lips.

He made a sound of agreement, pulling out of her reluctantly as she moved to lay on her side. “I’m only sorry I ever made you wait, sweetheart.” His tone was half amused bewilderment, half pillow talk.

Pulling the blankets up, she tucked herself against his side again, his arm curling automatically over her shoulders - as though they’d done this a million times. “Apology accepted. Just don’t let it happen again.”

“I like when you say that word, too. Again.” He kissed the top of her head.

“I mean it.” Belle tightened her arm around him, kissing his chest, just over his heart, in reply. Cocooned in his warmth, she began to drift off, noting that they probably had very little time left before dawn. It wasn’t light yet but she could almost feel the morning coming on.

Drowsily, he added. “I did dream of you, by the way. Just like this.”

Her heart gave a powerful thump in her chest and she tilted her head up to share a sleepy, lingering kiss. “Me too.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle smut #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #belle x rumplestiltskin #rumbelle au #a monthly rumbelling #young baelfire #bed sharing #rumbelle bed sharing #my fic

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thecompletebookworm · 5 years

Note

For your end o quarter prompt request: Fake Dating?

It wasn’t that he had meant to lie to his son. Well, he had meant to lie, he just certainly hadn’t meant it to get this far.

Neal was just far too concerned with his father’s love and far too bad at matchmaking to be allowed to meddle. So it was easy to lie and say that he was happy, that he had found someone and that Neal going off to college hadn’t turned him into a miserable hermit.

But now he was sharing a bed with Belle, trying to use the moments she was asleep because there was no way she would let him this close again. She was beautiful and even though he felt weird watching her as she slept, her curls spread like a halo across the pillow, he could not force himself to look away. It should not have been allowed to get this far.

When Neal had mentioned that he was unable to come home this year since he couldn’t get time off from work, it made all the sense in the world to book a plane ticket to New York. After all, the holidays were for family and Neal was the most important part of Gold’s world. And when Neal had suggested excitedly that he should bring his “mysterious girlfriend” with him for the holiday, he had panicked and at least thanked his own foresight for saying that he wanted to make sure things worked before he got his son involved. But their phone calls had certainly made it sound like things had worked out, so he needed a girlfriend fast.

He had gotten flowers and went to the only person in town he thought would be willing to spend the holidays with him. She was also the only person in Storybrooke he would want to spend the holidays with but that was beside the point. It was also beside the point that her smile was the one he thought of as he described fake dates to Neal.

She had been busy when he had entered the library, an unexpected sight considering it wasn’t Tuesday Storytime or Wednesday Adult Computer Literacy Class time. He shouldn’t have been too surprised it was only natural to want to be around Belle in her element. It was why he had carved out every Thursday around 1 o’clock for her since the library opened two years ago. But after being used to a quiet hour with Belle where they talked over his thoughts on her latest recommendation, it was startling to see others in their sanctuary.

He nearly walked out right there, unwilling to let himself be rejected in front of an audience.

But then she caught his eye, a big smile crossing her face before mouthing, “Just give me a minute” as she helped Cecelia and her daughter check out a mountain of picture books.

He tried to use the time to think through exactly what he wanted to say, but everything he had practiced this morning was out the window. Gold felt like he couldn’t breathe and squeezed his eyes shut.

It was only when he felt her hand gently rest on his shoulder that he allowed them to open.

“Mr. Gold, would you like to sit down?” Her blue eyes stared at him intently with something he couldn’t identify.

“Yes. I mean, No, ah these are for you.” And he shoved the flowers at her.

She didn’t laugh. If he had thought Belle would have laughed at him, he would never have even considered asking for her help with maintaining the charade for Neal.

“They’re lovely,” she smiled, “Why don’t you sit in my office while I grab a vase from my apartment?”

“Will you come with me to New York?”

He didn’t mean for the words to escape him then. He wanted to give her an explanation, ease her into the idea. But as soon as her back was turned, his mouth ran away from him, asking as if it knew that if they made it to her office and she was sitting so close with her bright smile and her constant friendly touches that he would lose his wits about him and only talk about the latest mystery.

“I’m sorry?” She had turned around so fast, but her face at least did not show absolute horror. If anything, it looked hopeful.

“I need a favor. I-“ He trailed off, conscious of the fact they were in a public space and it wouldn’t do to go pouring his heart out.

Belle nodded, her expression faltering slightly. “I have tea in my office. The flowers can wait until you can explain what’s going on.”

#rumbelle fic #joylee56 #fake dating #sort of #I mean the set up at least and some minor bed sharing.#End of Quarter Prompt-a-thon

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timelordthirteen · 7 years

Text

Baby It’s Cold Outside - Chapter 1

Mr. Gold/Belle, Explicit (overall)

Summary: Belle is Gold's housekeeper. One night there's a blizzard, and it's unsafe for her to go home. For the 31 Days of Ficmas prompt #12 - candles.

Notes: You know exactly where this is going. ;) From a prompt given to me by the amazing @rufeepeach almost exactly one year ago (I am the worst okay). I'm filling this through prompts in the 31 Days of Ficmas list. It will be multi-chapter and there will definitely be smut by the end. YOU KNOW WHAT I'M ABOUT.

[AO3]

All Belle could see through the window was white.

Two weeks until Christmas and Storybrooke already had sixteen inches of snow. More had started falling in the afternoon, light wispy flakes that were easily battered about by the breeze. They didn’t seem like much of a threat at the time, but what was falling outside now seemed like something else entirely. The flakes were large and hit the windows with a heavy, wet sound, like splashes of raindrops in a storm. The wind had picked up, whipping them at a odd angles, across the garden. She could hear it howling through the back patio and shivered.

She’d been working for Mr. Gold since March, when she’d taken over for his former housekeeper, Ms. Potts, whose arthritis was such that she just couldn’t keep up her duties anymore. At first Mr. Gold was hard to read, a bit gruff and even grumpy at times, with a sharp and a dry, sarcastic sort of humor. There were times she was almost afraid of him, and assumed she’d be fired within the first month.

One Tuesday afternoon, he was in the kitchen making tea and grousing about one of his tenants. He muttered a rather snide quip, and Belle couldn’t help herself. She snickered and he gave her the strangest look right before his face broke out in a wide smile. Her heart fluttered and she knew she was blushing, but then the water for the pasta boiled over on the stove and it was a mad dash to turn the flame down and grab a rag. She felt like a fool, but he insisted on helping to clean it up, and that it was his fault for distracting her at the wrong time.

After that seemingly small moment it was like a switch had been flipped. He was less rude, more friendly, and slowly, they warmed to each other. He was frequently in the kitchen when Belle arrived in the morning, ready with a fresh cup of coffee. After a few days she didn’t even need to add her own cream and sugar, it was already done perfectly. Occasionally, he would bring his papers into the kitchen while she prepared supper, and they would chat about the goings on of their small town, where they’d like to travel, or what books they were reading.

That was how Gold found out she’d originally been a librarian. Unfortunately there were very few such opportunities in this area. Sure, she could have gone to a bigger city, but she’d lived in Boston for a bit before moving to Storybrooke, and barely gotten by on a public library salary even with two roommates. Besides, her father lived here, and she thought it would be nice to be close to him since he was getting on in years, and a few months ago was confided to the care home run by the Sisters of Mercy.

Belle found him quite interesting and funny, his sharp humor meshing well with her brand of eye rolling sarcasm. As the months went on, she found the weekends held no real interest for her beyond a few hours of reading while she was waiting for her laundry to finish. By the end of the summer she could say with great certainty, and to odd stares from her friends, that she loved working for Mr. Gold.

And secretly, maybe she was a bit in love with him too.

Belle walked down the hall to the study, and stopped in the doorway. She watched for a moment as Gold scribbled a note in the margin of some papers, his lips pursing as he did so. It was something he did when he was intent on whatever he was reading or writing. Sometimes his lips would move a little as well, like they were almost saying the words he was thinking in his head. She bit her lip to hold back a smile, and then rapped her knuckles on the molding.

“Mr. Gold?” she called out as she stepped into the room.

“Miss French.” Gold looked up and then frowned. “I thought you’d gone home?”

She smiled. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t need anything else before I left.”

He waved and hand, and pushed to his feet, using his cane to brace himself, and came around the side of the desk. “I’m sure I’ll be fine, thank you.”

“Alright then,” she replied, her fingers bunching the pleats of her skirt.

Gold smiled softly. Belle was the bright light in his otherwise dull existence. He’d been so uncertain when he hired her, but she had proven herself capable very quickly. Their slightly rocky start aside, which was entirely his fault for being grumpy, miserly old man too set in his ways, she slotted right into his household and his life like she was always meant to be there.

That was what terrified him.

Some time ago he’d determined that the odd feeling he got when she brushed past him, and the way his chest felt lighter when she smiled was because he was completely in love with her. It was just his luck that he would fall for someone so out of his reach, so young and smart and beautiful that there was no way she’d ever feel the same for him. He couldn’t possibly deserve her, not with the things he’d done.

“Dinner is in the oven,” she started, “the timer has about ten minutes left on it, and the mail is in the box on the side table.”

He shook his head, standing with both of his hands on the handle of his cane. “Thank you, Miss French. I’m sure -”

Suddenly, the room went dark and they both froze. Belle held her breath until a second later the backup generator kicked in, powering one of the lamps in the room.

“What the hell?” Gold made a face and crossed to the window behind his desk.

“The neighbors are out too,” she said, peeking through the curtains. “Maybe a power line iced up or someone hit a telephone pole?”

The snow seemed to be falling faster now, the flakes shrinking in size which allowed the wind to whip them about even more. After a long moment staring out the windows, Belle closed the curtains and turned around.

“I should get going,” she said. “The roads will be awful soon, and -”

Gold stepped back and tsked. “The roads were awful an hour ago, now their bloody treacherous.”

She bit her lip. “Oh, I’m sure they’re not -

“If you say they’re not that bad,” he interrupted, “I’ll have you committed.” She frowned, and he gave her a crooked smile. “I’m not making you go out in a blizzard, Miss French.”

Belle crossed her arms and shifted from one foot to the other. “You...want me to stay here then?”

His eyes went wide and he pressed his lips together. He’d been concerned for her safety that he hadn’t quite thought through the consequences, which was that he’d be spending possibly the entire evening snowed in with Belle French.

He swallowed. “If, uh, if - that’s alright? There’s plenty of food, and the generator will hold for a couple of hours. I’m sure the power won’t be out too long. Perhaps by then the snow will have let up.”

She smiled and nodded. “Alright then. Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“It’s no matter,” he said, averting his eyes. If he gazed at her too long he might make a complete idiot of himself.

Secretly, Belle was glad he was so concerned for her safety, and she was more than happy to stay a little bit longer. The power company would probably have crews out shortly and it would be back on in an hour at most.

Gold tapped his cane on the rug. “I guess - uh, I’ll start a fire.”

“And I’ll go find some candles,” Belle said, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

She used the light from the screen to guide her down the dark hallway, returning a few minutes later with the two large candelabras from the dining room. One was set on his desk, the other on the table at the end of the leather sofa. Combined with the large candles on the mantle and the burgeoning fire, the room was soon lit with a warm, golden glow.

“The back of the house is freezing,” Belle said, rubbing her hands together.

“The generator will keep the heat going,” he said, proding the fire to urge the flames higher. “But I’m afraid this house is a drafty old thing, and I have the vents closed in some of the rooms.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“No reason to use them, I guess.” He shrugged. “You don’t need so much space when it’s just one person.”

“Oh,” she said absently, wandering over to the window to peer out at the snow. She knew he had a son from a couple of pictures on his desk, but he never talked about him and the pictures were clearly from a decade ago or more. She assumed something had happened between them that left them estranged. At least she hoped that’s what it was.

Gold glanced over his shoulder. “Not how you imagined spending your evening?”

Belle tilted her head and moved closer to the fire. “No, but aside from the lack of electricity and some modern conveniences, I can’t say I mind too much.”

He smiled at that and pushed to his feet. “I hope dinner isn’t ruined.”

She shook her head. “Not at all. It was practically done anyway and the oven’s still hot. I’m sure it’s fine.”

“The generator only runs the stove at the refrigerator, I’m afraid. We’ll need to take some candles with us.”

“A candlelit dinner?” she asked, feigning a heavy sigh and pressing the back of her hand to her forehead.

The corner of his mouth curved slightly. The prospect of an evening with Belle, even with minimal power and a blizzard outside, was enticing. He hoped the power would stay off as long as possible. “What a terrible fate.”

Belle laughed lightly, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of an intimate dinner with Mr. Gold. “Truly awful indeed.”

No, it might not be how she thought her evening would be, but if the weather forced her to spend more time with Mr. Gold, then let it snow.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #belle x mr. gold #31 days of ficmas #fic #my rumbelle fic #fluff #and eventual smut #all the snowed in power's out bed sharing snuggling goodness #i know what i'm about son #baby it's cold outside #ficmas 2017 #fandomas 2017

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ethereal-wishes · 6 years

Text

The Cover Thief - Belle has a habit which causes Rumple much annoyance.

Rumpelstiltskin loved his wee wife to bits. However, Belle had a habit which drove him mad. They would settle down in bed at night; he'd often go over his ledgers while she read. Sometimes they occupied themselves with marital activities, while other times they merely kissed goodnight. They would each tuck the covers securely over themselves, and he would spoon himself behind her. During the middle of the night they would often disentangle. He would end up on the left and she the right. He would find himself in a deep, dreamless state, until he felt a cool draft. It was the middle of winter which meant Maine was bitter cold. Despite the faithful radiator warming the house, it was still too enormous to keep the entire mansion heated. Three extra blankets and a quilt were draped over their bed in wintertime, and Belle had managed to steal every inch of cover. He'd awoken abruptly, his teeth chattering. He glanced over at his wife, cocooned snuggly within the entirety of their bedspread. He sighed, reaching for one of the blankets. When he tried to snatch one away, she growled in her sleep, wrenching it away from him. What in the heck was she even dreaming about!? Was she fighting a Yarogui in her sleep again? He scooted out of bed, biting back a curse as his feet met the cold hardwood. He tiptoed quietly to the closet, pulled out a folded quilt from the top shelf and climbed back into bed. He laid the quilt over him, relishing its warmth. It was heavy and would provide him with a substantial amount of heat until morning. He eventually dozed back off. An hour and a half later, he awoke from a dream of being cold and frozen during the winter when he was still a poor spinner. He and Bae had barely enough wood to keep the house warm. How they'd managed to survive those bitter winters he didn't know. His eyes fluttered open. He reached for the quilt, noting it was gone. He glanced over at his wife, sighing, defeated. His quilt had joined her self-made cocoon of other blankets. He rubbed his bleary eyes, deciding it was time to retaliate. He inhaled sharply, reaching for the quilt, yanking it away from the beauty. She pulled back, thrashing and tugging in her sleep. But he'd pulled too hard, and she went tumbling off the bed. He gasped, clamoring to his side, clenching his eyes shut, and pretending to be asleep. "Oof!" He heard her say. He felt the mattress dip with her weight. She'd crawled back into bed and was silently rearranging the bedding. He thought he was in the clear until she whacked him in the head with a feather pillow. His mouth twitched into a smirk. "This means war," he remarked, rising up off the mattress and pinning her to the bed. He held her wrists loosely within his grasp. "Did you really think I was that daft, Rumple? To believe you thought I'd rolled out of bed of my own accord. That has never happened in my lifetime," she scoffed, her expression playful. "There's always a first time for everything, dearest," he grinned, reaching out to tickle her sides. "Rumple! You naughty, imp!" she giggled, attempting to wriggle free. "Not until you promise to stop stealing all of my covers, sweetheart!" he answered, tickling her bare feet. "Fine, I surrender!" she relented, nearly kicking him in the face. He ducked away, halting his tickling assault. "Good, because this house is freezing!" he lamented, releasing her from his grasp. She gazed up at him, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Well, you know, we're both awake, so why not share some body heat?" she remarked suggestively. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat as she reached for the row of buttons on his nightshirt. "You mean, you want to? It's 3:00 A.M., and we both have to work," he objected. She pulled him forward, silencing him with her lips. "A little spontaneous lovemaking can be added to the agenda, can't it?" she asked, smoothing her hands over the planes of his chest. He shuddered as her hand dipped into the waistband of his pajamas, cupping his flaccid member. He returned her gentle ministrations with a hard kiss on the mouth. Tongues and teeth dueled as they ripped away each others garments. A night of cover stealing led to a night of passion. From then on, whenever Belle stole the covers, he didn't mind so much, because when she awoke she was usually in the mood for more pleasurable activities, and even if she wasn't, it was still a good excuse to snuggle back up together through the remainder of the night.

#rumbelle fanfic #rumbelle #bed sharing #cover thief

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miramelindamusings · 2 years

Note

I am new to rumbelle haha but may I ask what are your favorite rumbelle fics? Thanks :)

I love your rumbelle and belle art btw (and your amazing whouffaldi art of course!). Thank you for sharing them 💜

Thank you <3! You’re always so kind! Of course! Admittedly, it’s a bit hard to recollect some of them because I read so many before I had a tumblr. However, over this past winter, I started to track down Rumbelle works I had loved so here are some I've rediscovered :) I hope that this small list can point you in a helpful direction.

A rumbelle fic that has stayed with me since I read it in the summer of 2013, and that I can state is one of my fav fanfics ever is A Bed of Thorns by Nym. I adore this fic and it's one whose writing and imagery has lived in my head since I first read it. I've included the link for the Archived version, but the author is actually rewriting it (here)! I haven't had the opportunity to read it yet but I'm so excited to be able to return to it! And honestly, all of Nym's fanfic is so good.

Another writer I recommend is @suchadearie! I've loved every fanfic of theirs that I've read, and, through the years, I always found myself thinking about Trading for Touch and Hell Bent. I also recommend @rufeepeach's work (here). I'm still re-introducing myself to rumbelle fanfic, and I know that there are so many wonderful writers that I’ve failed to mention, but I hope this is in some way helpful!

Some of the best fanfic I have ever read have come from this fandom -- there's such dedication, talent, and passion for rumbelle that it really is such a pleasure to read fanfic and see fanart for this ship. I'm sure you'll enjoy what you find! And if anyone would like to recommend fics/plug their own work please feel free to add to this post! I'd love to get some recs :)!

Happy Reading!

#asks #ask #rumbelle #rumbelle fanfic #ouat #once upon a time #this is such a small list for a fandom that has a lot of wonderful fanfic but I hope this is helpful!#my art #my fanart #digital art #also personinthepalace please feel free to rec things to me as well :)!

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thestraggletag · 3 years

Text

Virtual Session, A Rumbelle Zoom Fic

Rating: Explicit.

Summary: Town meetings were usually drab, boring events, and having them over Zoom hadn't improved them much. Or so Mr Gold thought, until he forgot to log out of the meeting after it ended, only to discover a half-naked Belle French had also forgotten to do so.

SOMEONE PLEASE COMMENT WITH A BETTER SUMMARY I HATE IT.

Based on this prompt.

“We will review your presentation and hold a virtual vote before the month is up, Miss French. Thank you very much for your time.”

The mayor adjusted her suit jacket, her shirt riding up as she did so and unknowingly displaying the telltale white check of her Adidas yoga pants. Royce snickered, taking advantage of the fact he was muted.

“As there are no other pending topics on today’s agenda this virtual session is adjourned.”

He half-expected her to produce a gable out of thin air and bang it against her marble countertop. All around him people began to say their goodbyes and log out of Zoom, lest Regina decide to spring a surprise motion at the last minute. There was no need to flee, however, as Regina herself was one of the first to log off. Given the amount of smoke he had spotted coming from behind her right before she exited he did not need to guess what had caused her sudden departure.

“I guess no apple turnover for dessert at Madame Mayor’s.”

He heard an adorable chuckle and did not need to glance at the screen again to guess who it was. Very few people found his brand of dark humour palatable, but the librarian seemed to love it. It was nice, he soon found out, to have someone appreciate his often ill-received quips. It was one of the things he had first noticed about her. Well, other than her stunning eyes. And perhaps her hair, which was a lovely shade of reddish-brown. Her legs too, he acknowledged reluctantly, so nicely-displayed by her short skirts and high heels. And her-

He stopped himself. That way lay madness and he knew it. It was one thing to admire in an unattached way, from a distance. He was a connoisseur of beautiful things, after all, and Belle French was certainly beautiful. Unfortunately she also happened to have a lovely personality. Kind, generous, open, but also bold, defiant and the littlest bit dark. She flaunted the rules of smalltown society by wearing what the matrons around town considered “inappropriate clothing” for a librarian, and speaking to anyone and everyone, including those that polite society would urge her to shun. Drank beer with the miners, for example, men deemed “too coarse” for genteel women, and stocked the library with altogether undesirable books, be it because they dealt with unseemly issues or because they were from traditional authors. Which, he was sure, was code for “white men”, even if Mother Superior never quite spelled it out in such terms.

She was altogether dangerous for him, with her mix of light and dark, so he was always on his guard, lest his thoughts veer too far into dangerous territory. He didn’t fear scorn or derision if his feelings became too obvious for her to ignore. Belle was altogether too kind for that. But to be gently yet firmly rebuffed, and have their subsequent interactions laced by the barest hint of pity from her, would be unbearable.

“I’m pretty sure that at least Mr Spencer didn’t hear a word I said. His camera was off during the whole of my presentation.” The librarian huffed, clearly bothered that her proposal to increase the library’s budget to repair the East Wing’s leaky ceiling wouldn’t get a fair shot. The wing was currently closed, and had been since she had taken the post of librarian, but with the newfound need of social-distancing, particularly in enclosed spaces, she hoped she could change that, make the town council see the need for more space in the library. “Though perhaps he didn’t want to be yelled at again for not being in a three-piece suit for a virtual town meeting.”

He briefly paused to remember Spencer’s red face when Regina had chastised him for wearing a white polo shirt instead of a shirt and tie during the last meeting.

“Kinda hypocritical of Madame Mayor, given she was a couple of clothing articles shy of a full tracksuit tonight.”

They shared a conspiratorial laugh, and he hoped the camera somehow toned down the stupid look on his face. He tried to avoid direct eye contact, looking instead mildly-interested in her living-room. Her laptop seemed to be perched somewhere on her dining-room table, giving him a great view of the rest of her flat, which was a loft, so it was open space, with exposed brick and tall ceilings. Though small it was tastefully-decorated, and with enough bookcases to make it seem like it was a part of the library he had never been to, if it weren’t for the kitchen area and the- and he told himself to stop looking at it- queen-size bed.

“Well, Miss French, at the risk of getting ahead of myself I can confidently state that things are looking good for your project. It was an excellent presentation and I could see Midas and Hopper were clearly in favour. That leaves the Mayor and Spencer outnumbered. Hell, I think even Regina will vote yes on this one. I know she’s keen on finding a place for students with connectivity issues to go do their homework and attend some classes. Fingers crossed the voting goes your way.”

He smiled at her, trying to look reassuring instead of besotted, and they exchanged their goodbyes. He closed his laptop, deciding that he needed a stiff drink first and a cold shower later, and went over to his wet bar, where after some debate he picked up a bottle of Ardberg and poured himself three fingers of Scotch, opting to forgo the ice and drink it straight. The alcohol burned pleasantly on its way down, making him loosen up almost immediately. He went over to the window, undoing the buttons of his vest and slipping it off as he did, feeling warmed by the whiskey. He chanced a glance outside, where the night remained crisp and clear, thankfully devoid of snow. It was still bitterly cold, though, and he hoped the library’s heating system, which was in need of maintenance as well, would not fail. The money for its maintenance had already been allocated and the budget for the work set, but perhaps he could email the person in charge of the job and… persuade them to make it a priority. The work should’ve already been done, but the pandemic had put a temporary stop on jobs like that with the exception of emergencies. Now that things were slowly returning to normal he was confident he could get the people working on the library by the end of the week with three sentences or less.

He went back to his laptop, determined to send the email as soon as possible. He opened it up and noticed, at first, that his camera light was still on. Almost as soon as his brain connected the dots and realised that he had forgotten to log off Zoom he noticed something else: so had Belle French. She was walking around her house, seemingly tidying things up and humming as she went along. It was a lovely, domestic little display, and though he knew he needed to log off fucking Zoom and stop intruding on what Miss French clearly thought was the privacy of her own home, he didn’t move the mouse. Surely there was no harm in indulging a bit. He was a lonely man, partly by design and partly by circumstance, and though he often told himself he wasn’t missing out on anything, he had to admit it was nice to- albeit accidentally- share an intimate moment with someone he had an affinity with. He imagined, for a moment, that instead of her living-room he was seeing her in his, picking up discarded books or perhaps the remnants of a tea they had shared together. He quickly shook himself out of that fantasy, alarm bells ringing in his mind, and refocused in the present, where Belle was taking off her cardigan. Well, surely, that meant the heating system was holding, which was a good thing. Which reminded him of his idea to write-

He glanced at the monitor again, where Belle French was now shimming out of her skirt.

He blinked, idiotically-confused for a second, as if the thought of a woman undressing was news for him. After the initial shock he took in all the details, fixsting on the black stripe on the back of her sheer black stockings, which she rolled down with painstaking care, the gesture almost painfully erotic. She started on the buttons of her sheer maroon shirt, undoing them with ease and shrugging out of the garment. The black camisole she wore underneath did nothing to conceal her lacy black culotte, which hugged her perfect ass like it was made for her. She went to unpin her hair next, letting the bobby pins that kept it off her sides of her face drop into a little ceramic bowl on her vanity. He was surprised at how much seeing her walk around her house with bare feet, shaking her hair out and stretching her limbs affected him. There was nothing inherently sensual about her movements, yet he was transfixed, unable to look away. Any hope of containing his attraction or attachment to the librarian vanished into thin air at that moment, leaving him equal parts scared and turned on.

It was then that his mostly-unused sense of decency decided to let itself be known, a wave of shame washing through him at the notion of what he was doing. Miss French had every right to her privacy, and here he was, violating it in the worst possible way. He should log out immediately and stay away from the librarian for a rather long time, enough for-

“Royce?”

His heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sound of her voice. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head towards the screen, telling himself that he deserved the scorn and disgust he was sure to see in the librarian’s face. But whatever hasty apologies and half-formed excuses he was about to blurt out died on his lips the moment he saw her: she was standing in profile, arms crossed in front of her chest and hands grasping the hem of her camisole, prepared to take it off, and her head was turned to the side, her eyes on her laptop screen. She didn’t look accusatory, or disgusted. She didn’t even look embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone, but it looked more like… like...

Arousal.

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

He could hardly recognise the low, growly burr as his voice. It sounded uncouth and harsh, like the way he used to speak back in Glasgow. He had worked for years on toning down his accent, letting only the barest hint of it show when he was trying to intimidate someone. Never enough to sound too much like he did back in his youth, and yet he hadn’t managed to quite rid himself of it.

On screen Belle lifted the hem of her camisole a few inches, exposing supple, creamy skin. Royce tried hard not to swallow his own tongue. She bit her lip, suddenly hesitant, and fuck him if that sliver of vulnerability wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

“Is this… Is this okay?”

It took him an embarrassingly-long time to understand that Belle fucking French was asking him if it was alright for her to strip in front of him, presumably for their mutual enjoyment. He reminded himself that he had had only one glass of Scotch, not enough to dismiss whatever was happening as a drunken daydream. Which he might have had, from time to time. About Belle. Maybe.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.”

Her lips curled into a coy smile, the growl in his voice making her shiver, and in one swift motion removed her camisole, revealing a lacy black bandeau bra with delicate details done in leavers lace. It matched her knickers, he noticed idly, and the black contrasted amazingly with her pale, softly-blushed skin. His keen eye noticed the exquisite craftsmanship right away. It was an expensive set, no doubt, and given how she was wearing during a commonplace day where she planned to stay home it led him to the conclusion that Belle French simply owned a lot of fancy lingerie, to the point that she wore it as an everyday sort of garment. He was very sure he would never again be able to look at her and not think about that.

“You’re gorgeous.”

In any other situation he would’ve been embarrassed to sound so… Reverent. So incredibly not in control of the situation. He might be fully-dressed, a man of means with a position of political power in their little hamlet and she might be a half-naked small-town librarian but he was absolutely powerless at the moment. And what was worse, he enjoyed it.

“Thank you, Mr Gold.”

Though he loved the way she said “Gold”, with enough irreverence to turn her tone teasing, he desperately wanted her to say his name.

“Call me Royce, sweetheart.”

She walked over to the table, flipped the chair and sat down, draping her arms loosely around the backrest, the position loose and cocky. There was no doubt in her now, no hesitance. She had assumed control of the situation, for which he was grateful. She tilted her head to a side, sizing him up.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothes, Royce. I feel at a disadvantage.”

She smiled, looking supremely unconcerned, but there was a glint in her eyes he recognised quite easily. Greed. And not the kind he was used to seeing in people who frequented his shop to strike one of his infamous deals. It was different. It certainly felt different to him, hit him right beneath his gut in a way that felt both uncomfortable and pleasant. Without quite thinking his fingers went to the knot of his tie, already loosened, and tugged expertly, untying it in seconds. The silk made a soft, hissing sound as it slipped off his neck, which sounded loud in the otherwise dead silence of the room. Belle followed his movements avidly from the screen, and the look of utter absorption on her face gave him the surge of bravery he needed to tackle the buttons of his shirt till he could shimmy out of it. He was wearing a white undershirt beneath, but his arms and throat were bare, making him feel ridiculously exposed.

“You have many layers. I like that about you.” Belle dropped her gaze, looking coy and vulnerable at the same time. “I like a lot of things about you.”

“Me too.” He tried to stop himself, but it was easier said than done. “Too many things, actually. But I’ve always understood that it would be foolish to expect anything to come of that.” He looked at Belle, draped over her chair and in her underwear. “Well, perhaps I was wrong.”

Belle smiled.

“You’re finally getting it. Good boy.”

He forced himself not to react visibly to those words, even though the moment he heard them it was like being struck by lightning. Thankfully the camera caught him from the waist up, hiding the embarrassing way his cock had perked up a second earlier. He could not hide his flushed face, however, or the way his eyes glazed over the slightest bit.

“Tell you what. I’ll take off my bra if you lose the t-shirt. It’s a fair deal.”

It wasn’t. As far as he was concerned he was getting the far better end of the deal but he would never dream of telling her that. Tipping his hand was not his style.

“Deal.”

He said it in the pleased, soft burr he usually reserved for his less savoury business arrangements, the kind that needed to be sealed in the cloak of night in some remote, deserted location. Belle shivered, and he enjoyed the thought that his voice made her react so. Feeling bold he grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it off, baring himself from the waist up. He saw and felt the librarian’s eyes roam over his torso. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He had scars from his dodgy upbringing in Glasgow, and some from his learning days restoring antiques. He was fond of the sun so at least he was not pasty white, or overly hairy, but he didn’t have much in the way of muscles. Belle, however, seemed to appreciate his more lean physique, if the heat of her gaze was any indication. After she seemed to have her fill of staring she leaned back and deftly unhooked her bra, letting the straps slide down her arms till the garment was on the floor.

He stared. Couldn’t help himself really. Belle French’s tits were perfect. Fucking perfect. Just the right size, incredibly soft-looking and with the loveliest nipples he had ever seen, a rosy-pink that he would never be able to get out of his head. The kind of breasts that would ruin a man for other women. He certainly felt like no other breasts could ever tempt him again.

“Royce, are you okay?”

Her voice sounded a delightful mix of amused and slightly worried, so he forced himself to nod, still unable to look away.

“Fucking perfect.”

Fuck, was that his voice? He sounded… dazed. He fought the instinct to slap some sense into himself. Belle draped herself across the back of the chair again, and though the position hid her breasts somewhat it didn’t do so completely.

“I love how soft you are. Underneath the hardass pawnbroker exterior, I mean. Soft, and kind and funny. So funny. It’s one of your most attractive qualities.”

Most people wouldn’t think so. His brand of humour was dark, sometimes too much. And yet Belle always laughed, always caught on to his quips and seemed to appreciate them in a consporatory way. She could also dish it out, but in a far more subtle way that he was sure most people didn’t catch on to. Softly-spoken sarcasm delivered in a lilting accent.

What was not to love?

He told her so. Unburdened himself completely, caught up in his own physical vulnerability and hers. It felt safe to tell her of his feelings, of how days where he knew he would see her were brighter, and how he liked when they shared a smile or exchanged a comment on a book. How his heart fluttered when he watched her read to the children, and how another part of his anatomy altogether reacted when she strutted around town with her short skirts and devil-may-care attitude. Liked how she thumbed her nose at the pearl-clutchers in town, doing things her way. Completely unsuited for boring, conventional small-town life, and yet wholly at home in Storybrooke, to the point where he could not imagine the town without her.

He shut up after that, noticing how she seemed to have changed, her mood going from loose and flirty to… anxious? No, that wasn’t the right word. Unsettled, perhaps.

“I can’t do this.” The sudden sentence felt like a slap in the face, but the moment his face dropped she seemed to backpedal. “No, no, not like that! I mean… I wanna touch you. I want to be in the same room. With even less clothes on. This… It suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.”

She was fucking right, he realised. He felt itchy all of a sudden. Unfulfilled. Empty.

“Come over.”

“What?”

Belle seemed genuinely surprised, but the way her skin flushed and her eyes got big let him know she was very open to the idea.

“Come the fuck over. It’s fucking cold anyway and the heating system at the library is shite at the moment. Come over and I’ll keep you warm, sweetheart.”

He was rather impressed with his blunt bit of bravery, born out of a consuming need more than anything, and even more impressed when it looked like it worked. Belle scrambled out of the chair, throwing a lovely little nightie on before getting her coat and scarf.

“Be there in a few. See you!”

She disconnected before he could tell her to bundle up. It was fucking freezing outside and that nightie and her stockings and shoes would do nothing against the cold, coat or no coat. A moment later he realised he was sitting down in his pants, socks and shoes and nothing else while Belle fucking French was coming over to...

Fuck.

He scrambled up, fishing for his cane in a hurry and having just enough presence of mind to disconnect from Zoom. He went upstairs to his room, deciding that it would be awkward for him to still be wearing pants. And socks. And shoes. So he chucked all that off, throwing a dressing gown over his boxers, pausing to put on his house slippers, glad beyond words he had recently bought new ones. After that he went downstairs to the kitchen and popped a bottle of champagne, looking into his pantry for the box of chocolate truffles from Kreuther, a treat he had gotten himself after visiting a state sale in Midtown Manhattan a week ago. He arranged the impromptu offerings on the dining room table, and when the bell rang he told himself he was ready. He opened the door, finding a rosy-cheeked and clearly shivering Belle on the other side, hair windswept, as if she had run there. Taking into account her heels it was rather impressive.

Belatedly he thought about the scene she had walked into. He in his dressing gown, with champagne flutes and truffles on the table and a fire roaring in the living-room, a scenario ripe for debauching. But perhaps she wished to talk more, to explore their emotional intimacy. Perhaps the trek there had killed her ardour and all she wanted and needed was to get warm and comfortable. He didn’t want to come off as… expecting anything.

Belle, however, seemed to not share his concerns. She took one look at him, one look at the softly-lit space behind him and the food laid out and smiled.

“You brilliant, wonderful man.”

A second late she was in his arms. Cold, but soft and smelling of orange blossoms and frost. She tilted her head up, slanting her lips across before he could blink and it was… wonderful. The coolness of her lips contrasted with the searing heat of her mouth, making for a rather delicious contrast of sensations. He used the hand not clutching his cane for dear life to find the buttons of her coat, undoing them one by one with barely-contained impatience. Finally he had the coat opened and could snake his arm around her waist. The silk of her small camisole was soft to the touch, and let him feel the warmth of her skin beneath.

He needed to feel more. Now that she was safe in the warmth of his house she didn’t need her coat or scarves and went about the business of removing both without separating himself from her. It took a lot of tugging and pulling and a couple of missteps that landed her up against the wall, to his utter delight, but she was finally rid of both. Her skin, despite the toasty temperature inside the house, was still chilly from the outside.

“Come close to the fire, sweetheart.”

They managed to stumble across the hallway and into the living room, where they seemed to come to the mutual conclusion that remaining standing was not conducive to their current situation. The rug near the fireplace, thankfully, was thick and soft, and the couple of throw blankets he quickly spread over it made it more so. Once he was satisfied she would be comfortable he let her tackle him to the ground, enjoying having her above him. She was small, especially once she wrestled her heeled boots off. A tiny slip of a woman, shorter than him even, but there was a presence to her, a strength, that he couldn't help but surrender to. Beautiful, terrifying Belle.

“I’ve dreamed of this.” Her voice was low, husky. “You weren’t wearing a dressing gown in my dreams, though.”

“And you weren’t wearing anything in mine.” His accent was so thick he feared she might not be able to understand me. “Tit for tat, dearie.”

She ground herself against him, causing him to hiss and arc. Enough pressure to elicit a response, but not nearly enough to satisfy him.

“Don’t call me that. That’s how you call everyone else, and I’m not everyone else, am I?”

Her confidence slipped for a second, exposing a hint of uncertainty that he was quick to dispel.

“No, sweetheart. Of course not.”

He untied the belt of his dressing gown, managing to slip it off while still pinned by Belle. He didn’t imagine it was a very sexy spectacle but she seemed to appreciate it nevertheless. To reward him she yanked her nightie off, revealing her glorious breasts once again to his hungry stare. She was absolutely perfect, made even better by the way the fire lit her skin and hair, and turned her eyes a deeper blue. She looked fierce yet soft, a magnanimous mistress looking down fondly at a favoured pet. Idly she traced a scar near his right shoulder with the tip of her index finger, frowning the slightest bit.

“I want to know the story behind this. I want to know… more. About you. All there is to know that you wish to tell me.”

“Yes.” Usually he’d balk at the idea of such intimacy, of being so bare. Yet it felt like something he could do with Belle, something he wanted to do. “Yes, of course, sweetheart. And I want to know everything about you.”

She smiled, the gesture slowly turning sultry as she crossed her elbows over his chest.

“We’ll talk… later.”

She kissed him then, slowly and thoroughly, sinking one hand into his hair so she could tilt his head just so. Her fingernails felt delicious against the sensitive skin of his scalp and were a welcome distraction from the uncomfortable pressure of her ass against his groin. He wanted to last, desperately, but she was every wet dream he’d ever had come true. He needed to redirect his attention to anywhere but his aching cock. So he forced himself to focus on anything else. The soft, silky feeling of her skin against the rough pads of his fingers, and the taste of her, faintly sweet. She kissed like it was an art, managing to somehow find every spot that made him want to rip her panties off and just bury himself in her, foreplay be damned.

He startled when he felt her hands trail down his body and grasp the elastic of his underwear, tugging on it to hint at what she wanted. He obliged her before he could talk himself out of it, raising his hips so she could slide the boxers off his legs while still kissing. He felt her touch his mangled ankle and forced himself not to flinch or pull back. Blessedly she seemed to notice his discomfort, tugging his boxers off completely and reaching out to place his hands on the sides of her hips, against the scratchy fabric of her underwear. The message was clear, especially when she propped herself against the floor with her hands so she could raise her hips. He gently tugged her pantied down, with slow, careful movements to avoid accidentally ripping the delicate lace and not simply to watch in aroused amusement as Belle fidgeted above him.

“Patience, sweetheart.”

She whined, kicking her panties off when they reached her ankles and pushing him back a second later, her expression demanding.

“No more delays. We’ve had months of foreplay.”

He found himself agreeing with her. It certainly felt like they had been teasing each other for months, with the shared jokes, the furtive glances, bitten lips and coy smiles. Not that he had even dared dream of it before that night. Belle was too good in every way for a bitter old cripple like himself. Her hands on his cock chased his self-deprecation away, leaving his mind in a blissful state of blankness. Slowly, torturously so, she took him in, her hot, wet cunt enveloping him with the right amount of pressure. It was almost too good a feeling, leaving his nerve-endings too excited to register much else. She was fucking perfect, the feel of her the weight of her above him. Like she was made for him, only he wasn’t that lucky.

He needed to somehow make it up to her, make it so good she would not regret it. So he focused on establishing a rhythm, steady enough to build up their pleasure, but not too perfect to make it boring. He concentrated on the sounds she made, the perfect little gasps and the occasional, shivery whine that let him know she was enjoying herself. Soon enough, however, coordination and any form of higher thinking went out the window, the pleasure getting to be too much to focus on anything else other than driving himself as deep into her as he possibly could. He had enough presence of mind to sneak a hand between their bodies, slipping it across her wet fold to stimulate her further, determined not to come before she did. When he finally felt it, the blissful fluttering of her inner walls accompanied by a triumphant cry, he let go of his last shreds of self-control, letting his body seek out its needed release, the feeling travelling up his spine and leaving his whole body boneless with satisfaction.

He grunted when she practically fell on top of him, though he welcomed the reassuring weight of her and the heat from her body. He thought about the champagne and the truffles waiting for them on the dining room table and decided they could wait. As soon as he was able to move he would wrap his dressing gown around Belle and take her and the food and drinks to the bedroom, where they could recoup their energy and talk. And perhaps much later, if he was good, Belle would let him drink champagne from her navel.

Thank Regina and her fucking Zoom twon halls. He would never complain about them again.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Thestraggletag fanfiction #Virtual Session

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eirian-houpe · 1 year

Text

Camp Nano Day 5

I felt the lure of the ocean today - or at least I thought I’d better make sense of the notes I made for Secret of the Seas.

Camp goal: 15,000 words Day’s total: 2,438 Words Camp progress to date: 3,755 words (25.03%)

Fic: Secret of the Seas Summary: Belle and Ruby take a much needed vacation, treating themselves to a fourteen day cruise. Jefferson is Head Miixologist aboard the ship, Secret of the Seas, and Gold is Deck Nine Supervisor, and amid much flirting, and false starts, holiday romances and forbidden loves ensue. Written from the Rumbelle Bingo prompts: Bed sharing, Vulnerability, Jefferson, Pesky Royals, Roses.

Last five words: disappeared through a magical portal.

#camp nano april 2023 #mad rumbelle #secret of the seas

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morosoro · 3 years

Note

Dialogue prompts 3, Rumbelle :)

3. “It’s three in the morning.”

Cluelessness

He couldn’t sleep. A common occurrence ever since a certain librarian had come to town, but tonight he finally had a reason.

He was, apparently, dating Belle French.

How had this happened? Well, he wasn’t quite sure. One moment they’re sharing a friendly cup of coffee at Granny’s and the next they’re sharing spit in the middle of Main Street. She’d kissed him. She’d kissed him and said they should do it again sometime.

At the moment he had been too shocked to process what that meant and had mutely nodded, but now, as he lay in bed staring up at his ceiling in yet another fit of anxiety induced insomnia it finally clicked. It had been a date. The coffee, the small talk, when she walked him back to the pawn shop after their lunch breaks... it had all been a date. She had brought him on a coffee date!

Looking back now it was obvious to him that it had been a date. If only he’d known it at the time. He’d have done so many things differently. He’d have broached different topics, and he wouldn’t have talked about so much about work. What woman wanted to listen to a man stress about reupholstering a Victorian era settee while on a date?

Though, she wanted to bring him on another date by the sounds of it, so he supposed that meant he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself. But still, he had to cringe at his cluelessness.

But what if she’d just been saying that to spare his feelings and he had actually royally bored her? What if she never wanted to speak to him again? Oh god!

Okay, okay... he knew he was being silly. Belle may be kindly but she was also honest. If she hadn’t enjoyed herself she wouldn’t pretend to have, right? She certainly wouldn’t have kissed him if that were the case... right?

He huffed a sigh and shot a glance toward his cellphone. He wouldn’t get any sleep until he got answers, and he wouldn’t get answers unless he asked.

He groaned as he reached for the phone. He’d probably regret this, but it had to be done. He dialled her number and realized something rather important for the first time as it rang.

He’d never called her before. It was always her calling him. He’d been afraid it would seem too forward or desperate if he’d called her. As if a phone call might give away his secret crush and she would be repulsed by the idea. And yet she called him every day, sometimes with nothing to talk about, and he had never once thought anything of it.

Oh, he was a blind old fool.

“Rum?” A sleepy sounding voice answered. “What’s going on?” She asked. “It’s three in the morning.”

Was it really? God, he’d thought it was earlier than that! He wouldn’t have called her this late if he’d known! He should’ve waited until morning. “Belle, hi...” he responded awkwardly. “I’m sorry to wake you. I-I just, ah...” he wet his lips, a nervous tick, before puffing out an amused breath. To hell with it. Just be straightforward. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Oh?” He heard soft background sounds. Sheets ruffling, the bed creaking as if she was sitting up. She sounded a little more awake now. “Why not?”

“I was thinking about you.” He said.

“Oh?” Now she certainly sounded awake. There was even a playful tone in her voice that was really quite suggestive.

“Ah- not like...” he sighed. Oh god this felt hopeless. “I just meant that um... yesterday at Granny’s... Was that a date?”

There was a beat of silence in which his heart sank. Had he assumed wrong? However the silence was quickly broken by the most sweet-sounding, delicate laugh. The kind that felt like a thousand butterflies kissing your cheeks.

“Yes, it was a date.” She replied, and he could hear the smile behind her voice. Her giggling continued.

He chuckled along with her. “Alright, well then consider me the most clueless man in existence. I hadn’t any idea until after you left me standing outside the shop.”

“Really?” She sounded very much amused. “Oh my god, Rum! I asked if you wanted to go out with me for coffee and you didn’t think-”

“No!” He he laughed. “I didn’t! I thought you were just being friendly.”

“Ah, yes,” She hummed, switching into an awful impression of him. “How friendly of Miss French, complementing my tie, brushing her hand against mine, kissing me on the lips. So very friendly.”

“Yes, exactly.” He said and they fell back into their giggles. He’d been utterly foolish, he definitely saw that now, but instead of it feeling awkward or embarrassing as he imagined it might, it was humorous.

“Belle,”He shook his head, cheeks hurting from smiling so much. “Please ignore my ignorance... but would you like to try that again sometime? Tomorrow maybe?”

Belle puffed an amused note into the receiver. “For clarification’s sake, you’re asking me on a coffee date?”

“Yes.” He said, rolling his eyes. He could tell by her tone that she wouldn’t ever let him live his cluelessness down.

“Then yes.” She replied. “I would love to go out for coffee with you tomorrow.”

#ouat #once upon a time #fanfiction #fanfic #dialogue prompts #rumbelle #rumplestiltskin #belle #modern au

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worryinglyinnocent · 4 years

Text

Fic: Family Matters

Summary: Belle and Gold spring into action after Neal calls them in an emergency, and Belle reflects on the meaning of family.

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling January non-smut prompt: Dealing with a family crisis.

Rated: T

CW: Medical themes, pregnancy loss.

Family Matters

It was a perfectly normal Friday night when they got the call. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Belle was curled up on the chaise longue with a book, and Gold was sitting in his armchair browsing the catalogue for the auction he was going to in Boston the next week.

His phone ringing wasn’t normally a cause for alarm, but it was rare enough for someone to call him at eleven o’clock at night that it sent a current of worry through his veins, and the current of worry increased when he looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Neal.

Belle looked up, her brow furrowing in concern. “Who is it?”

“It’s Neal.”

“Strange for him to be calling so late.”

“Very.” He answered, and almost immediately, the current of worry turned into a full torrent.

“Dad, Emma’s in the hospital and I don’t know what to do.”

Neal's voice was choked, on the verge of tears, and Gold took a deep breath, trying to calm the torrent. Neal was an adult now and a father himself, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t also still need his own father to rescue him every now and then.

“Ok, what happened?” He beckoned Belle over so that she could hear as well.

“She’s had really bad stomach pains all day, she thought it was just something she ate. It just kept getting worse and worse until she passed out… I saw her drop, I barely caught her in time… I called 911 and they took her into the hospital, they think she’s got some internal bleeding somewhere…”

“OK. We’re coming. How’s Henry doing?”

“He’s ok, just a bit shaken, he doesn’t really understand what’s going on.”

“Just hold on for a little while. Belle and I are coming.”

“Thanks Dad. I’ll see you soon.”

Belle was already in the hallway pulling on her coat and boots, and Gold took a few moments to check that the house was secure and grab the insurance paperwork from his office - Emma should have been covered by the Sheriff’s office but it paid to be prepared. The drive across town to Neal and Emma’s apartment did not take long, but every moment of it was spent in tense silence. Neal was standing on the doorstep waiting for them, an anxious-looking Henry balanced on his hip, aware that something bad was happening but that it was too much for his one-year-old brain to try and comprehend.

“Hey Henry,” Belle cooed, taking him out of Neal’s arms and giving her stepson a little peck on the cheek, whispering it’ll be ok, I promise in his ear. “Why don’t you come with Nana Belle and we’ll let Daddy and Grandpa get everything sorted out, eh? You should be in bed, it’s very late. I guess all the commotion woke you up.”

Belle took Henry back into the apartment and Neal, no longer having to worry about staying calm and focussed on his son, crumpled against Gold’s shoulder. Neal had never been the most physically affectionate of people, not really a hugger, and the fact he was crying on his father’s shoulder stood as testament to just how scared he was for Emma.

“Let’s go to the hospital,” Gold said. “I think you need to be there. I can always come back and get anything that Emma might need.”

“I’ll be ok, I just needed someone to come watch Henry, I can go…”

“Neal, I don’t want you ending up in the hospital as well.” He held up Neal’s hand, which was still shaking. “I’ll drive. Belle’s got Henry. We’re all here.”

Neal nodded, going back inside to grab his things before following Gold out to the Cadillac.

“Thanks for dropping everything,” he murmured as they set off towards the hospital.

“It’s what families do. You’d have done the same if it was Belle.”

Neal nodded. “Yeah, I would.”

The rest of the drive to the hospital was made in silence. As worried as he was about Emma, Neal gave Gold something to focus on, knowing that he had to be strong so that Neal could be afraid. He thought back over all the family crises that they had lived through so far; mercifully, there were few of them. This was certainly the first time any of them had been in the hospital since Henry was born, and whilst Neal had done his fair share of panicking at the time, that had ultimately been a joyous occasion rather than a crisis.

Gold could only hope that the outcome here would be a good one in the long run.

Belle settled herself in the armchair in the corner of Henry’s room, cradling the tired toddler on her lap. She opened the picture book that she had selected to try and get him back to sleep, but she didn’t start reading it for a few minutes, wondering what could have happened and hoping against hope that Emma would be ok. She was certainly in the best hands, but that didn’t stop Belle from worrying.

Still, there was nothing she could do to help Neal and Gold and Emma, and the most useful thing she could do was to stay here with Henry. The poor boy could obviously tell that something dreadful was going on, and if she could reassure him and get him off to sleep so that his parents didn’t have to worry about him as well as everything else that was happening, then that was what she would do.

She knew that children were far more intuitive than everyone gave them credit for, so Henry would probably be picking up on her unease even if he couldn’t actually give voice to that, so she took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice nice and even and sing-song.

“Ok Henry. Let’s see what Spot the Dog is up to tonight.”

By the time they finished with Spot, Henry was asleep again, curled up against Belle’s chest, and she sighed, deciding to sit with him for a while instead of putting him back to bed. His warm weight was a comfort to her, keeping her grounded and reminding her that there was a little human relying on her to keep him safe whilst his parents were dealing with other horrors. As long as she was holding Henry, Belle knew that she wouldn’t go to pieces.

She didn’t know how long she sat there in the dim light, listening to Henry’s soft breathing as she wondered what was happening in the hospital, looking at her phone every couple of seconds. It was on silent to avoid disturbing Henry, and she was nervous of somehow missing a call from Gold or Neal. The hours kept ticking by until she finally heard a key in the lock and someone tiptoe into the apartment.

“Belle?”

It was Gold’s whispered voice, and a moment later, he stepped into Henry’s room. He looked dead on his feet, but he smiled when he saw her sitting with Henry, and Belle took that to be a good sign.

“What’s going on?” she asked. “How’s Emma? Do they know what’s wrong?”

Gold nodded, coming over and leaning against the chair.

“It was an ectopic pregnancy.” He sighed. “Emma didn’t even know she was pregnant.”

“Is she going to be ok?”

“Yeah. She’s stable and on painkillers and they’ll operate in the morning. The doctors are quite confident.”

“How’s Neal holding up?”

“Well, he’s just about holding it together. He calmed down a lot after we could get in to see her. We both did. I forgot how much I hate hospital waiting rooms. He’s still there; I just came back to get a few things for Emma, I’ll bring him back later.” He was unable to stifle a yawn. “Sorry. The adrenaline’s wearing off now and I’m exhausted.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling. Still, at least it looks like the worst is over.”

They stayed there in silence for a while until Henry shifted in Belle’s arms and she decided that it would probably be a good idea to put him back in his bed so that he could get some better sleep. Hearing the news had lifted a great weight of uncertainty off her mind. Of course, they weren’t out of the woods just yet, there was still the operation in the morning, and it would take time for Emma to recover, but for now the crisis was, if not over completely, then at least manageable now.

She followed Gold out of Henry’s room, helping him pack bits and bobs for Emma’s stay in the hospital. It was one of the marks of what made a family a family, she thought, the way that they all acted in a situation like this. Belle would be the first to admit that theirs was not exactly the most conventional of families, since she was less than ten years older than her stepson and already happy to be an honorary grandmother, but she and Gold had swept in to help without a second thought. It was just what families did for each other.

In the hallway, as Gold was getting ready to make the trip back to the hospital, Belle slipped her arms around his middle, going up on her toes to kiss him.

“Thank you for making me part of this family,” she said.

Gold gave a soft laugh. “Even when you end up staying up half the night watching your step-grandson in the middle of a medical emergency?”

“Even then. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Me neither.” Gold kissed her again, and Belle closed the door after him with a little wave.

As long as they had each other, they’d weather any storm that life threw at them.

#A Monthly Rumbelling #rumbelle fic #rumbelle #Belle French #Mr Gold #Floof Family #background swanfire #toddler!Henry #Fic: Family Matters

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stardancerluv · 4 years

Text

At War

Part One

Summary: Reader as just stepped onto a rollercoaster of emotions and turmoil of being Roman’s girl.

Arthor’s Note: This is parallel to Early Days with Roman

Everything in the beginning had been amazing. Roman, had been a dark storm of passion. He’d swirl around you. You could barely be around him without a possessive gloved hand resting on your thigh. He’d want you at his side during meetings. You were inseparable.

When, things were exceptionally dark, he wouldn’t include or tell you. Anything else he wanted you there.

Additionally, he took care of everything. He made sure you’d eat and get plenty of rest, especially when you would get too distracted with a big project. Or there was that time you got that head cold, despite him having a deep aversion to germs he was there with orange juice and tissues. He’d even a cool or warm compress to relieve the pain you had with a head or that special time of the month.

There was also the times, when he spoiled you rotten, the driver would take you and him to the fashion district. The two of you would shop till you or Victor would collapse. He’d be trailing behind the two of you carrying all the bags.

You could not put your finger on it but all of that was becoming less and less frequent. It began when he started telling you to sit in an entirely different part of the club then where he’d hold his meetings. You’d be sitting in the corner watching as, he talk to Two Face and not get angry or schmooze one bimbo after another hoping he would host their girl nights or bachelorette parties.

That was painful enough, but the real pain came when you went nearly, a week and he barely touched you. He’d come to bed and go to sleep.

Before, you both could have been loopy from exhaustion and you would still leave each other breathless. Hearts would still be racing as you’d fall asleep hard together.

The worst was last night, you had gone to bed alone. Sure that had happened before but he’d always managed to crawl into bed, even if it was at dawn so he could pull you close. He’d pass out from whatever underworld activity he had done to keep his slice of Gotham secure. You never asked what he did and if he did share, ir would be very little. It was none of your business. All that you cared about was he was there and you were his.

When you woke up today, he was still not back or at least that is what you initially thought. So you showered and barely dressed for the day. You only slipped on a fresh shirt and shorts. You were thinking about stuffing down some kind of breakfast you when heard something.

Going to his office you peaked in. There he was, his suit jacket open and belt loosened, slack. A shadow of growth darkened his cheeks. One hand rested on floor as he was barely sprawled on the sofa. Having barely seen him this week, your heart ached seeing him. Your feet managed to bring you closer to him.

One of things that you had loved about being with Roman, was the side of him no else except you saw, and that included Victor. Right now, was one of those moments, deeply asleep his features were so soft.

As you neared you caught yourself stepping on a discarded glove. There was something smudged on it that you couldn’t make out. Finally, you were beside him, you knelt down. You picked up his hand held it to your cheek, you sighed.

That’s when you smelled it. Your entire body stopped. You sniffed his wrist it was faint, putting his hand back down you leaned in.

You fell backwards and scrambled. You crashed onto your back; a pain filled oooaf bubbling from deep within you. You slid straight flat as your hand caught on one of his discarded gloves.

Your nose had filled with the distinct smell of a perfume that was not even close to anything you wore or cared to wear. If that was not bad enough, what you saw on his under its scruffiness froze your heart. Like a fresh wound, there was a smudge of dark lipstick.

You made an incoherent sound. You tried to gather your breath but you couldn’t.

Crawling, no shuffling you managed to get away. You stumbled back into the bedroom, the two of you once shared. You made it to the masterbath, where suddenly you found yourself over the sink and your stomach emptied itself.

How, why? What had you done? All of these thoughts blurred in your head until they slammed into each other and became a jumble. You stomach tried to empty again but it just squeezed hard. There was nothing more it could give up. Bracing yourself on the black marble you desperately rinsed your mouth and the sink out.

One night, it had been a stormy one. He had finally told you, what Circe had done to him. He had made you a promise since you two were together he would never search our another woman.

But now, with all these changes in how he was acting you shouldn’t be too surprised. You had to think. You were so hurt, you really didn’t know what you should do.

You would brush your teeth to get rid of the bile. After that you just didn’t know. This all hurt so much that tears didn’t even come.

Grabbing your toothbrush, your fingers grazed against his personally monogrammed one. Turning on the ice cold water you held your brush under. You squeezed some paste on. Closong your eyes, you wished for your world to stop spinning as you began to brush your teeth.

A cry of anguish poured from your mouth and your toothbrush fell from your hand and clattered to the blackmarble. The two arms, you had missed so much, that had always brought you comfort and grounded you were now around you.

Opening, your eyes there in the mirror was Roman. His solid warmth was around you once again. There were dark circles under his eyes, and despite looming haggard, a soft smile tugged on his lips. Still holding you, he bent and grabbed your toothbrush off the black marble counter.

“My poor, sweet baby. I didn’t mean to scare you.” His lips were warm and soft as he pressed a kiss against your throat. “I just couldn’t wait any longer to have my arms around you.” He said softly as he handed you back your toothbrush.

Your nose twitched, his cologne was especially strong. You knew why and you could not help but notice that the smudge of color was gone.

He chuckled darkly as if remembering something. “I didn’t want to come to you smelling of the docks and what I had to take care of last night. Too much?” His eyes were filled with mischief despite what dark act he could have committed.

You stuck your toothbrush into your mouth not sure what to say or do. All of this made the pain you were feeling all the worse. You had longed for all of this for moment, to be back in his arms for so long. And now it only hurt more.

He grazed his nose along your cheek. “Daddy’s home baby. Relax.” He cooed softly in your ear. His breath was warm, as he pressed a kiss on your jaw.

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