‘’I have no intentions on harming her, I assure you. just those who are in my way..’’
You lost track of how many times your eyes have gone back and forth until they gave up once you began getting circled. You had no memory of what had happened a few hours ago, just how you went to bed and.. that’s it. was this a dream? A nightmare? No.. it couldn’t be.. Loki was here, you knew you wouldn’t be harmed.. yet you still tried wrapping your head around the fact that somehow your wrists were strapped to a chair. The cold temperature in the room reminded you just how short your nightgown was as it stopped mid-thigh, hugging your body tighter then the oxygen that struggled to leave your lungs as you took in the scene before you.
Loki(OG) passed your right side once more, chest out and strutting elegantly in his royal attire of leather and armor. His eyes weren’t on you, thankfully.. his dagger clutched in his hand as he held his attention on his opponent that came before you once more in a completely circle and they both kept going. This Loki was dressed similarly just.. less armor, a more casual form but still held the vibe that he was royal and could strike you down in half a second- thus clutching his own dagger with his eyes on the.. other Loki.
‘’where am i?’’ you manage to get your mouth to form words as you realized you were shaking. ‘’how did I get here?-‘’ it looked like you were almost in an interrogation room, with you three being the only ones in the light, surrounded by darkness. If anyone would take a few steps back anywhere, they would surly not be seen. However your voice was enough to have them both pause a few steps away from either side of you, their stance still in defense towards the other but their eyes at least never showed you anything with bad intentions..
‘’you are safe darling, we are.. unsure of our whereabouts as well-‘’ Loki(OG) started, his voice gentle as if it were to calm you as his eyes traveled your body as you shook.
‘’we both know you, it is quite difficult to know who exactly you belong too- but I am most certainly not going to give you up if there is a slight chance you are mistakenly placed’’ Loki snapped as he held his dagger defensively towards the other Loki(OG), fully intending to protect you as your body tensed.
‘’what are you talking about?’’
‘’the multiverse.’’ They both said in unison.
That’s right.. now you remember.. Dr Strange must have accidently hit you instead of.. whoever you were fighting and must have sent you.. here? whatever universe you were stuck in now,.. you supposed this one had multiple Loki’s.
‘’not multiple love, but the same, in each stage of life brought together. Or at least… the two of us. The other’s in the other branches must not have been affected.’’ Loki(OG) explained, smirking as your eyes widened at the fact that he had read your mind.
‘’in our branch, there is a version of you, exactly how you are now. You disappeared.. I am here to take you back with me where you belong.’’ Loki said gently, as if his tone alone would convince you but the other Loki(OG) stepped closer.
‘’she belongs on my timeline- I will not lose her again’’ Loki(OG) snapped and they both starred each other down.
‘’I remember-‘’ you started, making them both look back at you. ‘’I was attacked in my apartment, some Hydra agents that Strange was tracking- something happened and I was accidently sent here to these.. to a different branch as you say..’’ you explained, getting why you were in your nightgown now. ‘’but that still doesn’t explain why I’m tied up-‘’
Loki(OG) chuckled, turning your attention over to him. ‘’you have a tendency to be a bit.. feisty when you awaken suddenly or are in foreign surroundings. it was a way to have you find yourself calmly.’’
‘’well in any case..’’ you said slowly, still trying to wake up from whatever dream.. nightmare- you still weren’t sure- this was. ‘’you both aren’t the Loki I know.. the one on my branch is quite different.. he and I didn’t become a thing until he was a bit older than.. I suppose how you are right now..’’ you explain slowly as you look towards the more.. casual dressed Loki. You felt your cheeks reddening at the subject, but you both didn’t become a thing until he was a part of the TVA. Before he dropped you to your branch..
They both looked at each other and tensed, but you knew they could tell you weren’t lying, and their expressions turned to disappointment.
‘’well, I suppose we should both begin our search then for the other version of yourself, you are clearly apart of a different branch.’’ Loki said quietly and slowly vanished his dagger, his body relaxing as the other did the same.
‘’or.. perhaps we could have a little fun with this..’’ Loki(OG) said in a quieter tone as his eyes dragged back to you, making your hands clench as you tried to unnoticeably pull your wrists against your restraints.
The other Loki was silent, having an unreadable expression like all the others as he looked to you as well. Somehow the room seemed to feel smaller, darker, or perhaps it felt that was when Loki(OG) found himself at your side, his thigh barely ghosting against yours as your eyes rose to meet his hungry gaze.
‘’take me home..’’ you said quietly, fear and nervousness of the unknown dripping off your voice as your thighs pressed together.
‘’we will my darling, we will..’’ he seemed to coo, dragging light finger tips against your cleavage, his eyes drinking any skin you had exposed before his slender digits ghosted upward, trailing a finger to trace your collarbone. ‘’we promise, we love you.. in all our branches, and you love us. You cant tell me you haven’t thought of the possibilities..’’ he dared as his hand trailed up your neck and grasped your jaw now so you were looking at him. ‘’magic has its ways, duplicates though can be it’s own.. erotic adventure..’’
Although you couldn’t move your head, you strained your eyes to look down as you felt a pair of hands gently rest at your bare knees, caressing the skin with long, cold digits and you knew it was the other Loki. He sank down to his knees before you, having no trouble prying your legs apart as your fingers gripped the arms of the chair.
‘’please…’’ you begged, barely a whisper as your heart rate picked up. You loved Loki, the one you were with back home.. you knew these two were also Loki.. but not? It all felt so strange, so much to wrap your head around and you felt Loki(OG) tilt your head up to look up at him again.
‘’calm that beautiful mind of yours love. We will take great care of you and will not force you into anything you wouldn’t enjoy’’ he whispered, sinking down on one kneel to your side and you felt the tip of his nose ghost against your neck as he inhaled. ‘’mm practically perfect in any universe..’’ he whispered..
‘’she feels perfectly the same as she did when I had her.. gods I’ve missed you..’’ Loki’s lips murmured as he began kissing the inside of your thigh by your knee and he slowly dragged his lips towards your center with open mouth kisses.
The other (OG)Loki’s hand left your jaw as you moved to look away from him, only to feel his fingers slowly glide up into your hair and pulled just enough to tilt your head back, making you whimper just slightly. Your breaths were short, eyes wide, and mind doing it’s best to think rather than to feel. Although, they were making it extremely difficult as you felt (OG)Loki’s tongue drag itself against your neck, sucking at your skin while his other hand ghosted over your breast.
You shamefully felt yourself arch every so slightly, catching yourself as you retreated but he was already smirking against your skin. ‘’do not deny the pleasures of this world darling, we do not know how long we have in its universe after all’’ he whispered and gently began massaging your breast.
Yoi felt yourself shiver, trying to strain your back from arching until the soreness made you give up and pushed more against his wicked hand. You felt the other Loki between your legs, having switched to your other thigh as he caressed it with his mouth. He had switched just before he had got to your center and you hated yourself for feeling disappointed.
‘’do not fret darling, I promise we will get there’’ he smirked up at you as his hands caressed your knees as his lips continued.
‘’s-stay out of my head..’’ you whimper, feeling (OG)Loki’s hand now raise and move itself under your nightgown to grope you properly, playing with our nipples as he alternated between your globes.
‘’as you wish darling, your body tells us just enough..’’ he whispered before spreading your legs wider and raised your nightgown ever so slightly to reveal black, lace panties.
‘’my my it was almost as if you were expecting something tonight’’ he smirked and his eyes flashed dangerously up at yours. ‘’I do hope that particular Dr didn’t see anything that didn’t belong to him..’’
You felt the other (OG)Loki’s grip in your hair tighten ever so slightly as he pinched your nipple, making a gasp leave your lips as you arch.
‘’even if he has, it would just be another reason to claim you. over.. and over.. and over again..’’ he whispered and began nibbling on your ear lobe, causing goosebumps to spring up upon your skin as he squeezed at your breast.
Another gasp left your mouth as you felt the flat of Loki’s tongue play against your center against the panties while his fingers slid up against your hips and gripped your underwear.
‘’as beautiful as they are, they have no use anymore’’ he smirked and pulled them down and they were history behind him as he spread you wide again.
Your heart pounded as you felt his breath against your center, teasing you at first as your legs shook. The other Loki(OG) pulled your shirt down, using the stretchy fabric to his advantage so he could place his mouth on your breast now. A moan left your mouth before you could think to silence yourself and you already knew they both were smirking as your cheeks reddened.
‘’that’s more like it darling...’’ Loki murmured before he gave you a long lick against your cunt.
A gasp left your lips as you head fell back, your arms straining against the binds as your pleasure already began to build. The tip of his tongue began teasing your clit, flicking and lapping against it while he took turns sucking as well.
Your body shook and your breaths were almost none existent until you forced yourself to breath periodically while he massaged your clit. Both had wicked tongues, giving you an overwhelming state of pleasure, there was too much to keep track of what was going on. Your eyes squeezed shut, allowing yourself to just feel and your lips parted with no words.
Loki(OG) flicked his tongue against your nipple, nibbling and sucking while making sure to give the other equal attention.
Your eyes fluttered open as you moaned, feeling his tongue plunge inside you, feeling how his moan vibrated your inside which only built more to your pleasure. Your arms strained, wanting so desperately to grasp his hair, to touch.. someone.. and feeling him smirk against your cunt, you didn’t even care if he read your mind or not.
Your eyes opened once more to find that Loki(OC) was now nose to nose with you, his lips ghosting yours as a hand remained playing with your chest while the other now returned to your jaw, his thumb brushing against your lip before opening your mouth slightly.
‘’you’re going to cum for us darling, right now’’ he murmured, pressing his lips to yours as he caressed your tongue with his, almost feeling like the same movement as the wicked tongue attacking your center.
You moaned in his mouth, leaning forward as much as possible as he grasped your hair and got tongue fucked by both your mouth and your cunt. It was to much and your center squeezed and fluttered just as he added his fingers to play with your cunt. Moaning shamelessly into (OG)Loki’s mouth as Loki drove his tongue into you, helping you ride it out as you spasmed and shook before having calmed down once their movements slowed down.
Panting, Loki(OG) smirked as he leaned up and brushed his lips to your forehead, the other wiping his face and licking his fingers, making your cheeks redden.
‘’we won’t stop until we find you love, I’m sure you’ll have a lot of new ideas once you return. Magic nearly makes anything possible. Perhaps your Loki could conjure up a few more’’ Loki(OG) smirked, winking as he stroked your cheek while you looked dick drunk even though they’ve used everything except cock. Just the idea made your eyes wonder and Loki gave a dangerous look while he leaned down to be nose to nose with you.
‘’I think we still have some time left before this Dr of yours finds you..’’
A Link to my Masterlist is HERE
Summary: Loki interrogates you....sexually.
Warnings. 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Ceremonial erotica. Fun & Games. Soft! Dom Loki. Established relationship. Light bondage. Denial. (w/c 1.8k)
“Do you plead mercy, little one?”
Loki’s voice is terrifyingly calm. If it weren’t for the violently hard erection pressed against his thigh beneath those tight, slutty trousers you might actually believe you were in danger.
Deny me, you’d challenged him. Make me break.
And he has. And he’s close.
“You’ll never make me talk,” you say defiantly. The layer of fear in your voice is fake, but the tremble isn’t.
It feels like you’re dripping on the bed, knees together, folded to the side, hands tied to the posts.
Loki’s eyes flicker to the sheets beneath you as you squirm and a slight narrow of his eyes confirms that yes, you are in fact, dripping on the bed.
You’ve been at this for almost an hour. He’s barely touched you. Just a graze of his tactfully deployed fingers, a blindfold, the targeted skim of his breath and the devastation of his carefully chosen words.
Now the blindfold runs between his fingers as he tilts his head, thinking.
“My interrogation requires a little more...finesse, then,” he says, making the blindfold disappear in a flash of green. “A touch more...pressure.’
You whine, yanking the thick leather binds wrapped around your wrists. The manufactured innocence on your face is like blood to a free-wolf and Loki’s lips curl in a wicked smile.
“I’ve been doing this a long, long time,” he says imperiously as he unbuttons a cuff. His long fingers make slow work of folding the sleeve up the meat of his forearm. “I may be a Prince, but an Interrogator of the Crown was my calling, I think. Don’t you?”
Your chin rises and you nail him with your stare, hoping your tits look as great as you think they do. You arch valiantly towards his quiet wrath and with a deep breath, you deploy your best 50's starlet impression. “You’ll never break me….Loki Laufeyson.”
He releases an exaggerated growl that makes new arousal well between your tightly closed thighs. “Is that right?”
A golden flicker licks from his forehead, the horned diadem unfurling from nothing at all. He’s working on the other sleeve as he swaggers to the side of the bed, taking his time. An oil of sweat has formed on your chest and you squirm for real, trying to break free.
“You know how I feel about the horns, oh god-” you mutter, breaking character, clenching as another devilish smile stretches his lips.
He stands by your head, crotch inches from your face. So close you can see his cock throb through the fabric. So close you can smell the earthy sweetness of his pre-cum. A low rumble of laughter penetrates the air.
“I think you’re closer to defeat than you let on, little one,” he says, drawing a cool finger down your cheek. “Desperate to yield to me, desperate to give in to my demands; to furnish me with the carnal knowledge of your body that I require…that the realm requires.”
Against every instinct screaming in your body, you yank your face away.
“Perhaps not,” he says bitterly.
A wave of dark sandalwood fills your nostrils as the mattress dips and Loki mounts the bed one impossibly long leg at a time.
He spreads his knees while he spreads yours. His face is bladed and angular in shadow, smouldering eyes sparkling beneath his battle-crown of gold.
The god reaches forward and runs his huge palms up the front of your thighs. His touch is electric. You buck up, feeling a web of arousal stick against the bedsheets. Loki glances at it through half-lidded eyes, his trunk heaving with heavy, silent breaths.
“You bring this on yourself,” he whispers coldly as a strange object appears in his hand. It looks like a little bell with a round, tapered tip. But heavy. It looks heavy. There's a slight amber tint that warms in the low light.
“My seal,” he explains with an air of condescension. He swings it between his thumb and forefinger. “You will submit to me...one way or another.”
He leans closer, dragging the cool golden seal over the curve of your breast and a violent shiver wrenches down your spine.
“They always do,' he says. "And I have come prepared.”
His eyes follow the metal seal’s descent over the dip of your waist, enjoying the shudders of overstimulation they cause. The graze of his raised markings harden your nipples and you strain your neck to the ceiling as he runs a line down the centre of your stomach and pauses at the top of your mound.
The weight between your legs is unbearable; it’s an emptiness only Loki’s cock can fill.
“Are you sure you don’t want to talk?” he murmurs sweetly with those dark brows peaked. But it’s an act, trying to trick you – of course.
Oh god, he’s so fucking hot, it’s terrible. Every urge screams to cry mercy and have him fuck you like a victorious king; ride him as you hang onto those horns and make him see double.
“Do it,” you spit, clenching your teeth. You yank the leather ropes again. “Pervert.”
Loki’s brows rise in genuine surprise, a flash of mirth you recognise skating across his face before his features harden again. Role play with Loki is like nothing else. The king of your heart, but king of the performance too.
“Very well,” he says, and the cool roll of metal slips against your cunt. He toys with it, pressing its ridged base against your clit and rubbing it in slow, maddening circles.
“This seal has started wars,” he says in the same calm, even tone, “ended them, too.”
Your stifle a groan of pleasure as the curved tip dips inside your pussy. Its sharp bite seems to melt inside the heat of your slit.
“But you may be my greatest challenge,” he purrs as he slides it from the hole. You whimper as he brings it to his lips, rolling it, moaning in a low inhumane frequency. “And since I have just now claimed you with my crest...perhaps your conscience will allow me to claim you with my cock.”
Your will to resist is fading fast.
Loki tsk’s with feigned irritation as the seal vanishes and his attention turns to the mess beneath your legs. Arousal sticks to your inner thighs in a glistening sheet.
You groan as he flexes his fingers in front of his face, thick veins standing to attention on the back of his hands. He folds all but two, sucking them between his lips and hollowing his cheekbones in the process like an absolute whore. Without a pause, he curls them inside you and the air dissolves from your lungs in a strangled moan of his name.
“Doesn’t count…” he warns. You look at him with your mouth open, brow a map of twitching lines. "You have to say it."
Loki kneels between your legs, as cool as Jotunheim ice, pumping his fingers slowly inside your slippery cunt, thumb sliding against your swollen clit with an arrogant smirk on his face.
Your hips rise to meet him on every thrust of his palm. Breath comes in short bursts as you clench around his fingers, back arching into his touch as orgasm threatens to ruin you-
He slips them out.
“Loki!”
The frustration is real - no need to act. The god’s eyes widen in a shameless caricature of innocence. “I have given you every opportunity to yield to me, I have I not?”
He pushes the rolled sleeves of his perfectly fitted shirt higher in a targeted attack. Your legs have begun to tremble at the loss of his touch.
“And at every opportunity," he continues, "you have stayed true to your loyalties...which I respect."
The ceremonial sincerity in his voice is sickeningly erotic as he hooks his hands beneath your knees. “But pleasure...true pleasure...is a privilege reserved for those who yield to me.”
The sharp cool of his metal diadem stings your flesh as he kisses your inner thigh. He draws closer to your desperate sex, so close you can feel his breath cool against it as he says, “So cry mercy darling, and it will be yours.”
He’s really dialled the drama up to eleven tonight. Instinctually you try and lurch your arms forward to grab the curve of his horns and press him deep into your pussy; mad for the feel of his tongue flat and flawless moving against it.
“Oh god,” you whimper, fighting yourself.
“Good girl,” he purrs, grazing his parted lips over your swollen labia. It’s too much.
“Oh god, Loki…”
“Good girl, say it...beg for it,” he spits as he falls back on his haunches and reaches for the button of his suit trousers. He looks so fucking mean.
The beat in your chest has turned to syrupy thumps as your legs straighten and contract on either side of him.
“You want to be my good girl…”
A pop echoes and his cock suddenly weighs in his hand like a weapon. You’re salivating...actually salivating. He pumps slowly back and forth, jaw clenching, his eyes hard as flints. “Don’t make me finish myself on your traitorous face.”
“Mercy,” you gasp.
Loki’s grin widens and it touches his eyes. He licks his lips.
“Do you want me to stay in character?” he asks quietly as his clothes disappear- everything but the horned diadem on his head.
His shoulders roll and every muscle in his torso tightens, thighs bulging as he clenches against the punishing grip of his fist. You bite your lip, nodding. His eyes flash.
“Well chosen,” Interrogator Loki says. The hard edge in his voice has returned with a vengeance and he melts the leather binds holding you with a wave of his hand. “I trust my faith in your repentance is not misplaced,” he says as he crawls up your body with intent.
Loki’s hair swings around your jaw, the scent of him, the weight of him. His length presses like metal against your throbbing clit and you buck your hips, trying to catch him.
Every thought in your head evaporates as Loki of Asgard buries himself inside you with a shuddering exhale. Your legs wrap around his hips, forcing his ass down, pushing him deeper.
There’s a thud, and then another one; the curve of his horns beating against the headboard. Loki deploys a wolfish smile as his fingers curl around your wrists.
“Can’t take any chances with my minx of a prisoner,” he whispers against your cheek.
“No mercy,” you moan into his open mouth. It’s a request he understands as he delivers another targeted roll of his hips.
“No mercy,” he replies.
A/N - Have I told you guys how much I love you recently? Because I really do. I hope you know that. x
Tags ( in comments - all of you, soz. Normal way is not workinnng)
Trying not to sound like a jerk on it so if I do I apologize but I was wondering what is about Captain Beauty that you like? I saw Outsider and I can see the potential that it might have worked and even my friends have said to me "in another setting it would have worked" where I understand but at the same time I don't. Would love to hear from a fan of the ship what they like about it because I think its a fascinating pairing.
I’m not offended, don’t worry; I’m just nervous. I never discussed one of my ships before. Honestly, I didn’t ship them since The Outsider; I shipped them this year, maybe this past June. I was curious one day of their pairing, so I watched fan videos and read fanfiction; and eventually my shipper heart grew to love them together. Nevertheless, I’ll answer your question. Just keep in mind these are my opinions and that I’m still kinda new to the pairing.
I don’t ship Captain Beauty because Hook shot her; to me, that’s not their kind of love. Depending on the fanfic (if he’s after revenge), Hook sees Belle more than just a tool for revenge, sees the beauty of her as a person; he lets go of his pain for Milah and revenge, I think. To have a connection with someone.
They have amazing chemistry. Belle craves for freedom, adventure, and to see the world. Killian can help Belle accomplish her dreams; in return, she can give him a new side of himself; I think they both could possibly be given new sides of each other. I agree they’d be perfect for each other if things were different.
I never cared for movies, stories, etc. that’s strictly just Romance (though there are some chick flicks I like). I’m more of a woman of Action, Adventure. Captain Beauty fanfics tie in those three genres, depending on plot. I like the sense of adventure and romance fused together.
If you’re curious about Captain Beauty, dive deeper into the pairing, read fanfiction. I recommend Restraint by LotornoMiko on fanfiction.net. It’s a good story. It’s a WIP, but it’s worth it. I’ll warn you, it has smut/sex. To me, the story shines what Captain Beauty is. Also, hookfire’s gif sets of them here in Tumblr. And for the heck of it, here’s one of my favorite Captain Beauty fan videos.
Earlier this evening, I finished the first stage of site building, which was scanning all the covers. So on that front its as up to date as it can be, considering I have another batch to ship over to me from Japan! XD
But yeah, still slowly under construction as I try to figure out some things site wise...like I noticed at least one image is somehow locked as not to be clickable...and I think I would like that feautre for the rest of them, until I can set up it up somehow so clicking on a thumbnail would lead to a link or page instead...
It's also probably a bad time to start a new site, when I found out I may have to have surgery soon...X_X So I wonder if I'll even have time to figure out some of the features I want, and to do any more scanning...especially any time soon...
Feeling lazy, so here is just a quick run down, rather than indivudial links for each section:
Couldn't sleep…tried to but failed….so ended up spending these sleepless hours doing more scanning for the site….though I only got the covers up for two fandoms….but that's cause of how many I have for the Fate Universe. ^^''
Fate Grand Order (Though some Stay Night, Zero, and Extra are also mixed in there!)
Page for all the doujinshi I’ve accumulated for the various Fate Universe. Primarily for Grand Order, but there is some Zero and Stay Night,
And my small Sailor Moon doujinshi collectin (Plus some official merch.)
My Sailor Moon Doujin Collection primarily focus on two themes…the first being the Prince Diamond/Demand USagi/Sailor Moon/Serenity pairing.
My OCD kicked in, and caused me to go on a cover scanning spree....though I still have so much more to go...and feel all tapped out at the moment. X_X
But here are the direct links to the pages that are as up to date as they can be, considering I still have more doujins I haven't had shipped to me yet! XD
Fire Emblem Page:
Fire Emblem Doujinshi – Lotornomiko's Doujin Domain (wordpress.com)
Dragon Quest Page:
Dragon Quest XI Doujinshi – Lotornomiko's Doujin Domain (wordpress.com)
So tonight I discovered, that for some reason my wordpress sites are not showing up in Bing search engine. They do still show up if you use google's search engine. 0_o
So I am making an info post to give ya'll the direct links to the various sites. i have not deleted ANY of them.
The Valkyrie Profile site, Asgardian Pleasures:
An All Purpose Valkyrie Profile Site Devoted First And Foremost To The Lezard Lenneth Pairing
The Voltron site, Doomed Romance:
Just another WordPress.com weblog
My Once Upon a Time site, Hooked On You:
A Once Upon A Time FanSite Devoted To Captain Hook
And finally, my newest site, which is just a place to showcase my doujinshi collection, and is under heavy and SLOW construction:
Just a site to showcase the different covers of the doujinshi I have bought over the years
I don't intend to ever delete my sites on purpose, so if there are not appearing in search engines, don't panic and think I went on a deleting spree! Refer to this link post instead! Or even bookmark them yourself. Thanks!
The Untitled Pirate AU story (Once Hook Belle, worksafe for now) Chapter One revamped
Okay so I revamped a plot element for this...to make it work better for what I wrote/implied in later chapters!
It is from a young age that I have known my fair share of heart break, my life left in shambles and uprooted as a result. Starting with the mother who was taken from me far too soon, to the father who could not truly love me, to so much in between, it's not been the traditionally charmed life of a princess that I have led. For all the riches, for all the indulgences, the endless toys and then that of books, I've always existed as separate from other people. With barely a friend to my name, just servants and those angling to elevate their own status, just about everyone, even that of my own father would seek to use me.
With no true affection, and little ability to tolerate the reminder that I was, there had never been a doubt in anyone’s mind, let alone mind, that my father would one day try. Left existing as nothing more than his pawn at best, a tool that he could barter with, I had always known that my life at the convent would not continue on endlessly. Burdened with that truth, the weight ridden responsibility of my crown, there had never been a chance to breathe, to truly be FREE. Always, always I was aware, and counting down the uncertain seconds as to WHEN the summons would finally come. I had spent too many a sleepless night worrying, wondering what destiny would ultimately be shaped for me, and just how desperate would my father let things get? Would there be any inkling of kindness in his heart, any saving grace that would buy me just one second more of freedom? Alas, the answer to those questions was never ones that had required much thought and consideration, my father a cold, hard, and practical man who at the first stirrings of true war, immediately sought to make an alliance. Only then did he truly think of me, only then did he want to be bothered with the daughter he had cast away. By my virgin blood, and by my hand in marriage, my father, the King, would seal the alliance.
I had always known it would come down to this. I had always known I would have no say in who I would marry. Never was the hope of marrying for love and respect. And never for the idea of family and friendship. I was a political tool, a means to an end, a pretty bauble meant to dangle before the most powerful of Lords. And there were few as powerful as the house my father meant to tie me to. The House of Hunters, the slayers of ogres, amd the ones who had brought a definitive end to so many wars already. A far too distant neighbor of ours, the House of Hunters shouldn't have even been interested in the troubles of the kingdom of Avonlea. We weren't the richest of kingdoms, neither in land, money, or people. And yet, my father did have one thing to appeal to them. To appeal more specifically to their unmarried King. Gaston of the House Of Hunters, had always been a great lover of beauty. At least in the physical, feminine form. I am no conceited twit, but I have been told I am beautiful, and that I only grow more so with every year.
Rumors of my supposed beauty were all that it took. Not talk of my intelligence, my courage, my heart that was so ready to love and be loved. Gaston cared for none of it. For him, only the best would do, the most beautiful of females rumored to exist in all of the Enchanted Kingdoms. Only THAT woman would do as his wife. I was sent for almost immediately, the summons arriving, and within the hour I and my entourage were hustled onto a ship. There hadn't been any time to pack. There hadn't been any time for any real goodbyes. I had been collected, along with my chaperon, and several of the women who had worked closely with me as servant and aide over the thirteen years I had lived at the convent.
The convent is as close to home as I could claim, the castle I had lived in with my father a distant, blurred memory at best. I had barely been eight years of age, the last time I had set foot there, and my mother hadn't been dead for more than a week. I hadn't been allowed to cry, hadn't been given any true comfort or attempts at solace. I had worn a pretty dress of black silk, and was paraded out with the coffin, the brave little princess who had lost her mother too soon. The kingdom had wept for me, and then just like that, I was all but forgotten.
I have just one special memory of that time before I was shipped off to the convent. The one sympathetic face, the sad but knowing eyes, and the crooked shape of his lips. He had been handsome even then, with his boyish good looks already hinting at the devastating beauty he would one day grow into. To me alone did he speak. To me did he offer condolences, a plain cotton handkerchief being pressed into my small hands. Telling me that it was okay to cry, to let it all out, with a wisdom that belied his young age.
With eyes that should have been colored a bright blue, but were instead as dark as the sea, Killian Jones was a lad who had been weighted down too soon with the sins of a careless father, and his own brand of trouble and tragedy. Lowborn of status, but not that of feelings, that striking youth was not considered someone worthy enough to approach that of someone ranking so above his station. Let alone that of a princess. Yet for all my noble blood, all the vaunted titles and responsibilities laid on me by my crown, I too was little more than a misfit, an outcast in my own court. Even before my mother had passed, I had been considered an odd one, with my love of books and my spirit that yearned for adventure. For the kindness that had been nurtured within, my mother so different from that of my cold and uncaring father, teaching me to value those that he wouldn’t, there had been no greater worth to me than that of a true friend. Killian blazed bright as just that, the boy not caring about what I was, how a feigned friendship with me, might have improved HIS lot in life. He had seen a like minded soul, a heart that was hurting and lonely, and had defied all rhyme and reason of the court’s rules, to befriend me.
Killian, with that dark eyed sorrow that was so often a match to my own, was both playmate and confidante to a girl who would otherwise have had none, I have so many fond memories of moments stolen by his side. Even the ones tinted with sadness, can still make me smile, as I remember skinned knees, and grief stricken tears, and the handkerchief meant to stifle them.
Overcome with the memory of that suppressed emotion, I shake now just as I had then. I’m no more prepared to deal with such feelings now as I was then, neither the child I had been, nor the young woman I was now, having true permission to just let go and cry. I hadn’t even known how to try, always aware that as princess, eyes were upon me, and that my head must be held high and proud.
I feel weighted down from all that effort, just as I did back then. A child of eight is not one prepared to deal with the grief and the responsibilities brought with her mother’s death, and with my world so shattered, I could barely managed to play the part of the princess in mourning properly. I could be sad, but only to a point, decorum would not allow such unseemly sights as that of a heartbroken child wailing in grief. Of the panic that would follow, the fat tears on my face, the pathetic sniveling my father had warned me against voicing before the eyes of any one, be they of the court or that of our private servants.
All that had threatened to come undone by the boy who had appeared before me, the proffered cloth bringing me so close to the tipping point, that all I could do was stubbornly blink back the tears while shaking my head no. My sight almost blurred with the effort, the flood gates would indeed open the instant Killian moved as though to touch me. Those unsightly tears had fallen, big fat gobs of them that quickly soaked through the fabric of the handkerchief I attempted to muffled them with. I had shaken with my sobs then, so overcome, and again Killian looked as though he would touch me, decorum and rules be damned. Ready to throw away my status as princess, and his life to comfort me, to that boy, that dear, sweet friend, I was not just that of any ordinary girl. The rich and noble blood in my veins, the station and status it had afforded me, I wasn’t to be touched by those of common blood. Let alone by any males deemed beneath me. Surrounded and served by those who been of the lesser nobility, though none moved to comfort me, neither would any not hesitate to tell, should this boy, Killian, lay so much as a finger upon me.
It was HIS death he was a courting, in trying to console a heart made broken over the loss of my mother. Killian didn’t seem to care, this boy, so beautiful and brave and ever so caring, had risked so much just by approaching me. A fact that was not appreciated by his older brother, Liam. Already closer to an adult, than that of the children Killian and I had both been, Liam had never appreciated the friendship fostered between us, or the danger that it had put his young brother in.
With a face that was that of a young man, the thin cheek youth was not anywhere half as handsome as the boy, Killian already was. Nor had he ever been anywhere as kind, and even then, with the excuse of the fear that had driven him, his eyes had been angry, colored a blue so similar to that of his younger brother, but sparkling wild with his shock and his fury. In his panic, he not only lunged for his young brother, but seized roughl hold of him, while snarling his name. So absolutely furious had Liam been, a flash of that blue spared my way, as though the young man would have words with me too. But even with his terror so stark, Liam had never forgotten the eyes that were always watching. It made him bite back whatever he might have wanted to say, to instead force Killian to one knee, as though prostrating him for forgiveness. There was none need to be given, my voice falling on ears that would not truly listen. I had tried to soothe them both, to reassure and explain to Liam that his brother had done no wrong, was in no real danger, but Liam would not have it. I was a brand of trouble he had never wanted this near to his brother, inviting disaster not just to Killian, but to what remained of their house.
With those blue eyes flashing so angrily, there is no doubt in my mind, that Liam would devise a suitable punishment for his brother. Just as he had in the past, Liam always trying to impress on Killian through the harshest of ways, why he should keep far, far away from me. I’ll never know if his last and his latest had finally proved effective or not, if the lesson had finally been learned. For two days later, I would already have been sent away, my mother barely cold in the ground, when my father washed his hands entirely of raising me.
I had lost so much in so short a time. My mother, my one true friend, even the only home I had ever known. I went numb with the shock of it all, might have proved even catatonic when escorted onto the ship that would bring me to the convent. That of my second home, a place I spent more time at, than at my parent’s own castle, a good thirteen hears having passed, before that too would be taken from me.
This is the second time I’ve had to stand on a ship, and watch what had become home to me, grow smaller and smaller, the further out to the sea the ship took me. This time however, I am more clearheaded, not lost to that numbness that had overtaken me as a child. I stand at the ready, aware of the destiny taking me away from the convent and the island that had let me be a more freer version of myself. One who was without the frills of the heavy dresses, or the immediate burdens of my crown. What a fool I must have been, to let myself ever dare hope I could remain there indefinitely. Time always catches up, one way or the other, its unpleasant realities thrust upon all.
I feel sad, but lack the ability to cry. Is it resignation I feel, or is it only slightly easier each time I have to abandon a home? I do not know, but I cannot take my eyes from it, knowing I will probably never set foot there on that island again.
Even after I can no longer see it, can no longer spy even a glimpse of the convent's grouping of islands, I stay situated at the rail. The chill wind blows through and rustles my clothing, tugs at the curling strands that have escaped my otherwise tightly bound hair. The cloak about my shoulders is the softest of fur lined velvet, and the many layers of heavy dress that I wear, help to keep me warm. Still I can barely breathe for the tight corset, the confines of a princess' gown so vastly different from the simple shifts and dresses that I had worn when at the convent.
Already caught in the trappings of my title, the ship that I ride on, has come prepared for a princess. Made heavy with my dowry, with the many chests of gold, along with dresses and jewels and an assortment of toiletries, I go not to my father, but travel instead to meet my soon to be husband. I grip the rail of the ship, grateful that the kidskin gloves that I wear, hide how white my knuckles have gone. I will not cry, will not let them see my proud and haughty facade crumble. But I mourn the life that I am losing, the freedom that was never truly mine to command.
My chaperon, an older woman newly appointed by my father, stands off to the side of me. She wears a disapproving frown, fusses with her own cloak, and makes muttered comments about how we should get below deck before the storm hits. I tune her out as best I can, staring, staring as though my will alone will get the ship to turn around. It doesn't, and it wouldn't, not even at a request from me. Princess I may be, but I am not in charge here, not in command of even my own destiny. I can only hope that my husband, will be a kinder man than my father ever was, that Gaston won't make too many demands of my time, and allow me the chance to just be.
With that hope in my heart, I stand for just short of forever at that railing. Around my chaperon and I, the sailors run rampant, rushing to and fro to ready the ship for the approaching storm. I hear the hard sound of canvas flapping, the men trying to tie it up, so that the storm's winds won't rip the sail to shreds. And then I hear a cry of the man up in the crow's nest, the sailor shouting out word that another ship has appeared over the horizon. I turn in the new ship's direction, and can barely make out anything, not even with the aid of a looking glass. I catch snippets of conversation, the sailors describing a ship that match that of one of my father's fleet. They assumed it is just one more escort, a ship to join the half a dozen that are sailing with us towards Gaston's kingdom. There is a relaxed air about them, the men confidant and unconcerned, until another ship is spotted. And then another, and another, and then the sky is cracking apart, rain falling and thunder booming as a cannon ball careens into the side of one of the escorts.
My chaperon turns pale faced and screams. Others scream as well. I hear one word repeated over and over, pirates, and it moves the crew into new action. The sailors run to arm their cannons, and the soldiers that had been resting below deck rush up top ready to lend a hand, ready to fight and die to protect the ship's cargo. My chaperon nearly faints, clutching at my arm for support. I stand frozen, my mouth agape, and then a cannon ball takes out the mast of the ship that I am on. Suddenly I can't move fast enough, dragging the older woman with me, as I look for what exactly I do not know. There's no truly safe spot aboard a ship that is being attacked, that is constantly being bombarded with cannon fire, and there is no real escape either.
"Get below deck!" Screams a commanding officer. I balk at the idea, thinking it a sure death sentence should the ship start to go under. My chaperon reacts to the soldier, to the order that he bellows. She's already dragging my unwilling form forward, and down the creaking steps. I can still hear the explosions, still hear the storm and the screams. But most of all I hear the crying, the women below deck fearing not just for their lives, but for their virtue. I should fear for my own as well, but I am in state of shock. I remain that way as I am hustled into the royal cabin, as other women are brought in to tend to my needs. I have none in the moment, and just stand there as the women weep and huddle together for support. They envelope me within their fold, and together we hold hands, and many pray. And then we feel the ship rocked hard in place, the worst of the cannon fire yet, which galvanizes one of the servants to start screaming.
Her screams get through my shock, and then I am slapping her, trying to make her calm down and be quiet. It doesn't quite work, her muffled whimpers an accompaniment to the new sounds that we hear. That of the ship being boarded, the battling taking on a more personal desperation as pirate and soldier fight, and sword meets cutlass. The sounds of the fighting, of men dying, and the occasional boom of cannon fire? it lasts for what feels like hours.
It's no better when the worst of the fighting just stops. We hear the death rattling above us, hear the victors laughing and securing the ship. Most of all we hear the torture, the interrogation that goes on.
"Where is your princess?! Where does she hide?!"
Wide fearful eyes look to me for guidance. I can't be frightened now, I can't afford to be. I lift my head proudly, tear the jeweled tiara off my brow, and throw it to the floor.
"They can't know that I am the princess." I say. The women just keep looking at me, and I snap out louder. "They cannot know! Do you understand?!" They react to the authoritative sound of my voice, nodding dumbly.
"Quickly!" I hiss, shrugging out of my cloak. I then start pulling off the jewels that they had covered me in, the necklace and the many rings of a princess. I even go so far as to wash off the make up, but there's not time to change out of the dress. Even if there was, there's nothing like what I had worn at the convent to fit me here now.
I make do with what I have, trying to help some of the women of a similar size and build fit into some of my wardrobe. Soon enough there is at least three of us dressed somewhat similarly, that it won't be immediately apparent just who is the princess.
We stand together, and await our fate, and then the door to the royal cabin is kicked open. No one screams, though there is a collective gasp, the women huddling closer together at the sight of the group of pirates. They look and leer at us, but more than that, the jewels on the floor catch their attention. Suddenly the room is full of pirates, a dozen or more, and they are looting the place, taking everything of value from it. I hear excited shouts from elsewhere in the ship, and realize the pirates have found the chests of gold that make up my dowry. I don't try to delude myself into thinking that is all they have come for. And I'm right. The women and I are herded upstairs, out onto the deck. It is a scene straight out of a nightmare, for though the blood has been washed away by the rain, the bodies remain. I close my eyes against the sight, then whip my head around at a shout.
One of the officers is still alive, battling with a dark haired pirate. The pirate is clad all in black leather, and is a dark shadow against the storm. The soldier is clad in the blue and gold military uniform of my kingdom, and he fights with all that he has left. It's not enough, even my inexperienced eye can see that the pirate is toying with him, his laughter carrying to me over the roar of the wind. A woman cries out, and as one we all turn our heads away too late to block out the sight of the sword stabbing straight through, the officer being viciously impaled. A cheer rises up from the pirates, and I want to clap my hands over my ears to block out that mocking sound.
I don't do it, anymore than I close my eyes to what is happening around me. Past the women I stay huddled with, I can see at least two of our six ships already floundering, taking on water. It'll be a few hours yet before the ships actually goes down completely, but it's already started.
Surrounding us, with still smoking cannons are four ships. Three of them look very much how a pirate's ship was expected to be, right down to black canvas flag with the skull and daggers painted on it. But the sight of the fourth ship shocks me, for it not only mimics one of my father's fleet, it IS one in truth. I recognize the name, react with shock to see the lost Jewel of the Realm before me and under these circumstances. Lightning flashes brighter, and I see that the stolen ship bears the pirates' flag as well. I have so many questions, wondering what has happened to its crew, and then the pirates are grabbing at us, pulling us out of the huddle that we had clung to for comfort.
"Which one of you is the princess?!"
I can feel harsh fingers digging into my arms, shaking me for an answer I won't give them. None of the women will, we stand united, ready to die if need be, if it means thwarting the pirates in this much at least. I stand just as brave as any of them, silent in the face of this threat, and then lightning illuminates the sky. I gasp, my eyes widening, staring at the pirate who is slowly approaching. He is casual as he wipes off the blood and gore from his sword, but that proof of his brutality is not what I am reacting to. It's him, his appearance, the boy now a man but no less handsome here than he was then.
My mouth opens without my thinking, the word, a name, issuing out of me in a strangled sound.
"Killian?"
Instantly he is before me, his hands reaching for me. One touches my shoulder, the other grips rough hold of my chin. I shake in shock, never having known the touch of a man beyond that of my father. My skin prickles with cold and awareness, the blue eyes familiar but not. Gone is the sympathy, the gentle caring. In its place is a blazing coldness, a narrowed stare as he studies me intently. With his hand as the guiding force, he turns me so that he can admire my profile from another angle. This way and that way, does he look at me, and then at last he nods.
"It's her."
"How can you be sure?" asked a red cap wearing pirate.
"Don't doubt me, Smee." The pirate, Killian, hasn't let go of me. He's almost smiling, but there's a world of cruelty in that look. It's so foreign and unrecognizable to the boy I had remembered, my lips parting to ask, to demand, what had happened to him to make him become this....this menace.
"This is her. This is the princess of Avonlea...." He speaks it so certainly, and with a dark purring undertone of satisfaction to those words. "Belle..."
I react to hearing my name on his lips, shaking my head no. "What? I'm not..."
"Don't LIE to me!" His voice cracks like a whip. The women cry out, fearing for me. I don't blame them. He looks so furious now, like a demon ready to strike, and I wonder if he will slap me. He doesn't, instead dragging me with him, towards the railing.
"Vengeance is ours!" That makes the pirates cheer. I've no idea what this means, what vengeance I could possibly play a hand in. And then I hear the pirate say words that made my already cold blood freeze.
"Sink the ships." Killian orders. "Let there be NO survivors...."
"What?! No! You can't!" I start to say, and find myself suddenly lifted up. I fight him, I scream, and then find myself thrown over his shoulder. I scream harder, start beating at his back, and he slaps a hand on my bottom. It shocks more than hurts, the heavy layers of my skirts, protecting me from the worst of the slap.
"You can't do this!" I still scream as he carries me off. "You can't...." I shake my head, trying to plead with him. "Haven't you killed enough?! At least let the women go!"
"I'll not have word of this reach your father until I want it to." He retorts.
"Please!" I beg this time. "The women...they have done nothing, they don't deserve..."
"They deserve less what will happen to them on board a ship with pirates." Killian retorts. I shake in response, knowing he is right, but unable to reconcile the idea that the women would be better off dead than raped.
"Please..." I all but whisper it. "At least...least let the women decide..."
I don't believe for a second I've reached him, that I've appealed to whatever shred of decency a pirate is capable of having. But then he stops, turns to the man that he had named Smee. They hold a muttered, and hurried conversation, and all the while I whisper please. I almost wilt with relief when the pirate Smee hurries off to relay the captain's words, the women being offered a choice. Come with the pirates, or stay here and die. Most choose the fate worst than death, weeping and hysterical, but ready to live rather than drown.
I'm about the only one not crying, not hysterical, too limp with relief and the fear of what had almost happened to the women. What could still happen. I block out the thought that that same thing might happen to ME, instead whispering my questions.
"Why are you doing this?" I ask. "What does your vengeance have to do with my father?"
He doesn't answer me, not right away. He takes the time to get us onboard the Jewel of the Realm, and actually leaves me to dangle from his shoulder as he gives out orders. The women are then brought onboard, but it will take time for all of the loot to be secured. When at last he does slide me off of his shoulder, it is done slowly, menacingly, letting me feel every hard inch of his body. Shorter and softer than him, I have to stare up to meet the hard, unforgiving gaze of his blue eyes.
"Everything." He snarls. "My vengeance is owed everything to your father."
That only leaves me with more questions, a dozen or more racing through my mind. My lips tremble as my mouth opens to speak. "This is not the way....vengeance is never the way."
"I'll be the judge of that." Is his retort.
"You'll spark a war that will devastate our homeland!" I stare at him, my gaze searching his. "Is whatever my father did, do the people of Avonlea deserve what your vengeance will bring them?!"
That gives him pause. And then his eyes narrow with a hateful gleam. "It's no less than what Maurice would do to so many others!"
"What are you talking about?!" I cry out. "He is trying to STOP the war from happening. He wants peace..."
"Peace?" He snorts. "Peace is the furthest thing on that King's mind."
"That's not true!" I protest. "The alliance..."
"The alliance isn't about peace, but about securing and maintaining his power. He'll do anything for it, to keep it, and to expand it...even whore out his only daughter."
The slap I give him turns his head to the side. "Bastard!" I seethe. "How dare you."
"It hurts, doesn't it?" Killian asks. "The truth..." The flash of lightning illuminates his smile for one second. "Well there is a lot more truth and hurt to be had!" He shoved at me, and I stumbled, crashing into the waiting arms of the pirate named Smee.
"Captain?" He inquires, and Killian motions with a jerk of his head toward the railing.
"Let her see just a taste of what her father has wrought..."
"Aye aye captain!" Smee exclaims, and starts dragging me to the railing. Held there, I am forced to watch the ships that we leave behind. They grow smaller and smaller, but the many flames destroying them light up their positions on the water. It's not until we are quite some distance away, that the pirates open fire, mercilessly pummeling the already floundering ships.
"So cruel..." I whisper. It's all I can manage, standing and staring, then sagging weakly in Smee's grip. It's all too much for me, the storm and the pirates, and especially HIM. What has happened to Killian, what has made the man so different from the boy that I remembered? I don't know, but I am determined to find out.
So...this is an AU idea I have been trying to start for over a year. I could never get it started to my satisfaction. Originally, my ideal was to have to all be a Belle POV up to the middle of the story, than switch to Killian telling the rest. But it's not gonna work out that way. I'll be switching between them as the story deem fit.
Originally, the drafts I had were VERY different. I wanted it to be set in the future, where Killian wakes up Belle and they have a intimate encounter. Then one of them starts reflecting on how this all had happened. but I could never get that version right. Damn it!
For the most part I am happy with what I ended up with! Yay! Still need a title though. Glad to finally have the first chapter written. By the way, not sure if it's apparent, but Killian here has BOTH his hands. XD
Laters! Oh wait...taking title suggestions as I have none at the moment!
6/12/2022 Slight update of Chapter One’s contents. Okay more than slight, as I ended up with like nearly an extra thousand words. The big change here is...well it always bugged me that I implied as children Killian and Belle only interacted that ONE time, when clearly I wrote somethings in later chapters, that made it seem like it would be better suited if they had known and had some kind of friendship. So that has FINALLY been corrected. Here’s hoping I’ll finally get unblocked and get to continue with the rest of the story now!
Here it is...I am accomplished but also so tired now...X_X
Dark content trigger warnings apply...Killian POV!
His vision colored red in an instant, the pain that shot through him was of such magnitude and degree, that Killian knew with all absolute certainty that he should be dead. In fact, already WOULD have been, if not for one simple and unfortunate fact. He was no longer human, not in any technical sense of the word, his soul still the same, but his body ever so different. So far removed from that of any other living being in truth, the if only of what he should have been, didn’t stand a chance against what he was in actuality.
Unnatural.
With that monster inside him, Killian Jones was both less and both more, the lowest of the low with all the enhancements of what was tantamount to the utmost in supreme predator. With an unholy speed and such immense power, strengths born of both the physical and that of the magical, and with little of anything to restrain them, it took no effort at all to survive the killing blow done them. The Dark One inside him then shunting off all of that pain to the man, to the human, Killian’s soul made to suffer every staggering second and bit of it. He felt the bile rise, his otherwise empty stomach ready to vomit, the pirate choking on a breath that he no longer truly needed to take. That blood color was still there, distorting everything, even her, the Light itself a muted twinkle that still hurt to gaze upon directly.
Unable to focus, and wanting to collapse into a merciful oblivion, such a luxury was still not allowed him, Killian swaying in place on his feet, upright but barely, so dizzy and unprepared for the second strike of the rock. Skin split open once more, something wet and sticky sliding off of one temple, as bone inside surely cracked. Something inside him rattled and wheezed with its foul laughter, the Dark One more than enjoying the suffering that the pirate was now being put through. It took a seat back for the show, watching as Emma of Mist Haven, went in for a third strike with a rock now made soaked and slippery with Killian’s blood.
Not quite able to focus well enough to stop her, Killian still made the attempt, roughly shoving her from him. She stumbled for that surprise, but her anger was such, that the princess immediately recovered, bouncing forward with such lethal intent, as though she would end the world’s problems and that of her own personal torment, by bashing in the Dark One’s brain.
“Bloody hell, enough!” His patience having lost to the excruciating pain she had put him in, he had now snapped, his hand catching her about the wrist, in so harsh a grip, that Emma of Mist Haven was forced to drop her ill shaped weapon, that of a rock made even redder and fragmented from so violent a use, which then clattered to the ground with a solid thump. Even the sound of it, made his pain throb harsher yet, Killian still maintaining a brutal grip on the princess who was struggling still, his booted foot slamming forth to kick that granite chunk away from them, from her in particular, and amid the Dark One’s taunting laughter, there was too much screaming going on. Both the Light and that of the princess, Emma of Mist Haven so angry but also so panicked, while the creature housed within her was made desperate in its attempts to reason with one who was so beyond it at this point.
All of it added to his hurt, the pain in his head having spread through to every part of his body, slicing into him with such excruciating agony, even with that of the act of the unnatural way his body began to heal anew, skin and bone stitching together so flawlessly that there would remain no evidence of the initial traumas. Not even that of a scar, his body in a perfect stasis, unchanging and unable to age even one second’s worth more, the pirate locked forever into that moment when he had plunged the dagger in, nothing about him able to progress and move forward, not even that of his hair, Killian Jones frozen at the height of his youth and vitality, but also in that of his despair.
He was something less than human, a freak, his body a vessel that was meant to be easily discarded and abused, the monster inside him having no care for the soul housed within. An unwilling host to a parasite, it had been entire centuries if not more, since Killian Jones has had any semblance of control. This one taste, painful though it was proving, was something to savor and hold dear, the pirate not ready in any way to hand back his body to the Dark One, not even in trade for a single second of relief.
Motivated for himself, but even more so for HER, there was so much riding on him, on them, the princess and that otherworldly being inside her, both the one and only chance left to this world. It pumped motivation through him, more than any he had felt since his Alice, so much time lost since that then and this here now, this woman and the Light within her, at long last having given the man, the pirate, a reason, a purpose to cling to and fight for. A hope, slim though it might be, he’d claw at it both tooth and nail in an attempt to hold onto that feeling, to return just the chance of it to them.
He was near desperate to, having been made to owe so much, the weight of the Dark One’s sins having bogged his soul down, the blood of so many on his hands, his body the physical embodiment of so much torture inflicted, such screams and the sights that went with them, having haunted him with their memories for every waking moment of this nightmare. Scarred so by the impressions they had left behind, the agony and that terror, such violence relived over and over in truth, with only the faces changing, woman after woman made to suffer and die, was it any wonder that the man, that Killian Jones, had been driven insane?
He had been made to bear witness to more cruelties, depravities, and violence than any one person should have been allowed, this near endless cycle of torments such that little by little, his own mind had fragmented and split, each piece of him lost to the mire of foul darkness inside. Swallowed up whole, each bit that had broken off had now been brought back, plucked from that tar like quicksand that Killian had found himself trapped in, the Light within Emma of Mist Haven, having searched out and gathered together, every bit of lucidity lost, the pirate’s mind being pieced together whole in an instant, by that one saving touch.
Returned to himself once more, he was neither healed from the horrors that his body had borne witness to, nor absolved of them. He might never be, the sentiments held inside him such that Killian Jones felt himself so undeserving. Of redemption and of forgiveness, blaming himself as much as he did the monster, for his shortcomings, that inability to act, to stop the foulness that had been repeated, over and over, and on so many, it didn’t much matter that it hadn’t been Killian in truth, but that of another, a creature so evil that it defied definition, its hand the catalyst for so much violence and sin.
That Darkness inside him, that thing still slithered about, waiting and watching, its weight a taunting presence that lent credence to the urgency felt within him. They didn’t have time! SHE didn’t have time, Emma of Mist Haven still caught in that angry kind of panic, her eyes wild with her fright and with that defiance, trying to pull free of that iron shackle of a grip upon her, lashing out with both her free arm, and that of her legs, trying to hurt and knock off balance, the man that was restraining her. He tried to stand solid against every blow, the pain weathered a penance for every wrong that had been done her, that wild and spastic flailing such that even HIS patience finally snapped, a surge of anger spiking within him that had nothing to do with the monster, and everything to do with the man, with his frustration and torment, that Emma of Mist Haven, suddenly found herself flung to the ground.
He could then hear the sound of breathing, that wild rasp of sound not just from her, but from him, Killian Jones trying to temper the damage his tongue could do. There was still so much anger on the tip of it, so much vitriol that could be expressed, the man HURTING and caught in a pain all his own, so much time spent lost without a voice, made to bear silent witness to so much horror, and little of any of it was Emma of Mist Haven’s fault, her attacks on him a paltry nuisance at best in the long line of what he’s already endured. Those memories, some more potent than others, screamed an accusation in his head, the pirate so wracked with a guilt that wasn’t truly his own to have earned, powerless as he has been and might still be, the monster such that it didn’t matter the form, any host could and would do, that thing able to slip from body to body so easily and effortlessly.
It could have been anyone before the princess, anyone at all, and there were lesser men out there, who wouldn’t have fought half as hard as Killian had. Cowards and craven dogs, ones with wicked natures, or even merely that of the meek, Emma of Mist Haven could have found herself off in worst hands than his. Though a fair share of misdeeds were upon them, there was also buried inside him, a heart that had once beat heroic, sacrificing so selflessly for another, that the world itself had gleaned some benefit from it. He hadn’t beat back the Dark, but in trapping himself with it, Killian Jones had also lessened its reach somewhat.
Its reach but not that of its influence, the world still made topsy turvey and left without sun, the people afraid, terrified, and reaching out hands to the one and only deity they had left, twisted and depraved though it was. A God without mercy, the people made to suffer and live only on its whims, enduring such hardship and decay, that even their misery made for a fine delicacy in which to feed and nourish the Dark. Fat off it, off of their fear, its own power only seemed to grow, strengthened by whatever the flavor of negativity was within their hearts. From the anxiety, to the many perversions, to every wicked impulse and criminal act, the worst that human nature had to offer, all helped to further empower the monster. It was an endless cycle of abuse, the Dark continuing to wreak its havoc, and leaving the humans with little of anything to hope for.
Even Killian Jones, the man whose body had been made the latest in a string of unwitting hosts, had eventually given in to despair. There had been nothing else left, his Alice made safe, but forever lost to him as a result. He still couldn’t regret the saving of her, knowing how easily it could have been his daughter made to suffer a fate similar to that of Emma of Mist Haven’s or worse. Little Alice might have had that strong spark of the Light within her, but it was also truth that its shine was dulled in comparison to full scope of the brilliant being within the princess now. Like no other female that had come before, and there had been many, everything from the tiniest slivers, to that of the more potent beams, and the Darkness had never before been satisfied, always searching, always ultimately KILLING, in a desperate attempt for this, the perfect vessel, the one host to be born that could hold the entirety of the Goddess within her.
Emma of Mist Haven was that host, and as things stood now, it was more curse than anything, death perhaps a mercy when weighed against the Darkness’ own based lusts. Such a wicked desire, it left even Killian Jones staggered by it, suffocating on the perverse pleasures the monster had already taken, it was those fiendish actions that had rightfully put that look of fear in the princess’ eyes. Panicked as she had been, it still couldn’t snuff out her defiance, that anger that had little to do with the Light, and everything to do with Emma, the royal lass holding her own need for justice, for righting the many wrongs done, not just to her, but to that of the entire world. Marked by the Goddess, but branded by her own fierce loyalty to the beliefs inside her still, this young woman was not yet ready to break or bend a knee to the Dark.
It was as admirable as it was surprising, that fire within her something so rare and ever so precious in this world. If tempered into a finer state, and working with that bright being inside her, would even they be able to finally put an end to the Dark’s relentless tyranny? He couldn’t say for sure, all those many years spent searching the realms, having never given rise to a definitive answer. That of a permanent way to end the Dark. Such a thing had eluded Killian then, as it still did to this very day, the dagger able to staunch the worst of it, but never destroy it in full. It was foolish to think otherwise, and the pirate was no longer THAT fool, rushing in with a theory and a weapon not fully understood. He wouldn’t make those same mistakes again, anymore then he would let her, all three of them needing to work together to reach an understanding of what could actually be effectively done. Only then could this nightmare end, the Darkness not just pushed back but defeated.
Or so he HOPED. It was all such a long shot, and the odds still seemed so insurmountable, Killian having spent more years than anyone else could ever lay claim to, studying the Dark for its most fatal of weaknesses. From inside and out, from the many books and tomes read, of all kinds of magic and lore pored over, to the up close and personal witness he had born to that fiend’s every act, there was still so much that the pirate didn’t know, the monster such a mystery that even its obsession with the Light, its hunt of it, hadn’t fully been understood in truth.
That was more than an understatement, Killian completely caught off guard by just what the Dark had wanted of the Light. Of its reaction to the Goddess reborn in full, that manic glee expressed, the possessive way it had taken hold of her, the care, twisted though it had ultimately been, it had shown her. For all its lust born violence, it had been downright GENTLE in its perverse adoration, Emma of Mist Haven surviving what no other had. It was something so shocking, so pitiable, the endured hardship one most apt to be repeated if they didn’t figure out something and SOON. Time’s tick had never been more felt than now, the pressure of it, and the weight of his responsibilities, something that could make just about anyone crack, Killian a nervous bundle of energy, frustrated but not stymied by the jade green glare that was cast up at him.
Her eyes were an angry enough challenge on their own, one that was daring the Dark to do its worst, but it was not that monster the princess was currently pitted against. Not that the pirate was of mind to dissuade her in full on that point, thinking it might be better if she hated him too. It was after all, a more potent tool than that of any pity she might show him, the latter a weakness that might be strong enough to stave her hand on the vain hopes of SAVING him. The stakes as they were, no one man was worth it, let alone HIM, his body having been made the instrument in which the Darkness had acted out its worse on so many for so long. His flesh forced to be an extension of the monster’s will and desires, Killian was left feeling unclean as a result. A victim as much as any other, yet too blind to see it, the man couldn’t, wouldn’t reach out for the redemption in full the Light had tried to dangle before him.
Noble in this but for all the wrong reasons, it was tantamount to suicide that the pirate had in mind. Thinking he’d go down gladly, if the monster were to be dragged along with him, it was almost a mockery of the gift the Light had given him. That sudden return to sanity, his mind clearer than it had been in a long time, and calculating in a way that the Goddess hadn’t anticipated, he’d read the distress plain off her, when she realized he wasn’t establishing himself as separate from the Dark One.
“What are you doing!?” Faint though it was, he could still hear the murmur of what passed for the Goddess’ voice. It was so weak and threaded, coming as though from an innumerable distance, such a direct contrast to the loud volume of the Dark. Even with the monster quiet as it now was, the Light seemed even quieter, her voice such a struggle to maintain but it WAS better than before. As though when they had touched, in giving Killian back his sanity, the Goddess had somehow gained back a piece of her own self in the process, small though it was.
He then wondered what else could she be given back, the Light for all of its blinding brilliance, seeming so weak and ineffectual when compared to how powerful the Darkness had become. Was it some sort of cosmic balance, each a perfect counterpart to the other? Or was there something more at work here, Killian Jones giving a more careful and considering look to the princess of Mist Haven.
There was as always, that bold jade color of her eyes, made fiercer yet by her anger and her glare. Such an expressive window into her soul, that shade of green was made so bright and animated, no matter the feelings within her, those mad emotions, the furious indignation and that wild panic, but also that of the defiance, hers was an endless field of such potent turmoil and challenge, that that alone had him fascinated, Emma of Mist Haven’s spirit something so admirable and attractive, and thus far unbroken. She might have have suffered the Dark but she had also survived it largely intact, every mark upon her flesh, tangible proof of the fight she still had left within her.
She was fierce in a way that not many, Killian included, would have credited to a princess. In that she broke barriers, Emma of Mist Haven a surprising but also intriguing mix, so brave and so bold, but also holding a fair share of foolish within her, the pirate in no way able to understand why she would come here, why she would have so willingly put herself at risk when it was so woefully clear just how unprepared both she and the Light had been for what they had ultimately faced. It was so infuriating and puzzling a mystery, more years perhaps needed before the young woman and the Goddess within her, could come into their own power. It WAS there though, as blatant as the nose on their face, some kind of strength within that body, some sort of magic that neither had thus far been able to access, sealed away as it was.
A countering magic, that lock upon them was woven thick with spell after spell, complicated runes and wards carved into the essence of both beings. Such a powerful mesh of them all, the creature made responsible for all this, had also layered upon it a concealing enchantment, one meant not just to hide what had been done, but to hide the very thing, the Goddess, whose presence inside the princess, had guaranteed she’d earn the attention of the Dark sooner than later.
Something---someone had wanted her hidden, a great deal of effort and time expended on such an endeavor. She had been sheltered, but also made crippled as a result, the princess and the Goddess housed within her, left helpless in the onslaught of dark magics and the raw physical strength of an ancient entity that had been so relentlessly on the hunt. They hadn’t stood a chance as a result, the magics that had perhaps been meant as a safeguard against it, ultimately working against them too.
“Foolish.” A muttered hiss under his breath, Killian continued to stare down at the princess, at the arcane magics woven about her. It practically stank of a faerie’s touch, though no single one could be this powerful alone. There had to have been a great gathering of their strength, those flighty females well meaning but also proving remarkably STUPID. Protecting instead of teaching, keeping Emma of Mist Haven ignorant of the power within, she should have been educated to gather and hone her strength, to make herself as lethal in truth as she was in intent.
She had the motivation still, Killian could see that in her eyes, in the way she gleamed defiant at him, all her hate and animosity channeled into so severe a focus, that its reminder still throbbed as a potent pain in his head. She hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t turned squeamish or shied away from a blow that had been meant to be killing, that righteous fury only in need of the correct weapon. He had a feeling its form was locked within her, but for all his knowledge and skill, the pirate hadn’t a clue as to what one would do to even begin unraveling that mess of magic upon her.
His eyes so critical upon her, on all that convoluted assortment of enchantments, he had forgotten how rude he was being, in staring at her so and for so long. He wasn’t ogling her as the Dark would, and yet she was made uncomfortable all the same. He couldn’t fault her for that, the pirate and the monster both one and the same to Emma of Mist Haven, the man still keeping her ignorant of that particular thing being all lie. He’d take her anger in place of the truth, not wanting her pity, it something the world itself was not in need of, Killian Jones just one more unfortunate to be sacrificed in the long line of things.
Prepared for that eventuality, even accepting of it, he was still caught of guard when the rightfully angry young woman snapped. “Admiring the marks of your handiwork!?”
He did a slow blink of his eyes, having to refocus his attention off the magic he been in so intent a study of, to the actual woman before him instead. She was so furious and red faced now, but also more than a little scared, if the betraying quiver of her frame was read right. She was still braver than all that had come before her, all those slivers of light, and bright beams, the many women who had been marked as tribute, sacrificed to the Dark One, to give everyone else a chance to keep on etching out so bleak an existence in this miserable world. All having been made desperate for it, for the chance to not only survive, but to somehow thrive, it was grim fact the terrible deeds that they had allowed to have done. Of the choices that had been made, the good of the many bought on the pain and misery of the few. It had gone on that way for centuries, the number of those that might wage a protest against it, so small in fact, that one hand alone was more than enough fingers to count on those who had actively tried to enact a change.
So few voices, and even less with the will to actually do something, for the longest of time there had been ONLY the pirate’s attempt that had tried to unravel the Dark’s status quo. And even he had been driven not out of some selfless desire, but instead that of the desperate, wanting his daughter safe and out of the Dark One’s reach forever. If not for her, if not for Alice, maybe even the pirate would have remained content with the price the world had been made to pay over and over again. In that too, he was left unworthy, so different and dirty when compared to the shining purity of the princess. The belief that had driven her marked Emma of Mist Haven as strong and determined and brave, discarding all that had been done to shelter her, to make a valiant if foolish attempt to stand down the monster.
She really had ALL the makings of a hero, right down to that streak of impulsive recklessness that often saw most dead. She fought through that fate, and against everything else, defying all the plans that had been made, the safeguards put in place for her own protection, and even that of the Goddess housed within her. She was remarkable in this world of the desperate, this one bright beacon of hope, she was entirely something to be cherished and guided, and ultimately groomed into her role of Savior.
Not versed enough in the HOW of accomplishing such a thing, and with time of such an essence that the pirate again struggled with his own feelings of despair resurfacing, Killian hadn’t yet made the attempt to truly talk to her. Not even to address her sharp taunt of a question, the answering reply apt to prove essential to how things ultimately shaped up between them, a destiny needing to be fulfilled. There was a choice there too, a chance to be selfish, survival trumping sacrifice, and he just couldn’t do it. Couldn’t give up the world for her pity, no matter how much he might burn with the need to establish to someone, to her in particular, that he and the Dark One were NOT one and the same.
Unable to bring himself to do that, Killian found himself equally tongue tied when it came to the thought of lying to her. It and the thought of actively carrying on such a charade, of speaking and acting in mimic of the monster, actually made him feel ill, the pirate sickened at the thought of such a pervasive menace being maintained by HIM. He could not voice such threats, could not bring himself to hurt her in truth, even to perpetuate such a deception, the Dark so able and willing to hurt her in full, that the best Killian could offer her was a respite from the worst of it. He’d give her this time, holding back the Dark as best he could, while letting Emma of Mist Haven believe what she wanted of him. The truth withheld in that way, it was a deceit all the same, one based on silence and misconceptions, and it was the Light who flickered in alarm, her voice a faint but plaintive cry that again demanded Killian hold accountable to just what he was doing and why.
The Goddess was effectively drowned out by Emma’s own anger, the princess’s voice snapping out strong and demanding. “ANSWER ME!”
For a moment longer, he just stared, seeing that amid all that bold anger was also an anxiety, slivers of it interwoven into the bravado and bluster that her fury gave her. She couldn’t quite see him, her eyes not adjusted to the dim lighting that the fires provided, nor was her sight in anyway aided by the Light. Interesting that, Killian supposing the magics that had meant to hide her, had also sealed off much of her influence from the princess, leaving Emma of Mist Haven to flounder in the forest, all but blind to everything but the shadowy figure standing over her.
It had to be so frightening for her, both the unknown and that of what had already been done. He wanted to spill forth with reassurances as best he could, but such attempts at comfort were so unlike that of the Dark One, that menace more apt to get off on the princess’ fear. The pirate couldn’t maintain the charade and terrorize her, his deception such a fragile thing at best, so little that Killian was willing to tolerate, to stomach, the man slowly crouching down on one knee, so as to be eye level with her. She inhaled a sharp gasp at that, but otherwise held still, her back rigid with that defiance interwoven through her.
“I...” His voice faltered, the pirate so unused to speaking after centuries of being alone with nothing but the Dark One to converse with. That sound from him was so hoarse and made gravelly from such disuse, his once smooth baritone and accent was lost to something that sounded more like the growling purrs and rumbling undertones of the monster, that he could barely recognize it as a part of him, Killian having to swallow and think before again attempting to say something to her. He was so out of practice at the simplest of things, and pleasant chit chat was not something that would ultimately help Emma of Mist Haven.
“I am just wondering WHY you would choose to come here…” He said at last, wanting to understand, but also thinking he saw a path on which to steer her towards. A roundabout way to drip the truths she was missing, the sparks of ideas that might help Emma figure out what was needed, the special destiny that had been allocated her, so that maybe, just maybe, they’d both figure out what could be ultimately done, the power inside her, that magic, needing to be freed and unleashed.
“Are you meaning because it was not yet time for your monthly tribute!?” Was her scoffing reply. Emma of Mist Haven arching a golden brown in mocking challenge. She could not truly see him, but he could see her, every perfect detail lit by that bright being within her, the princess bathed by a light like no other in this world.
“No, no that.” He demurred in still so gravelly a tone.
“If not that, then what!?” She demanded, her tone almost shrill then.
“Because you come to me nowhere near ready.” A sliver of a hint then, though of course it wouldn’t be this easy for her to catch on in full.
“Nowhere near ready?” She echoed with her disbelief. “I am more than of age, and am far more prepared to do what I must, to end your threat once and for all!”
“Age aside, how do you think to do that, when you haven’t the wisdom or experience to accomplish such a feat?” Killian’s tone, while so low, was still so reasonable sounding a growl.
Her expression was in no way a glimmer of the dazzling smile she might one day be capable of, Emma of Mist Haven’s lips twisting in what could only be described as a triumphant smirk. “Ah but your words betray you AGAIN. This is not the first that you’ve made mention that the likes of you CAN be ended.”
It wouldn’t be the last time either, the pirate intending to strongly foster such a hope inside of the princess, reinforcing in what ways he could, that there was a way for the Darkness to be killed, even if neither of them had any idea yet on how such a thing could be done in truth. So long as it got the gears turning, that bright and determined mind of hers working with his experience to hopefully puzzle out the key.
“Ah but how are you hoping to do such a thing, when nothing made by mortal hands can come close to hurting me?”
“They hurt you.” She insisted. “You cried out in pain, why you even bled. I felt that rock made slippery with your body’s gore.”
“I also HEALED.” He pointed out. “Within SECONDS.”
She frowned then, Emma of Mist Haven worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. He felt the Darkness’ interest stir at that, its attention drawn to so provoking a sight, the lust it felt unsettling to the pirate, the man trying to look anywhere but directly at Emma and the Light within. She couldn’t afford it, none of them could, its wicked desires lending such strength to it, that even Killian might not be able to hold back the monster from letting loose.
She’d already be trembling, if the princess had been able to see clearly in truth, the Darkness starting to slip into the bold blue of Killian’s eyes. In this, the disadvantage of the shadowy forest was in fact a boon, Emma of Mist Haven not aware of how much closer to danger she again skirted in truth, the Dark present and leering. She was left ignorant in a way that the Light was not, the Goddess inside her dimming, as though flinching, or hiding what had already been caught, that ephemeral essence no longer something that could avoid the Dark in full. And in trying to remain unseen, it only fueled the beast more, an anger spiking within it, and the thought of again being denied by her.
It was all so utterly distracting and infuriating, Killian for all his worry, also made annoyed now. He could sympathize with the Goddess, but not forgive her for making the situation worse, both females in ever present danger, and the pirate wasn’t sure he was strong enough to stand against the anger that was a hot torrent inside him.
“STOP THAT!” He snarled, and it was both the Goddess and the Dark he shouted that to, though Emma of Mist Haven was the one who gasped and flinched in response.
“Stop WHAT!?” It was a confused utterance, a demand for a clarification Killian could in no way give. At least not in the moment, having his own battle to deal with, the Light still shrinking back in a way that made the Dark growl over such an insult. He wasn’t privy to the full scope of its thoughts, but the man could also hear its voice, the threats and accusations, the sheer menace of the things it snarled to the Light within Emma. The Goddess, whose continue attempt at silence, only seemed to enrage the beast further, and the monster was trying to reach for HER, the pirate’s arms shaking. Both of them, the struggle so real and so hard, and he was LOSING before it, the Dark One’s strength such, that the man was outclassed and outright laughed at for having thought he stood any real chance against it.
He was the one screaming then, wanting to warn her, but not knowing HOW to. All advice fell to the way side of foolish, any resistance only apt to enrage it further, or even excite it, the Darkness always one that thrilled to the chase. To the hunt, and what resulted, no prey more lush and tempting to corner than that of its Goddess, the Dark ever demanding and desiring of the Light, and it was made all the worst now that they BOTH had the physical bodies for which to act upon.
Wanting to spare her, spare them both such a fate, Killian screamed and fought against the Dark, but his arms were a moving. He tried to scramble back, only to have the Dark lunge forth in his body, fingers closing around the sleeve over the princess’s arm. She startled then, a high pitched shriek rousing further the predator already in pursuit, though it was not Emma of Mist Haven that the monster was focused on in truth. He barely seemed to SEE her, too caught in that snarling fit of rage, that level of fury mounting as he pulled the Light and her host off balance. THEY fell into it, into the body the Dark One possessed, and there was a loud hiss of sound, the princess having placed her free hand on its chest, trying to push free of that which refused to be denied.
Cold though she was, there was also a heat in her skin, a warmth that had nothing to do with the fires that the pirate had built and lit, and everything to do with the Goddess inside. It was her power, sealed as it still was, that burned from within, the Light’s magic still a blade whose edge was so dull from disuse, that save for the tingle of it, there was no other affect at all. A spark born of her fear, those wild emotions inside her, the Goddess made ill and uneasy with just a look from her dark counterpart, that his touch had caused her to lash out. She couldn’t master the reaction, her soul itself crawling with disgust, the body that housed her trembling with both the Light and with Emma of Mist Haven’s response, such hate and such loathing swallowed up by the apprehension, the memories of what had already been done.
Terrified that it was all about to be repeated, there was no comfort to be had, the Darkness holding them tight to him, the man inside him nothing more than an annoying gnat to be swatted away, despite Killian’s best efforts. He could hear the monster laugh at him, but more so, the pirate was made chilled, blanching white as the women were hauled up on tip toe, to meet the brush of the beast’s lips. It wasn’t an outright kiss though, the Dark instead seeming to relish the contact, as it growled a no less ominous sounding demand.
“It is time you and I TALK.”
To Be Continued…
I like this chapter, except for near the ending. Just hate ending on a spoken line, but honestly, anything written after, would end up extending the chapter to be even longer, and was hoping to start nine and this talk from the Darkness POV...although also frustrated cause all the characters seemed determined to knock my plans aside and do their own things. Killian and Emma were meant to talk more, hell I had originally imagined nine starts with the Darkness narrating, but still sitting back, just watching Killian interact with her and the light till like mid chapter…and THEN take over the body.
For that matter, originally, I had wanted to get SEVEN written to the point Emma realizes Killian is different from the Dark One...but realized it is gonna take a lot more than one lousy conversation for her to catch on. I don’t mind that….and the story is still on track for the ending I have planned, there is just set backs and new developments, and a whole lotta realizations I have been having as I work on this. My note file keeps expanding as a result, and the fic just ends up being longer and longer by the second...Which I don’t necessarily mind, and those realizations are usually smart ones, that make the fic better, and make me realize I was rushing certain things in my head, that would have been a detriment to the over all fic...slow and steady wins the race, especially true with writing!
Quite a few things happened in just the three or so weeks since last chapter. Crazy and stressful stuff in real life. I am amazed it didnt all completely derail me from writing! Though I am also glad I got this finished before Feb 1st, as that is when the doctor is going over my MRI results for my fractured foot. So nervous on that front too….
The Dark Enchanted Forest AU Chapter Seven (NSFW?)
Somewhat not safe for work, just cause of feelings resulting from content and trauma from past chapters?
Also newly added to the archive summary is this: It's such a hard story for me to try and classify...I mean it doesn't fit neatly into any one box. I mean it's a twisted romance, a hurt comfort fic, an exploration of light and dark, a captive bride sort of deal, a save the world fantasy, a creation myth, some kind of love triangle/quadrangle set within two physical bodies, and even has a tad bit of a Hades Persephone vibe to it...
not to mention it's an enchanted forest au
Triggers warnings for overall story, is violence, noncon/rape, and a whole lot of emotional angst of all sorts...
It hurts in a way that it has never before, the Light in all the endless millennia of its existence, from that explosive first instance that had heralded its birth to all that had followed and had ultimately led to its proverbial death, none of it could compare to the pain slicing through it now. Not even that which should have proven its final moment, in an act that had been guided by so pure driven, and necessity ridden a need, the very sacrifice where it had let itself be shattered into a million pieces of its once former glory, not even that with such a decisive a blow dealt, had pain of any kind registered into that golden brilliance’s awareness. Now however, such devastating torment was here, this depth of agony an insult, one so obscene and so wholly wrong, it left the Light to be crippled by it. Made so utterly overwrought by such a thing, this new potent sensation, there is now such a dull, hollow ache echoing inside what passes for its soul, that wrongness laced within it, a cold brand that burns with all the fury of a subzero ice. There is not a thing that can chase that chill away, nothing that can undo what has been done, the Light caught and violated, and laid claim to by its nightmarish counterpart.
The Darkness.
Even now the Light swears that it can feel that foul being’s touch lingering upon it, those shadows having taken root deep inside its core center, sliver thin tendrils that grasp and hold fast, caging in all that gold brilliance for its own. Its very warmth is leeched from it, the Light shivering and curling in on itself, and even then does that ebony presence crowd closer upon it. Ever greedy and always wanting more, the Dark won’t settle with anything less than the Light’s all, and it has been a grave miscalculation that has led to the predicament that the ephemeral being and its human host now must suffer through. Those indignities, every last depravity imaginable visited upon them, again and again, the light made to feel, to bear more than just witness to each obscenity that has been whispered against their shared flesh.
Made unwilling participant in a body that was all too solid and real, the Light now knows well just how it feels to have had such violence laid upon it, that twisted act of force a total and complete mockery and perversion of the very love that the Goddess had once sparked to vivid life within her children. Such emotion had once been born only of the heart, yet even those sentiments and expressions were ones that the Light had only known from observing from afar, the ephemeral being having never before held a tangible form with which to experience such a thing first hand. None of the good, and certainly none of the bad, that beaming existence having once only been able to encourage and nurture, sparking sweet and heart felt passion inside the creatures she had taken and metaphysically embraced as her own.
Beloved by the Light, sheltered by her, with so many inspirations whispered into their ears from her own ghostly lips, those short lived but evocative human creatures should have had the most wonderful of lives. With teeming civilizations made that should have flourished forever with peace, all that love, creativity, and the very best of them encouraged, such a golden era should have lasted longer than for mere periods at a time. If only that which had first given birth to the dark’s existence, hadn’t continued to linger in each and every one of those dearly loved children’s hearts. Everything from the seemingly benign, that of fear, to the cruel jealousies, and the malevolent angers, each and every negative aspect of humanity has held the potential to give the Darkness a foothold into their souls. Some more than others, such an extreme depth of wickedness having already been inside them, so much so that for those in particular it had been easy for her black hearted counterpart to twist and corrupt, perverting love, and inspiring new forms of violence, everything from war to murder and rape.
Painful as it had been to know and even witness the worst of her children unleashed on each other, the Light has only been able to bear the weight of their feelings, including that of the cruel and the selfish and even with the evil that some had been, the Goddess had never truly known fully the devastating effect of all the suffering that the Darkness has helped spark. She had never felt the pangs of a starving hunger, had never had the flesh for violence in any of its many forms to lay their physical mark upon, or been made to suffer from any of the violation and long lasting trauma born of the act of love when defiled into something so perverse.
She knew NOW. Everything from the mental anguish, to the physical hardships and hurts endured, it is a long lasting trauma that had been engraved upon her, carving out bits of the Light’s very soul, stealing away that golden existence’s innocence, and all the naivety that had went with it. Made now into a woman, forced into such reluctant surrender, the being that was the Light had been made to shatter AGAIN, and it was something that was a million times worse for no reprieve had come with this breaking, the Goddess alive and whole and made to suffer with the memory of it all. That knowledge, and the lasting fear, that violence and those indignities able to be revisited upon it at any moment, again and again.
The Light inside Emma Of Mist Haven now actively trembled, so frightened and afraid, for each and every time that the Dark One has laid its hands upon her, upon THEM, more and more did they suffer, hope and spirit both trampled, a part deep inside them that neither female had been truly aware of, now awakened and ever so quick and eager to betray them to the twisted stimulation of so rough and unwanted a pleasure.
It was completely repugnant, so absolutely loathsome and disgusting! The throat that she shared with the Princess of Mist Haven had bile rise within it at just the memory, the idea of that sensation, those uncontrollable desires, that have forced them to feel and react in so unwanted a way. The Light wasn’t even sure who suffered worse for such twisted a pleasure, both it and Emma literal virgins before the Dark had laid claim to their body. Ancient though the Light was, she had been ignorant of the full weight of the act, and how it left marks that wound their lasting effects upon one’s soul, sorrow born in the wake, but also a burning shame. The ephemeral being that had been the Light alone, now not only burned with that awareness, but also with the realization of how arrogant a creature she had been, to have ever lay claim to having been able to empathize with the victims that had been laid waste to by the Dark. She had felt despair yes, had been tortured and even made anguished by witnessing such horrors, by bearing the frustrations born of watching her creations, those gifts, corrupted and laid ruin to, and yet there had still been a distinct lack of an ability to fully understand.
Intangible form that she had once been, the Light has been nothing if not naive, knowing neither the full joys nor the devastating sorrows of having such solid flesh. Such a wholly alien state of being, it was a realm of new sensations that she had awakened to, the hungers and the feelings and the desperation to go along with them, that for a time only the most immediate of needs had ruled her, pushing back thoughts of all else, including that of the dawning horror, the realizations of just how wrong things had gone.
If the Light was at all honest, that wrongness hadn’t just started here in this forest, this endless eve of debauchery a result of a miscalculation that had been made so many countless millennia ago, the price one that was being exacted upon her for all that arrogance and folly. For all the wisdom that the Goddess has possessed, there had been one fundamental truth she had woefully blinded herself to. The universal law that not even one such as she, could fully escape from, despite her best efforts to twist it into something more palpable than it had ultimately ended up being. Prepared for a total annihilation, every last bit of her essence and consciousness sacrificed, the magic she had wrought had refused to be appeased with so paltry a price.
Not content with what would have amounted to suicide, that universal price that ALL magic demanded, had laid siege to and corrupted things, exacting on the Goddess that which she hadn’t been prepared for, her existence not so much snuffed out, as made asleep for a time. Left broken and fragmented for so long, the Light had been left unaware, not realizing the depths to which she still owed, those sliver thin pieces of herself, a mere semblance of her once great glory. Left without a form of her own, without even an awareness, each of those embers had held just a small piece to a puzzle that had needed to be put back together.
Those embers scattered apart across so many years and so many hosts, each time such divinity sparked its solitary presence inside a girl, it had drawn notice. From the human beings, and from the monster, the Dark One ever on the hunt for it, for her. The Light in that state hadn’t been of mind to do much of anything, let alone protect itself, simply locked into so powerless a form, ones that hadn’t the ability or the awareness to try and safeguard against the coming danger. Made so much less than she had once been, those pieces of the light, hadn’t just been dug out, but snuffed, each twinkling bit of her essence sent back into that boundless pool of possibilities, and ultimately birthed into yet another host, and another, so that those individual bits of her soul, then collected and gathered together into larger sized shards and fragments. Leaving her growing and growing, more and more of the light meshed together, each of her human hosts just a little more closer to perfect, that ephemeral existence asleep within them, until one day it had abruptly happened. The perfect vessel born in truth, Emma of Mist Haven having opened her eyes, and with that first breathy inhale, the wail that had followed had been that of the Light and her newly awakened horror.
The day that the child, that Emma of Mist Haven, had been born, it hadn’t just been her soul and consciousness coming alive in that frail seeming body, it had also been that of the Light. The Goddess made real, the memories of everything leading up to the price she had thought had been paid in full, hitting her with their full weight, and the realization that death alone hadn’t been enough.
Made stricken and bereft by that truth, the screams of the child, that sweet faced infant, had echoed with the distress in its very soul, a Goddess made weeping and terrified. She had been overcome with it, such pain and that wholly consuming terror, the little princess eyes flighty in the constant way that they had moved about, the Light herself trying to see, to gauge just how close the Dark itself might be. There had been no controlling it, the fear or that of the baby, Emma of Mist Haven a entirely separate entity of her own, the shining brilliance inside her able to feel but not act, the light left paralyzed and privy to the girl’s every whim. That pure innocent heart, so alive and so vibrant, had been completely ignorant of the danger and the world around them, her jade green colored eyes unfocused as she gurgled and cried, wriggling about almost angrily, not yet recovered from the shock of being born.
In such a state, the Light had been as wholly dependent on the humans about them, as the princess had been, those blurred faces, and shadowy figures caught here and there. Emma of Mist Haven who had been mere minutes old at the time, hadn’t even been able to truly focus on any one thing, crying and crying, as one need after another began to make itself known. It had been just as chaotic a feel to a Goddess used to complete order, the cold shivering through her, the hunger cramping in their stomach, and the absolutely distasteful feel of the dirt and grime upon their soiled flesh, all such alien a sensation. She hadn’t much like it, nearly retching upon the potent differences forced upon her with this new body. Having been both too new and too little to have been able to appreciate the good from the bad of such a solid form, all that had been happening to her, had been just one grand indignity after another, her fear magnified in spades, the Goddess made aware of just how powerless she now truly was.
Despairing so and frightened, the Light’s emotions had been such, that the tiny princess, hadn’t been the easiest of children. Often angry and crying, not even the comfort of her mother’s embrace, had been able to fully calm Emma of Mist Haven down. Months would be spent like this, the Queen, Snow White, endlessly patient with a baby who could not stop resonating with the being sharing space inside her, it had taken so much time before the Goddess within her been able to finally resign herself to the hand that had been dealt them both. She wouldn’t come close to fully understanding the hows and the whys of it until many a year later, time and its slow tick, stretching out those minutes into hours, into days, then months and more, the slow progress from newborn infant turning into a young child a torture of a different kind, that brilliant being learning that for all the benevolence she had been known for, there was also an impatience inside her, a need there, so much wisdom and knowledge needing to be imparted to them BOTH.
There was so much to learn, so much to do, measures needing to be taken. The princess and the Goddess housed within her in danger, the malevolent dark hunting them, hunting HER. The Light wouldn’t learn all at once what it had been up to, or that of the name and the legacy of terror that the Darkness had built up for itself. It would be years yet before any real word would reach that of the princess’ ears, and thus that of the Light, it coming first as cautious gossip that shouldn’t have even been whispered around such a child, than as blatant spoken truths meant to serve as a warning, each and every piece that was unfolded, painting a most gruesome picture while giving rise to answers of at least some of the Goddess’ privately voiced questions. The how and the why having started to be made ever clearer, the truths behind the Dark One’s actions, the tributes in particular, something that had gone completely over that of the human race’s collective head, but not that of hers, that ephemeral brilliance the very thing that the monster had been in search of.
It has always borne such an obsessive need, the results such that its newest actions taken were ever increasingly sick and sadistic, the Dark One having been after the Light, claiming each and every female that has held a piece of that soul within them, digging it out in the only way that it could, each death helping to piece together the light more and more, so that the Goddess would be reborn one day in full. Having committed so utterly vile and loathsome an act, it mattered not to the Goddess that her counterpart had been in a state of its own despair, so full of an ever raging hurt, banking so much on its one hope, twisted as it had been, to search for the one and only being that could ever calm and temper the worst of its fury.
That fury now quelled somewhat, was also one that might never be abated in full. The Light understood that, because for all of her ability to soothe and calm it, the Dark is a creature that can never be truly controlled. Nor can its malevolence be, its many lusts too consuming, its need to hurt and lash out something never wholly contained. Ancient though it was, that dark being was also like that of a child, when it came to its own instincts and lack of self control, wanting what it wanted, and wanting it now. Made ever more violent when denied in the slightest, the ragged state of the world the Light had sacrificed itself for, now stood as bleak testament to just how devastating a response its counterpart could muster, everything made to suffer for its displeasure.
It wasn’t just the humans, the metaphorical children of the Goddess, that it had left hurting. There was so much more than that of those beloved beings struggling to survive, everything from the animals, to a once vibrant and verdant utopia of green, plants, flowers, even trees, withering away to almost nothing, if not for the aid of a magic that had just barely stopped the annihilation this sunless world would have seen. In the ragged state of that current existence, even the air itself was made stale, this shadow covered world in a permanent state of decay. A barely sustainable existence, little if anything could thrive here, and yet the people kept on trying. Desperate and despairing though they were, giving over tributes to the dark demon of a God who punished them so for its sinful wants. The Dark One blasphemed against them, as much as it did HER, heaping wreck and ruin against those so beloved by the Light. Driven sick with that perverse longing, and made so desperate, it had settled for the destruction at hand. The Goddess couldn’t speak with all certainty, for it was not the Dark whose soul was bound to hers, its thoughts still guarded and closed off, leaving its brilliant counterpart to only guess at its intentions here. She’d no real way of understanding the whys behind all of it, if it had only been a punishment born of its own tantruming fit of emotions, or if the Darkness had thought to drag the world and all that lived in it, into a semblance of its own personal hell, this a kind of suicide of its own.
Even if the latter had been its true goal, the Light refused to soften and feel sorry for the Dark. Not after all the devastation done, to the world, to its people, to all which had relief so on the sun for their survival. And not for itself, or for Emma, both the young woman and the Goddess so irreparably damaged, survived though they had, unlike all the other females before them, those tributes and the embers inside them. There was still so much speculation at hand, the ephemeral light wondering just when had the Dark discovered those pieces and the chance held within them, so many then sacrificed, so much blood spilled, and lives ended by its hand. Killing each embers’ host, all on so twisted a hope, the Light’s rebirth having in no way been guaranteed, what folly of fate was this then that the Dark One would be so rewarded with that which it had wanted most in all of their coexistence?
It made little sense to HER, no matter how the Light looked at it. The Goddess had sacrificed so much in trying to safe guard and guarantee her children and their happiness, the magic she had used to cripple and lessen the Dark, somehow backfiring in too spectacular a way. He was STILL in power, still tormenting everyone, still twisting the very world itself to fit his misbegotten desires. While the Light? She was the one left powerless, without voice, and without the ability to affect much of anything. Not even her host, Emma of Mist Haven so wholly unaware of the other being housed inside her, the brilliant essence that had marked her as special. A savior in truth, this young princess lacked complete access to her magic, and to the guidance the Goddess should have been able to impart.
Young Emma of Mist Haven has never been able to hear the Goddess voice, the woman somehow made deaf to it, all ignorant of it, and left so nearly entirely numb, the best the Light had ever been able to do, was to impart some semblance of feeling to her. Projecting in a way that was akin to a human being shouting at the very top of their lungs, it wasn’t words so much as a sensation, a feeling of right and wrong, that the princess had taken to describing as her innate gut instinct. She didn’t always have the sense to heed it either, a stubborn streak inside her that the Light had never been able to temper fully. From those days of childhood, where as a wee lass, the young princess had suffered her fair share of bumps, bruises and falls, to even when she was older, Emma of Mist Haven having proven openly defiant of some of the BEST advice the Golden Goddess could have ever tried to give her. Certainly if the Light had had her way, her youthful charge would not be in the predicament she found herself in NOW, that shining beacon within her, having balked at every step forward that Emma of Mist Haven had tried to take. She had screamed and flooded her host with all the feelings of wrongness and danger that the Goddess could muster, and still Emma had persisted, escaping from the castle, from the parents she had deemed overly protective, and had charged head first into the hands of a monster she had been ill prepared for.
The Light had been terrified long before that and their defilement at the Dark’s hands, such fear projected towards Emma, and yet bouncing off her as though she had been made immune to it. Had the princess truly been that fearless, or had there been something more there behind such stubborn foolishness and self righteous determination? Had she simply been sheltered too much, left protected by both parents and fairy, and left rebelling in that most spectacularly fatal fashion? Or had the Darkness had a hand in even this, somehow luring the young woman to him, so that it had seen to having the Light and the host that now housed her delivered directly to it? She didn’t know the answer, too much fear and uncertainty at hand, the once all encompassing knowledge that had always been made available to her, having been cut off and limited within the boundaries of her rebirth. The Light a being who had once been all knowing to a point, was now left with nothing but the memories of that ancient knowledge, and that of what she could gleam through Emma’s awareness and studies. In this way, it was yet another reminder that that the Goddess was now made less than she had once been, one more thing stripped so totally from her.
This was no way to truly exist, the Light both stymied and made frustrated by such a complete inability, hosted by a young woman, a princess who would neither heed nor acknowledge her, unable to affect the outside world, but not escape the effects of it on her. Even her very own soul, that essence, reacting with so tangible an awareness, feeling everything from the cold air on Emma’s exposed flesh, to the physicality of the Dark’s every brutal expression, that fiendish desire felt, and felt strongly, so unwanted and forceful a caress, having marked up the Light inside as much as it had branded its lasting impression upon its host, the princess having ultimately passed out from so violent a handling.
Even now, Emma of Mist Haven still teetered in sleep, caught at the brink of a rude awakening. The Light couldn’t begrudge her that rest, or envy the peaceful dreamscape the princess had lost herself in, but neither could the Goddess safeguard her from the harsh reality starting to seep its way in. It WAS getting colder, the fires once lit by a dark magic, all having extinguished save one, and that too flickered in warning. The flimsy covering upon them, that slinky scrap of torn bits of their tunic, hardly suited for so harsh an environs, so much flesh that still remained exposed, made chilled and left ridden with goose bumps, the Light trying her best to keep the young woman warm from the inside out.
There was no sign of the Dark, nor of its host, that handsome man with so wounded an expression, and eyes that had been colored so jarring a bold blue. A color to match a sky that had fit well with the sun that had been lost, his was a pain that had screamed of so much, the hurts done him, and that of the many terrible things he had been made to borne witness to. Such horrors beheld, so much damage done, those eyes betraying him as an existence that had been made to stretch before such things for too long, that man, one Killian Jones, a being whose sanity had long since split and splintered apart. Broken so, and made battered for more years than the Light yet knew, there had still been that single kernel of strength inside him. That one bit of lucidity, that had not yet been swallowed down so completely by the Dark. In a split second of an instant, the Light itself had looked through and judged his soul, finding that for all the misdeeds he had once done, nothing within him of that, had compared to the sheer and utter foulness, the inherent evil of the monster he had been trapped with. A pirate he may have once been, but ultimately, this Killian Jones was a good man, a worthy soul, and the only chance the Light felt that it and Emma of Mist Haven had left.
Banking all of its dwindling hope upon it, with a sudden gathering of all its remaining strength, the Light had reached out to one Killian Jones, the golden gleam of its brilliance searing through the inky tar of blackness that had mired the man down, and when freed, his hand had stretched out, the very tips of his fingers brushing against that shining warmth, and it wasn’t the pirate who then had shattered.
With a snarl and a scream that had been most unholy, a feral rage upon it, the Dark had then gone ballistic, a lancing pain having been unleashed upon it. It had been the light, and yet hadn’t, the pirate long trapped inside his very own flesh, having at long last been set free. With that strength inside him now bolstered to a fine point, it was one Killian Jones who had struck out at a monster who had had its way for far too long. So unexpected was the blow, so sudden and potent, catching an already distracted beast off guard. Too focused on the pleasures of the flesh, the Dark had not paid close enough attention to the Light housed within, having thought of her too powerless in this form, to have been able to make any kind of difference. To have discovered otherwise was not only a rude awakening, but a blatant insult to the affection it had been expressing, the perverse worship it had been doing of its Goddess. Betrayed by it, by her, the Dark had shrugged off the pirate, long enough for a purely reactive violence, fingers turned malevolent, and suddenly locked around the princess’ throat.
Making that inhuman sound of so furious and angry a hurt, the Dark had been the insane one in the moment, glaring down at Emma of Mist Haven and the Light housed within her. It hadn’t been thinking straight, hadn’t been capable of it, that crushing grip choking her, bit by torturous bit, the light inside her flickering in warning, but ultimately dimming as the young woman was slowly choked to death. The Dark on so destructive a rampage hadn’t seemed to notice or even care in the moment, so close to bringing a swift end to that which it had hunted after for so long, it was not a return to his senses that had stopped it just short of her death, but that of the man, the pirate leaking into his expression. Flecks of that bold blue had begun to take over those fathomless pools of a pure and colorless black, Killian Jones proving ever so distracting in the fight for HIS body.
Emma of Mist Haven already having faded at that point, the flecks of that bright blue, was that which had accompanied her retreat into a dream, the glimpse of such a bold color, one she wasn’t likely to forget. The Light sure wouldn’t, the Goddess having gasped and breathed for the unconscious young woman, her warmth inside the princess, helping her to survive what a wholly human would not have.
Nurturing the spark of life still inside Emma of Mist Haven, the Goddess had sat there and stared up at the figure looming over them. At its eyes, the battle of black versus blue being waged, those violent clashes a vie for total dominance, neither seeming to gain a foothold for very long. The ultimate winner in doubt, the prize control of that body, it was yet another inhuman scream that had the Dark lurching away from the females, in so fast and furious a bolt, that not even its eyes had been able to be seen. The Light was left in doubt, so much fear and uncertainty lingering, and fighting with her hope, the man and the monster both gone. There was no way of knowing what exactly would return, who would be in control, the Dark One or that of the pirate, or that of the fate that they might all face.
Already it has been far too long since then, not a sound stirring, not a sign seen, as though the Light and Emma of Mist Haven have been completely abandoned. The Light is left alone with such a thought, more than one kind of fear inside her, not wanting their dark tormentor to return, or for the pirate, for Killian Jones to have possibly died with it, the Goddess fearing the young woman and the body that they shared, was too weak and ill equipped to survive on its own. With little in the way of supplies, and their horse having died at the start of this nightmare, the castle that was the princess’ home, was too far away for mere feet to travel on. Truly trapped by this forest, by the situation at hand, the Light feared this place for the end that it was, the grave that it could ultimately prove to be.
Such despair and such sorrow filled it, the Light shielding the worst of it from Emma, that vibrant woman as beloved as any of the Goddess’ children were, even with so stubborn a streak within her. The weary entity might have cried then, not so much for itself, but for the Mist Haven princess, so cruel an end something so undeserving of this woman. That stark emotion, so bleak a feeling repressed, still somehow leaked into the slumbering lass’ dreams, the young princess stirring more and more, and with that awakening drifting further into her reach, the bitter, bitter cold also came with it. Emma of Mist Haven shivered and shook even more now, no one to tend to the sole remaining fire, its slowly fading warmth wholly inadequate for the job at hand, Emma’s eyes abruptly snapping open with her scream.
No meek awakening, she had jolted awake, fingers scrambling over her throat, as though to pry free of the grip that had once choked and bruised her so. Her jade colored eyes so wide open and made wild with her panic, she had cast about blindly in the dark, the light of that fire flickering into nearly nothing, not enough there for her to truly be able to see.
“Breathe.” urged the Goddess within her. “Focus!” Her voice couldn’t truly be heard, but the warmth she tried to flood Emma with, could actually be felt, its presence meant to soothe and reassure as best as could be given in such a bleak situation.
Still shivering with the cold, and barely covered with the flimsy scraps that remained of her tunic, Emma of Mist Haven was left shivering violently. The Light tried to cast her focus outward, able to see what Emma could not, which wasn’t much, what looked like an overgrown glade, otherwise empty of anything of real use. It marked it as fact, how much they were in real danger of dying from exposure, the elements here made harsher by a world that was shrouded in permanent darkness.
Emma might have stopped screaming, but there was also a sob bubbling up within her, a hiccup of sound expressed, fear and such sadness lodged in the young woman’s throat. The tears began to well up but did not outright fall, Emma sitting there, hugging her arms around her with a moan. Her torture and torment a mirror of the Light’s own, the Goddess couldn’t keep it from affecting them both, such self pity and mourning making an accounting of every ache and pain felt. Their body so hurt and so used, once set down on that path, neither female could control the feelings and memories flooding through them, wallowing in the misery of so forceful an encounter, and the unwanted pleasured that had followed, their body having been made to betray them both.
Branded so by it, each and every kiss, the many touches experienced, all a mar left upon their heart and their soul, so that Emma of Mist Haven, and the Light, were caught completely unprepared for the feel of a cloak suddenly covering over them. Its soft warmth the last thing to register, it was the man, the being, settling that long bolt of fabric carefully in place around them, that had all of them reacting, the princess lashing out violently, her hands curled into fists that she swung again and again, those wild blows immediately side stepped, that figure scurrying out of reach with a muted curse.
Emma of Mist Haven in so complete a panic, would have attempted to bolt after him, still so intent on doing a real and lasting damage. Her need for retaliation so wholly real, a justice needed to be served, despite the fact that her legs weren’t yet ready to hold her upright and moving. The Light knowing this, sent as strong a soothing sensation to her, that surge of feeling meant to calm and subdue the worse of the princess fight. The Goddess still kept one cautious eye on the retreating figure, but with that one utterance having rasped out, she had taken note of that of a voice made hoarse from too long a disuse. It was a sound so different from the gravel toned rumble and purr of the Dark’s most seductive undertones, or that of those impudent snarls and malevolent screams of it at its most furious when denied. She hadn’t yet caught sight of his eyes, the most telling proof of all, but this man and his demeanor, the way he had backed off, the way he had kept from forcing anything more of his presence upon them, and even the simple care he had shown by offering up the cloak to them, it was all that of a gentle man, and not that of a beast. The hope this begat in the Light, it tried to set ablaze within its host, wanting and needing Emma to be calm and open minded for what might just be one Killian Jones.
Even with that heated attempt at reassurance, that flood a feeling meant to calm and corral the worst of the princess violent response, Emma of Mist Haven’s breath was still ragged. A wild rasp that skirted the line of hysterics, a wariness there that had the young woman’s eyes tracking the figure’s every step, the trembling within her ready to flinch and lash out at the slightest of provocations offered. That none yet came didn’t much tamper the suspicion and paranoia within her, her fear and her anger so real and so earned, both lessons learned that had been taught to her by the cruelest of touches. Her body made a canvas for such brutality, each bruise and mark left there, lips, teeth, and fingers having painted such imprints all over her, Emma of Mist Haven had no reason to believe in anything else, the figure, that man, tantamount as one and the same with the monster who had forced itself upon her. Having no way to know better, for all intents and purposes, it was the Dark One before her, the very beast who had tormented her and so many, his cruelty such that he deserved no less then her hate and animosity.
She wasn’t even registering how different he was seeming, how that careful distance between them was so at odds with a behavior that had allowed NONE before. He wasn’t even much looking at her, as though respecting even that boundary, his one act of bold daring having been that of the cloak offered up to them, the princess seeming not even aware of it, of the warmth her nearly frozen fingers clutched to her now. The Light kept flaring warmth and reassurances from within, but there was as of yet, no real way to ignite a hope inside Emma, that the woman wasn’t yet ready for.
Now at an even more cautious a distance, the dark haired figure, turned and made move towards the fire, its flames having dwindled down to nearly nothing. Clad in scraps of clothing as dark as that of this world’s never ending night, to Emma of Mist Haven, the man was all but impossible to see. The Light tracked his movements for her, watching and waiting, and ever more certain of just who they were dealing with, the Darkness too reliant on magic and force, to show such care and consideration, a heavy satchel slung over one shoulder, gathered bits of wood for the fire he then hand fed to it. It was a spectacularly eager reaction that sparked, the crackling of newly rejuvenated flames devouring sudden strength from such tinder, each log fed to it, making it burn brighter and warmer, leaving the princess to shield her eyes from the sudden light that had flooded that small bit of the otherwise empty glade.
The fire now stoked to so healthy a state, the figure backed away from that too. He let himself be swallowed up by the darkness of the forest, the snap of twigs underfoot, signifying his leaving. The Light was never more desperate for a voice then now, wanting to call out to him, to beg him to wait, but as always, the princess would not heed her. She merely sat there, as guarded and cautious as ever, longing for the warmth of the fire, but not trusting the Dark.
Not even the Light’s best attempt at reassurance, could reach through a fear that was so justifiably earned, but was also proving so detrimental to the princess’ ultimate survival. It had never made for a more frustrating situation, the Light unable to act, to effectively get Emma moving closer to the fire. She had firmly rooted in place, more concerned with keeping distance from a threat that wasn’t even there at the moment, then the fact that she was slowly but surely freezing to death.
Such an impasse would continue, no real sense of time maintained, until abruptly the figure was back. And with him more wood having been gathered in the satchel, a long branch of it, catching a spark from the fire, to start and maintain a second, and then a third. Each fire he built just a little closer and closer to where the princess sat huddled, bringing light and warmth to her, but never lingering his own presence near her for too long. He’d come and go often, always on the hunt for more and more wood, until whole piles were built to sustain and maintain the existing three fires, for some time to come. Even then he was always on the move, always keeping himself busy, fetching things, even that of the saddle bags the princess had brought with her horse, clothing and food contained inside them, and offered up to her as close as he dared come.
When Emma made no immediate move towards them, then and only then did the man break his silence. With a voice so hoarse and scratchy from so long a period of disuse, there was a patience there in his plaintively voiced suggestion.
“Why don’t you put something on...”
Instantly Emma of Mist Haven was alive, so full of anger and an indignation that overrode briefly any of that of her fear. “You have NO right!” She spoke in so hissing a tone, all but snarling at him. “No right at all, to ask of me anything…!”
“Aye, that I don’t.” His ready agreement put her off the worst of such fury, the princess more startled than anything, having expected to fight with the Dark One, and left ill prepared for the man keeping distance between them. “But it won’t change the fact, you’ll freeze to death otherwise...”
She made such a sound then, an angry scoff of feigned disinterest, as though the princess would let herself do just that to spite him as a point proven. She was yet too inexperienced to know of the difference in the behavior of the one she now faced, the Darkness always one to tantrum and rage when denied even in the slightest. Where it would have been angry and forceful, the man, one Killian Jones, let reason be his tact of choice, using carefully thought out phrases to trick Emma of Mist Haven into doing what was truly best for her in the moment.
“I suppose that is all fine and well, but how else are you to revenge yourself, and save this world from the Dark, if you let yourself die before killing me?”
The Light felt the outrage spark inside the princess, a haughty kind of inhale of breath heard, even as Emma of Mist Haven narrowed her eyes into a fiercer yet glare. “Fine.” She grit out through tightly clenched teeth. “But you best be looking elsewhere!”
Instead of speaking an answer out loud, the man merely turned, his back thus presented to them, and even then the princess still wasn’t fully trusting. She shifted ever so slowly, moving towards the saddle bags, and digging out one of the spare outfits there. She wouldn’t drop hold of the cloak either, awkwardly maneuvering about while covered by it, to painstakingly dress herself in a tunic and its thick leggings. Even once the many sounds of all that rustling fabric, and that of the young woman’s own exaggerated motions had stopped, the man did not turn, giving her time and space, and above all privacy. It was such a show of respect, but one that the princess could not appreciate or even take notice of, those tumultuous feelings maintained, her glare as fierce and defiant as ever, as was her desire, a need for a justice so strong that Emma of Mist Haven would take it upon herself to deal the avenging hand.
With little time to react, and even less ability to affect much of anything, the Light cried out such a pained no, all her feeling put into a protest meant to stop Emma in place. Too focused on the princess who was, as always, oblivious to her, the Goddess didn’t even seem to register the reaction that sparked in the man. The response that he gave, the pirate, one Killian Jones, whipping around lightning fast, his eyes wild with that panic and concern, and moving still too slow to react in time to avoid the sharp rock that slammed into his head.
To Be Continued….
This was quite a journey to get this chapter done. A travel through an utterly lost note file, that still hasn’t been fully rebuilt, a fractured foot, and then falling back right before Thanksgiving when said fracture isn’t even healed, and thus making it worse, getting sick for all of July and a fair chunk of August (Though thankfully not of Covid), major fits of depression so bad it was detrimental to me as well as the fic, and god only remembers what else…
I actually tried to start this while sick in mid July...before relapsing into a worse state...I finally felt like writing again and was pleasantly surprised to see that though the wip from then was a hot mess, it was also salvageable, and thus when fixed, I had nearly two whole pages to build a continuation from! Though then it became probably the longest chapter yet for the story, and didn’t even fit all my intentions for said chapter into it...only cause I came to the realization to get chapter seven to end where I had originally wanted it to be at, would have probably easily taken a few thousand more words….at this rate, it probably would have hti 20,000 words or more...X_X
Not sure how I feel that so much stuff is still there to be written out, as it skews my plans for what I wanted for eight...but I also think I found a way to end seven that can lead into eight, and be built upon...and only pray I can get to what I wanted in seven, to fit by midway into eight!
It’s still such a long road for this story….and I am so slow under the best of circumstances. I hope you will all bear with me and stay, as I plod along and try to get more of this written out….Such encouragement does help..my depression is such, that writing helps keep it at bay, but is such a vicious cycle, cause to do that which holds it off...is often hard to fight the depression long enough to get the writing done that will stop it. X_X
Hope to see you for chapter eight! Which I am seriously off to start as soon as I am done posting this online! :)
Small addition to my Valkyrie Profile doujin collection. The World one was by the same artist as that doujin that had a Brahms Silmeria story in it, only this time the story was focused on Shiho. Sadly it's all handwritten text, so is low on my priority list to try and translate for that fact. The adult one...I guess the O stands for Odin, as it was about him and Hrist having a sexual relationship, and a reluctant Freya getting dragged into it...or maybe that O is for orgasmic?! I don't even know...:p
Finally, my fave was the Gravity Of Love Book. It had some gag pages in the front, with various members of the first VP game's cast, most of them being one shots, but sometimes there was a two pager, or even a three pager thrown in. Also of note, it was by three different artists...and the main serious stories all turned out to be Lezard centirc! XD But to my frustration, two of the artists didn't use printed text, but handwrite their dialogue bubbles. ARGH! However I already scanned this one, since it is so Lezard focused, I will someday work through their hand writing...even if it takes forever. X_X
The Broken Hearted Comfort Chapter Eight (Not safe for work)
I'll say not safe for work just in case...but it's more about Belle's thoughts and feelings....so its like heavy on the dub con angst of what almost could have happened...actually finished reworking it over two hours ago, but then I slacked off hardcore on doing any proofreading...^^''
Her heart already so battered and abused, pulsed inside her now with an ever so erratic beat, that wild tempo producing a sound that was so furious that it felt like it actually HURT. It even seem to echo within her ears, and made for a harsh throbbing in her breast, Belle digging fingers into her chest over its place, in an unconscious display meant to contain that frightened part inside her. It still left her wide eyed and shaking regardless, the woman gathering her knees close to her body in an effort to huddle in close on herself. She made herself small, as small as the pirate had reduced her to actually feeling, the beauty struggling to breathe. That deep exhale of sound, was shaky at best, a great shudder working its way through her, the urge to outright start sobbing in hysterics upon her.
Even though she swallowed back such a sound, Belle still looked the part, her blurry eyed misery unable to truly emphasize the deepest depths of the pain and the fright that she struggled with still. The trauma, its scar running deep, a lasting wound having been inflicted that would see her bleed that hurt all over, the woman outright shaking from its effect. From it, and from him, the man—the pirate who was the cause of one potent half of her suffering. That broken heart the least of her problems now, Hook had put a real fear in her, the dread and regret that the young lady had started out with, magnified to new levels of extreme, the threat of him, of that which he still wanted from her, so pressing and real a danger, Belle menaced by Hook from the very second that he had swaggered into her cell in the queen’s prison tower.
It hadn’t gotten better from there, the man taking far too many liberties, stealing kisses and more, those inappropriate touches a herald of the dark promise that had been in his eyes. That lust that was so unrelenting a beast, the pirate taking every opportunity to let Belle know just how much he has wanted her. That body of hers that with which he wanted to make his plunder, the princess objectified by the expectations of his misguided desire. He had made her into this wild fantasy, some twisted dream like figure that had weighed her down with that need of his pressuring her to perform.
She hadn’t, she COULDN’T, Belle unable and unwilling to let herself be remade into this man’s lustful idea of a fantasy. Her desire dead, she was as far removed from the embodiment of sin and seduction as one could be, that teary eyed misery blurring her vision, the woman pale faced and sniffling, her beautiful blue eyes rimmed red from her crying. Even at her most pain stricken, Belle remained wary, watching the pirate while weeping. She also couldn’t stop glaring, conscious of his everything, from each breath that he took, to the visible emotion that played out on his face. He was frustrated, but also one part ravenous, his storm dark gaze still holding that desire, that hunger for her. He couldn’t stop staring at her in turn, and there was a fine tremor that worked its way through his otherwise still body, an indecision playing out in the thoughts in his head. He was all predator, like a great big jungle cat, a panther, ready to pounce at the slightest of provocation or weakness. She tried not to give him either one of those things, but there was no stopping her tears.
Exhausted by them, by him, and by this situation, she had been riding on her fright and that of her anger for too long. For the more than a day’s travel by horseback, Belle had been left on edge during the entire escape, set there on that precipice by the pirate, when he had burst into the room that had served as as her cage. What could have been a savior, had revealed itself with the true colors of a villain, Belle’s shock at his arrival, at seeing him again, lost to the anger that had ignited when the pirate had accosted her the very first chance that he had gotten. Tumbled down onto the cot of her prison, her outrage hadn’t yet given into a full blooming of fear. But when it had hit, it had hit hard, the fright something that began like a snowball hurling down a mountain, picking up size the longer that it went, until it had literally snowballed out of control.
Now they both reaped the rewards of a fear that had had time to build out of their ability to control, Hook stymied by Belle’s tears. By her inability to stop her crying, the miserable state that she had been reduced to, maybe the only thing capable of getting him to consider stopping at all. She was aware of it too, the effect her terrified state was having, every tear delaying what had become inevitable, that victory a bitter one though, born of the moment when the last remaining bit of her hope had been snuffed out. She couldn’t even muster a true anger in this instance, Belle a self loathing creature that was hating the fact that she been reduced to crying. To becoming this blubbering mess that had her feeling so weak knee and helpless. Made absolutely miserable by this, she was also embarrassed, having been brought low to such a humiliation, all powerless save for that of her tears and the effect that they had thus far had.
She wasn’t normally one to give another the satisfaction of her tears, especially a man like the pirate. But with her hope and her spirit broken, with nothing left to truly lose, Belle herself had shattered, breaking apart in his embrace. Pieces of her now scattered, the young woman had yet to attempt to gather them back, instead lost to the moment, and others like it, the beauty knowing that she would never forget, never be able to even try, every second spent with Hook, leaving its very brand upon her. Bodily and on her soul, and most searing was her mind, the memory of how he had frozen in shock with the realization of her tears. That confused look in his eyes, the grimace twisting his lips, the man both concerned and bothered by her response, all this and more were details that replayed in her head, Belle not just remembering it, but repeatedly reliving it. FEELING it, that clean masculine scent of him thick in the air, the sensual touch of his firm lips, and an even harsher rasp of his beard hairs upon her skin. The hand made calloused from years of handling weapons, caressing her body, lower and lower, until it had finally lodged itself between her thighs. Nothing had been able to prepare her for that, to protect her, least of all the thin fabric of her panties, his scalding heat communicated to her, it and that touch such an intrusive and unwanted thing. The fingers moving over her had made her go cold, a bone deep shiver felt a second before her entire body had gone tense. She had been freezing up, unable to relax, unable to give in, Belle beyond all hope in that moment, defeated and frightened, and trying her hardest not to cry.
Even that choice was taken from her, Belle bursting into tears. She’d never understand it, never understand HIM, the woman confused by that inexplicable reaction, the pirate having stopped at the sight of her distressed state. She didn’t know why, and Belle didn’t dare think it meant that Hook saw her as anything other than an outlet for his desires, and that of his own lofty and merciless ambitions. She was a pawn and his plaything, her body just one part of what Hook had been after from the start of this nightmare. Acting entitled to it, to HER, Hook not only making it clear what he had been after of her, but acting as if it was his God given right to get it.
He had even been so far gone as to think she’d be grateful, as though expecting her to have gladly thrown herself into his arms. As though she would happily prostitute herself for a rescue that she hadn’t even ask for, a rescue that was selfishly motivated by his own greed and nature. She was still telling herself that this was all part of a grander scheme, the pirate intent on bankrupting her kingdom. It was too inconceivable to imagine otherwise, too unsettling, too CRAZY a thing to risk his life and his crew on just for the slim chance of simply fucking her again.
So she clung to her own delusions, angry though they made her, Belle in denial as to the depth of Hook’s obsession, and the lengths it had already driven him to. She refused it, and she refused him, the beauty having no desire in her to even pretend to be grateful. She couldn’t ,not even to spare herself a world of hurt at his hand, for with that rejection and distaste made abundantly clear, the pirate had then tried to take what he had wanted from her by force.
That had to have been, without question, one of the scariest moments ever in that of her young life. And that was saying something, considering hers, had been a life that had seen its fair share of terrors, everything from the towering ogres that had had plagued and terrorized her kingdom, to the Dark One’s frightening tantrums and that furious rage, to even that of Regina, the Evil Queen a mad menace who would have ultimately KILLED the princess, once her lack of value made itself truly known. Yet for all that, the loss of control that Hook had made her feel, her choices that he had taken from her, and that of the feelings he had so cruelly discarded, had proven a million times worse than anything---anyone that had come before him.
Worse than the Queen at her most murderous, the ogres at their most brutal, and that of Rumplestiltskin’s own brand of devastating cruelty, Hook was at first seemingly far too predictable a man until he was not, Belle wondering if he wasn’t a tad touched in the head. Maybe more than just a little, the man surely insane! That or a fool, pitting himself to be an enemy of the Evil Queen, for a pay off that wouldn’t amount to all that much. Did he not know that her kingdom was a poor one, ruined and ransacked as it had been by those monsters? Or that they had little in the way of resources, and even less in gold, Avonlea simply too poor to pay the kind of ransom amount that would be worth all the trouble that they had been plunged into? There was no real profit to be made, off of Belle or off of her kingdom, Hook and his crew woefully misguided on the value that they had placed on her. For even if her father were willing to try and pay such a ransom, it would bankrupt the entire kingdom, and it would still not be enough. Avonlea then left beyond ruined, Belle and her father, the King, hated.
She couldn’t bear it. Not their hate, and not their pity, Belle no more willing to be the tool with which led to Avonlea’s downfall at Hook’s hands, than she had been at Rumplestitlskin’s. She was desperate to avoid it, to see her people saved, yet Belle had nothing in which to bargain for. Nothing with which to make another deal, that and the inability to make this pirate understand that there was no value in her, this ransom plan nowhere near worth the trouble it had already caused him and his crew. Belle was in fact an existence who had deemed herself without value, so useless a person that she already knew that just like the Evil Queen would have one day soon realized her folly, the pirates would too. They wouldn’t be able to get rid of Belle fast enough, Hook giving her the boot just like the Dark One had.
The tears that were ever present in her eyes, began to burn hotter, Rumplestiltskin’s face twisted in that awful moment of his rage, called to mind. He had been so close to throttling her with his bare hands, and had even gone so far as to bodily throw her past his castle’s front gate. He had been beyond furious, so livid and so creatively cruel, each word spoken meant to crush the woman, and bring her love to break apart . To do more than just break but to wither and die a painful and slow death, Belle cursed to know that it had been all a one sided love. That of a foolish infatuation, the young woman utterly gutted to the core to know that it had all been in her head, no real love or feeling in him There had been nothing, nothing between them for there to be anything past that of a beauty and a beast, that master and slave relationship, Belle part of a deal, a payment that had outlived its usefulness to him. Thoroughly crushed by his heavy handed spite, his words and those realizations had left only heart break behind. That part of her had split in half with a bitterness that Belle might never get over.
All of her feelings of worthlessness, had been born of that rejection. From that malevolent outrage, her innocent love spat upon. She would never be able to understand why he would value his power more than her, but the damage had been done regardless, the power of her love, her feelings severed so entirely, that there was no way that her kiss would hold true love effect on him. On him or on anyone else, Belle’s life having spiraled so entirely into chaos, prison after prison changing again and again, Rumplestiltskin, the Evil Queen, and now the pirate, each one tormenting her in their own way. Each a brand of trouble that seemed worst than the last, Belle tortured and feeling like it would never, ever truly end without her ending up dead. Caught in one power struggle after another, and torturing herself over her own perceived lack of worth, Belle wasn’t in any way thinking clearly. She hadn’t been for a long time now, and maintaining that heightened state of panic at the pirate’s hand hadn’t helped. It had led to a bone weary exhaustion, Belle not just tired physically, but emotionally and mentally as well. If not for her present fear, that of the pirate’s continued menace and what she expected him to still do, Belle would have literally dropped, collapsing into a dead faint after all she had been through.
Her soul itself tired, her emotions running the wild gamut of the spectrum, Belle didn’t even have it left in her to start screaming. At best she could only just manage a gasp, the pirate having drawn near once more. She’d flinch, her body outright recoiling from the look in his eyes, the blue of them made even stormier with his displeasure. Yet for all that tumultuous feeling that was in his expression, his hand was gentle as Hook went and cupped her cheek. His fingers felt along the wet skin there, his thumb tracing the rough path of her tears. That smoldering heat in him had simmered to a cooler degree, his expression turning inwardly harsh and unforgiving.
"Bloody hell." He then spat out loud, and abruptly the pirate was gone. The bed groaned in relief as the pirate's weight left it, Belle in a state of complete shock even after Hook had stormed out of the room. For the longest stretch of time, that stunned state of disbelief would steal even her ability to think, Belle unable to process what had just happened. She might have even fainted for a time, Belle numb to even that level of self awareness.
She wouldn't even know how much time had actually passed, before Belle abruptly launched herself off of the pirate's bed. Her actions automatic, Belle scrubbing at her face, and pulling at that too short tunic that had passed for the Evil Queens idea of prison garb. It kept riding up on her thighs, despite her fingers best attempt to control it, flashing far too much of her bottom with every little bit of movement. That would not do, Belle snatching a sheet off the bed, wrapping it thoroughly around her body, so that she was covered from neck to toe.
It wasn't much, but the sheet did go a long way towards making Belle feel marginally better. She felt shielded, as ridiculous a thought as that actually was, because Belle also knew the sheet wouldn't make one bit of difference in protecting her from the pirate's lust. But she liked the lie of it, the sense of control that it gave her, the sheet so warm and different from the skimpy clothing the Evil Queen had forced on Belle these past few weeks.
She shivered then, the prickling unease having nothing to do with the room’s temperature and everything to do with what had happened to her. The heart break and the tortures, the imprisonments, and the loss of any real choice. Anything and everything, and Belle didn't even know how much time she had lost! It felt like it had been an entire year that she had spent inside that tower, with no windows or way to know just how much time had truly passed. It had been an agony all its own, that small eternity of not knowing, and it wasn't just time that she had lost, but the simpler luxuries of freedom. Fresh air to breathe, the sun’s warnth to feel, and the beauty of the sky to see, and even that of the voices to hear. Belle closed her eyes for several seconds, breathing, living, just taking in the whole experience.
She’d inhale deep of the fresh air, its scent so wonderful and flavored with the salt of the sea. That same sea made the weather here cold, a chill permeating even inside the cabin. Belle shivered and delighted in even this, because it had always been a hot, stifling air that had cycled through her tower prison. A stale air, so recycled and suffocating, Belle opening her eyes and gravitating towards the cabin's round window and the source of her pleasure. She made no move to open it, just staring with a sense of awe and wonder at the sight before her, that of the sea that stretched on for miles ahead of her and that of the sun that was working even now to gentle the worst of the weather’s coldest wind, its bright brilliance lighting up a canvas that was made of both the open sky and the waters below it.
It was also more colors than Belle had been privileged to see in a long, long time, her tower prison having been a room of drab grays. The sky that she saw now was all manner of blue, with even faint lavender and that of the purest of white Belle had ever seen in a cloud. The sea below it wasn't a true blue, instead a sea green mix that sparkled with foam made white from the sun. Those waters rose in small waves that crested against the wooden hull of the ship, that sound a gentle, persistent slap that was a magic melody all its own. A gull's voice cawed from up high, Belle unable to see the sea bird from the window's vantage. She also couldn't see those responsible for the many other sounds that she was hearing, the people who shouted and laughed in a good natured manner, barking out orders, and working the ship to move.
It was a more joyful sound than she had been exposed to in God only knows how long, and it was wonderful. For the moment it didn't matter that these people were pirates, that they would hurt rather than help her. Belle reveled in the sound of their chatter, pretending she was elsewhere, somewhere safe and with friends.
She couldn't maintain the illusion forever, Belle turning away from the window with a put upon sigh. It still came out shaky, even though the worst of her tears had long since dried. Her fears still remained, Belle giving a positively venomous glare to the bed. And a just as uncharitable a thought to the man who that bed belonged to. But she didn't really want to think about Hook, not when remembering set her off trembling, the memory of the heat of his kisses and what he had tried to do, a sour note in her head that left her heart hurting badly.
Worse yet was those awful assumptions, that damn gratitude that Hook had expected of her. Belle felt a mix of anger and disbelief, scoffing at the thought that she would ever willingly do THAT with him again. Even if he hadn't hurt her that first time, even if he hadn't been so cruel and single minded in his own lust’s pursuit of its satisfaction. Even if he had made the sex as wonderful as the kissing had been, Belle wouldn't have laid with him a second time. Not when she told herself that he had only rescued her for his own sinister ambitions, intending to ransom her off and bankrupt her kingdom in the process. That was an insult she could not--would not take lightly, Belle as always ready and willing to protect her people from whatever threat that they might face. Be they the ogres or that of these pirates!
Cultivating a self righteous anger on her people’s behalf, Belle used the pain of it to fuel something other than her self pity and tears. It brought her no step closer to knowing how to stop Hook, but it also kept her from giving over to the hysterics. For this furious temper was effective when it came to what passed for her coping mechanism, the helplessness that Belle felt, a rage that had been steadily built on and perfected while in the Evil Queen’s merciless care. If it had a physical form and force to it, such an anger would have toppled even mountains.
With that anger moving her, it and her resentments and the many disappointments, Belle began to truly explore the inside of the cabin. It was a lot larger than the cell she had spent so much time in, this new cage that of an overly spacious room that befitted the captain of a ship as big and magnificent as the Jolly Roger had looked to be. It was also extravagant in design, Hook a man of expensive tastes when it came to his furniture and possessions. Fine mahogany wood, brand new leather bound books, rugs woven of the softest materials. Gold and silver coins spilled out in a careless fashion across a wide desk. Quills made of the feathers of the most exotic of birds, and the fresh ink to dip them in. Brightly colored jewels, rubies the size of her fist, diamonds bigger than she had known was possible. And all of it spoke of how ruthless a thief the pirate could be.
Convinced he didn't give a damn about anything but his own wealth and adding to it, Belle felt the fire of her anger build at the thought of Hook bankrupting her kingdom to keep on funding his expensive tastes and lifestyle. She was almost too angry to focus, Belle walking around, rifling through some of his things with the intent to find yet another weapon of some kind. It would still be absolutely useless in her hands, Belle unable to bring herself to actually kill anyone, but the illusion of protection it would give her would go a long way towards comforting the young woman greatly.
She then found herself kneeling before one of several other chests, Belle discovering that the lid opened up easily enough. There was only more gold and jewels inside it, so she moved on to the next one. It looked familiar for some reason, Belle prying the wood open, and reaching to pull aside the fabric that lay there in neatly folded piles. The woman didn't at first understand what it was that she was seeing, Belle ignoring the clothing, to dig deeper into the chest. The beauty stopped up short when she came across a familiar book, Belle certain that it was just a coincidence that the pirate had a copy of her favorite bedtime story. That certainty began to slip, when she noticed the book was as a worn as that of her own, its cover sewn back into place by a familiar and thick black thread. Its worn state didn't fit in with the new and well cared for books that she had seen among the rest of Hook’s things, Belle opening the book, and caressing shaking fingertips over the inscription inside.
It was addressed to Belle, with the loving words written by a mother long since dead and buried. That had her leaping galvanized into action, Belle actually looking at the clothing that she had set aside. Her hands shook harder with the realization that they were hers, all the pretty dresses and petticoats that she had forced herself to buy after Rumplestiltskin had tossed her out of his life. She didn't understand why the dresses were here, even the torn blue one, and Belle could admit that she wasn't sure she wanted to actually know. She began pawing frantically through the chest and the ones next to it. Finding more of her books and belongings, from her hairbrush and ribbons, to the perfumes and oils that she had favored. Everything was there, not a thing missing from the inn, the pirate having taken exacting care to collect each and every one of her belongings.
It was yet another inkling that gave Belle the hint that maybe something more was going on. That maybe the pirate had intended more than just to bankrupt her kingdom. But her mind wouldn't let her settle on what that other intention could be, Belle refusing to so much as consider that Hook had gone through so much trouble and risk just to have her again. It was simply a level of creepy she didn't want to dwell on, Belle disturbed enough by Hook and his lusts when it seemed just a matter of chance proximity.
She began repacking the chests, though she kept one of the dresses out. With the sheet still wrapped around her, Belle went to the door. To her surprise it wasn't locked, but then the bitter understanding filled her. Hook hadn't left the door unlocked because he trusted her, but because there was simply nowhere for her to go. She was on a ship full of blood thirsty, sex hungry pirates, and that alone would keep her in place, effectively trapped for the time being.
With a scowl that couldn't hide the hopeless and frustrated look in her eyes, Belle retreated to the cabin's private bathroom. This door was one that she made sure to lock, then quickly dropped the sheet. With a speed that impressed even her, Belle quickly got into and laced up the ribbons of a white and pale lavender dress. The skirts had a spring to them, the petticoat's ruffles filling them out nicely. It had a modest cut for a bodice, but even that little flesh on display seemed like too much. Belle quickly pulled the bed sheet back around her, covering up fully before she would leave the bathroom. She left the tunic from the tower on the floor, Belle never wanting to see that dark blue garment again. It wasn't the only thing that she never wanted to see again, Belle remembering the sinister blue of the pirate's eyes. She shivered and clutched harder at the sheet, remembering the heat, the raw desire, the hungry, predatory look that had focused unwavering on her. It was a look that she never wanted to be subjected to again, and yet it was a look that Belle knew she would have to endure time and time again, the pirate too fixated on lusting after her. With that focused intensity that desired to do more than just look, Belle not knowing if her tears would work a second time to damper the worst of his ardor. It was a bridge she knew that she would have to cross and soon, Belle fearing Hook and what he would do to her in the time that it took them to finally reach her kingdom. For now though, there was nothing she could truly do but take a seat by the window and wait. And hope that her unsettled, hurting heart didn't burst from the fright.
8/31/2021 Updated, seems a lot of the first half of these chapters tend to be what gets written. So big chunks there, with some minor tweaking in the latter half.
I love these, especially the one with the all white background, how splicing those two pics together, makes it look like he's staring so intensely at her while she gets all shy, and also the one of her in the yellow ball gown with him in the forest. My top faves of this post!
The Broken Hearted Comfort Chapter Seven (Not safe for work)
Strong dubious consent warning in this one!!
There had been a moment where a kind of thrilling rush had spiked through her, a keen exhilaration that was expressed deep within her heart the very second when she had dared make her threat be known, Belle pressing the very dagger she had stolen from off of the pirate earlier, against his belly now. With its oh so sharp and deadly point digging into that firm flesh, there had been that split second moment of feeling, where her anger and outrage had overcome all else of what she had been feeling. The fear and its many uncertainties, Belle feeling empowered if not brave, trembling with a determination and the idea that had been inside, Belle thinking she would do whatever she had to, even threathen to kill if need be, if it meant coming away safe from the pirate’s molestion.
That strong feeling and determination would die in the wake of a reaction most unexpected, that split second a lingering extension of time where she had glared her angriest into Captain Hook’s utterly shocked expression. A blink and you missed it moment, in which Belle had thought herself victorious and completely untouchable now, the change that abruptly came over the pirate, then made her cheeks flush with an angry and embarrassed warmth, the color blazing on her skin as the man began to openly laugh at her.
He actually shook with that unrestrained attempt at laughter, Belle’s own anger and mortification spiking, as she realized that this man did not take at all seriously the threat that she had tried to pose to him. She’d actually turn indignant, an angry huff of air escaping her, but try as Belle might, she couldn’t stop shaking, the trembling such that the dagger she held against him was so dangerously unsteady. She was so close to stabbing him through on accident alone, and didn’t even seem to realize it. Not until his hand clamped firm fingers around her wrist, Belle practically jumping in place from her fright. He had moved SO fast, faster than she thought even possible, and all it would take is a stronger squeeze from him to cause her real discomfort or even a hurt strong enough to get her to let go of the dagger.
Not knowing that Hook had grabbed her in part to steady that trembling use of the weapon, the pirate’s storm dark gaze was positively alive and dancing with his amusement. "Oh, sweet..." Hook then breathed out, his voice practically a husky purr. "You've got to be more serious then that."
She looked confused in response, Hook’s smile becoming a non too pleasant thing at that, his eyes darkening, voice still so husky and ill matched with the seriousness of the words that he was saying. "You've got to be swift, and you've got to be certain, when intending to kill a man."
"I..." Belle took a shaky gulp, the words dying on her tongue before she could attempt any more.
"There's no room for doubt." That husky toned pirate continued. "You have to be sure of what you want. No hesitating when the strike is right there. Otherwise you'll be overpowered, disarmed, and WORSE."
From the troubled look that darkened on Belle's pretty face, Hook thought that he could easily guess what it was that she considered as the worse. She was in part misguided, the pirate instinctively understanding that she had no real idea of just how bad things could become, of how much more grave and dire it would have been if the young woman had tried to bluff her way out with a dagger drawn on anyone other than the captain that so desired her. His crew would have had a field day, especially that of the men, more than a few having openly admired her, before their leader had turned so feral with his own possessive rage.
Without someone to protect her, without Hook, Belle would have left herself be open to even worse molesting than anything she might have imagined him having in mind. And if by chance, she somehow nerved herself to do the unthinkable, to actually take his life, or even just injure him badly, he doubted anyone would stop the crew from rioting and unleashing their brand of justice on her as punishment. She needed to be warned, to know first hand that this was not an option, that escape of any kind was not hers for the taking.
His amusement hadn’t sobered one bit, but it was a kind of twisted enjoyment he took in the idea of crushing this aspect of her fight for her. Belle still hadn’t released that hold of hers on the dagger, and yet Hook could feel how badly she was shaking through the steel grip that he maintained on her wrist. She tried to play it off, to act as if her violent trembling wasn’t quite so bad, but for all her anger and spirit, she was more troubled than anything by his laughter at her expense.
With a steely tone of voice, that was every bit regal and used to commands being heeded, Belle all but snarled her outrage at him. “Let go of my hand.” She said. “And we will see how little I hesitate this time!”
"Ah sweet, I see your time as the Queen's prisoner did little to douse out your own inner fire." Hook all but grinned at Belle. "But before you be gutting me....answer me this. Just how do you plan to fight your way past all of my crew? Pirates who are blood thirsty and sex hungry on the best of days, who will be wanting to avenge my untimely death?"
What was left of her fight surely died then and there at those words, Belle’s face taking on an ashen look of horror. She had actually blanched at such a question, the woman’s horror so palpable a thing. He might almost feel sorry for her then, but Hook was just as ruthless a pirate as any other man or woman aboard his ship, and he hadn’t forgotten that little fact.
He couldn’t resist teasing her, offering up a suggestion that he would quickly dash all hope of. “Well, now, I suppose after stabbing me, you could always try to fit through one of the window portholes. You are after all small and slim enough….curves aside...” He let an insolent look touch down on her breasts, before relentlessly continuing the torment, the lesson that she needed instilled in her. “Ah but providing you even KNOW how to swim, let us not forget there is all kind of nasties that lurk in these waters. A great many fishy monsters just waiting for the chance to take a bite out of a delectable piece such as yourself...”
It didn’t seem possible, and yet Belle’s skin, its color had actually worsened in response to that which Hook had been saying. As did her shaking, her body in quivering motion from head to toe. Pity blossomed within him with enough strength to make Hook want to gather the young woman close to him in a show of comfort and reassurances. He had to be sure though, that the lesson, the fear was properly in her, the pirate trampling on his own protective impulses, to instead offer yet another unappealing outcome that Belle could end up facing.
"And then there's always the Queen. As you have been so quick to point out, she'll be looking for you."
"She'll be looking for me regardless." Belle spoke in a whisper, looking that much closer to being defeated.
"I can make sure that she doesn't find you." Hook said it casually enough, though his breath was almost held in the hopes of a favorable reaction from her. One he did not get, the fear that she felt, that he helped worsen, couldn’t quite break her spirit, when it came to the price that he wanted. The price she was in no way prepared to pay, Belle’s eyes flashing with an upset that had nothing to do with her bluff being called, and everything to do with her disdain of him.
"For a price no doubt." She hissed, her chin lifting stubbornly, with a haughty kind of air to the motion.
"Just wanting my reward." Hook answered, unflappable in the face of that, or any other manifestation of her seeming dislike and ingratitude.
"Your reward?!" The way that she exclaimed those two words, made her voice and very manner come off as downright scandalized. "Even if I thought you deserved one, you expect too much from me!"
“And just what is this too much that you say I be expecting?” The pirate inquired. “A reward for a rescue is good form after all, and you more than owe me...”
“I owe you nothing!” She retorted, having yet to let go of the dagger’s hilt, or to stop her bad shaking. “I never asked you to rescue me...and you certainly didn’t do it out of any good intentions, you selfish, overbearing oaf!”
That last unsettled him, Hook wondering just how close she was to guessing just how badly he needed her. That motive, lacking any real rhyme or reason for how it had happened, and yet it had selfishly driven him to go after her. To take her, to outright steal her from the Queen’s grasp, and there was no true or pure reason behind it, Hook just wanting what---the WHO that he had been in so desperate need of.
It might gut him to admit just how badly, at least to her, the woman that was the highly sought after object of his twisted obsession. Wild for her, in a way that he couldn’t make sense to himself, let alone to HER, the truth of the pirate’s need for the beauty, might well be one that he took to his grave.
“There’s not many a man, hero or otherwise, that does anything in this world, without expecting to gain something from it. Be it money, or women, or fame. I don’t see why I must be so maligned for at least openly admitting MY reasons for undertaking such an endeavor.”
Belle’s eyes flashed, her pretty little lips starting to shape a retort he wasn’t in the mood to hear. He squeezed a gasp out of her instead, fingers clamped down hard enough that the lady finally let go of her hold on the dagger. In a swift move, that had it clattering harmlessly to the floor, the palm of his hand then cupped her cheek, a gentle, almost reverent touch, the pirate trying to guide her in for the kiss he was angling for.
With Belle up on tip toe, the pirate bent over his prize, their lips almost touching. Such a feather light caress, every word that he breathed out to her, literally felt by the brown haired beauty. “You gave yourself to me once...” He spoke as a way of reminding her, his eyes intent on hers. “Willingly, and freely even…:
He got the briefest of touch, and the satisfaction to go with it, before she snapped back her answer, shaking free of the palm cupping her cheek. “And I have been regretting it ever since!”
There was a real shade of anguish in her eyes, a haunted expression there that spoke of how extreme a distress Belle had found it, and had found HIM. He still hadn’t caught on to the damage done, to just how badly he had and continued to frighten her so, Belle all a quiver and it wasn’t desire that coursed through her at all. Lively though she was, the woman was also so pale skinned, trying to twist free of him, and settling for shoving at him with her own two delicate hands.
He was upset in turn, fighting back a snarl, that wicked and vile curse an expression of HIS frustration and worry. Even if he thought that Belle was overreacting, it left him with a very real problem, the pirate wondering just how in the world would he ever convince her to let him bed her, without a use of true force. Coercion and the gratitude card, the reward that he felt that Belle owed him, had all fallen flat at the attempt at using them as a convincing argument.
He just couldn’t understand, couldn’t come close to comprehending her own doubt and misgivings. It was inconceivable, the idea that he could have hurt her this bad, the man not realizing it was no longer just about the night in the alleyway, but the fear he had birthed within her with all of his bad behavior inside the Queen’s tower.
No closer to knowing of that fear’s existence, let alone having the means to understand and combat it, it was a mix of his curiosity and the frustration that got the better of him. With a tilt of his head, with an almost wounded look in his dark gaze, Hook didn’t have to fake the soft, almost hurt tone of his voice.
“Was it really THAT bad for you?”
Her answer was immediate, her eyes wide with her disbelief, the woman shocked by the question. As though she hadn’t expected him to ask her that, hadn’t thought he would have the nerve, Belle hissing back a question of her own. “You have to ASK?!” Not that she let him answer that, Belle all but shouting, “Yes, you brute, YES!”
For one frozen second, Hook reeled in place, wondering if there was a true chance of the possibility that he had hurt Belle worse than even he had first realized. He did a kind of grimace that was half a frown, the pirate trying to remember better that night in the alleyway, to think past the remembered feel of her, and the pleasure he had taken for himself. She had been crying, he was certain, though the rain fall had been such, that it had been hard to make out the tears. But there had been no missing the red rim of her expressive eyes, or the wounded look of her expression. Her trembling lips had shaped the sounds of discomfort, and even a plea or two, but he had been so lost, so utterly consumed with ALL that HE had been feeling.
Searching his memories further, he remembered how she had stumbled, for one moment too unsteady on her own feet to stand without the aid of another. Without his hand steadying her, and then she had slapped him, with the full force of her strength. She had run off after, and the fact that Belle had been able to walk at all, had been a good sign, hadn’t it? A sign that he hadn’t done as bad as he could have, her virginity ruined but not that of her body.
But now? Gazing down at the defiant and distressed young woman, the beauty wild in her struggles to get free of him, it began to make Hook doubt just what he had witnessed in that alleyway. She had lurched away from him on unsteady legs, but maybe that running away she had done, had been nothing but a mask to disguise just how badly she had truly been hurting. Because injured or not, sometimes sheer desperation caused a person’s body to do things it might otherwise not have been capable of, Hook remembering how he had attacked Rumplestiltskin, even after the monster had chopped off his hand. Rage had fueled him then, that and the desire to see Milah avenged. But what could have fueled Belle? Hurt alone might not have done it, suffering as she had been, as still now was, Belle intent on getting away from him. On escaping the villain who had inflicted his own permanent scar on her heart.
He frowned with that thought, with the idea of it, Hook able to admit to himself he had done his fair share of damage to the lass. He was still limiting his misbehavior to just that night, unable to comprehend doing anything else wrong. At least now he could speak the words that might be coming a little too late, the frown deepening on his face as his tongue faltered. “I’m...” That hesitation there, it was born of how uneasy he was, Hook not a man used to apologizing even when it was well deserved as it most certainly was in this case. “I’m sorry…”
Her struggling abruptly halted, Belle’s whole body seeming to stiffen in response to those words. She did not immediately move to accept such a shoddy attempt at an apology, but neither did she moved to outright reject it. Instead her eyes met his, that gentle blue still wearing keenly her distress. She searched his gaze, as though to test his sincerity, and for one beat of their hearts, he was absolutely serious. But it was almost as if he couldn’t help himself so wild with need for her, that he couldn’t leave things on so somber a note, or even behave. With his eyes taken on an intense smolder of a look, with his voice holding a cajoling element to it, he tried for the seductive, his hand again cupping her face.
“Let me make it up to you.”
Eyes back to suspicious, Belle could only maintain a wary silence. He should have heeded it too, the quiet that she snubbed him with, a warning to be cautious. Unable to tread carefully where she was concerned, the very next thing that came out of his mouth, was a blatant proposition. A sexual entreaty that showed how little he had thus far learned.
"Let me show you how much better sex between us CAN be."
Her lips had parted in her absolute shock, Belle seeming almost speechless in response. And then her gaze narrowed, not quite a glare managed, as she found her voice. "You, Captain..." She hissed in her most frostiest of tones. "Are outrageously misguided if you think that is in any way an apology a LADY like myself can or would ever be willing to accept. I don't know what kind of woman you are used too, but you will find that I am a different class all together."
That much he did not doubt, Belle indeed different. Far more beautiful and stubborn than most any other woman, she was making him crazy with his inability to seduce her into his arms. He didn’t come close to better understanding why it was proving so difficult, and normally this much of a challenge might have thrown him off the hunt. There had and was always other women to be found, ones that were eager and willing to join him in spreading their legs. But none of those other women, be they paid whores, or willing lovers, had ever had even half as intoxicating an effect as this pretty little brown haired wench has had on him. An almost drugging influence, she was like a siren that had caught him in her clutches, such a soothing enchantment worked upon him, and Hook would be damned thrice over before he let Belle refuse him anymore.
The weeks spent apart, all those fantasies alive in his head, it felt like they had been apart for just short of forever, and his lust was at a breaking point. With the desire flooding his veins, with his temper just this close to bursting, and his patience not only short, but at an end, he caught out and pulled her in. He had one satisfying moment of seeing a startled blue giving over to her panic, and then Belle was beating at his chest. She had realized it a moment too late, that Hook was done with the talking, with his attempts at reason and cajoling. She cried out, no more a threat with her fists, than she had been with that dagger, Belle knowing even without his scare tactics, there was dozens upon dozens of reasons why she would have never been able to go through with actually killing this man, With killing ANY man, and it had little to do with the fact that there was no real escape for her, and everything to do with the type of person she was. A kind hearted soul, one who simply didn’t have it within her to murder anyone in cold blood. She was simply too soft a heart, unable to truly hurt or treat anyone maliciously, not Rumplestitlskin, not the Queen, and certainly not even the pirate who so threatened her now.
She’d always be a victim, Belle realized, so long as she felt that way. Hindered by her own brand of mercy, that killing instinct that she lacked, Belle now knew what Hook had known from the start. That any weapon that she might try to pull on him, or on anyone else, would only be as a good as her bluff. A bluff that would never get stronger, so long as Belle wasn’t ready and willing to do a killing blow, and Hook knew and took advantage of that weakness.
She still tried to scream her way free, struggling ever more wildly, as he carried her off towards his bed. “Unhand me!” But her voice was pitched too high with fear, the woman unable to put any real authority to her demands. They were simply as overpowered as she was, Belle finding her fight mounting, heart racing at an alarming rate over what she expected to happen in just a few short seconds. That fear made the anticipated hurt seem all the worst, Belle so scared of the pirate who held her, his eyes wearing so dark and hungry a look. That blue was devouring her as though she was already naked, that smoldering color all rife with masculine desire and intentions. He was uncaring of her struggles, of the protests she let loose with, a single minded focus there that was far too disturbing in how much it fixated unwavering on her. Caught by it, by HIM, even Belle was starting to realize that something more was going on then what was at hand. Pirates may have a strong lusting reputation, all dirty and underhanded where women and their thieving were concerned, but this went beyond that, beyond all the stories.
It wasn’t right, HE wasn’t right, looking at her that way, both like he wanted her and that she was his entire world, Belle couldn’t claim to at all understand it. And this unreal and abnormal situation didn’t leave her much room to try, Belle lacking the luxury of the freedom to try and think her way through to comprehending what was truly going on with him.
She was worse off then that, unable to think or reason her way out of such a situation. The panic continued to build inside her, and for all those uneasy realizations that she had had, it didn’t take even a minute for Hook to reach the large bed in the center of the room. She was deposited onto a very firm mattress, with only minimal give towards the softer parts of it. She tried to sit up, tried to scramble away, but he was on her in a second, Hook’s hand never leaving her as he moved to join her on the bed. Belle was aware of saying things, of making a great many attempts that went ignored. The pirate was simply too determined and demanding, too focused on his own needs and desires, to pay any true attention to hers.
Situation still so unreal, Belle quickly closed her eyes to shut out the way that the pirate continued to look at her. But it left her other senses spiking, picking up the slack left over from her lack of sight. She could smell him better than ever, a clean scent of the sea and his leather, with a hint of masculine arousal that seemed to grow even stronger. Worse yet was that of touch, his face nuzzling the crook of her shoulder, so that she felt his firm lips kissing there, along with the raspier sensation of his beard hairs on her skin.
Belle nearly jumped out of her skin when the pirate moaned into her shoulder, the sound so blatantly sexual. His arm with the hook had looped around her waist, holding her fast while leaving his hand free to touch her. And touch her he did, skimming his fingers from her collar to down between her breasts. Belle was sure that if the pirate were to shift his hand just right, he'd feel the frightened, wild beating of her heart.
It only grew worse, Hook touching her legs now. It was a full handed caress, palm and fingers called into play as that hand moved from thigh to knee, then back again. Each sweep of his hand, caused her tunic to ride up higher, until finally she lay exposed save for the panties that Belle still wore underneath the prison garb.
Her breath hitched in her throat, when he laid a possessive hand over her there, with only the thin fabric of her panties to serve as barrier against the scalding touch of his skin. She couldn’t be brave any longer, her spirited self lost when the tears begin burning their feel in her eyes. Belle practically choked on a sob, such a weak and hysterical note escaping her throat. Her eyes stayed closed, shut so tight that she didn't see the reaction that the pirate had had to that choked out sound, nor was she able to comprehend the hesitating quiver of his hand, his fingers pausing from their blatant caressing.
"Are...." She could almost imagine him frowning. "Are you crying?"
Belle said nothing, didn't so much as nod or shake her head. But she trembled all the same, shaking and shivering as though caught up in a storm. She was so cold, and yet was burnt from wherever he had touched. Scalded by his lips, branded by his hand, and made crushed under his weight. It was all too much, the tears were then falling, the pirate having gently brushed his fingers over her shut tight eyes. Belle then heard him curse, and when she dared peek open her eyes, she saw him staring not at her, but at his fingers, with that of her tears glistening on the tips.
Hook's eyes no longer glinted with that ravenous look. Instead the pirate simply looked confused, as though he couldn't understand, could not comprehend why anyone, why Belle herself would be crying in this kind of situation. Nor could Belle understand Hook's reaction to her tears, why they would affect him to the point he'd actually stop mid way through his molestation. He'd actually frown, bringing those tear stained fingertips to his lips for a brief taste. And then their eyes would meet, Hook staring at Belle for a long moment, before letting out a stream of vicious curses.
Flinching, Belle saw how Hook reacted to even that. His hand would cup her cheek, his lips parting to say something. He seemed to think better of it, abruptly drawing back so that Belle was free of his touch completely. She quickly scrambled to put even more distance between them, not trusting him in the slightest. Her heart continued to hammer fast in her chest, almost hurting her with its frantic beats.
There was another one of those moments, where so many things went unvoiced between them. Hook stared at Belle, actually looked her over from head to toe, his eyes showing the struggle within him. He still wanted her, still wanted to bed her, but was also made disturbed by her tears. She didn’t understand, but neither did Belle make any attempt to wipe them away, aware that they might be the only thing keeping her safe from Hook's lusts.
Hook for his part, was shaken by the protective instincts that had been roused by the sight of Belle's tears. By the needs that insisted he comfort not scare her, that told him to take her in his arms for no other reason than to hold and reassure her. It was weird and practically unheard of, Hook the type to ignore or laugh at any weeping female. And yet with Belle, all it took was a few tear drops spilled and he was made undone, Hook at last realizing just how badly he was frightening her.
That fright couldn't cool down the fires of his loins completely. Hook still wanted her, was still obsessed with Belle, with the having of her. But it no longer seemed quite as appealing, to force his attentions on her so explicitly. The tears put everything into new perspective, made Hook realize how very bad his idea to show Belle by force how good sex between them could be, had truly been.
It left him to feel downright embarrassed, but also angry that his fantasies weren't playing out the way that he had imagined them to. That Belle herself wasn't acting the way he had come to expect, the way that he still needed her to. She wasn't supposed to cry, and she wasn't supposed to be scared. Her anger while unpleasant, seemed infinitely more manageable, than this tear streaked lass who shivered and shied away from his every touch.
When Hook had brought Belle to his bed, he had thought it all but a given conquest. She would resist, but as he continued to caress, stroke and kiss her, her protests would melt away. Until she was panting with need, and all too willing to spread her legs for him. Instead the very actions that were meant to seduce her into submission, had only made things worse, Belle scared and CRYING.
Hook still wanted Belle. Still wanted to do all the things he had fantasized about, to finish what he had attempted to start just a few minutes ago. But he was also realizing it mattered to him that Belle not be scared, that she would enjoy and want him back. But it was also adamantly clear that it wasn't going to happen today, or tomorrow, and God help him--them both, if it dragged on for more days than that. Because Hook felt near his limit, felt he could hold back for only so long, before he messed things up completely.
The Broken Hearted Comfort Chapter Six (Slightly not safe for work here and there...)
Another one!
The Queen's prison tower hadn’t been a place that was easily found, even for one with a skill that was as downright miraculous as it was mysterious, when it came to locating that what was needed. There was an innate bit of magic at work here, both in the hiding of that imposing building, and in the ability that Mr. Smee often called into use. But even he seemed to not be able to truly explain that trick of his trade, and the many years that had been added to an already long life span, had only helped make it grown stronger in strength, rather than see it weakened. One day it might mature strong enough to find even that which was the pirate Hook’s ultimate goal, a spell or a weapon strong enough to destroy even that of the Dark One. For now, he’d settle for the second best thing, a treasure the likes of which few if any would ever lay claim to. That peace of mind, the ability to cope, and the woman who it was all tied to, the man desperate for that beauty. For Belle.
The tower constructed of its many stones and white mortar, was spiraled so high up into the sky that even hours later it should have remained visible to the naked eye. However there was magic at play here, the fog and the mountains swallowing it up whole, so that not even a betraying glimmer of it was exposed. It and they were deep in that ranged and ragged terrain, miles away from any town, from any real mark of a human’s civilization. Such was the journey to and from Regina’s prison, that horses had been needed, the sea still little more than a day’s journey from where they now were.
It was more than a trifle unsettling to be this far out on land. To be this far away from that of his ship, and the protection of its magic, and that of its cannons. It was an upset that his crew echoed, the men uneasy with the realization that they had all had, that of the vulnerability, and that of how easily it could be to see them all trapped on this, a most inhospitable of lands. Such was their worry and distaste, that it was a palpable thing, flavoring the air with a kind of tension that unnerved the horses that they rode upon, the most frightened of the beasts trying to balk with their every step, leaving at least one pirate struggling to bring his mare under control.
Some horses, however, seemed to be thriving on the tension, hooves striking dirt and cobbles with an unearthing precision, as they all but flew with a speed born of wings that they did not actually have. The wind stirred in those mounts wake, Hook keeping a firm hold on the reins, but otherwise was content to let the big, bulky stallion have its fun, so long as the creature kept up so punishing a pace towards the sea, rather than run further from it. Some kept pace with him, while others of his crew, the ones struggling with their rides, faltered from somewhere in the distant behind, and more than one man had a careful grip on their weapon, that of their swords, or that of the muskets. They were prepared for a fight, for the pursuit that had not yet come, everyone on edge and cautious for the evil queen could strike at ANY time, and with that powerful magic that was all Regina’s own, she could appear before them in an instant, and with an army of well armed soldiers to back her up. That she hadn’t thus far, was good fortune for the pirates, and nothing but mere chance, that foul woman not yet having learned of just what had happened at her secret tower.
She might not even concern herself with Belle right away, not with the number of other men and women freed from her keep. With ALL of the queen’s prisoners having been set loose, it was the hope that she’d not only not know where to begin looking, but be unable to decide on just who to go after first. Whoever was most valuable most likely, though as to who that could actually be, not even Hook had a clue. It certainly couldn’t be Belle, could it? When even she insisted that he, and that of the Queen, that of everyone being so wrong about her own value. Yet any other details surrounding her capture and imprisonment, Belle would not reveal, keeping such secrets closely guarded to her chest. But there would be time later to coax and seduce the story from her, God willing they made it to the Jolly Roger and soon!
It still bothered him, the not knowing, Hook a naturally inquisitive kind of guy, even when not going out of his way to make so powerful an enemy. He kept playing it over in his mind, so curious and determined where Belle was concerned, and about her own perceived lack of worth. The value the lass insisted she was lacking. To a man who was rapidly finding her becoming just about everything that he had needed, the pirate had deemed his beauty more priceless than just about any treasure or magic. He may not truly understand it, but that brief taste the night in the alleyway, had seen the woman become that which was essential for Hook. Not just for his lust, but for his sanity, for that of his peace of mind. She had made the grief more than manageable, thoughts of her consuming him whole. She both distracted him and maddened his blood, and the captain could acknowledge that he still wasn’t any closer to being in a stable state of mind. Off hinged, and so long driven and made crazed by his losses, and that need for revenge, and the burdens weighing him down, he had almost always been that of an obsessive kind of person, having spent hundreds of years upon years holding onto his pain and those motivating needs. It and the fact there was so many dependent upon him, left no true rest for him, Hook having to see this to its end, to see that murderous monster dead.
Most days were harder than that of the others, century after century stretching on, with no real end in sight. Locked in his self loathing and misery, if not for his own vows, surely he would have died by his own hand by now. Something had truly broken inside him at Milah’s callous death at Rumplestiltskin’s hands, an irreparable piece shattered, that had ushered him down that plunge of madness. Free falling through such insanity, that craziness had only been tempered and honed by a few hundred of years spent on grieving and on hate. Lodged in that endless mire of darkness, the first guiding light to have appeared, that of Belle, had the man latching on in fierce fixation upon her. It and she had thoroughly consumed him, and the longer he had gone without her, the stronger the obsession had become.
If possible, it had led him to become even crazier in need. To the point he did the outrageous, daring to lay an attack on that which was the private prison stronghold of a very evil Queen. Even with it only being about a year’s time having passed since their return to the Enchanted Realm, such was Regina’s reputation when it came to cruelty and misdeeds, that Hook and his pirates had heard plenty about many of her wrong doings, and the power that fueled her. She may not be the Dark One, but the woman was comparable in the trouble she unleashed, the pain and the loss she had caused, whole villages slaughtered for her mad ambitions.
The Evil Queen was a danger, one that they should have been avoiding rather than risk having her be brought down upon them. He and his crew had enough of a problem with Rumplestiltskin’s threat, and yet Regina was a problem he had gladly invited in, the brown haired beauty that currently lay cradled within the safety of his arms, the factor that would have Hook willingly risk adding to their enemies again and again. Such a lovely lass of such breathing taking physique, that plush and currently pliant body was nestled against him, her face pressed into his chest so that his wildly racing heart beat could have lulled her into an uneasy sleep. Like this, so quiet and unassuming, so vulnerable seeming, she cuddled almost trustingly against him, in a way that he knew she would never if awake.
She just didn’t understand. Didn’t understand or appreciate his need, or that of the trouble that Hook and his men had been through. That of the dangers that they had undertaken in coming to liberate her from the tower. Or that of the enemy that would perhaps hunt them for the rest of their lives, so much having been risked, and she was hardly of mind to reward him. It actually rankled him something fierce, her lack of gratitude, even as the man kept trying to tell himself that soon that would all change. That soon Belle would come to understand, and be thankful, even appreciative. It was something, a belief that Hook had to hang on to, for if he didn’t have that, the pirate did not know just WHAT he might do. Just what he would resort to, his lust not something of mind to always be nice, to the point that he remembered the fantasies he had entertained, and the very real chance for them to happen for real now. He was uneasy at the thought, but unable to truly reconcile that potent sexual desire against the idea of Belle’s spirited refusals. Nor was it tempered entirely, by the strangely protective feeling that he was embracing with Belle asleep against him. He simply wanted too strongly, and had been tried too greatly for that.
Sullen and tense when she had been awake, this current adventure with Belle had been a far different experience when the woman had been awake. Spiritedly resolute in the silence that she had maintained, the lass had sat rigid in the saddle, trying her best to not so much as brush her back against his front. She had wanted to stonewall him with silence, and she had gotten it, once the pirate had realized the woman wasn’t about to be won over, or even goaded into a response. Not even by his most teasing and lewdest of suggestions and comments!
They had ridden for hours in that tense atmosphere, and had still had hours of it yet to go, when Belle had suddenly given over into sleep. Had it been boredom or something more? He didn’t know and didn’t much care, thrilling to the moment after first recovering from his shock, Belle having cuddled up against him as best she could in the saddle. It wasn’t a conscious action on her part, no matter how much he might wish otherwise, the beauty too angry and full of mistrust, to have ever relaxed so otherwise. She wouldn’t have approved of how much he was reaping enjoyment from the act, such a soft and lush body having a potent effect on HIS.
Having been aroused from the second he had entered into her cell, and claimed a few kisses and touches from her, such a pliant vulnerability, only made him feel ever the more excited. Hard in fact, almost all the blood that had surged to his groin, making for an unbearably tightness in that now granite like flesh. Left wanting and hurting for too, too long, his erection was one that bordered on pain, and only the act of sinking into the wet warmth of a woman’s flesh would help to alleviate such extreme discomfort. If it had been any possible, his state would have urged the horse to run even FASTER to his ship, but the stallion was already at its limits and lathering with a fine sweat from such exertions.
He held in a frustrated sound, that he helped bury further by nuzzling his face into Belle’s hair. His nostrils flared with the scent of it, with her, the woman clean smelling and sweet even after all that time spent as the Queen’s prisoner. Such flavor and the silk soft texture of it, and he couldn’t control himself, thrusting his hips in such a way to rub his groin against the beauty’s side. He wasn’t at all discrete about it, so that any of his crew could have caught on real quick to the liberties that Hook was taking. Not that any of the men would have had much to say about Hook and the things that he was doing. Especially not to his face! All were aware that something weird was at play here, something that might be downright magical, given the distraction this woman had driven their captain to. No random flight of fancy, Belle was something that had hooked the pirate, and had formed a lasting obsession AND birthed the kind of possessiveness to him, that his ship mates were doing their very best to avoid so much as looking Belle’s way.
That possessiveness had surprised Hook as much as any of them, that feral reaction something he could not truly control. It had triggered most dangerously in the tower, when Hook had first come dragging Belle down to the lower floors. The pirates that made up his crew, had naturally been curious, a great deal of wondering and speculation having been privately had about the woman that had caused their captain to lose his head over. The pirate and the beauty had been greeted in turn by a multitude of those interested and judging eyes, and there had been a heated appreciation in more than a few as they had looked Belle over from head to toe.
A propriety rage had overtaken him in an instant, Hook aware of how little the ragged blue prison tunic had covered on her, and the lust that such bare legged beauty was inspiring. It had been irrational and downright insane, the urge upon him to attack his own men and it was all that the pirate could do to control himself in that moment!
He had actually growled, and had stepped in front of Belle to hide her from the sight of his men's predatory gazes. And then Hook had shrugged out of his long, leather duster of a coat, insisting that the lass put it on over that too short and exposing tunic of hers. A tunic that wasn't made of heavy enough material to protect against the night's cold. Belle still had to be freezing, even wrapped up in his coat.
More than a little entertained by the thoughts of the warming up that he would do her, the horses could be pushed no harder. Some were already too close to the point of collapse, and eager though he was, Hook also had a strict no crew member left behind policy in act. He would not personally abandon any of the men who had volunteered on this excursion with him, though they couldn’t say the same of the ones on the ship. The pirates who had remained on the Jolly Roger, were under the captain’s orders to set sail at the first sign of true trouble, Hook not so heartless even in his obsession, to let a bunch of women and children also die or be captured just for his own peace of mind.
It would be a relief when the cry would be taken up, the men with him at last spying a most welcome sight. With the azure of the night sky fading, and streaked with purples that soon gave way to vivid pinks, and then the oranges and yellows of a sun that had not yet risen in full, the tallest mast of the Jolly Roger was made seen. Its sails were already unfurled and billowing with the dawning day’s breeze, if not for the anchor that held it in place, it would take off like a shot of lightning, riding the wind as though it was born of wings. It was ready to fly at a moment’s notice, Smee and the rest of the Roger’s crew, anxiously waiting for a sign of any kind. Good or bad, and none were in the clear yet, Hook unable to give in to that excited hope just yet. Not even with the faint smell of the sea in his nose growing stronger, for they had to get closer, and be on board yet before they could be considered safe. They needed to be out to sea, to be brought far enough away as to be lost to even the Queen.
With a click of his tongue, and shifting of his body, Hook used his knees to guide the horse in the direction it must go. At this current pace, the pirate estimated that the ship would be reached just as the sun crested high enough to chase away the last straggling remnants of the previous night’s sky.
From behind him came the sudden cry of one of his pirates, but it wasn't one born of panic or of fear. The man had spotted the ship as well, and was expressing his relief that they had nearly made it. Similar sounds came from his other pirates, the noise enough to rouse Belle. She shifted against him, but did not immediately try to spring away. Belle simply wasn't aware enough to realize just who she lay against, and why, and Hook felt jealous to think she might have been dreaming that he was the man who had broken her heart in the first place.
Hook wasn't all that curious about that man. He thought him an immense fool, an idiot for wasting his chance with a woman like Belle. He didn't understand how anyone could NOT have treasured Belle as the gift that she truly was, yet Hook could also recognize how extremely lucky he was for that man's stupidity. After all, that man's mistake was that of Hook's salvation, and the pirate captain meant to not only claim but keep Belle with him.
Once it would have astonished Hook, the idea of him wanting to keep ANY woman after the loss he had suffered with Milah. But he felt different now, having lost what was left of his good sense. Of what was right, and what was wrong, Hook practically forgetting he had no future, wasn't intending to live once he found and got his revenge on the crocodile.
And then his private thoughts scattered fully, Belle having jolted awake with a gasp. Hook was ready for her, tightening his arms around her. Not to hurt so much as to prevent her from falling off of the horse, the girl practically violent in her attempts to lunge backwards.
"Careful, sweet." Hook murmured to her, giving her one of his more amused smiles. But his heart beat just a bit faster, and he wondered why. Was it the frantic look she had given him and their surroundings, as though Belle was still considering making a break for it, even with the fact that she was on top of a horse moving fast enough that the fall would have most likely killed her? Or was it something else, something that had nothing to do with the danger she might pose to herself?
Belle placed her hands on his forearms, gripping him almost as tight as he was her. "How....how much farther?"
"Not much farther at all." Hook told her, nodding at something over her shoulder. Still gripping his arms, she shifted carefully, turning and getting her first sight of the Jolly Roger. Hook sat a little taller in the saddle, proud of the beauty that was his ship, knowing that it was an awe inspiring and majestic sight, with its wood carved from enchanted trees that had gone all but extinct in this day and age.
"So that's it then..." Belle murmured, almost too soft for him to hear. "That's how you'll make your escape..."
"How WE'LL make our escape." He corrected her. She stared a bit longer at the ship, before turning back towards Hook. Her expression nearly unreadable, Belle had more questions.
"And then what? Where will you---we go from here?"
"Does it matter?" Hook asked, and she nodded. "We won't make for land at first. We'll lay low on the open sea. Perhaps a few weeks at most, but it might just be enough time for the Queen to forget about you."
"She won't." Belle said, practically sighing. "Not so long as she continues to be misguided about what she thinks holding me will get her."
Hook seized upon the opening she had just given him. "And that is?"
"It doesn't matter. She's wrong." Her expression remained flat, unreadable. "She'd have killed me when she realized it too."
"If that much is true, then you owe me for more than the rescue." Hook spoke musingly. It was the wrong thing to say, the wrong thing to so much as imply, judging by the fierce look that she had given his way.
"I'd hardly call this a rescue." Her tone was dry. "Not when you've abducted me for your own ends."
"Would you really have preferred to stay in the tower?" Hook asked, honestly curious not to mention frustrated by her.
"No, but..."
"But?" He prodded.
"I'd rather not be dependent on anyone...least of all you."
Hook frowned. "I know I didn't handle that night as best as I could." He said to her. Emotion flared visible in her eyes, such anger and hurt that Hook felt almost guilty to see it. "But don't you think you are overreacting to what happened?"
Stony silence was all that he got from her, the woman still glaring. "You approached me." A frustrated Hook then reminded her.
"A mistake I will never get over!" Belle snapped, and the hostility of her tone was almost enough to make Hook flinch. He was also mildly insulted, truly thinking she was overreacting a tad too much for what had happened.
"You told me not to stop." Hook said lowly.
"And look what it got me!"
"I didn't realize you were a virgin until it was too late." Hook told her.
"Not that it mattered to you, once you knew." Belle grumbled, still maintaining her fierce glare. Hook could only grimace, privately agreeing with her there. It hadn't mattered, Hook hadn't cared much about anything but his own pleasure and satisfaction, not even trying to slow and gentle his actions to cause the young woman the minimal amount hurt that could be expected in such a circumstance.
"I'm..." He swallowed, the words hard to get out. Hook wasn't a man used to apologizing, least of all about sex. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking...."
"We BOTH weren't." Her look was sour then. "Regardless, that time in the alleyway should have never happened."
Hook remained silent in response to that. Because he knew, KNEW, that she was right. It shouldn't have happened. Belle's life might have been better off without Hook in it. And though he had saved her from the Queen, an evil that would have been searching for the lass regardless of Hook's own involvement, the pirate also knew he could offer her nothing. Nothing that was real, nothing that was permanent. If he had been a better man, a man that wasn't consumed with taking what he wanted, a man that wasn't driven by such baser impulses, Hook would have set Belle free once they got away from these mountains.
But the pirate wasn't, and Hook wouldn't. He'd keep Belle with him right to the bitter end, knowing he couldn't offer her happiness, couldn't offer her a future together. It was purely selfish of him, Hook basically intending to use Belle as a coping mechanism and an outlet. And that knowledge of what he intended? It showed in his eyes, Belle staring at him frozen for one moment, before she turned away with her own gaze unsettled.
Wondering what it was that she was now thinking, what Belle must be assuming about his intentions, Hook still couldn't muster up the nerve to ask her outright. They'd ride the rest of the way to the sea and his ship in silence, and then a welcoming cry would be heard. They had been spotted, the ship's lookout letting out such a loud exclamation that it had alerted the other pirates to Hook's arrival.
The men with him were calling back, already letting the pirates aboard the ship know of their success. By the time Hook pulled up to shore, the plank walkway had been lowered, several pirates rushing down to take hold of the horses.
Hook slid off the back of the stallion almost before it had come to a full stop. Belle was reluctant, but allowed him to help her down, nearly falling against him before she got steady on her legs. He could hear the hush come over the crowd, curious pirates leaning against the ship's railing in order to catch sight of the woman who had driven their captain to expose them to such risks.
Belle actually seemed to shift closer to him, as though nervous of the attention that she was getting. She didn't quite touch him, but she seemed to think him less a threat than the men and women who were looking at her now.
"Its all right." Hook said softly, trying to reassure them both. "They're just curious." He started to draw her towards the plank walkway, when the excited whinny of a horse was heard. Belle whipped around, a question voiced.
"What are they doing with those horses?"
"Setting them free." Hook hastened to explain. "We don't want the Queen to track them to the stable that we borrowed them from."
"By borrow, do you mean steal?"
"I might." Was Hook's lazy answer. "The Queen is not known for her mercy. If she thinks the stable willingly helped us, she'd slaughter everyone tied to it, regardless of the fact they would not have known what we had intended to do." She looked surprised then, and Hook hid a smile. "I'm not heartless. I wouldn't involve innocents in this...unless I had too."
His words didn't exactly endear him to her, Belle frowning. Hook couldn't claim to understand her response, not knowing what was on her mind. He couldn't know that she was thinking of her kingdom, that of her father and their people and what Belle had assumed was Hook's intentions towards them all.
Seeing she wasn't going to speak anymore, Hook began urging her to walk up the plank with him. There was a slight tug of resistance from Belle, but ultimately she followed, the eyes of the pirates all focused on the two.
Once on board, Hook could tell his crew was still brimming to bursting with questions. And for some, like the women, they were oozing with curiosity about Belle herself. He could guess what it was that they were thinking, and just what it was that they were wondering about. Things such as wondering what was so special about this young woman, that she had driven their captain even more insane, making him obsessed with the acquiring of her.
"Get ready to sail!" Hook then shouted. His words were both an order and a reminder that they couldn't linger here any longer than necessary. It jolted the crew into action, most running to their designated duties, ready to help the ship leave even faster.
It took nearly ten men to lift the heavy anchor, their muscles straining, voices groaning as they hauled on the heavy chain. The sails already filled out with the wind, quickly had the Jolly Roger moving, with Hook's third in command manning the wheel, using it to guide the ship past the rocky outcroppings that littered close to shore.
Hook didn't linger to watch the departure, instead dragging Belle to his private cabin. As captain of these pirates, one of the privileges that Hook enjoyed was that of having a room all to himself. A large, nearly spacious room, filled with various luxuries and wealth. That was everything from chests of gold and jewels, to fine tapestries, and trinkets.
Belle nearly jumped, when the door slammed shut behind them, hardly put at ease by Hook's smile and nearness. Her expression had turned frantic again, her eyes darting about as though still looking for an escape. The pirate had yet to realize that the woman was rather scared of him, believing instead she was merely angry over what had happened between them. It didn’t leave him any more certain on how to smooth things over with her, and right now, alone in his private room with her, Hook couldn't think straight. Couldn't think past the fact that he needed to kiss her, and had been hard and painfully aroused for most of their escape together.
"Belle, sweet...." He spoke in such a husky tone, already moving to catch her around the waist. She immediately put a hand on his chest, clearly intending to hold him at bay. Such a touch only goaded him onward instead, Hook bending to kiss her. At the same time, his hand moved, fingers nimble as they worked open the coat, then eased it off of her. Belle didn't fight its removal, but neither did she assist.
Nor did she fight the kiss, letting Hook have complete possession of her mouth. He groaned, his agony and his ecstasy mixing together. And then he lost complete control, touching her all over, his hand groping, pulling at her tunic so that it rode higher on her thighs. His hook then caught at the back of the ragged fabric’s collar, ready to rip it down and expose her fully.
The fabric actually began to tear with a loud rip of sound, Hook ready to gather Belle up and carry her to the bed when he felt it. Felt the sharp point of a weapon against his belly, the hand that held it shaking ever so badly. Startled, he broke the kiss, and saw the look of determination in Belle's eyes. The weapon continued its press, the lass making her threat known. It was so completely unexpected that it was not only surprising, it was absurd. Hook at first didn't know what was stronger, his urge to laugh, or his shock. But ultimately the laughter won out, Hook realizing his kitten had claws.
8/30/2021 Kinda dragged my heels on starting the update of this one. Most of the start was completely rewritten. Like several pages worth. Its so hard to not rewrite everything, X_X
The Broken Hearted Comfort Five (Still not work safe at times)
One more done before I sleep....more dub con elements....
Hook hadn't been in the best of moods, when he had thrown Belle over his shoulder. Several strong feelings had been behind such an action, the least of which being that of his impatience. Whether that impatience was stronger for the need to get free of this tower, or if it was for the desire to bed the lass the first chance that he could get, Hook didn't yet know. Both seemed so equally urgent, the lust that he has been struggling with feeling for Belle, making him careless, even downright foolish. He should after all know better than this. Know that now wasn't the time to delay for anything, let alone the sex he had already been waiting on for several weeks now.
His body didn't seem to care, his libido not giving a damn to what was right, and what was wrong. That inexplicable lust that he felt for the woman, all of those strong desires and urges, that NEED, were raging further and further out of control. Leaving his blood burning hot, and rendering his body rock hard. Every muscle made rigid and tense with it, Hook could feel the strain of him holding back, and how much doing such a thing made him suffer so.
It wasn’t helping to have her so near. Regardless of how, whether she was pinned and squirming beneath him, or struggling in place as she lay suspended, draped over one strong shoulder. Either way he had and still did feel her breasts, that pliant softness against him. Rising and falling with her rapid breaths, what had started as a bit of a struggle, was now escalating in intensity, that of Belle’s efforts to get free. That spirited lass was just short of thrashing wildly about, at times pounding her small fists against his back. Such blows weren’t having the desired effect, not in cooling his twisted passion down, or serving to annoy him as much as the beauty would have him be. He was simply too used to such things, to the act of carrying off a struggling female, due to his long lived career as a pirate.
It was that skill, long practiced and perfected, that kept his steps from faltering. It was why Hook didn’t so much as stumble from Belle’s most wildest of movements. She could struggle and scream all she liked, and would still come no closer to getting free, the pirate not about to drop her even at his most exasperated. With steps that were both careful and precise, he made his way down the tower’s spiraling mammoth of a stair case. Belle maintained her fight, a valiant effort made as she kicked out with her legs, while shouting and begging for a help that was not coming.
"Afraid that mine is the only help you'll get here, sweet heart." Hook told her, his voice carrying easily enough over even the worst of her shouts. Her legs though continued to kick, one nearly catching him in the face. That was what finally snapped some of his remaining patience, Hook slapping his hand against Belle's shapely bottom. Her furious screaming turned into that of an indignant gasp, the woman shocked by what he had just done. By what he continued to now do, Hook unable to stop touching her now that she had given him a reason to.
"Stop that!" Belle snapped, and if possible, her squirming became something even more wild. Not once though, did she try to again kick out again, the lesson perhaps learned, the woman perhaps fearing such behavior would earn her another slap to her soft bottom. He would have to, if such a thing was necessitated by her, although the pirate was far more interested in curving his hand over her rump in a far different manner. It wasn’t just her flesh’s pliant softness that he was so enamored with now, but that faint heat he could feel coming off her. The warm skin that lay partially revealed, Belle’s struggles and the aid of his exploring hand, having dislodged her tunic enough, so that its hem had ridden up high enough so that her panties lay exposed.
They were nothing like the ones she had worn that night in the alleyway, the volumes of fine silk replaced with the thinnest and most scandalous of cotton. So barely nonexistent, and nothing like what a lady would normally wear, the sight and feel of it was enough to make Hook break out into a sweat. There was no chance of any real behaving, the pirate’s excitement incited to an incendiary heat that would burn them BOTH alive, and her panties were now just something else in HIS way, his fingers grasping at the too thin fabric. His own breath harsh with such desperation, the impulse to strip and tear her free of what little that she was wearing, was one he almost obeyed without hesitation, situation and circumstance be damned, and that wasn’t at all okay, some sliver thin part of him able to acknowledge the inherent wrongness of his actions. There was a time and a place for everything, and with the hoarsest of moans, and most foulest of curses, he just barely was able to stop himself.
Already trembling with both the fear and that of her own awareness, Belle had quieted down for several more steps. He’d almost think they’d make it all the way down without any more words spoken, but it was a deceptive quiet that had been bought. She wasn’t yet so thoroughly defeated by him, or by the situation, dangling as she was across his shoulder. He could almost imagine her mind whirling a million seconds a minute, Hook hoping that she was processing and coming to grips with the hand fate had dealt them, and NOT planning a sneak attack of some sort.
“You won’t get away with this.” It wasn’t as passionate as such a proclamation deserved, Belle’s voiced more tired than anything. “The Queen will see to that. She’ll...”
"The Queen will have more prisoners to track down than even she can manage." It was interjected with a smile, a reckless uncaring to him, as he angled down another few steps. “Ah, you hear that?” He asked her, of the celebratory sounding cheers that echoed from lower down in the tower.
“Your crew?” She sounded more fearful than anything, and was woefully misguided on just who those sounds actually belong to.
“Ah love, you’re wrong about that. Those are the sound of the prisoners going free. The many men and women captured that my pirates have let loose.” It was louder yet, those people not yet ready to leave this place, not until they had finished ransacking the tower in preparation for their travels.
“Why would they...you bother?” Belle asked, then sighed. “Never mind. There’s no way I would be so deluded as to think you do it out of pity or kindness. You think to throw the Queen off track…? More’s a fool that YOU are, because she too is deluded. Enough so to make me her top priority.”
That stirred something else that went beyond his lustful obsession, an honest curiosity filling him. Beyond that of the carnal, the pirate knew very little about this woman, about who she was, and of where she had come from. He certainly didn’t know much about her enemies, save that the Evil Queen had been after her. Not even Smee, with all of his skill for finding out the impossible, had been able to divine just what the Queen’s interest in Belle could have been about.
“Why is that?” Hook spoke it out loud, and it was a question to her, and to himself, the pirate puzzled over Smee’s inability here.
"It...it doesn't matter." came her hesitant answer. "It can't be worse than what you intend!"
"You insult me so." Hook muttered, before his voice turned thick and silky with seductive intent. “And after I came all this way here JUST for YOU.” He was practically purring then, and it was all he could do to keep from caressing over her again.
"And that is suspicious in and of itself!" Belle snapped. "Damn you, put me down!" She sounded almost regal, the way that she spoke with such authority. But be she princess or peasant, Hook took orders from no one, continuing to carry her in a most ungainly manner, draped as she was over him. Even before she let out so infuriated a sound, Hook could tell that she was already fuming. Belle was not one to like her demands going ignored, anymore than Hook liked his own desires continuing to be neglected, His lust an ever present thing, it weighed him down when his steps should have been lighter for the rescue that had been done, that obsession that he had, leaving him the one annoyed. He could barely endure it, that of Belle’s continued attempts at rejection, and the fact that the woman hadn’t once acted at all grateful for the saving the pirate had done. He was pretty sure she would have been left to rot in that windowless room that had passed for her cell, his beauty the most carefully guarded of all the people the Queen had ever jailed. Never again would she have seen the light of a sun lit day, or have been allowed to feel the warmth of another person’s touch, no one else having been looking for her. No one else even concerned enough to even attempt the kind of rescuing that Hook had just done. For that alone should the lass be grateful, her broken heart thawing just a little, to express something more than this dislike.
It was an understatement to say that Hook was expecting Belle to reward him, for her to be willing, even eager to express her relief and her joy over the saving. That she was none of those things, was to put it mildly, completely and utterly aggravating. After all that he had done, all of the lengths that Hook had gone to, the effort that had been put into planning this rescue? A little gratitude was the very least of what he had been expecting. He might not have expected her to immediately fall on him with her arms open, but neither had Hook been prepared for the slap, or for quite as much of the anger that she had expressed. He hadn’t yet caught on to the fact that she was scared of him, terrified of the intimacy his lust had made clear he was desiring. He was too far gone to think that straight, instead letting his own disappointment burn in a way that was ever so different from that ruinous desire that ran hot like a fever within him.
Yes, he acknowledged to himself. Yes, it was true that he had thoroughly botched that night in the alley, that he had treated the lass far too shabbily. And yes, Hook had hurt her, had gone so far as to introduce Belle to sex in one of the worst and most careless of ways possible. But did she really mean it when Belle had insisted she preferred staying the Queen's prisoner, to leaving this place with Hook?
It was simply too incomprehensible! The pirate couldn’t understand it, anymore than he could realize just how badly he had in effect scared Belle with his overly amorous stunts on the prison cot. That it hadn’t been just his attempts at molestation, or that of his blatantly voiced intentions, but that he was the living, breathing embodiment of one half her heart break, and made all the more terrifying with the seductive menace of his desires. That voiced lust that was as much a threat as it was a dark promise, Belle frightened at the thought of continuing what he had tried to ignite at a later time and a more suitable place.
Absolutely clueless to the fright he had and continued still to cause her, Hook still had those very lustful intentions in mind. Ones he intended to fully see through to their orgasmic end, Hook wanting Belle, and wanting her NOW. He was not of mind to be put off by refusals for long, sure that he could seduce or at the very least reason with her towards why she should be grateful. He told himself that once Belle was made to understand the very real situation, she would quickly get over any remaining objections that she might have still had.
It was more than a little delusional, the situation with Belle proving far more complex than that of any of the different kind of women Hook had been used to dealing with. Everything from simpering damsels in distress, to cunning shrews that had been willing to do anything and everything to survive, why even the calculating and capable women aboard his ship, were nowhere near close to the kind of lass Belle was proving to be. She was a woman ready to mold her own destiny with her own choices, be they good, or be they bad, even if they should keep her imprisoned or see her set free. She had no wish to be dependent on anyone for her future and her safety, least of all, that of the pirate who had so cruelly, and so carelessly taken her virginity.
That night was weighing heavy on her mind as well, Belle unable to NOT think back to the way that she had so stupidly given herself to the pirate. She could and had called herself a fool a million times over, regretting immensely what she had allowed to have happened. What she was determined wouldn't happen again, regardless of the pirate's wishes, and the fact that he was still taking advantage of the situation, to steal touches on her flesh, that hand bold in the caresses it did over her.
Her face red from more than just her blush, Belle was so angry. As well as so scared. She knew for certain at least one of the things that the pirate now wanted from her, though sex was hardly what Belle considered to be the motivating factor of this so called rescue. There was little that she knew for certain, but her suspicions had led her down a path. One that said that the pirate had somehow learned exactly who she was, what she was, and intended to ransom her for a small fortune.
He'd most likely get that fortune too. Her kingdom might be a poor one, and her people might consider Belle a martyr and tainted by Rumplestiltskin, but her father, their King, still loved her. Enough so that he would pay any price, even bankrupt their kingdom further, in an effort to see his daughter safe. It was infuriating to think she was once again to be someone's pawn, the bargaining chip in which the fate of thousands rested upon.
It burned, the mere idea that Belle was once again not in control of her own destiny. That she had to rely on other people to decide her ultimate fate. That she hadn't been about to get free of this tower, without someone, be it the pirate's or Rumplestiltskin's help. In this moment Belle felt cursed by fate, unable to truly affect anything of any importance on her own.
But she wasn't ready to sit back and admit defeat. She wasn't ready to be the puppet guided by someone else strings. Belle was smart, she was resourceful, and if given enough time and tools, she'd find a way, escaping the pirate and his plans for her and her kingdom.
Until then, she'd bide her time. Admittedly she was uneasy, downright fearful of the pirate's blatant sexual interest. He had already touched her far more than was appropriate, regardless of what had happened that night in the alleyway. His voiced assumptions on what he was expecting, was even worse, as was the fact that he was using her precarious perch on his shoulder to fondle her bottom.
In the time it had taken the pirate to carry her down three flights of stairs, Belle had realized the futility of hysterics. Screaming wasn't summoning any help, the guards, her jailers already dead. The prisoners who were behind the cheering that she had heard, clearly weren’t interested in investigating any single woman's screams. And kicking had only gotten the pirate to do a hard spank on the very bottom he was now groping!
Belle gritted her teeth, again silently fuming. Eyeing the tower's walls, searching for something, even a torch to grab hold of as a weapon. But the pirate was staying well away from the reach of the walls, far too experienced to allow her such an opportunity. He continued his impertinent touching, and then she felt it, his fingers nudging under the band of her panties. That was the cause for Belle to forgot all about the reasons why she shouldn't kick, why it was useless to scream. She went wild, cursing him, calling him all manner of names, as she thrashed about, legs flailing, fists pounding on his back.
She heard his own voice let out an exasperated curse, and then Belle was shifted. She didn't stop her squirming, if anything she fought even more as she was slid down the pirate's body. The instant her feet touched the stairs, Belle tried to spring away. Only to find that the pirate was grabbing her around the waist, jerking her hard against his front.
His eyes which had been dark with such a strong felt annoyance, took on a different light to them. A downright hungry gleam, the pirate staring at her, pressing Belle all the more firmly against his body. Her voice took on a strangled note, Belle becoming aware of more than just the powerful build of his body. For he was AROUSED, a fact that made her stomach curl in fear and distaste.
Hook saw the way that she had reacted, felt the way that her body had stiffened in displeasure. But he couldn't stop a damn thing, let alone his own reactions to her nearness. Having her pressed this close was worse than when she had been on his shoulder, her ample sized breasts quivering with every breath against him. At least she had stopped her downright spastic flailings, Hook having almost come close to dropping her by accident. That could have been disastrous, with them this close to the edge of the spiral staircase, with the long drop in which one could have plummet easily to their death.
As scary as the thought of dropping her had been, Hook couldn't fight the lust coursing through him now. The lust that made demands of them both, Hook staring down at Belle's face. At her lips, which had been the fuel of a number of erotic fantasies, Hook remembering the inexperienced but eager way that Belle had kissed him that first night.
He nearly groaned then, but somehow stifled that sound from coming out. Belle was still able to guess his intent from the look in his eyes, and from the way that he leaned in, the woman starting to say something in protest. It was lost when his mouth covered hers, Hook's fingers digging into her hip, his other arm locked around her in unyielding possession.
It wasn't a complete relief to be kissing her now. Hook's urges were too strong for just that, the man wanting, no, needing to be inside her. To sink himself fully into the miraculous spot between her legs, to bring them both panting and delirious, every thrust burying him deeper. That need translated into the hard urgency in which he now kissed Belle with, Hook fighting the impulse to pin her against the nearest surface and just take what he wanted.
The dozens of reasons why he shouldn't be doing this right this very second, were fleeing his mind. His focus was going, Hook more enamored with the sweet softness of Belle's lips. Of the heat that surged through him at the pressing together of their mouths. Of the feel of her light attempts to squirm free, her breasts rubbing over his chest. If he could, if he had the time and luxury, Hook would have devoured her whole. As it were, he kept telling himself just a few seconds more, prolonging the kiss, savoring it and her.
Belle for her part was in shock, and outright dismayed, with her fear ratcheting up by several noticeable notches. As distasteful as it was to have the pirate keep on kissing her, it was even worse for the fact that she had almost responded. The memories of the kisses shared in the alleyway had risen up, Belle recalling how she had very much enjoyed that part of her encounter with the pirate. He had made her feel desirable, wanted, had awakened her to just how wonderful a kiss could be.
But the memory of the pain and shame that had followed, the way the pirate had used her for his own selfish needs, had also risen up, making her eyes water. The tears reminded her that he was not anything like the men she should be associating with, that he was a cad and a villain. That he didn't give a damn about her, and was willing to do anything, even hurt her again, for his own lusts and ambitions.
Belle's next impulse was to bite down on his lip, but thankfully a cooler thought prevailed. She began thinking past her humiliations, her fears, to actually start to scheme. To notice things besides the kiss, and the fact that the pirate was hard against her. She became aware of how he had things strapped to his side, a scabbard for his sword, and a smaller sheathe that was the size of about a small dagger.
With a look that would have been described as devious had the pirate not been so consumed by the kiss, Belle let herself soften. She stopped outright fighting, letting the pirate part her lips with his. The man’s kiss in no way lessened in eagerness, but it became something more. Less demanding, less punishing, turning almost gentle. Coaxing even, Belle fighting not the response that she gave him, but the way that her body so love starved, wanted to soften in acceptance of what the pirate now gave her.
Hook didn't know what to make of the fact Belle was kissing him back, save to savor the sweet response, the elation he felt at this the most unexpected of victories. She tasted so good, all honey and sweetness, her skin a creamy delight that brought to mind all of the times that Hook had spent pleasuring himself to the scent of it on her bed sheets.
He didn't know what it was about Belle, what made him experience a lust like he had never before felt. A lust that was so consuming, it pushed thoughts and grief out of his mind, made him forget for a time his pain. It, she, made him wild, made him crazed, Hook feeling the roar of masculine satisfaction when Belle went from pushing at him, to wrapping her arms around his waist.
Her delicate hands then caressed over his sides, Hook thinking nothing strange of that. If anything he felt triumphant, assuming she had finally come around, that she had finally realized her position, and just who she should be grateful to and how.
Hook's mood improved immensely, he didn't know the feelings that were going through Belle's head. How her heart hammered in fear and with her nerves, how her flesh goose pimpled, her hands practically shaking as she caressed him. She didn't go immediately for the dagger, continuing to kiss him, to let him think that she was submitting. Her heart seemed to stop when her fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger, the pirate having let out a very feral sounding growl.
Belle nearly collapsed in relief when the realization came that the growl had nothing to do with her attempted theft. The pirate was merely being vocal in his pleasure, and so feral in his need. Belle again drew the dagger ever so slowly from him, keeping her other hand busy on him, caressing instead of shoving him away like she so dearly wanted to.
Pocketing the dagger in her tunic, Belle wasn't prepared to use it just yet. Not until she was free and far from this tower. Not until she had money and a means to travel, Belle wondering what else she could take from the pirate.
Belle let the kiss continue for a few seconds more, knowing too break it off too soon would rouse the pirate's suspicions. But the sudden press of him against her, the feel of his erection big, bold, and threatening, was more than she could take. With a gasp, Belle managed to pull free of the kiss, wanting to slap him, and settling instead for turning her face to the side.
He'd actually linger a kiss on her cheek before speaking her name in a questioning tone.
"Belle?"
It was then a startled realization worked its way to the forefront of her brain. He knew her name, but she didn't even know who he was, a fact that put her at a yet another disadvantage. Not that Belle thought it mattered what his name was, not when she didn't intend for him to be more than another road bump on her bid for freedom.
"Just who are you?" She demanded out loud. He reacted with surprise, and then did a sheepish blink of his eyes. He didn't let go of her, practically breathing in her ear.
"Forgive me for my lax in manners." Belle nearly snorted at that, for she felt he had none. But it was distracting the way the pirate's lips seemed to caress the curve of her ear, Belle shivering from more than just cold or mere fear. "My name is Hook. I am captain of the Jolly Roger pirates."
If he expected her to be impressed by any of this, she was not, Belle quirking an eyebrow in derision. Hook, how quaint, how fitting a nickname given his missing hand. "Well, captain." She spoke out loud, voice seething in sarcastic parody of politeness. "You'll forgive me this moment of insanity, for it won't be happening again."
If she had expected her announcement to be cutting in its rejection, Belle was sorely disappointed. Hook just smirked and murmured in her ear, right before he tongued at it, "We'll be seeing about that, won't we, sweet."
Of all the arrogant, over confidant, pompous men she had known, and that was saying something considering Belle had been engaged to Gaston, Hook was in a category all of his own. It practically rendered her speechless, Belle attempting to wrench herself free of his arms. She was made aware of how helpless she was in comparison to his strength, Hook holding onto her, until she had stopped fighting.
Grateful he hadn't tried to kiss her again, Belle could only stew silently when Hook slowly, cautiously let her step free. But then he took hold of her arm, his grip ready to turn bruising at the slightest show of resistance. Belle instead trailed behind him, glaring daggers into his back, hating how amused Hook was, and how he had smirked about the likelihood of another kiss happening.
Determined for the kiss to never again be repeated, Belle was sure she would do what was needed to protect herself and what was left of her virtue.
The Broken Hearted Comfort Chapter Four (Not work safe)
Got another chapter done. It veers strongly into dub con territory though....Be careful if that is the kind of thing that you find triggering. (THough no full on sex happened.)
Hook Belle paring!
The room that has been serving as her cage, is one that was utterly bland in appearance. With drab shades of gray as far as the eye could see, with little other true color to be found. Furniture was even more sparse, just a small wooden table shoved in one corner, and a simple cot instead of that of a real bed for Belle to rest on. There was a privacy screen allowed her, hiding her bath and toilet from sight. Once and only once a day, a servant would come, the same nearly blind woman, who didn't so much as turn towards Belle let alone speak.
That old woman was the only contact with the outside world that Belle now had. The only face that she ever saw, and the only proof that the world still existed outside of this room. For this room was one that was entirely windowless, the recycled air inside it so stale and suffocating. It was nothing more than a prison, one that was made to make that which it held, wilt like a flower.
Belle was indeed suffering just like that, perhaps even dying a slow death as the Queen's prisoner. Certainly she was losing her mind, Belle having had nothing to do but sit or pace, endlessly thinking her thoughts. Wondering about how her life could have been reduced to this. Wondering if there had been any way to avoid what had happened to her, or if this unsatisfying fate had ultimately always been inevitable.
Belle often thought about the what could have been. The what if's that had centered around the making of different vital choices. Would she have been happier if Belle had stayed in her father's kingdom? Would her life have been more rich and fulfilling if she had married Gaston and had borne his children? Or would she have even had a chance for a family of her own, when the Ogres had been on the verge of wiping out her father's entire kingdom? Mostly however, Belle found she spent the most time wondering about Rumplestiltskin and the choices that she AND he had both made.
There were so many what if surrounding the man. What if she had never gone with him, which had been the one that was easy enough to guess an answer to. But what of the others? Ones like what if she had never fallen in love with him? If she had never kissed him? If she had never allowed herself to believe there was a chance that he could love her back? What if he had never forcibly evicted her from his castle, what if her decisions hadn't landed her right in the Queen's trap. So many what ifs, leaving Belle regretting most if not all of them.
Her thoughts weren't exactly charitable at times. Belle was after all, nursing the worst and also the first of what would probably be the only broken heart she would ever have the misfortune to receive. For Rumplestiltskin hadn’t been the ideal man to have developed that bloom of first love for. For what he had been satisfied to keep at a distance, had absolutely left him enraged when faced with the power of true love's kiss up close.
Belle still didn't understand it. Why had Rumplestiltskin been so enraged by her love? Why had he flown into such a fury, horrified at the kiss, at the chance to break his curse? Why had he valued isolation and power more than he had at a chance for true love? Worst of all, why had Rumplestiltskin treated her so unkindly, his actions so hurtful, his words even crueler.
It was as though Rumplestiltskin had set out to break Belle's heart, to thoroughly ensure that her kiss would never again hold power over him or his curse. He had all but succeeded in that too, Belle hurting and ever so heartbroken. Not understanding what was so unfavorable about HER, why Rumplestiltskin hadn't valued her affection, nor why he had been unable to tolerate her kisses.
Belle has had a lot of time to think. Perhaps more than was healthy. She had examined her every interaction with Rumplestiltskin. From those terrifying first days when he had brought her into his home, to the times after, where the love had begun to bloom, Belle having gotten to know him.
Or so she had thought. Belle now knew she didn't really know him at all. She had only seen the sides he had wanted her to see, hiding his foul deeds and dirty dealings from her. She had been privy to his beast, the side that had first terrified and intimidated her so badly that she had been left to do nothing but tremble before him. Later yet, would come another facet, that of the quiet charmer, who shared many a conversation with her. Conversations which Belle now realized had seen HER doing most of the talking, waxing poetic about her expectations of love, speaking on the dreams she had had for herself.
Rumplestiltskin had smiled and made the appropriate comments, but he hadn't really shared much about himself. Belle now wondered if he had been toying with her, using her as just a moment's bit of entertainment. While all the while, never dreaming that Belle's rapidly growing infatuation could one day prove a true danger to him.
Belle had been in the full bloom of love, imagining Rumplestiltskin as the dark hero in a fairy tale. Making assumptions about him, building him up to be something that he was not, only to be overwhelmingly crushed when he proved himself to be more unfeeling monster than loving man.
Thar day that she had excitedly gathered up her nerve to kiss him? It had been exhilarating, those first kisses. Sidling up shyly to him, inching closer until she brushed her lips over his. He hadn't kissed her back, but Belle had assumed it was shock that had held him frozen. Undeterred, Belle had continued, trying to kiss him, then even harder yet. Feeling the tingles in response, the magic working, his curse ready to come undone. And then it had all gone to hell, Rumplestiltskin violently shoving her away.
What followed was an all out tantrum of the most furious kind, Rumplestiltskin mad and raving like a lunatic. Actually pushing her down to the floor, throwing things, looking like he wanted to HIT HER. He never actually did, but she bore the bruises all the same, dark marks from where his hands had gripped rough hold of her arm, jerking Belle up off the floor. Dragging her through the castle to its deepest bowels, throwing her into a dungeon, and leaving her there for days on end.
Belle had been in a state of shock, not able to understand why things had gone bad like that. She'd be still frozen in disbelief when Rumplestiltskin finally came to her, telling her such awful things. Mean things, hurtful things, cruelly setting out to rip her heart and her love to shreds. Belle's heart already cracked, began to break further, tears pricking at her eyes. And still she had stubbornly clung to her ideals, to her belief that her love could save a man who did not want to be saved.
It had taken Rumplestiltskin bodily lifting her up, and throwing her to the ground outside his front door, for Belle to finally shake free of her shock. To finally walk away, even as she had been expecting him to call out to her. That final shred of hope had been waiting for Rumplestiltskin to realize his mistakes, to realize his love for her.
He hadn't, and her heart had cracked further. It wouldn't break apart until later, until Belle had this endless time to think back and do nothing but examine her time with Rumplestiltskin. Because before her imprisonment, there had been that broken state of disbelief, Belle nursing the pain in her heart and unsure of what to do with herself.
The only thing that Belle had been absolutely clear on then was that she couldn't return to her kingdom. She refused to be known as nothing more than a self sacrificing martyr, a ruined woman who had given up everything to save her father's kingdom. The people there could appreciate her sacrifice, but would not want to associate with a princess who was fallen and stained in their eyes.
There would be no happily ever after in her father's kingdom. Not for Belle. And the way that she had felt, nursing her hurt heart, Belle hadn't believed there was a happily ever after to be found for her in any of the Enchanted Realm's other kingdoms. But she had to try, if not to move on, then to at least build some kind of life for herself. So she had drawn on her inheritance, the money her father had set aside for her. It allowed Belle to survive, to wander aimlessly from town to town, until she could finally make some kind of choice over what to do next.
She never did figure out that choice, Belle too busy mourning, suffering. Spending most of the evenings inside a tavern, nursing a single drink on the pretense of being near the people who partied there. Belle had thought if she was around happy, laughing people, that maybe that feeling would rub off onto her.
It hadn't, and not many had dared approach her, once they noticed the pain in her eyes. She was left alone, isolated from even the good feelings inside the tavern. Left to stew in her own misery and suffering, an outsider staring in, desperate to be a part of those happier feelings.
That desperation wasn't only about wanting to be happy. Belle had wanted to be loved. She'd end up settling for less, for feeling something, anything, even if it was just meaningless sex. She hadn't set out to be used, just wanting to feel, wanting to know that someone else could appreciate and want her, find her lovely and worthy of their affection. The pirate had done just that, at least at first. She had followed him into the alley, not because he was handsome, but because he had worn a similar broken expression of such raw pain.
His blue gaze had been haunted, his eyes reflecting a heart that had broken so completely that she was surprised he hadn't died from the pain of it. Belle hadn't known her own eyes showed a similar pain, which had attracted the pirate to her in turn. And when they had finally come together in that alley, he HAD wanted her. Had shown her the affection that Rumplestiltskin had denied her. The pirate had kissed and touched her, and it had been soothing enough to make Belle feel a fleeting sense of something.
Any positive feelings or comfort had been dashed, the minute the pirate had so cruelly taken her virginity. It had been a shock of a different kind, a right slap in the face that had awakened Belle to just what she had been doing. And though she had cried out, the pirate hadn't stopped, hadn't even slowed his actions. He had just kept right on using her, thrusting with a near mindless abandonment, taking his own satisfaction and leaving Belle to feel dirty, used.
Horrified, humiliated, and hurt, all this and more Belle had felt. Feeling foolish, even stupid, Belle had slapped him and run away. Wanting to never see him again, barely able to look at her OWN reflection, Belle had felt sick at what she had let happen. She had made a vow then and there, to never again let that pirate, let ANY man prey on her weaknesses and vulnerabilities again.
That night, was the very reason she had made the decision to go on the monster hunt. She was no warrior, but she had other skills, and the hunt seemed as good a thing to do as anything else. Besides it would have gotten her out of town, far away from the pirate and the humiliations, the memories of what had happened between them.
Sometimes Belle wondered if she could have avoided ending up the Queen's hostage, if she had stayed put in that town. If she hadn't gone on that hunt. But the Queen HAD been looking for her, and the men on the hunt had been all too quick to betray Belle to the Queen. Those men were all dead now, the Queen not trusting them to not spread talk about the captive that she had caught. It was why the servant was blind, unable to truly see Belle to describe her to any who might whisper about the beauty in the tower.
The Queen kept Belle carefully guarded, hidden out of sight and out of mind of all who might betray her whereabouts. Belle herself could not even scream, the room windowless and sound proofed, so that not even a being as magical as Rumplestiltskin would be able to find her. But Belle didn't entirely understand the point of this. She had no value to Rumplestiltskin, the man simply not caring. Belle knew that one day the Queen would realize that, and then Belle would most likely die on the Queen's orders.
Belle's heart which had already born many cracks and tears to it, all but fell apart in that tower. The woman expected to never again be free, to never again see the outside world, or to breathe in its fresh air. She certainly didn't expect to see anyone other than the blind servant, and perhaps maybe the Queen. She most definitely wasn't expecting the pirate to come swaggering into her room, looking like some dark clad hero out of a less knowledgeable girl's wildest fantasies.
Belle was downright shocked to see him, not to mention aghast. And yes, she could admit that the pirate was the most exciting thing to have happened to her in the weeks that she had spent here imprisoned. But he was also down right scary, pinning her on the cot, kissing and pawing at her. Speaking words that seemed more threat than just promise, assuming he had a right to what he was doing, and what it was that he wanted from her.
Fed up and not about to take much more abuse from anyone, not even a would be savior, Belle had hauled off and hit him. She had one satisfying moment after her hand connected with his cheek, Belle watching as his face was turned to the side from the force of that blow. She might have even smirked, if she hadn't been so scared.
But just as Belle was frightened, she was also angry. The pirate was the last person she had ever expected to see, and he rivaled Rumplestiltskin in just how much Belle had never wanted to see either man ever again. It was a toss up just who she disliked more in the moment, Belle all but hissing now.
"Get your hand off of me."
It was deliberate, the way that he responded by maintaining the touch. By doing more than just that, his fingers doing a presumptuous caress, molding them to fit to the shape of her breast’s ample curve. It wasn’t at all painful to be pawed at by him, the sensation simply one that was far more intrusive then anything else he had thus far done in this room. Belle bit down on her lip, refusing to give so much as a whimper in response to the fondling that he was doing.
She also began shoving at his shoulders, trying to bodily push him off of her, when the pirate turned to pin her with the blue of his eyes that were positively smoldering with some dark emotion. Any signs that he might have been shocked by the slap that Belle had given him were gone, and his own dark blue eyes were narrowing. Annoyance was among the emotions darkening in his gaze, but there was something far more sinister as well. Something downright predatory amid the annoyance and frustration. Something that made him seem like a desperate man with nothing to lose.
"That's not a proper show of gratitude." He finally spoke, and Belle couldn't stop herself from narrowing her own eyes in response. "Especially towards someone who has gone through a lot of trouble to find you."
She was too upset to truly wonder at that, at his reasons, and his abilities to do what the Evil Queen had deemed all but impossible. Instead there was a fire in her, a spirit that had several tart replies presenting themselves to her. Almost as though she couldn’t stop herself, her voice came out sounding snide, Belle hissing at him. "You have a twisted sense of entitlement if you think I owe you anything." Again she pushed at him, but the pirate still refused to be budged from his place over her. "Get off of me!"
If anything he settled more firmly on top of her. "You didn't say please."
Her lips pressed together, Belle stubbornly refusing to try the word out on him. The pirate made that of a tsking sound, giving her breast yet another kind of caress, one who had his thumb’s fingertip brushing against a cloth covered nipple. "Why are you even here?" Belle gasped out, and hated that she had let out such a sound.
The pirate actually paused, looking thoughtful as though he had several answers he could give her. And all the while he kept on touching her breast, another finger joining the thumb, to pluck and play at the nipple there. She was sure that the blush was upon her, given the warmth in her cheeks, and it was a fire that was felt elsewhere in her body, a traitorous stirring of flesh, causing the part that he played with, to bead noticeably.
Made mortified by her own body’s slight reaction, the imprisoned beauty almost didn’t catch the words that the pirate then purred with a knowing smile.
"Would you believe I happened to be in the area?"
"Hardly." Belle scoffed, trying to shift beneath him. It didn’t spare her his touch, or that of the way that his fingers kept on playing. If anything, her struggles only helped to settle him more firmly on top of her, and they both became aware of just how sprawled on the cot she truly was, with her thighs slightly spread, and the pirate pressed between them. Her breath AND his both caught in each other’s throat, Belle a tremble with how provocative and dangerous a position she was in.
"Clever girl." He murmured, bending his head to kiss at her neck. She felt the firm, sensual feel of that potent expression, his lips’ kiss about the only positive memory of that night in the alley. His mouth alone held such seductive power to it, the touch of it enough to melt icier hearts than Belle’s, if not for the chill she felt from his words. "The truth is..." The pirate said in between brushing his lips over her racing pulse. "I came here looking for you."
She wasn’t sure what to make of that, the idea so surprising, and ever so shocking and outlandish, that there was no way that Belle could believe it to be true. This HAD to be mere chance, just an odd trick of misfortune that had the pirate stumbling upon her once again. He seemed to take her lack of comment as a sign to continue, his kisses upon her settling in the crook of her shoulder, his hook catching at the fabric of her tunic, to better expose her shoulder to him.
“Stop that!: Belle gasped, never once losing her fight. She pushed at him again, ever so wary and cautious, but also hissing at him. “For me!? As if I could believe that!”
“Why?” He had lifted his head, blue gaze stilling her in the moment. “Why can’t you?”
She blinked slowly, once, twice, three times in all. “Well….why would you come here for me?” It wasn’t as rude and scoffing sounded as she had intended, Belle’s voice more wounded and soft sounding then anything. Her vulnerability was coming out, whether she meant it to or not, Belle certain she had no value, nothing to offer anyone to make it worth their while to come after her.
She certainly wouldn’t believe that the pirate could be motivated to be selfless, or in the idea that he could have wanted a second go at her. No one was that crazy, that suicidal, to risk the evil queen all on just a chance of a good lay. This was merely a chance encounter, a fortuitous twist of fate that the opportunistic pirate had thought to seize. If she let him, he’d not only use her again, he’d abandon her as quick as it took to zip up his trouser’s fly after.
Feeling hurt no matter what way she looked at it, Belle blinked through the sheen of despairing wetness that was filling her eyes. “I don’t know anything.: She said out loud, quick enough. As though pretending his sexual interest wasn’t a factoring thing here, Belle stating the words this prison had made her begun to believe wholeheartedly. “I am of NO value to you.” Belle hadn’t even thought to speak Rumplestiltskin's name, too busy trying to convince the pirate he was wrong about her, whatever his intent. "You and the Queen both waste your time on me."
"You'll find the Queen and I have very different goals where you are concerned." Again she was pierced by the storm dark blue of his eyes, Belle trembling despite her best intent.
“And...And those are?” Her prodding turned into a gasp, his mouth suddenly pressed over hers, claiming the lustiest kiss to have ever been stolen from her. It brought to mind rain soaked nights, and dark alleyways, of the press of eager lips against a gasping mouth, that intoxicating effect, and the way she had responded to it all.
She couldn’t stop her shaking, even after he had finished laying siege to her mouth. The pirate then pressed his forehead to hers, staring into her eyes, with a look of pure determination and need.
"Let's just say....you have something that I need."
She wanted to be tart, to demand what that could be, even as he kept making it so blatantly obvious. Instead she shivered with awareness, with the way he was pressed over and against her, and then she was panicking, shoving at him again, unable to accept THAT as the real answer. "You know, never mind. I'll say thank you for the rescue, but that's all you're going to get from me."
His eyes so dark already, became twin pools of a fathomless depth, his lips setting in a firm line of a grimace. It was as though his own restraint, what little he had shown, was snapping, and then he was grabbing at her, hauling her off balance completely, as he kissed her again. It was a harder, more fierce pressing of their lips, the pirate’s mouth so hot and demanding, as his tongue traced over the shape of hers. This time when she gasped, he took full advantage of it, tongue darting into the opening she had given him, to explore and caress what was inside.
Her hands on him, she tried to shove back, but his arms had gone around her, holding her close, and closer yet. His hand and his hook moved with impudent grace, the fabric of her tunic bunching further under their touch. She’d shiver and freeze, and then outright panic, the heated memories his kisses had given her, being overridden by the sound of her clothing rustling, and what had followed. The pain, Belle remembering his lack of care, once the pirate had gotten under her skirts, and she was terrified of it happening again now. It made her frightened, and it made her angry, Belle not wanting to be used, to be hurt by him, and hands that had been pushing at him, now turned blatantly violent, slapping and striking against him wherever she could, even as the breath inside her caught and built to an uneven tempo.
She thought she heard him growl, but it came from a distance, Belle dizzy and made panicked, and struggling not to choke. Suddenly she was on her back, with both of her wrists caught by his large hand. She struggled and arched beneath him, her breaths made further ragged and suffocating. The pirate glared down at her with such heat, and such frustration, his hand busy with hers, but his hook seemed to traced down her body, as though to prove he wasn’t deterred by this, by her.
She then became aware of more than that hook’s travels, again realizing how her legs were spread, and that the pirate was still situated between them. She couldn’t look away from his eyes, from the dark humor that filled them, the pirate letting her know how aware he was of HER awareness of his arousal, and the fright that it was causing her.
“Don’t...” She started to say, but then her panic thought better of it, Belle opening her mouth to let loose with a shrill scream. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping would result, the frightened princess exhaling with the sound of a second, when someone ran into the room. She didn’t know what to think, who to hope for, a guard, or the queen? She couldn’t look past the pirate’s eyes, to even see who had barged in, but then a decidedly male voice would speak, this man most assuredly feeling harried and annoyed.
"Captain! We don't have time for this." At those angry words hissed, Belle’s hope for a rescue was lost, the woman realizing this was just another cohort of her attacker’s. That very pirate, this so called captain, then muttered out a curse. He also lifted off of Belle, turning to snarl at the other man. "Tell the others we'll be down soon enough. I just have to...."
"WE?" Belle questioned sharply. "I'm not going ANYWHERE with you." She had a note of the hysterical in her voice, but also that of a strong refusal, Belle taking a stand, and rejecting the idea of his plan.
He looked at her, and for one moment his dark eyes held surprise in them. Belle wondered if the pirate had really thought it that simple, had really expected her to gladly go off with him to whatever molestation and perversions he had in mind. Belle almost snorted then, stubbornly lifting her chin, and firmly stating her position.
"I am not about to go anywhere with you, or continue this...association for any longer than need be."
Belle actually expected him to make some threats, to swagger and say she'd come with him, or she wouldn't leave at all. Instead, with frustration blooming in his eyes, he stood, Belle quickly going upright with him.
"I'm giving you once choice in this matter." He finally said, still gripping her by the arm. "You can either walk out of here with me of your own volition, or you can be carried out, kicking and screaming the whole way down."
"You wouldn't..." Belle breathed out in a hiss. His expression turned hard and steely eyed.
"Try me." He dared back.
"You are insane!" Belle exclaimed. "Thinking that I would be grateful, that I would go anywhere with you after all that you've done." Her chin lifted stubbornly. "I'd rather stay the Queen's prisoner than go with you!"
Belle barely got the words out, and already she was being lifted, actually thrown over the pirate's shoulder. Her mouth dropped open in shock, Belle speechless as he stalked out of the room with her. From lower in the tower, she could hear a great many voices, the sounds of people cheering. Belle couldn't guess what was going on, but it galvanized her into action, the woman kicking and screaming just like the pirate had predicted she would.
