Not a question :) just hoping you're doing well and everyone is behaving. Have a nice sunday 💜
(But if you feel like it, you could tease some of the things you're working on?)
I'm hanging in there! Allergies are kicking my ass, but that's sort of just springtime in the south.
In addition to a (shorter, though who knows, I'm me) sequel to All the Best Debts, I'm working on a fic where Samira's father died of Brugada Syndrome. (Again.) Her panic attack in episode 10 isn't a panic attack, but the first signs of her own Brugada Syndrome becoming symptomatic. If Robby hadn't dismissed her and had looked at the EKG strip, he would have seen some troubling signs, namely ST changes and PVCs. If Robby hadn't dismissed her and had asked about a family history of cardiac issues, he would have asked for further testing.
But instead, he dismisses Samira's symptoms as a panic attack. And when her symptoms come back after Orlando Diaz is brought back in, she goes out into the ambulance bay to have what she thinks is a panic attack alone, out of Robby's sight.
I love those two! This is very random with very little plot.
II
“Have you ever hung a swing from here? Like just right out of the door?” Clara sat with her legs dangling outside of the Tardis door, her feet brushing across the universe, her head spinning in a delightfully freeing way. A day and a half of fasting for the religious feast of B’sharda hadn’t been fun but the feast itself had been one of the best parties she’d ever attended. She’d learned the local dance, tasted the local food, and imbibed far too much local ale. At least she thought it was ale; the feeling was similar to being drunk though at one point she was pretty sure she’d been floating. Literally floating. “Would you actually be able to swing or isn’t there enough gravity? How far could you get away from the Tardis before the air stopped being breathable?”
“How far from your bed do you need to be before you can sleep? I mean closer. You should be closer to your bed; did you forget where it is? Did the Tardis? She does that sometimes.”
“I didn't look for it, but I assume it’s still there.” The library moved sometimes; it was the first thing she’d noticed about the insides of the Tardis. And rooms sometimes appeared when they were wanted that hadn’t been there before. Her room seemed to always be in the same place, just two hallways away from the console room. Easy to find when she wanted. She didn’t want to now; going to sleep would mean the day was over. Going to sleep would probably mean waking up tomorrow sober and confused and torn between two lives. Right now everything was simple. “I want to dance again.”
“I know a planet where all they do is dance. They sleep and they dance. Waiters come by with food on sticks to feed to them so they can eat while they dance. It’s too much dancing for me but I do love a meal on a stick, it’s so convenient.” The Doctor stood a few steps to her side; every time she turned her head to look at him he was looking somewhere else, but when she looked out the open door she had the sneaking suspicion that he was watching her. Maybe he just thought he had to be ready to catch her if she tried to dance outside of the Tardis.
“I don’t want to go to another planet, not tonight.” Another planet meant another adventure and sometimes they didn’t end well. Or start well. Sometimes she got angry at the Doctor or sad and she didn’t want to feel like that. “I want to dance.”
“I've never been able to get the speakers to work well in the console room. Besides you’d have to dance alone and you don’t seem stable enough for that. Your legs seem rather wibble wobble today.”
“I think that’s more my head.” Clara took one last look out the door before pulling in her legs and spinning in a half circle. It might have been one and a half circles. She thought about standing up but held up her hands instead. No matter what part of her was wobbling she could use some help. “And I’m not the only person here who can dance. Don’t think I didn’t see you tonight, mister.”
“It would have been rude to refuse them, not on the Eve of B’sharda.”
“Since when do you worry about being rude to people?” He shrugged. “We could go back, they might still be dancing.”
“Doctor.” She looked up at him and wiggled her fingers.
“I’ve told you about that face. Those eyes.” But he wrapped his cool hands around her wrists and helped her stand, not letting go while she swayed a little. The last time she’d had so much to drink was at a house party Jane had thrown to celebrate Persuasion being published. He hadn’t danced with her that night either, but he’d held her hand.
“One of these days I’m going to get you to dance with me, and it won’t be when we’re eating food on a stick.” Her head spun when she looked at him, and she wasn’t certain it was still the ale.
“Perhaps somewhere the right music is playing.” He stepped back before she even realized that he’d let go of her hands. “Go find your room.”
Clara hummed to herself as she walked down the hall. When she slept she dreamed of dancing.
Summary: There’s no safest place for a child as loved as Gideon than with his parents. Even if it’s decades before he’s born and they were still master and maid.
Recipient: Surprise, @sharinamay, I’m your Secret Santa! I hope you like your gift, I had quite a hard time making it happen! I was worried that the idea I had come up with might not entirely be what you wanted but it stuck to my head so I was inspired to write it.
I’ll post this later to AO3 and FF.Net and will edit this post to include the links, just in case that’s more convenient for you.
Happy Holidays!
It wasn't altogether a surprising sight. She'd stumbled across the odd baby in her time at the Dark Castle, always nestled in a particular wicker basket her master seemed fond of. Though at first the babes appeared rather unannounced- and Belle was sure Rumplestiltskin had done it to keep her in her toes, to try and rattle her- over time her master had started telling her when to expect them. She'd prepare for it, airing out the room next to hers, putting fresh sheets on the cot there, getting fresh milk and making sure to have cloth diapers and pins at hand, as well as an assortment of clothes, just in case. The mountain air was cold and unforgiving, and babies needed a lot of bundling up.
Belle liked children very much, for the same reason she loved animals: unlike adult people they didn't judge or question. She didn't need to put on a facade with them, didn't have to pretend to be somebody she was not. Someone proper and dutiful and pure. It was the same with her master. Rumple seemed to encourage behaviour in her others had sought to curtail or limit: he let her read as much as she desired, indulged her strange sense of humour, even her thirst for adventure on occasion. He pretended to be annoyed at her every time she tried to learn something new but would encourage her in small ways he likely thought she didn't notice. With him she could be herself, sarcastic and irreverent and able to speak her mind always.
So, having children in the castle every once in a while wasn't exactly a chore for Belle, specially once she realised her master did not mean them harm. He seemed equally fond of children, likely for the same reason she was. But Rumplestiltskin had said nothing of a baby for months, so the appearance of the child was very surprising. He was wrapped in a lovely homemade wool blanket so yellow it almost seemed gold, and looked young, perhaps a few weeks old. The tiniest baby she'd seen by far, but also the one dressed the best, his garments finely-made and foreign-looking. He looked fragile and vulnerable and it stirred something so powerful inside her she immediately grew angry at Rumplestiltskin for dumping the child in the middle of the foyer without even letting her know it was there.
Though the baby was fussy he calmed down immediately when she picked him up and held him close to her breast for warmth. He nuzzled close, prompting her to take him to the kitchen, where she made him a bottle of milk, which the little piglet drank down greedily, making the most adorable little noises. She kept reminding herself not to grow attached even as she cuddled the babe close to her. Whenever she'd try to lower the little tyke down he protested, letting out tiny mewls that broke her heart, so she found herself coming up with all manner of pretences and excuses to pick the baby up.
It was when she changed his diapers for the third time in an hour that she saw the letters stitched into the lining of his clothes. Gideon, a name she was familiar with. A favourite of hers, from her favourite story. And something else about it sparked recognition in her, though it was fleeting.
"Gideon. Little Gid. Your mamma has good taste in names."
She usually tried to avoid thinking about where the babies Rumple took came from. She'd learned early on none were stolen, all freely given in deals. She tried to remind herself that she had been born surrounded by privilege, that most other people struggled for survival and that sometimes that led to desperate decisions. But she had seen enough babies come from comfortable families, from economically stable households, and had found out the terms of some of the deals. People asking for youth, talent, fame, beauty. Those people were better off not being parents, so she had learned to be glad in those instances and try not to think about deals made for survival.
Gideon's clothes, however, indicated a wealthy household. Perhaps, then, something traumatic had happened. For some reason, she refused to think that Gid could be one of those unwanted, bartered babies Rumple brought some time. The idea of him coming from parents who didn't love him was too difficult to bear. Who wouldn't love him, with his little pixie ears and the utter serenity that stole over him when he was held? Such a good baby had to have come from good, loving parents. It was silly, of course, and more than a bit unfair. All babies deserved to be born into a family that cherished them, yet she'd never wished more fervently for a child to be wanted than she did with little Gideon.
She began to worry about what sort of family would be chosen for him, what sort of desperate soul would be selected to receive him. Belle didn't usually fret about the children when they left the castle. She'd learned they all were bound to homes where they'd be cherished, doted upon. To parents who'd desired them above all else, and who'd paid a dire price to have them in their arms and in their lives. But Gideon deserved more than just parents who would appreciate him, he deserved to be loved unconditionally and fiercely, deserved devotion. She got used to carrying the baby around in his basket as she did her chores. Sometimes in the afternoons she read to him and though he was a new-born she swore he listened avidly at her, as if he recognised her voice, found it soothing.
By the time Rumplestiltskin returned from his latest trip she was afraid to bring up the child at first. Perhaps if she didn't mention him her master would forget and she'd get to keep him a bit longer. But Gideon seemed to have a different opinion, as he started wailing the moment he woke up in the nursery while she served dinner. Though the castle was vast the nursery was enchanted to amplify infant cries- a way to "keep an eye on the merchandise", as Rumplestiltskin had taunted her back when she didn't know better- so Gideon's unhappy screeching reached them loud and clear. Rumplestiltskin startled and looked at her, eyes narrowing.
"Whatever have you been up to, little maid?"
Before she could answer with something flippant he disappeared in a haze of smoke, leaving Belle to make her way to the nursery on foot. By the time she arrived Gideon was eyeing Rumplestiltskin as the imp held the baby as one would a piglet being inspected.
"Who the devil is this?"
"Have you forgotten the baby you dumped into my care weeks ago while on a trip? How careless."
She plucked the baby out of his hands and nestled him close to her chest. Little Gideon turned his head to nuzzle her skin and quieted down immediately, turning into the adorable little seraph he'd been since he'd gotten to the Dark Castle. She waited for a quip that didn't come, and began to worry when Rumplestiltskin looked more confused than outraged. Usually by then he'd said something about her cheek, or threatened to turn her into something nasty and slimy. All bark, no bite, which made the silence strangely disturbing.
"I have no idea who that baby is, dearie. I certainly didn't acquire it."
For a moment, she thought he might be joking, but he looked unsettled enough to rule that out. He sat her down and instructed her to tell him how she'd come across the baby over and over, much to her annoyance. And after he told her to bring everything that she'd found with the child. It was then that things got truly strange, for when she produced the wicker basket Gideon had been nestled in, and that she'd used to carry him around, Rumplestiltskin produced an identical one.
"This is my basket, dearie, not that one."
They were virtually identical, only Gideon's seemed to have a bit more wear and tear, though nothing too obvious. He inspected the child's clothes next, showing as much surprise as she had when he noticed the strangeness of them, how finely-spun they were, and how oddly-decorated. When he saw the blanket, however, he looked downright terrified. It was clear that he recognised it, somehow, but it didn't bring him any comfort.
"This baby... we need to know where it came from. Now."
"It's not an it, it's a he. His name is Gideon."
He seemed taken aback by her fervent reprimand, but recovered quickly and gestured for her to follow him. They went upstairs to his workroom, where she seldom was allowed, and while Belle rocked little Gid, trying to keep him distracted- the smell of potions seemed to be getting him fussy- her master ransacked the room, emitting a triumphant little giggle when he found it: a small, round crystal ball.
"This little thing needs replacing, but it's still good for one more scry. Let's find the poppet's parents, shall we?"
He looked intently at the babe and whispered into the crystal ball. Belle leaned close to try and see but was disappointed when nothing but their reflection showed up on the glassy surface.
"Magic must have ran out. This might be more complicated than I thought. Might need to procure something else to solve this little mystery."
Though Rumplestiltskin was flippant Belle knew, somehow, that he was shaken. And now that she thought about it she understood. The Dark Castle was heavily guarded yet someone had managed to sneak in and leave the baby. A baby her master couldn't find the parents of through simple magic, a baby with strange clothes and a basket identical yet somehow older than the one he owed.
"Take the little babe to the nursery. Might as well have him comfortable till we figure out where he comes from."
The second magical go at finding out Gideon's parents backfired too, a globe, topped by a needle, where Rumple had little Gideon prick his finger, holding him steady over the glowing orb. The resulting magic drew a map of the Enchanted forest, with Gideon's tiny droplet of blood landing squarely were the Dark Castle was.
"Well, that's a bust too. Damn thing's tracking the lad, for all the good it does us, and not his parents."
Belle glanced sideways at him, noticing how comfortable and natural he looked holding little Gid. Usually Rumple was very stand-offish with the babies, almost always refusing to hold them, dumping them on her as soon as he was able and otherwise keeping them at a distance. But somehow, he seemed to have forgotten all about his aversion to babies, since he was holding Gideon close, the baby sniffing at the sorcerer, finding something comforting in his smell. Rumplestiltskin was absentmindedly petting the baby's hair, of which he had plenty. When he finally noticed he all but tossed the baby over to her and told her to go clean something, which was code for 'I'm feeling vulnerable and need a moment'. Belle graciously went to pretend to dust the library.
There were other attempts after that. Though Rumplestiltskin seemed to be waiting for the acquisition of a certain specific magical instrument to make another serious try at discovering Gideon's identity, he fiddled with a few things in the meantime, with no positive results. The child, far from recoiling from magic, seemed to seek it out. He had determined Rumplestiltskin was a good person, because he was calm as one please every time the imp held him close, or when he talked in a low, more human tone. He kept on being his well-behaved, hungry little self, eating, sleeping and being curious when awake and sated. Though he tended to favour her he sometimes seemed more in the mood to listen to Rumplestiltskin's nonsense and fussed until he changed hands. Her master pretended he needed the wee one for something whenever he picked him up, some hair of an imprint of his tiny hand. He was careful with the babe, knew exactly how to cradle him, how to hold him so that his head and limbs were perfectly secure. She had caught him more than once absentmindedly burping the baby or even feeding him.
As the days passed without Rumplestiltskin having any success Belle dared hope they could keep little Gideon with them. The child seemed already frightfully attached to them, after all. But as soon as she began to entertain the possibility her master announced he had acquired the necessary ingredients for a full-proof spell to lead them to Gideon's parents. He let her into the workshop to show her the cauldron where a bright golden potion simmered.
"I'll just need two droplets of blood from the little poppet. The potion with find his parents and mark them and I'll just track the magical signature. Easy as pie."
The limp state of his hair and his wrinkled clothes belied his words, but she wisely made no comment. She allowed him to prick Gideon's foot and squeeze two droplets of blood out, after which the potion began to react violently, swirling around until it shot out two bright orbs, one that hit her on the side of the neck and the other that got Rumplestiltskin on his nape, sending them both to the floor. Gideon cried, unhappy about being jostled about.
"Another failure?"
It seemed strange to her. Rumplestiltskin was, as far as she could glean, centuries old, and incredibly powerful. That he would fail so many times at something as simple as tracking down two people seemed strange, if not downright impossible.
"... I don't think so."
His voice trembled, and when she looked at him his eyes and moth were wide open and he was staring at the baby in a way he never had before. Half-scared and half in awe.
"I don't understand. The potion was supposed to find his parents and mark them."
"I... I think it did. It marked you and me. Just like the crystal ball showed our reflection and the globe marked the child's parents as being inside the Dark Castle." He giggled, a wet and choking sound, and peered intently into Gideon's small, thin face. "He has your cheekbones... and my eyes."
Belle looked down at the child, recognising her delicate bone-structure in him, as well as Rumple's brown eyes and his slightly-pointy ears.
"It's... it's not possible. I've never been pregnant. I've never even... and Gideon's weeks old. I've been here for months, and you've seen me being distinctively not pregnant the whole time."
"And yet the child was wrapped in a baby blanket identical to my own, only mine is safely locked away were I left it. And the basket is identical to my own, only it's not." His voice was soft, deep and incredibly human, and it somehow scared Belle, how undone by it all Rumplestiltskin was. She remembered Gideon's name embroidered into his clothes, remembered how strangely familiar the stitches had looked, and it made sense then. They were her own.
When she focused on Rumple again he was tearing the older basket apart, until two rolls of paper fell out from the very entrails of it. He picked one, inspecting it closely. It seemed blank at first, until Rumple pricked his finger and let his blood run down the paper. It settled oddly, slowly forming letters and then words.
"Blood magic. How clever I am."
Belle leaned in, reading over Rumplestiltskin's shoulder a letter written by, apparently, himself. She recognised the handwriting easily. The letter told a strange story, of a terrible threat and untold destruction. Of two parents, desperate to protect their new-born babe, destined one day to bring peace, but unable to survive while the evil rose. Of a vision of the child living, safe and sound, in a time past. A safe place, where he'd be happy. Where he could be with his parents and be part of a family.
"Time-travel is not possible."
Belle knew Rumple enough to notice the hesitation in his tone, the acknowledgement that something he'd believed to be true might not be after all. She knew time-travel was one of magic's few limitations, had read enough books on magical theory to know that, but the mounting evidence seemed to indicate someone had found a way around that old rule. Which meant she was hold her son. Perfect little Gideon, named after her favourite character in her favourite book. Her own, her blood.
And Rumplestiltskin's.
She had not known what to expect after finding out Gideon's identity, but she hadn't thought Rumplestiltskin would become a veritable ghost in his own castle, an unseen and yet present entity that skulked around corners and hid out of sight just as she thought she might catch a glimpse of him. It wasn't that he was out of the castle much more than before, the opposite. Though she couldn't see him much she always knew he was around. He just seemed to always must be wherever she was not. At first, she hadn't minded, being too enraptured by Gid to pay him much attention. She had finally stopped fighting her instincts with the baby, knowing he was hers and she wouldn't have to give him up, and showered him with affection and care. Though he slept, as always, in her bedroom, she set about redecorating the rather generic nursery next to her room specially for him. And though she did everything herself, at first, soon she started to see Rumplestiltskin's invisible hand working its magic in the room. Toys would appear out of nowhere, as would linens and clothing and once a beautifully-crafted rocking chair.
Sometimes she'd leave Gideon alone to cook, change the sheets or something else and though the child was always alone when she returned to the nursery she could feel the faint static of magic in the air, and sometimes even catch the last of Rumple's characteristic smoke dissipating. But no matter what she did she could not get him to talk to her more than a few sentences, or be in her presence for more than five minutes. It was like living with a wild deer, skittish and wary of her.
In the beginning, she'd thought that it was Gideon who frightened him. After all he must have had a child at some point, to be so knowledgeable of their care, only to have lost him. She had found a room, a little boy's room, which seemed to support her theory. Babies were fragile creatures, and Belle herself got scared every time Gideon sneezed or had a bad colic. She couldn't imagine what it must be like to be a parent again after experiencing the loss of a son. But after a while it became clear that Rumple spent time with Gideon, as much as he could whenever she was not looking after him. Sometimes, if she stood outside the nursery and made no sound, she could hear her master poof into the room and talk with the baby, even sing to him. He had a lovely voice when it was pitched low and his accent was thick, and she was unsurprised to feel butterflies in her stomach.
If she was being fair she had to admit her attraction to Rumplestiltskin was old, older than she would care to admit even. It had started with small things, with shared jokes, the discovery of a similar interest or two, the sharing of small intimacies. Their mutual otherness had called out to each other and before she knew it Belle was catching herself admiring the way the light hit his skin, in particular that spot made visible by his open collar, and the way his pants hugged every bit of him. She had never liked the sort of tall, bulky knights that were the norm back home, so it was not surprising to find that short, thin sorcerers were more her preference.
By the time she realised what had happened she had grown wholly comfortable with Rumplestiltskin, the way she had seldom felt with anyone, and the matter of her deeper feelings seemed unimportant, something best left unexplored. Why ruin something good by pursuing what could not be? Surely her master didn't feel for her what she did for him. And yet now the proof of how wrong she'd been lived and breathed right next to her, in all his adorable glory. Somehow, in some future, she and Rumplestiltskin had managed to create a person together. That changed things completely.
Except, of course, that Rumplestiltskin was being too much of a coward to face her. And she might have let him evade her indefinitely, too weighed down by her own doubts and fears, if she hadn't caught him by surprise one night in the nursery. He'd been away for several days tending to a deal that, as far as she understood, asked a lot of him. It wasn't often that such a thing happened, but though immortal, Rumplestiltskin was not without limitations, nor was his strength infinite. She caught him slumped against the cot, watching the rise and fall of their child's chest as if it was some sort of magical phenomenon. He looked tired, his clothing torn in places and dirty in others and the fact that he hadn't magicked the wear and tear away told her a lot about how drained he was. He'd been reinforcing the castle's wards and running himself ragged acquiring all sorts of protective spells and defensive artefacts, determined to make the Dark Castle into a veritable fortress.
"He's getting better at sleeping through the night, but I still get up to check on him."
He startled visibly, turning his head to look at her and then swiftly looking down, a very faint blush dusting the top of his cheeks. Belle looked down at her simple nightgown and robe, made of serviceable cotton instead of the silk sleepwear she'd grown up wearing, and noticed they were a bit too thin, perhaps, certainly more revealing than her corseted, layered gowns.
"Yes, well, I was just checking on the wee bairn, didn't mean to disturb you, I'll just go—"
"No!"
Though her voice never rose over a whisper it froze Rumplestiltskin all the same. Perhaps it was because it was the middle of the night, and it was such an informal, casual encounter, or because Rumplestiltskin looked so raw and open, but Belle felt like it might be the best opportunity she had had in weeks to clear the air, to confront the elephant in the castle, so to speak.
"We need to talk about this."
Though she half-expected him to bold Rumplestiltskin remain where he was, looking wary but resigned. She looked around for inspiration as to how to approach the subject, feeling like she needed to do this correctly or her master would shut down completely and she'd lose her chance. Her eyes landed on Gid, snuffling in his sleep and she finally found the words.
"I spent a lot of time since we found out about Gideon's origin trying to figure out why our future selves chose to bend the fabric of magic to such a degree to send Gideon to us. And at first it seemed we were just... the safest place. Gideon would be with two people ready to do everything for him, as they knew we would. He'd be in the Dark Castle, away from any possible danger, guarded by the Dark One himself, and by the time the threat materialised he'd likely be old enough to deal with it, and we'd be prepared. But... I don't think that's it. I know myself, and I know you. And if I had to give up my child, to send him away, I would want him to be in a place of love. To grow up with a loving family. And I think they knew that just as they loved each other... so do we. They sent him here, to this point in time, because they knew we already loved each other back then. And if this is going to work, if we're going to do this right, you have to acknowledge this. I love you."
The deafening silence that followed her confession was unbearable, but Belle refused to look away or back down. The incredulity in Rumplestiltskin's eyes hurt but she reminded herself of how little his master thought of himself, how prone to self-loathing he was.
"You lie."
"I don't. I love you. Accept that."
"You don't. Stop lying."
He sounded almost angry, as if he resented being had. Belle squared her shoulders, knowing she needed to push him or he'd never believe her.
"I'm not. I love you. Now you say it."
He growled, taking a menacing step towards her. Belle resisted the urge to roll her eyes and stood firm. A minute passed, then another. Only when Belle felt herself close to tears did she relent, turning away so he could not see her cry. She didn't want to guilt him into any confession, didn't want it to be that way.
"Alright, be that way. I'll see you in the morning... I hope. I never know nowadays."
She hadn't taken more than two steps towards her room when she felt him right behind her, vibrating with something that wasn't quite anger. She stopped, willing herself not to tense, and waited for him to make a move.
"You wretched girl", he rasped out, his mouth so near her she could feel the words burning the back of her neck. His forehead came to rest between her shoulder blades, and Belle worried for a second that she pushed too much, too hard. That he might not be ready for it, that it would have been better to continue as they were, even if just for the sake of Gideon. A moment later he let out a hoarse, derisive laugh, that felt capitulating and joyful at the same time.
"I love you."
The words broke the tension in the room, making Belle sag forward, letting her rest weight on a chest of drawers in front of her, Rumplestiltskin pressing his body against her back. His head moved to rest atop her right shoulder, pushing her hair out of the way so he could nuzzle against her neck, tentative and determined at the same time. His breathing was ragged and the arms resting beside hers were shaking, but it didn't stop him from skimming his lips against the spot where her shoulder met her neck. She gasped, tilting her head to the side for no reason other than it felt right, felt like the thing to do. There was nothing but instinct to guide her forward, though her inexperience didn't make her feel at a disadvantage at all. Her master might be powerful and more versed in romantic matters than her but there was no doubt in her mind that she held most of the power in the room.
"I love you.”
His voice was little more than a growl, but somehow it did things to her no voice should have been able to. His right hand ghosted over her upper arm, shy at first, a feather-light touch, and took her hand to make her twirl around. They were close enough for Belle to feel the heat radiating from Rumplestiltskin's body and smell the scent of magic and sweat coming from him. His eyes were soft, almost liquid, open and vulnerable in a way that made her feel protective of him. Hesitantly he leaned forward, nose brushing her own a few times before dipping his head lower, his lips stopping just shy of hers. She could feel the tension radiating off him and she understood immediately the reason. The Dark One, scourge of the Enchanted Forest and supposed source of all evil, was asking for permission. If she hadn't been in love with him then, that would have certainly done it.
"Yes…"
It came out embarrassingly breathless but far from objecting Rumplestiltskin let out a needy little whimper before covering the scant distance between them, pressing their lips together. It was a short, tentative first kiss, a new meeting of sorts between them. The one that followed was much different, more languid and daring, unfurling slowly. Feeling like she might lose her footing Belle wrapped her arms around his shoulders, holding tightly onto the stiff fabric of his vest. Even through the layers of clothing Rumple's characteristic warmth seeped into her skin, adding to the wonderfully-heady feeling of the kiss. Though she could tell he held himself back at first as the kiss continues Rumple melted against her, clawed fingers sinking into the fabric of her robe around the waist, scraping slightly against her skin.
Just as it felt like it might be too much too soon Gideon let out a loud wail, followed by pitiful little cries, fussing in a clear attempt to be picked up. It made the separation a little less awkward, Belle picking little Gid up and Rumple hovering at her back, looking over her shoulder at the fussy baby with the softest expression Belle had ever seen. Clearly, she was going to be the one to make rules and be sure Gid followed them when he grew up. Rumple was likely to do as the baby pleased.
They didn't say much else the rest of the night, though as the hours passed and Gideon continue to refuse to be put down on his cot they naturally made their way to her bedroom, Belle carefully placing Gideon in the middle before removing her robe and making her way under the covers. When Rumplestiltskin hesitated, she stretched out her hand towards him, glad when he had the presence of mind to change his clothes into something looser, and far less grimy. He hovered a few moments more, looking like he might bolt from the room before he slid into bed on Gideon's other side, smiling when the babe calmed down immediately and closed his eyes, apparently ready to sleep. A wonderful sort of intimacy stole over them, with little words needing to be spoken. Belle thought briefly about her future self, and how much she had likely fought for her child's happiness, and bowed to honour such sacrifice. She'd build a home for Gideon, both of them would. She would be a loving, nurturing mother and would raise Gideon up the best way she could.
"You know, we must not let him get used to this. He needs to know he can't just cry and get whatever he wants."
Rumple's sleepy little noise of ascent let her know he was, like her, on the verge of sleep. She yawned and burrowed into the sheets, happy in a way she hadn't felt before.
"Besides, I want him to have lots of siblings, and this way we will never get around to it."
Hello :) just wanted to pop in and say thank you for all the amazing Spartort gifs, and the amazing pitt-gifs as well. seeing the Robby icon and Tatortedit confused the hell out of me🤣 not often that my current hyperfocus links to a current one. so anyway, hope you have a wonderful evening and enjoy the new episode 😊
hiiii thank youu 🥺🫶
i'm glad my new little obsession delights people ahaha
and i feel like there's a lot to unpack after watching it, gonna have to jump on those fix-it fics i fear 😭😭
Highest and Lowest ranking Taylor Swift Song in your Spotify Wrapped List 😄
Okay!
The highest Taylor Swift song was..."All Too Well", the ten-minute version. (Surprised me, I thought it was Anti-Hero!) I was kinda going through it this year. But what can I say. It's a phenomenal bit of lyricism.
Lowest is "Glitch", which frankly surprised me that it ranked at all, because I think that is definitely the weakest song on the album.
I was hoping I could put in how much I loved "Would've, Could've Should've"...give me back my girlhood, it was mine first...
sharinamay replied to your post “Waiting for my hair to dry. Started watching Sisters on Netflix....”
Gott sei dank bin ich nicht die Einzige, die den Cast von 'The Tribe' überall sieht/erkennt xD
Die Meisten würde ich wohl nicht mehr erkennen; hat auch ewig gedauert bis ich bei Edie geschaltet habe, aber irgendwie hätte ich jetzt Lust, mir das nochmal anzusehen. Strahlt nicht zufällig noch irgendwer aus, oder? :D Oh man, The Tribe... das waren noch Zeiten! xDD
Apparently you need an internet connection to be able to post anything online. Who knew, right?
My giftee was sharinamay, and she prompted costume party, movie night, poster. Just so everyone knows, she is the epitome of patience and understanding. It was a pleasure being her santa.
Summary: One embarrassing little mistake opens up a world of possibilities if only someone is brave enough to leap.
Rating: NC-17
It was not unusual for James Gold to be found in his office late at night. It was practically normal for him to be bent over his desk scouring through case files and appeals or the odd contract or two. It was fairly expected to find him in the wee hours of the morning busy at work.
It was Friday and not the wee hours of the morning (although a glance at his Rolex told him it was nearly midnight) when he heard shuffling from the hall outside of his office. A slam of a desk drawer. A muffled voice, perhaps cursing.
This was unusual, not-all-that-normal and certainly not expected. James Gold frowned. He did not particularly like surprises and that this intruder seemed to be going through his secretary's desk was a rather unpleasant one.
Scowling, he reached for his cane. As much of an annoyance as this interruption was, it would be easy enough to get rid of it. It would be even easier if he carried his .36 with him, but his cane would do if there were a confrontation. It had before.
As Gold stepped out into the hall, he mentally took stock of the important papers and contracts that weren’t kept in his own office. There weren't many, for this very reason. He had been physically attacked once over a document stating something as simple as power of attorney, and he wasn't keen on reliving that experience.
Unless of course, the intruder was after something of Miss French’s, which would not be tolerated. His hand tightened on his cane. The thick, drab carpet muffled his uneven gait, and he turned the corner.
There he saw the biggest surprise of all: his own secretary bent over and removing her small trash can liner, her tight little arse wiggling. He felt the blood rush south and he licked his lips.
Her heels were higher than what she normally wore and were colored dark indigo. All she had on was a baby blue leotard, strapless and tight, with cuff link bracelets and a matching collared necklace. And bunny ears. Fucking bunny ears. They wavered precariously on her head as she searched for something.
"The cleaners take the trash every evening, Miss French," he said, his mouth bone dry. Gold knew she had fucking spectacular legs (the short hemlines to her skirts and sharp-heeled shoes, worn no matter the time of year or weather, constantly teased and mocked him) but he never had the privilege to see them so bare.
With a shriek, she bolted upward, dropping the plastic can with a soft thud. She turned quickly – or tried to, as her heel sunk into the carpet – and suddenly she was pitching forward.
Without even thinking, Gold stepped forward to break her fall. His hand landed on her slim waist and then he was wrapping his other arm around her, holding her up against his chest as his cane fell to the floor. Belle was pressed so tightly against him he could feel her pounding heartbeat and he just knew that she could feel his.
She was a vision. She was all skin and curves and warm against him and if he kept looking at her like that, if he didn't let her go this instant, she was going to sue him for sexual harassment. Or slap him. He'd deserve either.
It was through nothing more than his iron will and the knowledge that Belle had to be disgusted by his clinging that allowed him to loosen his grip and step back.
He tried looking into her clear blue eyes, gone wide and panicked, but he was so drawn to the brilliant red blush that was making its way steadily down her neck. How far did it go, he wondered.
Forcibly reminding himself just where her eyes were located, he cleared his throat, hoping to clear out the dust that had settled on his tongue. No such luck.
"Why are you here, Miss French, at this late hour and wearing this...this?”
"Ohmygod Mr. Gold I didn't know you were still here which I admit was really stupid of me of course you'd still be here you're always here no matter how many times I tell you that you need to take a break-"
"Miss French-"
"-Every once in awhile and fuck here I am dressed like this it was a joke Ruby said it would be funny Ruby said you work for a lawyer of course you have to go as a play-boy bunny she said what an opportunity-“
“Miss French, please-“
“- But we couldn't find a costume in pink and then I forgot the invite at my desk and I couldn't get in without it and Ruby wasn't answering my calls an she must have turned off her phone and God all I wanted to do tonight was marathon the Harry Potter films but here I am dressed like this-"
"Belle!"
Gold would swear he heard her teeth rattle with the force she used to clamp her mouth shut.
“I really didn't think you'd be here.” Her voice was small, and her eyes hadn't quite lost the gleam of panic.
“The lights are on,” he said stupidly.
“I just assumed they were safely lights.”
“Safely lights aren't this bright.”
“Yes, I know that now,” she said through a self-deprecating bark of laughter.
Now that the initial shock had worn off, the embarrassment and mortification seemed to multiply and Gold watched in horror as tears been to pool in Belle’s lovely eyes.
“I have to go Mr. Gold,” she said, ducking her head and turning tail towards the elevator.
“Miss French, wait,” he tried, but the doors were already opening. “At least let me escort you down.” She didn't even have a coat, for god’s sake.
“Sorryfordisturbingyouhaveagoodnight,” she said as her hand frantically pressed what he assumed was the close door button. She obviously didn't want to spend anymore time alone with a letch like him, let alone be in close quarters.
He'd have to apologize for the inappropriate staring. After the doors were closed, Gold reached down and picked up his cane. He ran a nervous hand through his hair. What was he going to say to her on Monday?
Assuming she showed up at all, of course.
“Ruby, I'm serious. It was awful.”
“Hey, I have no doubt you were mortified. That doesn't make it not funny,” Ruby said with a grin, her shoulders still shaking from laughter.
Belle sighed. She should have known the costume party was a bad idea. It had sounded so fun at first; who had costume parties in June, right? The minute Ruby handed her the poster, she was sold, but she should know better by now than to trust her friend’s judgment. Now she found herself in her kitchen on Sunday morning, after ignoring Ruby’s calls for as long as she possibly could as to why she ended up being a no-show when Ruby had been so excited about Belle’s costume.
“I can't believe he caught you looking through the trash,” Ruby chortled.
“Just the trash can,” Belle corrected weakly. “The trash had been emptied but I had hoped that maybe if I had accidentally thrown the invite away, it had ended in the bottom of the can and not the liner. Naïve, I know.”
“Nah,” Ruby said, “just optimistic.”
“God, what if he fires me?” Belle hated how small and scared she sounded. She hadn't even wanted the sectorial job, but she had just graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English and had been rejected from all of her schools of choice for her masters. She had needed a job, and working for Mr. Gold had been the only one she could find.
It had been awful at first. Mr. Gold was abrasive and rude and it was easy to forget how soft his hair looked or how deep a brown his eyes were when he was calling her incompetent for sending a fax to the wrong Mr. Nolan. She prevailed though, snapping back that if he wanted to send faxes to angry colleagues while she sat in his plush chair drinking scotch while she read the newest court proceedings that was fine by her. He saw that she meant it too, which is what Belle attributed to his backing off. She’d been working for him for two and a half years now, which was a solid two years four months and thirteen days longer than anyone else had, with the only complaint being his perpetual grumpiness and inability to take a vacation.
“Do you honestly think he would?” Ruby asked, finally calming down. “What reason would he have?”
“Not representing him or his business appropriately, for one.”
“Belle, you were at a party.”
“I never made it to the party! I waltzed in and practically flashed him. God, what he must think of me now.” Belle buried her head in her hands.
“You're being self-defeating, Bellz,” Ruby said, nudging her friend’s shoulder with her own. “Your costume was a joke, one I still happen to think was pretty funny. What's the real issue here?”
Belle looked at the oven clock. “I have to face him in approximately twenty hours and I haven't a clue what I'm going to do.”
“Just pretend it never happened.”
Belle made a face. “That's like lying. You know I can't lie to save my life.”
“Yes ma'am, I do. Okay,” Ruby said, a sharp gleam in her eye that Belle didn't like at all. “Here's another question: why do you care?”
“This is my professional career, Ruby. I am respected in my work place.”
“In a job you don’t even want. Why do you care, Belle?”
“I want this job,” She said indignantly.
“You're constantly saying how much you want to go back to school. Why not use this as an opportunity?”
“I can't just leave. Mr. Gold just took on this huge case -“
“Belle.”
She sighed. She gave up. She said, “I really like him, Ruby.”
“Mr. Gold?”
“There's something there, hidden beneath his layers of asshole and lawyer. He's such a mystery.”
“You still with me?” Ruby asked, waving her hand in front of Belle’s face. “Your eyes are glazing.”
“They are not,” she muttered.
“So, another question.”
“You're jut full of those today.”
“Do you want to fuck him?”
“Ruby!” Belle could just feel the heat radiating from her face.
“That's not a no.”
“He's not even interested.”
“How would you know?”
“Did you forget what happened Friday night?”
“What, so because the man didn't throw you down on top of your desk and have his way with you when you were clearly flustered and upset means he's not interested?” Ruby gave her a look. “I don't doubt that you gave him a good show of your wares there, and honey, you could give rigor mortis to a corpse for the second time, if you catch my drift.”
“That's not…I didn't… corpse?” She asked weakly.
“The way I see it, if you're so convinced that you're losing your job anyway, why not go out with a bang. A good one. On his desk.”
“I'll admit as much as I like that imagery…”
“Oh, come on. When was the last time you were fucked good and proper? You have everything to gain.”
“Yeah, like a restraining order and assault charges.” Belle sighed, though. “Okay. I assume you have a plan.”
Belle was surprised to discover that she didn't feel any trepidation at the sight of Ruby’s wolffish grin, just anticipation and a little excitement.
Gold didn't make it a habit of taking weekends off, which is why he felt justified in arriving at the office early on Monday morning. He didn't expect to see Miss French today, or any day, ever again, he really didn’t. It was too much for his old, decrepit heart to accept, clearly, because here he was, an hour before she was due to arrive, sitting at his desk and staring at his closed door waiting with baited breath for her to walk in with his morning cup of tea and any new messages. The only proof of his nervousness (and okay, impatience) was the soft click of his fingers drumming against his desk.
Much to his surprise and elation, he didn't have long to wait.
He had been sitting for fourteen minutes when the handle rattled, and the door swung open. Belle visibly started when she saw him at his desk. He tried to keep his heart from breaking when he saw the look of disappointment flitter across her face.
“What are you doing here?” She asked as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.
“Well, it is my office,” he pointed out.
“I meant so early. You’re never here until at least a quarter ‘till eight,” Belle said, pulling at the belt of her coat.
Now that he noticed it, she was indeed wearing a coat; a bright blue pea coat that was much too thick for June, even if the morning was overcast. Her legs, however, were bare, her skirt shorter than the length of the coat, and she was wearing those heels again. The ones from Friday.
Gold’s tongue felt like glue in his mouth. “And why are you here so early, then?”
Belle frowned. She turned to look again at the door she closed, then back at him.
“Well, Mr. Gold,” she said, taking a slow, deliberate step towards him. “I wanted to apologize for the fiasco last time we saw each other,” she said.
“Did you now,” he choked out. It was hard to think with her looking at him like that. And she was coming closer. “There’s no apology needed.”
Gold shifted in his seat. He didn't think he could adjust his hardening cock in his pants without her noticing. God, look at him. Hard because his beautiful secretary was looking at him. Pathetic.
Belle leaned down slightly when she reached the front of his desk. Even from that distance, she seemed to loom over him in his chair.
“You’re very nice to say that,” she said giving him a genuine smile. It felt like sunshine after an eternity of winter, he was so relieved to see it. “But you see, Mr. Gold, we didn’t finish.”
“Finish?”
Gold watched with avid fascination as a delightful blush crept over Belle’s face. Never dropping his gaze, she very deliberately untied the belt around her coat and shrugged the whole thing off, leaving her in dark blue lingerie. The panties and the tops of the bra were trimmed in delicate gold lace. He wondered vaguely what they would taste like as he pulled them off her with his teeth.
Belle was biting her lip, seeming to take his silence as a bad sign. “You weren’t supposed to arrive first. God,” she rubbed her arms, trying to hide herself from her humiliation. “I’m messing everything up. You were supposed to walk in and find me at your desk. And then I’d find a reason to turn,” and she did just that.
Affixed to the back of her panties, resting proudly on the curve of her rear, was a white cotton bunny tail.
Belle blushed harder when Gold laughed.
“You mean,” he said, his heart beating wildly in his chest, “that we should do what bunnies do?” It was a dream. It had to be a dream. No way would Belle French, bold and clever Belle French, be trying to seduce him in his office.
Gold realized his mistake in laughing when he saw her shrink into herself.
Belle offered him a brave, if slightly watery smile. “I can put my coat back on if you prefer. I could probably pretend like this never happened, too.”
“Is that really what you want, sweetheart?”
Belle swallowed. She sniffed. She brought her arms to her sides. “No. Not at all.”
Gold released the breath he was holding in relief. He licked his lips as his gaze wandered from her perfect breasts down to her legs. Her long, slim legs. She was beautiful, and she wanted him, apparently. He was never one to turn down a gift (he was though, but not one from her. Never Belle).
“I never meant to laugh,” he apologized. “It’s just so fucking unbelievable. What do you want, Belle?”
“Just you.” The smile she wore then was one of relief. “However you want me.”
“I want all of you,” he warned.
“Then have all of me.”
“Come here,” he said, holding out his hand.
She took it with gratifying eagerness, and he pulled her down to his lap. Belle landed on his good knee, but slid quickly so she was straddling him.
“Are you su-“ he tried asking, but was caught off when she smashed her lips to his. Their teeth knocked together and their noses bumped, but it was the best kiss he’d ever had in his miserable life. One of his hands buried in her glorious thick curls while the other perched at her waist, keeping her steady and against him.
Her own hands had buried themselves in his hair, searing his scalp and lighting his blood on fire. Oh, but she was exquisite. Soft and perfect, writhing under his hands as they kissed.
Gold was content to stay like that forever, with her in his arms and in his lap, but Belle was not. She grasped the hand he had in her hair, and guided him slowly to the top her gold-trimmed panties. He got the picture. He broke their kiss giving them a much-needed chance to breath (and all the better to see her face when he slipped his fingers under the silky material).
Belle had other ideas though, as she licked and nipped across his jaw, down his throat while he rubbed his fingers against her sweet cunt. She was absolutely soaked. He gasped when she bit down on his throat when he found a particularly sensitive spot with his fingers.
“Can I, Belle?” he asked hoarsely as his fingers trailed her entrance.
“Please,” she whispered against him, her breath warm. “Please, Gold, I want you so bad, please.”
He needed no further prodding, and slid two fingers into her easily. She gasped at the intrusion, grinding down onto him. She threw her head back when his thumb pressed to the side of her clit, and she moaned as he added a third finger.
“You close, Belle?”
She only moaned louder in response, one of her hands curling against his shoulder, and he sped up his efforts fucking her with his fingers as she writhed in his lap. He kissed her hungrily before trailing kisses up to her ear. He pulled on her earlobe, whispering, “I have never seen anything more beautiful than you. You’re so fucking tight and wet and you feel like silk around my fingers. I can’t wait to get my cock in you, Belle, in your perfect fucking cunt-“
And with that, she tensed in his arms, her orgasm rippling through her. She was gripping his shoulder so hard there was sure to be marks but Gold didn’t care in the slightest.
“Wow,” Belle said when she was able to open her eyes again. Her legs hadn’t quite quit shaking. “Oh, wow.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gold kissed her temple.
“You should,” she hummed, brushing her nose with his. “Though I still don’t think we’re quite finished yet.” Her hand slid down his chest, making him still very aware of how many clothes were between them, till her dainty fingers finally curled around his hard cock, cupping him.
“Oh, no?” he asked breathlessly.
“Oh, no.” Belle began to undo his belt, and then unzipped his pants. After she slipped his boxers down, she reached in and pulled him out, hard and willing. “Beautiful,” she said, pushing her panties aside and lining them up. “You’re so beautiful.”
He groaned when she sunk down onto him. He had been right; her pussy was exquisite. He had just decided to do something about that bra of hers (as pretty as it was, it was now in the way) when there was a knock at the door.
“Mr. Gold, are you in there?” A voice asked, a paralegal from a floor or two down.
Belle froze, looking at him with wide, panicked eyes. She seemed to have come to the same awful conclusion he had: she hadn’t locked the door.
Ohgod ohgod ohgod, she thought, the blood pounding in her ears. She couldn’t believe she didn’t lock the god damned door. She saw the moment when Gold realized it, too.
“Under the desk,” he whispered urgently, leaning back to give her room to untangle herself from him, and she very nearly moaned at the feeling of loss as he slipped out of her.
“Mr. Gold?” Another knock.
“What do you want?” Gold snapped as she crouched between his knees, safe from view. “I’m a bit busy.”
Busy was an understatement. As embarrassed as she felt, there was still an ounce (okay, several pounds) of indignation at being interrupted. This was probably the best thing to ever happen to her in her adult life and some fool just had to walk in and ruin it.
“I’m looking for the Johnston case.” The door opened, no doubt revealing whoever was behind it. Belle thought she recognized that voice, though. It sounded like George Gaston, a paralegal from a floor down. “It’s the one about the warning labels on baby food jars, and-“
“Yes, I know what case it is.” Gold snarled. Belle watched as he moved his hips uncomfortably. There had been no time, of course, to tuck him back into his pants, and his cock hung there, glistening with her fluids despite the short amount of time it spent actually in her. They were lucky his desk was large.
Belle licked her lips.
“Well,” Gaston continued, “Midas needs another copy of the first court hearing.”
“My secretary sent those over-“ Gold cut off, letting out a choked sort of stutter.
Because Belle had just wrapped her mouth around his thick, shining prick. She nearly moaned aloud at the taste of her and him.
His hand tangled in her hair, but Belle was happy to find that there was no pressure, whether that be to remove her completely or encourage her to take more of him. There was only the steady weight as he cradled the back of her head.
“Yeah,” Belle heard Gaston say, “I would rather ask her than go to you, but she wasn’t at her desk.”
Belle looked up to see Gold clenching his jaw. She sucked him harder.
“Ah, ah, and just where is my little secretary?” His other hand was clenching on his knee. Belle reached up and intertwined her hand with his. The other she used to rub at his base, right in front of where his sac hung. “I imagine she’s off getting into things she shouldn’t, hm?” Gold’s voice was an octave higher than normal.
“I don't know. She could be running late.”
Gold merely gave a grunt. Belle smiled as she withdrew, swirling her tongue around his head.
“Please,” Gold almost whimpered when she sucked in the tip, but didn’t go any further.
“What?” Gaston asked.
“Please leave,” Gold said with a cough. His hand tightened around Belle’s as she slowly slid her mouth down his shaft, a reward for asking nicely. “I’ll send that copy post haste.”
“Alright. And hey, when you see Belle, could you tell her-“
“Get. Out,” Gold snarled, just as Belle squeezed his balls, her tongue hot on the underside of his cock. He was impossibly hard, and she could feel the tension in his hips as he tried desperately not to thrust and he was so close, she knew it –
Only when the door gave a most satisfying click did his hips jerk, and Gold spilled himself in her mouth.
“Oh, God Belle. Good god, Belle. Oh, Belle,” he babbled.
After swallowing him down, she kissed the tip of his prick sweetly before she climbed into his lap again, curling against him.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she giggled, resting her head against his chest and listening to his slowing heartbeat.
“You should,” Gold said with a huff of laughter. A pause, then: “I’m afraid we didn’t quite finish the best part.”
Belle hummed in agreement. “Well, we could have dinner tonight. Try again.”
Gold kissed her temple. Then her forehead. Then her cheek. Anywhere he could reach he kissed. Belle smiled, pulling away to finally claiming his mouth.
“Yes,” he said wondrously. “We certainly could do that.”
