#golden lace fic

[kelyon]

Courtship 21/21: Happily Ever After

Mr. and Mrs Gold do what they'll do for the next 28 years

Read on AO3

On the first morning of the rest of her life, Mrs. Gold woke up in chains. The leather cuffs Mr. Gold had given her on their wedding night pressed against her wrists like his own strong hands. Eyes closed, she listened to the scrape of the metal chain against the iron rails of the bed in the cabin. There was enough slack that she could bring her hands to her chest and hug herself under the blankets.

She ached more than should have been possible. Not just in the various places where Mr. Gold had fucked her, but everywhere. Bobby pins scraped against her scalp. There were blisters on her heels from all her dancing. Muscles burned in her arms and legs. Her tight wedding dress scratched and dug into her skin. Her ribs ached from her corset and her head was pounding. Was this a hangover? Or was it some other result of the best night of her life?

Either way, the pain was worth it. Some of it was a pleasure all by itself, but even the sensations she didn’t like were a fair trade for what she got in return. She was Mrs. Gold! That was worth a little exhaustion, a little feeling like she’d been run over by truck. In this new life, bites and bruises were marks of affection and honor. It followed that sore feet and aching bones were just a sign of a good time. 

She rolled from her stomach to her back, twisting the chain. Where was Mr. Gold? He wasn’t in the bed. A folding screen separated where she was from the rest of the cabin. She couldn’t see him and she couldn’t exactly get up and look for him. 

As if in answer, the smell of coffee wafted over to her. Then cooking oil, and a propane stove. If she concentrated, she could hear the faint sloshing of a liquid being whisked, the subdued clatter of a silverware drawer, the steadily uneven gait of Mr. Gold walking on his cane.  

She sighed in relieved satisfaction. 

“Mr. Go-old?” She stretched out his name until it was half a whine and half a song. 

After a moment, his footsteps crossed the length of the one-room cabin. He stood at the foot of the bed, fully suited, wiping his hands with a towel. 

“Are you awake already, pretty thing? I thought I would have exercised you better than that last night.”

“Oh you did, Mr. Gold!” Smiling, Mrs. Gold tossed her head back on the pillow. She wiggled out from under the blankets to show off her body. “I just can’t sleep because of how much I want more.”

He shook his head. “Wanton creature,” he tutted. “You’re a slave to your appetites as much as you are to me.”

Stepping closer to the bed, he ran the back of his hand against her leg, calf to thigh. Her stockings had stayed in place all night, held up by her garters. Mr. Gold stroked her up and down, always stopping before he reached the hem of her skirt. She tried to spread her legs wider. She hitched up her hips in invitation. He was so close to her, so close to giving them both what they wanted.

“I’ll give you a choice.” His voice was so low she almost didn’t hear it. “If you want me to touch you right now, if you want me to make you come, then you’ll have to stay in this bed until I’ve satisfied both of us--which I’m sure you know won’t be for several hours.”

A shudder went through the whole of her body. 

“Or,” Mr. Gold went on, “you can let yourself out of these cuffs. It should be easy enough, even while you’re wearing them. Then I’ll allow you to eat breakfast and clean yourself up a little before I ruin you again.”

Mrs. Gold whined, then recovered herself enough to speak. “Do you promise?”

“Promise what?”

“Promise you’ll ruin me? Even if I don’t stay chained up?”

Looking down at her, Mr. Gold grinned. He bent down and kissed her, slow and soft.

“Your chains are in your mind, my dear. Even if I never restrained you again, you would always bind yourself to my pleasure.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, exactly. I’m always yours, Mr. Gold. No matter what.”

Still smiling fondly, Mr. Gold rubbed his hand over her curves. “So you do want to be let out?”

“I want to be with you. If you’re having breakfast in the kitchen, that’s where I want to be.”

“Mm-hmm.” He kept touching her. “And do you want to be naked, or do you want to keep wearing your pretty dress?”

Mrs. Gold bit her lip. “I, um… I’m not sure. This dress has gotten dirty, and it’s not very comfortable. But--but I don’t want to freeze either.”

He grazed his fingers over her neckline, where he had come on her last night. Most of it had landed on her skin, but a few drops had stained the beads and sequins. Mr. Gold found the white-on-white spots and outlined them with his fingertips. Then he flipped her over to see what he had left on her back. There was more here, from after he had fucked her in the ass.

“So dirty,” he chuckled. He clapped his hand against her ass--not quite a spanking, but a confident grasp of ownership. “Keep it on for now, you filthy girl. I’ll give you something to change into after you’re clean.”   

He turned away, and left Mrs. Gold to unchain herself. The leather cuffs were fastened with a buckle, like a belt. There were no locks or anything to keep them on. When she was out, she left the cuffs on the chain tied to the bed. They hung from their golden o-rings like charms on a bracelet. It all took less than a minute.  She could have gotten out whenever she wanted. 

But she didn’t want to until Mr. Gold said it was allowed.  

In the privacy behind the bedroom screen, Mrs. Gold stretched herself awake. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and tried to comb her fingers through her hair. She had packed a brush when she’d prepared for this honeymoon. Where was that little bag? Where was her toothbrush? As much as Mr. Gold liked deriding her for being dirty, he would still want her to start the day looking presentable and smelling nice. She had to be some level of pristine if he was going to ruin her. 

“Is there plumbing out here?” 

Mr. Gold seemed too sophisticated to go anywhere that didn’t have running water, but it was possible that flushing toilets were less important to a man than they were to a woman. 

“Around the back,” he answered from the kitchen. “Don’t shower yet, but be sure to wash your hands.”

The bathroom was tiny, just a shower stall, toilet, and sink. Her things were laid out around the sink like they had always been there. Her toothbrush was in a holder next to Mr. Gold’s. It all looked right. She really did belong here, with him. 

Mrs. Gold got as ready as she could, then went back into the kitchen. Mr. Gold was toasting a slice of dry bread on the stove. A small table was home to one chair, one table setting, and one mug of black coffee. Obviously, that was where Mr. Gold would sit. 

What was she supposed to do? He had talked about breakfast like they would both be eating. Had she misunderstood? The mistake people made with Mr. Gold was believing what they thought he meant instead of what he actually said. Her husband was a man for technicalities and trifles, for abiding by every letter of the law while completely disregarding the spirit. 

She stood awkwardly at the edge of the kitchen space, waiting for him to notice her. When he finally did, his eyes glinted. He came over to her, wrapped one arm around her waist, and gave her a kiss to take her breath away.

“Good morning, Mrs. Gold,” he purred. “Get on your knees.” 

Relief flooded her as she slipped from his arm down to the floor. There was nothing awkward about kneeling, about knowing that she had to kneel. This was her place, this was what he wanted. She never had to question it.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold,” she said softly.

He made a pleased sound then went back to the stove.

“Crawl to the table,” he called without turning around. “I want you to kneel at my feet.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

There was a hole in one of her white stockings. Sometime last night, her knee had scraped against the rough wooden floor. She would have to get better at crawling, if Mr. Gold really liked it that much.

She knelt by his chair, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked up at her husband as he worked. He cooked the toast until it was black, then slid it onto a plate next to something white and green. He put his plate on the table, then went back to get a small bowl, which he placed on the ground in front of her. Inside the bowl were yellow eggs, wrapped around a dark green mush.

“I used to have to throw away the yolks,” he said as he sat down. He nodded at her bowl. “But now I have a less wasteful way to dispose of them. Eat up.”

As he cut into his egg white omelet, Mrs. Gold stared at him. Was she not going to get silverware? Had he meant to give her some and forgotten? Was she supposed to fetch it herself?

“Um?”

Mr. Gold looked at her quizzically, apparently confused by her confusion. 

“You may pick up the food with your hands or eat from the bowl like a dog,” he explained patiently. “Be grateful I’m giving you a choice today, Mrs. Gold.”

Oh.

Her face burned, more from embarrassment than shock. What an idiot she was to need him to explain that to her. Of course he hadn’t forgotten to give her silverware. Mr. Gold wouldn’t forget anything. He didn’t give her silverware because she didn’t deserve to use it. Just like she didn’t deserve to eat at the table with him. Groveling at his feet was the most she would ever be good for. 

Mr. Gold knew how worthless she was. She didn’t have to pretend to be anything more than his thing. That must have been why it was so easy to lower her gaze and put her hands on the floor. Bending forward, she kissed his shoes.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold,” she said softly. 

Then she ate her egg yolks and spinach out of the bowl. Just like the animal Mr. Gold knew she was.

****

After breakfast, Mr. Gold permitted her to stand up and take a shower. When she got back, he had laid out a line of lingerie sets on the bed. They were all different styles and colors and materials--leather and silk and velvet, black and pink and red. One even seemed to be made entirely of rhinestones. 

“Never saw these at Sugar’n’Spice,” Mrs. Gold said as she looked at them. 

“It’s remarkable what you can get from the right catalogs. Speaking of which…”

Mr. Gold began to take out other items from a burgundy suitcase on the ground. The more he brought out, the wider Mrs. Gold’s eyes got.

Some of these toys and tools, she knew what they were called and what they were used for. Some of them she had to guess. Very, very few had she ever seen before, though she had read about them. Lacey French’s romance thrillers teased at things like floggings and gags, and no good slave story was complete without a collar. Of course, the virginal heroines of those stories had quivered with fear at such implements, not in desire. 

Lacey French had spent her nights devouring fantasies of gear like what Mr. Gold was setting out before her. In real life, she had never so much as seen a dildo before, let alone used one. Not to mention the variety in sizes and colors and shapes. They took up the whole bed! Butt plugs and paddles and all kinds of restraints. Tools of pleasure, tools of pain, Mr. Gold handled them all like an expert. 

“Fuck,” she whispered.

He grinned. “Yes, that is the idea, Mrs. Gold.”

“Wh--” she sputtered. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well you need to dress first, of course.” He set the top of his cane against a lingerie set. It was gauzy, forest green, the same color as his tie. “And make sure you wear these.” He picked up a pair of nipple clamps--gold, of course, with round weights dangling from the ends. “I’ll let you pick out which dildo you want to start with.”

“Start with?”

He gave her a warm look of amusement. “Take your time,” he said. “Make yourself pretty, make yourself ready. Then come join me in the living room.”

“Okay,” her voice shook, then she pulled herself together. “I mean, yes, Mr. Gold.” 

****

Making herself pretty calmed her and excited her all at once. She went through the familiar routine of putting on makeup--dark and heavy eyes, with slut-red lips. Then she took the most expensive perfume sold at Dark Star Pharmacy and spritzed herself--on her neck, on her wrists, in her hair, and a little bit over her well-shaved mound. Mr. Gold would probably like that, and if he didn’t he would let her know. He would tell her everything he liked, everything she had to be, for the rest of her life.

She left her hair down, and put in a little mousse to make her curls more soft and manageable. Mr. Gold never seemed to like her hair, but he never seemed to dislike it that much either. At least this style would make it easier for her to deal with after he was done doing… whatever he wanted to do to her. 

Fuck, what was he going to do to her?

The lingerie was so flimsy it might as well have been a mist that wafted over her skin. The bra had puffy tulle sleeves and an underwire with a little peplum skirt around it--and nothing else. Apparently this was one of those shelf bras. It left her boobs completely bare. Her unprotected nipples stood out in the cold. No wonder Mr. Gold had chosen this outfit to show off some clamps. 

The clamps reminded her of tweezers, with black rubber grips on the ends. Her nipples were already hard and pointed, all she had to do was open the clamps a little and then let them close around her. They started working her up as soon as she put them on. As she stood in the bathroom, her whole body seemed to lunge forward, leaning into the pull on what had now become the center of her universe.

 Bracing herself against the sink, Mrs. Gold took a deep breath. Then another one. Fuck. The pressure from the clamps was the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. It was impossible to know what she was feeling, only that she was feeling.

God, she was feeling everything.

When she was able, she looked herself in the mirror. It took a little tweaking to make sure the clamps were on straight. Touching them even that much was enough to drive her to the edge. The weights swung on her breasts, and every movement rippled out into the rest of her body in an endless echo of pleasure. Fuck, if it weren’t for Mr. Gold’s rule about coming without permission…

The panties he wanted her to wear were crotchless, with a little skirt just like the bra. The skirt was only around the back, and only long enough to drape over her ass. The whole outfit was loose and flouncy, almost innocent. It was like a porn parody of something a princess would wear in a fairy tale. An enchanted ball gown with nothing to cover up how wet she was, what a shameless whore she was.

Before she went out to meet Mr. Gold, she had to pick out a dildo. Some items in the collection were too big to think about, even for her. Longer than her forearm, wider than she could get a hand around, weirdly bumpy and ridged--it was a lot to imagine going inside her body, at least not without Mr. Gold guiding her through every inch. For her first time with a sex toy, she wanted to start small. 

She stayed away from the dildos that were anatomically accurate. Choosing a toy that looked like another man’s cock felt disloyal to Mr. Gold. If he told her to use any of these, of course she would obey. But he had allowed her a choice today. She wanted to make the right one.  

In the end, she picked up a small length of glass that tapered to a rounded point. It was about the size of her hand, with a globe of pure blue on the holding end. Swirls of cobalt decorated the solid interior. The dildo was heavy in her hand, sturdy, but still small enough that it would be comfortable wherever Mr. Gold told her to put it.

When she came out from behind the screen, Mr. Gold was sitting in an easy chair by the iron stove. He was looking over a collection of loose papers, marking different places with a pen. He had the same look of concentration and triumph on his face that other people would give to a challenging crossword puzzle.

This time, Mrs. Gold didn’t stand around awkwardly. Mr. Gold’s desires were clear, even if he hadn’t given a specific order. She knew what she was, what was expected of her. Boldly, confidently, Mrs. Gold strutted across the living room to kneel at her husband’s feet and kiss his shoes. 

Mr. Gold gave her a quiet chuckle. “You’re a fast learner, I’ll grant you that. Stand up and let me look at you.”

She was on her feet in an instant. Her breasts bounced with the sudden motion and Mrs. Gold had to stifle a gasp.

She didn’t stifle it well enough. Mr. Gold saw her face and grinned. 

“Do you like my presents, Mrs. Gold?”

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she said promptly. “Very much.”

“Now you’re going to show me just how much.” 

He looked her body up and down. His slight nod was enough to make her tear up. She dug her nails into her palms. She couldn’t start crying yet. Later. Later, he would want her to cry. Later she could get all the release she needed. 

“Which dildo did you pick out?”

She held out the blue glass in two hands. Mr. Gold picked it up. “An attractive option. But such a modest size. I would have thought an insatiable slut like you would go straight for the horse cock.”

Mrs. Gold blinked. “Which one was that?”

“You’ll find out,” he smirked. “Lie down on the ground for now. On your back, feet facing me.”

She obeyed. There was a rug on this section of the cabin, a rough, braided oval between the couch and Mr. Gold’s chair. It was rustic and homey in a way that didn’t quite fit Mr. Gold. His mansion in Old Town had soft, expensive Oriental rugs. The skin on Mrs. Gold’s back started to prickle as she lay there. At least it was better than the bare floor. 

“Knees up,” Mr. Gold ordered. “As far apart as you can stand. I want to have a good view of my property.”

“It’s yours,” Mrs. Gold whispered as her dripping cunt stared him in the face. So this was why he had given her crotchless panties. God, he thought of everything! “I’m yours.”

“Yes you are,” he murmured. “That’s why you’re going to obey me, aren’t you, my little wife?”

“Of course,” she whispered. “About everything.”

Leaning down, he placed the dildo on her stomach. 

“For this game, you’re going to tease yourself,” he told her. “You’re going to fuck yourself. You will work yourself up, you will drive yourself mad.” Every sentence, his voice got lower. “And you will not come.” 

Just hearing him say it sent a jolt through her. Clenching her fists against the rug, Mrs. Gold fought off the sensation.

“Oh shit,” she breathed. “This is gonna be hard.”

“That is the idea,” her husband grinned. “And depending on how well you perform for me, you may be rewarded, or you may be… Well, ‘punished’ isn’t really the right word considering the sorts of things you take pleasure in, my deviant. But rest assured, it won’t be something you enjoy. Do you understand?”

Biting her lip, Mrs. Gold nodded. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“You will go on for as long as I want you to,” he said. He leaned back in his chair and picked up his papers again. “So I advise you to pace yourself.”

****

She tried to start small, tried not to do anything that would make her lose the game immediately. If she came, she lost. If she came, Mr. Gold would be disappointed in her. He had threatened to punish her, but that barely mattered. Disappointing him was bad enough. Being anything less than what he wanted was unconscionable. Mrs. Gold would never be less than what her husband deserved. 

But it was hard. Just getting ready--just wearing this getup and being told what was expected of her--had wound her up like a spring. It would have been easier if Mr. Gold wanted to force her to orgasm. He could have ordered her to come a hundred times in a row and she would have done it. That would have been a picnic compared to holding herself back.

She ran her hands over her thighs, scraping her skin with her fingernails. The light pain gave her something to focus on, a different type of arousal than the molten need between her legs. She tried to breathe, breathe deep, but her exhale just came out as a shudder. 

“Don’t forget to use the dildo,” Mr. Gold reminded her. 

He was still looking at his papers, or at least pretending to. How much was he actually ignoring her? How long would he be able to ignore her? If she put on a good enough show, surely those papers would lose their appeal.

With one hand, she picked up the dildo, then she opened her folds with the other. Her cunt was hot and sensitive--sopping wet even on the outer edges. She ran the dildo over the slick flesh, and winced. The glass was cool, cold against her heat. The feeling made her hiss and clench and she had to fight against every force inside her that wanted her to come.

Gasping, Mrs. Gold fought her own body. She denied herself pleasure because it pleased Mr. Gold. She was a worthless, lust-crazed animal, but she was his animal. He was training her to be what he wanted, because she belonged to him. If there was anything of value in a trashy slut like her, it was when she did what Mr. Gold said.

She would obey him. She would be good enough for him.

Whining and moaning, she eased the dildo into her cunt. She had to go slowly. Her pleasure was a brimming bucket and she had to carry it without spilling a single drop.

Once the thing was lodged fully inside her, it was actually a relief. The dildo gave her something to clench against when the waves of pleasure overtook her. Like the pain, it was something to focus on. When she took her hands away, part of her had to concentrate on holding onto the toy, keeping it in place. There was a strange peace in that.

She breathed.

“You don’t think you’re done, do you?” Mr. Gold’s voice cut through her stillness.

“No, Mr. Gold,” she answered. “What should I do next?”

“What do you think? Fuck yourself. Use the toy like it’s my cock, dearie.”

She jolted at his words, at his tone, at the contempt he had for her. He was right, of course. He had told her to torment herself. There wasn’t supposed to be peace in that.

“This isn’t big enough to be your cock, Mr. Gold.”

He scoffed. “No, of course not. That’s why that cock can’t make you come, no matter how hard it tries. But I promise you, Mrs. Gold, once you get the real thing in you, you’ll be able to come until you forget your name.”

She moaned. Holding the dildo by the ball on the end, she rocked her hips against it. She had to try to make herself come, but she had to fail. Just like every other man in the world would fail to please her. Only Mr. Gold could make her come. Only his cock could drive her wild. His cock and his hands and his mouth and--

“No!” She squealed as her body seized. Her pleasure spilled out and swept her away.  She tried to stop it, tried to pull herself back. She yanked out the dildo, rolled onto her side--but it wouldn’t stop. It was too late. Crying and whining, she humped the floor, empty and aching but undeniably orgasming. 

She came for an eternity. Mr. Gold didn’t try to stop her. What would be the point? She had already failed. She had already shown him that she valued her own whorish needs over his orders. 

She wept, as she came again and again. It wasn’t fair! She had tried! She wanted to obey him. She wanted to be good enough for him. As the tears overtook the ruined pleasure, she turned away from her husband. Mr. Gold didn’t need to see her like this. She didn’t deserve to have him look at her. 

Fuck. She’d fucked up everything.

When her sobs became sniffles, Mr. Gold’s voice broke through the fog. “Are you quite finished?”

She was sitting on the floor, her arms around her knees. She forced herself to look up at him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.”

He sat back in his chair. His papers were gone. He looked down on her in cold judgment. “Tell me what you’re sorry for.”

Carefully, she got down onto her knees. At least she could do that right. “I’m sorry for coming.” Her voice trembled. “I’m sorry for disobeying your order. I’m sorry for giving in to my body’s instincts. I’m--I’m sorry for ruining the game.”

Mr. Gold cut her off with a shake of his head. “Losing a game isn’t the same as spoiling one, my dear. That’s not something you need to apologize for.”

Mrs. Gold sniffed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Now, don’t misunderstand. You did lose, you did disobey my order. I will punish you for it. And begging for forgiveness was correct. But that’s all in good fun, isn’t it?” Leaning down out of his chair, he held her chin in his hand. He looked her in the eye. “You haven’t done anything that makes me want to stop playing with you.”

She started to shake. “Are you sure, Mr. Gold?”

Grinning, he shook his head. “What a stupid girl you are. You’ll learn to take me at my word, Mrs. Gold. For now, kiss my shoes.”

She fell to the ground in her eagerness to obey. If he was letting her show him affection, then things really were okay. He forgave her. Or maybe there was nothing to forgive. Either way, he still wanted her. She belonged to him. She would always belong to him!

The lesson was firmly set in her mind by the time Mr. Gold told her she could stop. He went back to the bed and she followed him on her hands and knees.

“All these toys,” he told her, “they are your responsibility now. You’ll have to clean them, and care for them, and put them away when we’re done. I want you to make yourself familiar with them, especially the dildos and the paddles. You need to know what you’re getting into when I tell you which one I want to use on you. Do you understand, sweet whore?”

On her knees, she nodded. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“Good,” he said. “Right now, I want you to put everything away, back in the suitcase. When you’re done. I want you to make yourself entirely naked, and then lock yourself back into the cuffs. You’ll wait, until I decide I want to fuck you.”

Her toes curled against the wooden floor. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

“If you had managed to win our little game today, you would have been permitted to come as many times as you wanted, once my cock was inside you. As it is, it seems you need another ‘hands-on’ lesson in self-control.”

Mrs. Gold let out an involuntary whine.

Mr. Gold grinned. “Either way,” he said, “the fun has just begun.” 

[notonlymice]

tavern maid!Lacey x Dark One!Rumple au moodboard

[darklightcore]

Where I can sign up to the fanclub of this Lacey????

Author: Squizzel

Prompts: Stroking hair to soothe. “Take me with you.” Baking.

Group: B

-

Weakness

“Come back to bed.”  

Gold smiled over his shoulder at Lacey’s sleepy voice.  She was gloriously naked, wrapped up in his covers, looking like temptation personified.   

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He turned to face her, pulling on his jacket.  “Delightful as that sounds, I do have to open the shop today.”

“Take me with you, then.  It’ll be fun.” 

“I doubt that.  There’s nothing for you to do there.”

“Well, that’s not true.”  Lacey eyed his trousers pointedly.  “You’ll be there.”  

“Touche,” Gold smiled, leaning forward to give her a quick kiss, pulling back before she could deepen it further. “But then I would definitely get no work done.”

“Spoilsport.”  Lacey smirked.  “Fine, go work.  I’ll see you later.”

~*~

Gold’s morning passed slowly and he found himself regretting not following Lacey’s suggestions.  The sound of the bell above the door gave him hope that she had ignored his words and decided to visit after all, so he pushed through the curtain with a smile that died as soon as he saw the figure on the other side.  

“Mrs Mills.”  Planting his cane between his feet he waited for her to turn towards him.  “What an unexpected displeasure.  I thought I made it clear that you’re not welcome here.” 

“Put the knives away, Gold.  I’m here because I have a business proposition for you.”  Cora indicated the file in her hand.  When he made no move to take it, she walked forward and held it out to him.  “I think you might find it interesting.”

He waited a few seconds before slowly reaching out to take the folder, flipping it open to peruse the contents.  As he recognised the papers he frowned, glancing up at her.  “This is exactly the same proposition I turned down last time.”

“I know, but I thought you might have a change of heart.”

“And why on earth would you think that?”

“Because last time you didn’t have a weakness.”  She must have seen the confusion on his face as she continued, “I still have my sources in town and they tell me that you’ve got yourself a little girlfriend.”

Gold felt his jaw clench.  “What does she have to do with this?”

“She’s quite the beauty from what I hear.  Young, too.  Makes me wonder what she’s doing with… well, someone like you.”  Cora’s eyes trailed over his body in a way that clearly indicated she found him lacking, before she leaned forward as if sharing in a secret.  “It’s the money, isn’t it?”  

Gold took an involuntary step back. “That’s none of your business.”

“Perhaps.  But I’m sure you remember my business partner, Killian Jones.  He’s been feeling lonely lately and would love to meet a beautiful young woman like that.”

In less than a second Gold’s cane was in his hand, ready to strike.  “If you so much as think about hurting her…”

“Oh, don’t be so crass,”  Cora laughed, pushing his cane back towards him.  “I’m suggesting no such thing.  But Killian is young, handsome, and, thanks to our recent business ventures, rather rich as well.  Given the choice, who do you think your young lady would prefer?”

Gold scowled.  “What exactly is it that you’re suggesting?”

“Sign the proposal and I’ll tell Killian that your girl is off-limits.  Or don’t and see how long it takes this one to leave you for a better option.”  

“Get.  Out.”  Gold snarled.   

“Your loss.  Do let me know if you change your mind.”

~*~

Gold was in a foul mood when he returned home, Cora’s words still whirling in his head.  He tried not to lend them credence, but she’d always been a master at nailing his insecurities.

Opening his front door the first thing he noticed was an enticing smell emanating from the kitchen, where he found Lacey pulling a tray of cupcakes from the oven.  She was an incongruous mix of sexy and ridiculous, clad only in one of his shirts and the novelty lobster apron she’d insisted on buying during their trip to Portland.  

“Hey!  Welcome home!”  Lacey beamed when she saw him, skipping over to greet him with a kiss before pulling back in worry.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”  He stepped back.  “Are you baking?”

“Yeah, I thought I’d try rum cupcakes this time.  Rum for my Rum”  She leaned into him playfully and he smiled weakly at the nickname.  “Oh, come on.  Seriously, what’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”  He tried to move away but she was quicker, grabbing his arm. 

“No, you’re not.  Come here.”  She directed him to take a seat on the large couch before settling beside him and pulling his head down to her shoulder.  “I can always tell when you’re tense.  Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“All right.”  She reached up and began running her fingers through his hair.  He closed his eyes despite himself.  She really was very good at that.  “But I’m here if you want to tell me.  Or I could give you the best blowjob of your life.  I hear that’s a very good stress-reliever.”

“Hmm.”  Gold hummed, feeling himself relaxing at her words.  Somehow she always managed to make him feel better.  He was still getting used to having someone who genuinely cared about him.      

Gold sat up suddenly, turning to Lacey who looked at him expectantly, her hand still in the air where his head had been.

“Actually, there is something…”

~*~

Since becoming a couple Gold had far less incentive to visit The Rabbit Hole on non-rent days.  Lacey still enjoyed going out for drinks with her friends, but he rarely joined her.  

This evening was different though.  Lacey had said he shouldn’t come, but he couldn’t help himself.  He knew Killian Jones would be about and had to see for himself what was going to happen.  

He found a spot in the corner where he could just about make out the table where Lacey’s group sat.

It wasn’t long before Jones joined them, zeroing in on Lacey.  Gold could tell from their body language that they were flirting and he gripped his table to prevent himself from stalking over and staking his claim.  

Jones was showing her something on his phone.  Lacey’s face flickered in surprise before she smiled and reached out, taking the device from his hand.  He seemed only too happy to allow her free rein to swipe through as much as she wanted, preening like a peacock every time she looked up and made a comment.

After a while she handed the device back to him with a beaming grin and Gold realised he’d had enough.  Slipping out the back, he returned to his house.  He’d see what Lacey had to say when she got home.

~*~

Cora’s visit the next morning came as no surprise.  Gold expected her to be keen to press her advantage.

“Mr Gold.”  Her smile was predatory and Gold forced himself to keep an even expression.  “My associate tells me he had a very enjoyable evening last night.  Apparently he and your girl hit it off extremely well.  So I was wondering, have you given any more thought to my proposal?”

“As a matter of fact, I have.”  Gold held out the folder, which Cora took with satisfaction.

“I knew you’d see it my way.”  She opened the cover and Gold enjoyed the way her expression shifted from victory to confusion.  “What’s this?  Where did you get it?”

“That, dearie, is what is commonly known as blackmail material.  And as for where I got it.  Lacey?”

Lacey emerged from the curtain.  She sidled up to him, wrapping her arm around his waist, before addressing Cora.  

“Turns out your business partner isn’t too bright. He showed me a dick pic about two seconds after meeting me and was only too happy to let me have his phone when I said I wanted to see the rest.  Genius doesn’t even protect his work email with biometrics.”

Gold smiled at the look on Cora’s face.  “It’s all right.  I have no idea what that means either.  But the pertinent thing is we now have copies of his recent messages and they do not paint either of you in a good, or indeed legal, light.”

Cora was apparently struck speechless, so Gold continued, relishing his victory.  “If it makes you feel better, your manipulations almost worked until I remembered one important detail.  You called Lacey my weakness, but she’s not.  She makes me stronger.  Once I remembered that, I told her everything you said to me.  She wasn’t too happy about it.”

“Only with him for his money?  That’s ridiculous!”  Lacey sounded just as outraged as she had when she first heard it.  “Clearly you’ve never seen his penis.”

“Lacey,”  Gold admonished softly. 

“What?  It’s a very nice penis.”  Her smile turned wicked as she pulled him closer.  “In fact, I’d like to get reacquainted with it right now.  Goodbye Mrs Mills, don’t let the door hit your arse on the way out!”

-

[ace-cf-cups]

You love Rumbelle? Golden Lace? Woven Beauty? Woven Lace?

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You find writing 1000-1500 words oneshots the most comfortable / fun / etc?

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[abovethemists]

Never Let Me Go - Chapter 4

Summary: Bonded together by tragedy, Lacey and Gold shared an intense relationship that ended when she split town. Lacey has spent the past five years trying to move on, while Gold has been stuck in a town that never seems to change. When Lacey is forced to return to Storybrooke, she is faced with the demons of her past and the fear that she made the wrong choice all those years ago.

A/N: This fic is so old it's from when I still made headers for my stories. It's been years, and I doubt anyone wanted more of this, but here you go.

TW: Minor character death, hospitals, medical stuff in this chapter 

(Chapter 1) (Chapter 2) (Chapter 3)

Read it on AO3

Monday Evening

Vascular Dementia. 

That was Moe French’s official diagnosis, brought on by a series of mini strokes he hadn’t even realized he’d had. 

They’d spent the whole day at the hospital, her poor dad getting poked and prodded. He was lucid enough, but the doctors said his short term memory would continue to degrade. Lacey slumped on to the sagging sofa once her father had gone to bed for the night, feeling an exhaustion that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. 

She hadn’t seen Gold since he kicked her out of his house on Friday night. She didn’t expect to see him. But now her stay in Storybrooke was stretching out before her with no end in sight. She would eventually have to go back to her life, but for now she was here. Her father needed her, and probably would for the rest of his life, however long that might be. Gold couldn’t skip town forever. He’d have to come back eventually. She would give him his space, she resolved. He didn’t want to see her and she wouldn’t force her presence on him. She’d done that once already and it had led her to forsake her marriage vows for the first time. Never mind that she had loved Gold long before she married Will. Never mind that they were separated, possibly never to reconcile. He didn’t deserve to be cheated on. He was a good man. She was the villain of this story.

As if on cue, her phone buzzed beside her and she looked down at it, not really having the energy to speak to anyone. But she couldn’t avoid real life forever. 

She held the phone up before her, swiping her thumb to answer the FaceTime call. 

“Hey, Will,” she said, trying to keep her face neutral. Pretending the sight of him didn’t make her want to cry. 

“Hey!” Will’s smiling face appeared on her screen. He was standing in their kitchen, in their apartment. She could see the overly complicated fridge he’d insisted on behind him. Lacey hadn’t had much use for a fridge that could play music and make shopping lists, but it made Will happy, something she just couldn’t do. “Look, I know you said you need space but it’s been days and I’m worried about you, Lace. How’s Moe?” 

“Worse than expected,” she admitted. “I didn’t realize…”

She trailed off, feeling the guilt of the last five years weighing so heavily that for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She had left Gold, she had left this town, she had left her own dad, the only family she had left in the world. Things had gotten rough between them, but he didn’t deserve that, to be abandoned by his only child. 

She had only thought of what she needed, to put as much space between herself and Storybrooke as possible. She was such a selfish bitch. 

“Lace?” Will prompted. She blinked, shaking her head. 

“It’s, uh, vascular dementia,” she said. “Probably caused by smoking so let that be a PSA for you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked it too, all big brown eyes. “Not your fault,” she said with a shrug. “You didn’t force him to smoke a pack a day for decades. But I’m gonna have to be here a bit longer than expected, I think.”

“Yeah, sure,” Will said with a nod. “Take as much time as you need.” 

“Thanks,” she said. And she meant it. Will would give her space and time and be there for her at the end of it, if she chose to return to him. Isn’t that what he’d done five years ago? The guilt gnawed in her belly. She never should have chased Gold down on Friday night. 

“Um, it’s pretty late here,” she said, glancing at her watch. It was almost 10 in the evening. 

“Oh, shit, the time difference,” Will exclaimed. “I’m headed out to dinner with some of the lads from work anyway. Um, when can I talk to you again?” 

Lacey bit her lip, looking at the corner of her iPhone screen instead of at Will’s big eyes. 

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ll check in in a few days or if anything changes.” 

Will looked disappointed but didn’t protest. 

“Look, Lace,” he said haltingly. She could see him set his phone down on the kitchen counter, bracing his elbows on the edge and leaning forward to stare at her through the screen. “I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said before you left, about that fight. You’re right. I shouldn’t be trying to force my idea of a perfect family on you. If you’re happy just the two of us, then so am I.”

Lacey smiled ruefully. 

“No you’re not.” 

He blinked owlishly. 

“What are you saying?” 

“The same thing I’ve been saying for weeks,” she said. “That you deserve everything you want in life. You deserve the picket fence and the 2.5 kids in the suburbs.”

“But I can’t have that with you,” he returned. “So I don’t need it. I just don’t want to lose you, babe.” 

“You haven’t lost me,” she said. You can’t lose what you never really had.

“It kind of feels like I already have,” he said, staring down at his hands clasped together on the kitchen counter. “Enjoy your time back home, Lace. I’ll see you when I see you.” 

With that the screen went black, the call ended.  

Lacey let out a frustrated groan, letting her head fall back against the couch cushions. What on earth could she possibly do? She’d tried to end things with Will, but he loved her too much to realize it. And it wasn’t as though she had a future with Gold. She’d burned that bridge thoroughly 5 years ago. 

A thump came from somewhere down the hall and Lacey sat up, listening. She heard the thump again and shot up, heading down the hall to her parents’ bedroom. 

“Dad?” she called, with a knock on the door. “Is everything alright in there?” 

The thump came again, sounding like a hammer against the wall. What had he gotten in to?

Fuck! Lacey thought, throwing the door open only to be met with the sight of her dad, still in his pajamas, stooped over his old toolbox and rifling through a box of nails. 

“Oh, hello sweetheart,” he said with a smile at her as he stood up. “Your mother’s been on me to hang these photos for weeks so I figured I’d better get on it.” He started hammering a second nail into the wall beside the first.

Lacey glanced at the floor next to his feet where an assortment of framed photos were stacked. The top one was from her high school graduation, Lacey sandwiched between her parents in her cap and gown, both of them beaming with pride.

“It’s the middle of the night, Dad,” she said wearily. 

Moe’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. 

“Is it?” he asked, turning toward the darkened window. “Well, look at that. The day must have gotten away from me. I’m sorry, darling. I hope I didn’t wake you.” 

“It’s alright, Dad. Just get some sleep, okay?” 

Moe set the hammer down on the bedside table, moving to climb into bed. Lacey made sure he was all tucked in before leaving the room, closing the door behind her with a gentle click. 

She leaned against it for a moment, closing her eyes. 

Will, Gold, none of it mattered right now. This was what was important, taking care of her dad and getting him through the day. She owed him that much after what she’d done.

7 years ago

“Miss French,” Lacey jumped, her eyes fixating on the woman in front of her. “Did you hear me?” 

Lacey shook her head, completely overwhelmed by the steady stream of medical lingo that had just been thrown at her. She’d been at work at Granny’s when she’d received a call from the hospital. Her mother had flatlined. They’d been able to revive her, but they weren’t certain how much longer she had.  

“Um, I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her sweaty palms against the red skirt of her uniform. 

“She had a seizure,” the doctor repeated. “We’ve revived her twice already, but we cannot get in touch with your father. It’s putting a lot of stress on her body and I’m not sure how much more she can take. We need you to make a decision.” 

Lacey shook her head, feeling completely lost. 

“What…what kind of decision?” Lacey asked. 

“Your mother doesn’t have a DNR. She doesn’t have a medical power of attorney. You would know best what she wants.” 

What she wants. They needed Lacey to tell them whether to pull the plug. To let her mother die with some sort of dignity or keep shocking her back to the half life she’d been lingering in for months. 

“I…I need my dad,” she said. 

“I know,” the doctor said kindly. “We can try calling him again.” 

Lacey nodded as the doctor walked over to the nurses station, speaking quietly to them. 

She wandered down the hospital hallway to where her mother’s room was, peeking in through the doorway. Colette didn’t look like herself. She looked small, and frail, and old. She’d been so beautiful, so full of life. Her mother had been gone for months. This shell, this broken husk, it wasn’t Colette French. 

She knew what her father’s decision would be. He’d want to keep her with him as long as possible. When she was a child, Lacey had thought her parents had a storybook romance. The way they told it, Moe had fallen head over heels the moment he saw her in a park in Melbourne. Colette had been reading on a park bench and Moe, never much of a reader himself, had sat next to her and asked her about her book. Colette had rambled on for 30 minutes about Dostoyevsky and at the end of it, he was smitten, never mind he had no interest in Russian literature. They’d married 6 months later. 

But her father wasn’t here now, when his darling wife needed him most. He’d said he couldn’t see her like this, but he couldn’t let her go either. She was his world. 

Lacey wasn’t sure she’d ever feel that kind of love for someone. She didn’t feel it for Will, despite going out with him semi-regularly for the past two months. But if she did find love like that, she’d want to be with them at the end. To hold their hand, to tell them it was okay.

Lacey squeezed her eyes shut, sinking down into a chair outside her mother’s room. She wished someone would tell her everything was going to be okay. But the only person she could think to call at the moment had his own burdens. She couldn’t add to them. 

Twenty minutes later, her mother coded again. 

Lacey could hear the frenzy from inside the room, the doctors and nurses doing their best to keep her mother technically alive. 

She braced herself for the end, breathing steadily through her nose and trying not to succumb to the waves of grief lapping around her ankles. 

“Miss French,” the doctor was beside her again. 

“Yes?” she returned, though she knew what the doctor would ask. 

“We’ve tried to get hold of your father. He’s not answering the home phone or his cell. Do you know where else we could try?” 

Lacey shook her head. She had no idea where her father disappeared to these days. He wasn’t at Granny’s or the Rabbit Hole. There weren’t many other places in town open in the late evening. 

“Then I’m afraid we’ll need a decision from you.” 

Lacey looked up at the doctor with wide eyes, the waves of grief reaching her chest now. 

“I’m just a kid,” she gasped out. It wasn’t true. She was 21 years old. She was an adult in every respect. But right now she felt like a frightened child. She wanted her mother. She wanted her Daddy to show up and take care of everything. She wanted the grown ups to make the decisions.  

“I’m sorry, Miss French,” the doctor said. “Lacey. I’m so sorry.” 

Lacey nodded, swallowing down the bile in her throat and trying to form the words she desperately didn’t want to say. 

“She wouldn’t want all this,” she managed to croak out. “She’d want to be at peace.” 

The doctor nodded, disappearing inside the room. A moment later she was back at Lacey’s side. 

“We removed her intubation tube and other life support,” the doctor said. “She’s on pain medication to make her comfortable. If you’d like to sit with her…” the doctor trailed off, looking at Lacey sadly. 

“Yeah,” Lacey nodded. “I want to be with her.” 

She felt numb as she entered the room, sitting in the chair next to her mother’s bed. Colette had never been a vain woman, but she’d taken care of herself, presenting a pristine appearance to the world. The dye to cover her grays had grown out, her face gaunt despite the feeding tube. The fine lines around her eyes and mouth, etched there from years of joy and smiles, looked deeper in the fluorescent lighting. Lacey wished she could brush her hair for her, apply her favorite lipstick, do something to make her look like herself. 

“Mum,” she said, her voice wavering. “Mum, it’s Lacey.”

She took her mother’s bony hand in her own, her skin feeling dry and cold. “It’s okay, Mum,” Lacey said, the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I don’t know if you can hear me. But if you can, you can rest. I know you’ve fought so hard to stay with us, but…I can’t let them torture you just to keep you here a few more hours or days.” 

Lacey closed her eyes, sobs wracking her body. 

“I’m here Mum, you’re not alone. I’m here.” 

She stroked her thumb against the back of her mother’s hand. The beeping from the machine next to her bed was a slow drone, her mother’s chest rising and falling so shallowly it was almost imperceptible. Lacey sat there, holding her mother’s hand for what felt like ages as the beeping slowed ever more. She talked to her about everything and nothing. Telling her about her dates with Will and her conversations with Mr. Gold. She told her about an article she read in the New Yorker and a movie trailer she’d seen online. She told her that she was the best mother she ever could have asked for. She told her how much she loved her. It could have been minutes or hours later when the sound of the flatline droned out. Lacey squeezed her mother’s hand, feeling like she’d cried too much to ever cry again. Even still the tears came again. She leaned forward, kissing her mother’s forehead as the doctor called time of death. 10:38 PM on January 4th. 

After the doctor had shut off the machines, after they’d removed the wires and tubes, Lacey sat with her, her chest hurting from the sobs and her face feeling tight and sticky with dried tears. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do now. 

“Where is she?” she heard a voice from the hall. A familiar voice. “Where’s my wife!”

A moment later Moe French barrelled into the room, taking in the sight of his wrung out daughter, his wife’s body on the bed. 

“What did you do?” he demanded of Lacey. “What the fuck did you do?”

“You didn’t answer the phone,” Lacey’s voice rasped out. 

“You did this,” he accused. “You let them kill her!” 

“She was already gone, Dad,” Lacey said, tears stinging her eyes once more. “She was gone.” 

“Get out!” he shouted at her. “Get away from her!” 

Her father stumbled forward, collapsing in tears across the bed. 

“Colette,” he moaned out. “Don’t leave me, darling. Please!” 

Lacey just sat there frozen. She’d never seen her father cry. He’d never raised his voice to her either. 

“Didn’t you hear me!” he cried out viciously, turning to look at Lacey with such blistering hatred in his eyes that it took her breath away. “GET OUT!” 

Lacey jumped up from the chair, stumbling backward out of the room. 

The Following Friday

There was much to be said for Gold’s little cabin in the woods. It was beautifully situated, right on the edge of a tranquil lake. Neal had swam in the lake in the summers as a boy, and ice skated there in the winters. The inside of the cabin was small and rustic, but cozy, easily warmed by the large stone fireplace in the living room. The one small bedroom had a window out to the lake that framed the sunrise beautifully. The front porch boasted two rocking chairs, the perfect spot for a cup of coffee of a morning or a glass of wine in the evening. 

Unfortunately, if one was not inclined toward swimming or ice skating, or meditating over coffee, or birdwatching, or hiking, it could be downright boring. 

The internet and cell service were spotty, and despite catching up on his reading, by Friday morning, Gold was growing restless. 

In addition, he was running low on provisions. The loaf of bread in the larder had gone stale, he was almost out of coffee beans, and most damningly, he was completely out of whisky. 

It was time to head back to Storybrooke.  

Besides, she couldn’t possibly still be in town. Last Friday night would be one ill advised indiscretion that he’d never have to think about again. Never mind that he’d thought of it constantly alone at his cabin. He’d had little enough else to occupy his mind. He’d replayed every moment of their last encounter over and over again. The way she’d smelled, the sounds she made, the feel of her soft skin against his own. It was enough to drive a man mad. The last five years of celibacy hadn’t helped in banishing thoughts of her from his mind. Lacey French had opened a dam of feelings and emotions that he’d repressed for half a decade. Suddenly he was wanting things, things he had no right to want again. And he was still so utterly furious with her. 

She’d broken his heart. He couldn’t let her do it again. 

But Lacey was certainly gone. He’d given her a whole week to look after her father. Hopefully she was on a plane even now back to the other side of the country. He could go back to the carefully crafted stoicism that kept him from feeling anything too keenly. Not his loss, not his lust, certainly not his love. 

The drive back into town took no more than half an hour, and Gold decided to stop at the grocery on his way home, certain his coffee and whisky stores at home were just as depleted as the cabin’s. 

He was slowly perusing the aisles, in no real hurry to be home, shopping basket in one hand and cane in the other, when he caught a whiff of something achingly familiar. He set his basket down, turning away from the shelf of cooking oils and looking around. 

It was the warm scent of cinnamon, spices and jasmine, earthy and beautiful. A scent tied to powerful memories, and one he had reveled in again just one week ago. Lacey . 

Just as quickly the scent was gone, and Gold could have believed he’d imagined it. She’d been on his mind enough these days. But something in his gut told him she was here. And the part of him given to self destruction had to see her. 

He rounded the next aisle, spotting her a few yards away. 

She froze at the end of the aisle, her hand halfway outstretched for a box of cereal. She dropped it quickly, turning and heading off in the other direction. 

Something perverse within Gold made him follow her. 

“You're still here,” he called at her retreating back.

Lacey stopped, turning to face him, but her blue eyes refused to meet his. 

“Yes,” she said, her shoulders sagging. “I’ll stay out of your way.” 

“See that you do,” he returned coldly. “How long do you plan to be in town?” 

Lacey shrugged. “Indefinitely,” she said. 

Gold nodded stiffly. He couldn’t very well hide in his cabin for the foreseeable future. For one, he had a much more comfortable home here in town. Secondly, he had businesses to run, tenants and clients and customers. No, he couldn’t hide like a dog with his tail between his legs. He would have to live with the fact that Lacey could be lurking on any street corner. Perhaps seeing her regularly would numb the pain, would make him immune to her. He could only hope. 

“I’m going to help my dad with his shop,” she continued. “Make sure money is coming in. And take him to his doctor’s appointments, make sure he’s taking his medication and eating well, all that stuff.” 

Gold just nodded again. 

“Like I said, I’ll stay out of your way.”

“It’s a small town,” he observed. “We’re bound to run into each other.” 

Lacey licked her lips, and didn’t he just hate that he couldn’t help but look at her mouth, imagine the feel of it on his own. He wanted to kiss her, right here in the middle of the grocery store where any town busy body could see. And he also wanted her to leave and never come back. He wanted her to be as broken hearted as he still was, no matter how much time had passed. 

“Daniel,” she said softly, stepping closer to him. “I don’t want to hurt you. I promise you’ll never see me. If you do, we can ignore each other completely, okay? These are the last words you ever have to hear from me.” 

“I’m not hurt,” he lied. 

She took half a step back, a look of hurt crossing her own face. His hand twitched at his side, wanting to reach for her. He’d always wanted to give her comfort. It’s how they’d wound up here in the first place. 

Lacey nodded. “Okay,” she said. “I’ve got to finish the shopping. Goodbye, Mr. Gold.” 

She grabbed a box of cereal off the shelf blindly and tossed it into her shopping cart before wheeling it off, not giving him a second glance. 

7 Years Ago

She’d never been to his house before, though of course she knew where he lived. Storybrooke was a small enough town and there were few homes as grand as Mr. Gold’s. She stumbled there blindly, her boots slipping in the snow. She was shivering, her teeth chattering from the cold and from grief and from fear. Her father would never forgive her. And she wasn’t sure she could forgive him, for abandoning her, for forcing her to make decisions that never should have been hers. 

Before she knew it she was standing in front of the three story pink Victorian she knew to be the Gold home. She trudged up the icy steps, knocking twice on the front door. 

It was late, nearly midnight, and if Lacey had been remotely in her right mind she’d never have bothered him. He had lost more than her, a child rather than a parent. He’d been alone for the past five months while she’d still had her mother lingering between life and death. She had no right to seek him out for comfort. 

And yet here she was. 

A light flickered on behind the stained glass window, a shadow moving in the hall, before the door was thrown open. 

He must have been asleep was Lacey’s first reaction. He was wearing a dressing gown over a pair of navy blue pajamas. It was an incongruous sight. She’d never seen him in anything but a buttoned up three piece suit. She’d be willing to bet no one outside of his immediate family had ever seen him as undressed as she was now. A funny thing to think about at a time like this. 

“Lacey,” he said with a look of surprise. “It’s freezing out. What are you doing here?”

“You were sleeping,” she blurted out. 

Gold’s eyebrows rose imperceptibly. 

“No,” he assured her. “Attempting to, but not meeting with much success. You didn’t wake me.” 

“Oh,” Lacey said, her teeth chattering. “That’s good.”  

“You’re shivering,” he pointed out, ushering her inside. “Come in out of the cold.” 

Lacey stepped into his foyer, the door shutting behind her and shutting out the world just as decisively. 

It was warm, and not just because of the heated air. Everything about the house was warm and inviting, decorated in shades of burgundy and gold. Even the lighting felt warm, like she was being embraced by the house itself. 

Some people probably would have thought Gold’s home would be sterile and cold, but Lacey knew better. He was the only person in the whole damn town who cared about her, a silly 21 year old college drop out with no future. 

Gold led her down a short hallway and into a sitting room, two large leather sofas facing each other across an antique coffee table. 

“Sit,” he told her, gesturing to one of the sofas. “And tell me what’s wrong.”

Lacey took the offered seat, wrapping her arms around herself. She was still in her Granny’s uniform, her little white puffer jacket the only thing shielding her from the cold night. 

“She’s gone,” she croaked out. “My mother.” 

“Oh, Lacey,” Gold said, taking a seat next to her. The sofa dipped under his weight and Lacey slid slightly into him. He placed an arm around her, rubbing her shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said, staring blankly at the coffee table. “I just didn’t have anywhere else to go.” 

“Well, you’re more than welcome,” he said. “But what do you mean nowhere to go? Where is your father?” 

Lacey shook her head. “He hates me,” she whispered. She could see the look on his face, the hatred in his eyes, every time she closed her own. Whatever relationship she’d had left with her dad since the accident seemed well and truly destroyed. 

“What?” 

“It was my fault,” Lacey said, her voice rising in pitch. “I told them to take her off the life support. I’m the reason she’s dead!” 

“No,” Gold said fiercely. “None of this is your fault. It was that bloody fucking drunk who took everything from us. It could never be your fault.” 

“I didn’t know what to do,” Lacey continued. “She just looked so frail and so tired. I couldn’t let them keep bringing her back. She wanted to go, I know she did.” 

“You should never have had to make that choice,” Gold said, rubbing her back. 

“He’ll never speak to me again,” she said. 

“Of course he will,” Gold said. “He’s your father and he loves you. Grief makes people say and do terrible things. But never doubt a father’s love.” 

Lacey shook her head. 

“He hates me,” she said again. 

Gold didn’t say anything more, just held her until the shaking subsided, her nerves finally calming after the adrenaline left her system. Her head leaned against his chest, nestling under his chin and he readjusted them on the sofa until she was stretched out beside him, his heartbeat thumping reassuringly under her ear.

He’d never touched her like this before, she thought, arms wrapped around her, his big hand rubbing her back in slow, steady strokes. It was intimate, almost like lovers.

Their relationship over the past several months had been friendly, comrades in arms, but there’d been carefully drawn lines between them. He was twice her age, for one. It was something they’d never acknowledged but always seemed unspoken. They were united in their shared grief, but nothing inappropriate ever occurred. 

Mr. Gold was a perfect gentleman. 

Lacey knew she was attractive. She’d never lacked male attention. But to Mr. Gold she was as sexless as an old running shoe. He’d never shown the slightest interest in her that way. That was one of the reasons she liked him so much. 

She moved her head slightly, looking up at his face in the lamplight. His eyes were closed and she wondered if he’d drifted off. It was late after all. 

Her eyes traced the line of his nose, his sharp cheekbones, down to his lips. For the first time she wondered what they would taste like, how it would feel to kiss him. The quiet intimacy of snuggling with someone on their sofa suddenly had her thinking all sorts of inappropriate things. 

Her heart still hurt so badly, broken by the loss of her mother and her father’s anger. She thought she’d probably never feel happiness again and yet, here she was objectifying Mr. Gold in his sleep. 

She wondered what he would do if she pushed him back on the sofa, and straddled his lap. Would he stop her? What if he didn’t? 

He really was so handsome. She wasn’t sure when the thought had turned from a detached assessment to a visceral need. He was beautiful and she wanted him. She wanted him now. 

She turned her head, pressing her nose into his neck. He smelled so good, warm and clean, like laundry fresh out the dryer. But there was something spicy there too, some hint of aftershave. She could feel his pulse beneath her lips, the steady thrum. The ones they loved were gone, cold and lifeless. But he was so warm and alive. 

She didn’t want to feel dead anymore. She’d been sleepwalking through the past few months, in a constant state of mourning her mother. She was exhausted by it. She felt far older than her twenty-one years, haggard and drained. She wanted to feel alive. Even if it was only for one ill-advised night. 

She moved her lips against his neck, a soft fluttering kiss just beneath his jaw. She felt him tense beneath her, holding himself deathly still. So not asleep after all. 

Lacey leaned up on her elbow, looking down at Gold, his eyes still shut. She could swear he was holding his breath. 

She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. Gold’s dark eyes flew open, wide with shock as Lacey pulled back slightly.

“What are you doing?” he whispered. 

“Kissing you,” she said softly. She kissed him again, and this time he kissed her back, his lips warm and soft. It was a short, chaste thing before his hands came up to cup her shoulders, pushing her back gently as he sat them both up.  

“Lacey, you’ve had a trying evening,” he pointed out. “You’ve suffered a devastating loss.” 

He was pushing her away. She should let him, she should get up and walk away before she fundamentally altered their little friendship. But she had nowhere else to go. She didn’t want anywhere else to go. 

“I want this,” she said. “I want you.”

An unfathomable look passed across his brown eyes. Confusion crossed with something like longing. Then he shook his head.

“You’re only saying that because you want to feel something other than the pain.” 

Lacey scooted forward, closing the distance between them he’d created. 

“Is that so bad?” she asked, running her hands through his long hair. “Don’t you want the same? To forget for a minute and feel something good?” 

He caught her hands in his own, holding her wrists lightly in his hands. They were rougher than she would have thought, calloused. She wanted to feel them everywhere. She wanted to see beyond the little triangle of skin exposed by the open neck of his pajamas. She wanted him.

“I’m not asking you to marry me, Mr. Gold,” she said, her voice almost pleading now. “But I think we could help each other.”

“How?” he asked, his voice ragged. His eyes were so large, so vulnerable. “What would it help?” 

He still had hold of her wrists, but she chanced reaching for his hair again and he let her. She combed her fingers through it, running her short nails against his scalp. His eyes slipped closed and he let out a little sigh as he let her pet him. She wondered the last time he’d been touched like this. He’d been divorced as long as she could remember. Did he date? Did he have a girlfriend? Did it matter?

“How do you do it?” she asked, her hands slipping through his hair and down to the nape of his neck, rubbing at his tired muscles above the collar of his pajamas. “How do you wake up every morning knowing you’ll never see him again, never hear his voice? How do you get through the day?”

Gold licked his lips, his eyes still closed.

“It’s a bit like being on auto pilot,” he said after a moment. “I wake up, I dress, I go to work. I exist. It’s not living though, Lacey. It’s survival, nothing more.” 

“Exactly,” she said. “I feel the same way. These past 5 months have been hell. We deserve to feel good.” 

His eyes opened again, fixed on her own. She could see the same weariness, the same pain, the same hurt, reflected back at her.

“We could make each other feel good.” 

The air was electric, taut with tension. Lacey was afraid to breathe, to do anything that might break the spell. 

A split second later, Gold had her pinned to the sofa, his mouth relentless against her own. His lips pulled at hers, his tongue dipping into her mouth to taste her. Her hands found his hair again and she pulled at it as he grunted, his hips thrusting against hers. 

Lacey gasped as he broke away, kissing down her neck, pulling at the buttons of her white button down shirt. It was like she’d opened a dam and she was being carried away by the flood waters. All thought of anything but the man overtop her flew from her head. His hands were on her breasts, between her legs, and she was gasping and writhing with pleasure. 

“I’ll make it good,” he whispered against her ear as she clenched around his fingers. “I’ll make it so good, sweetheart.” 

And he did. It was one promise he always kept.

[personinthepalace]

What’s a fic trope, plot bunny, or character variation that you want someone to write for Rumbelle, but no one ever has?

okay I've been sitting on this for a while bc as soon as I saw this question, I completely forgot what rumbelle fics I wanted to read haha but now I think I have my answers:

Adventurer Belle continues to travel with Mulan and Philip as they try to find Aurora. Belle and Rumple keep on almost crossing paths until they finally bump into each other in some way? Idk I just want more of Belle having adventures with Mulan and Philip, and Rumple eventually seeing her in that outfit haha

Gold and amnesiac!Belle from the beginning of the Lacey episode get to know each other and fall in love all over again. There is that line about them helping each other and that soft look between them that I would really love to see explored

On the flip side, Lacey and Gold terrorize the town after the Lacey episode. I know that there are lots of Golden Lace fics but I don't think there are any of Golden Lace getting up to shenanigans around town. I am specifically thinking about that scene of them threatening Whale. Just more of them getting drunk, having lots of sex in the pawnshop, and terrorizing the town. Added bonus if there is exploration of Lacey's line of "Could you keep me young?...Cause then we can be together forever." Like what if Gold actually did that?? And what would be the consequences??? Though I guess that could be its own fic haha

Detectives AU - I just really want to read a fic about Belle and Ariel having their own detective agency and then Rumple is either a client or a rival detective that they have to work together with on a case Thanks for the ask! It was really fun to revisit fic ideas that I've had in my mind for a while (but momentarily forgot about haha). If there are any fics like these or if anyone writes one, please let me know! I would love to read them :)

[malkaleh]

Soraya, the second ruling Princess of Dol Amroth, looks at her brother and tries to resist the urge to stick out her tongue at him, as she had done as a child. It would be unbecoming, she knows but oh, the temptation is there.

Even if he is right and she does need a moment to herself, to the sea.

“Prince Theo is correct - I think I need a few moments of respite” and oh, she truly must have been in need for her council only nod their agreement and thus, she and her brother make their way down to the beach.

The beach that had been the first place she remembered.

The ocean has always meant peace to her - safety and joy both for all she knew it’s darker moods well enough even if they did not harm her.

She knows what Theo is here to talk to her about. Her choice, she supposes. The looming decision that isn’t and is something she already feels in her heart - she knows, but it hurts still.

“I already know little jewel.” Theo says, squeezing her hand gently like he had when she was small. “But I thought you might need to talk to someone who made the same choice.”

And there is Master Elrond and Soraya wants to cling to him as she had when she was a toddler.

Arondir and Bronwyn founding Dol Amroth belongs to @nocompromise-noregrets

[nikkionmeds]

I have this Golden Lace idea that I will probably never write, so here is it.

Lacy works as Golds maid/secretary/whatever and they kinda get along? Lacey swears they flirt but maybe its just because he is kinda nice to her. she literally knows nothing about him other than that he owns the shop and is her landlord.

but she crushes on him hard.

one day a woman shows up in the shop she has never seen before and wants to talk to him in private and gold is PISSED she showed up. Lacey eavesdroppes and the woman calls him pops? and says her son henry wanted to celebrate with his granddad?

but she is like, only ten years younger than gold so wtf?

(in that AU Regina is a kickass laywer in Maine. Cora had her as a teen and when Rum started his on off relationship with Cora in his early twenties he was a much better parent to Regina than Cora ever was.)

so Lacey starts snooping around and finds nothing, until a young man called neal shows up, looking for his dad? (During an „off“ phase with Cora Rum slept with Milah. She got pregnant and they married because thats what you did back then. they got divorced after two years and he got only saw neal on the weekends. thats when he moved to storybrook, but he went to see his son every weekend and was an amazing dad)

And thats how Lacey gets caught in Neals and Reginas plan to force Gold to celebrate his 50th birthday, even though he doesnt want to.

(also, they find all of his old college and work friends he lost contact with over the years and invite them)

Feel free to use this, but tell me so i can fangirl over it

[ryik-the-writer]

oooooo do tell about your WIP Audacious 4!! I love a good rumbelle fic <3

It's a rumbelle fic I started in 2021 when I was caring for my aunt, and wrote three chapters to (the third of which is...cough...a romantic scene...) and stopped when she passed in 2022, but I'm working on chapter 4 and hope to have it out in a week...maybe...

but it's a Golden Lace AU where Lacey works at the Storybrooke Mirror as a sex/romance advice columnist, and Gold sends her an email and gets things stirring ;)

ANY WHO here's the A03 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27673580/chapters/67721297

[rafesfawn]

🪽🧺 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋

𝜗ৎ⋆｡˚ when rafe sees a precious little doll on the side of the road with a broke-down car, how can he resist out of the kindness of his heart offering her a ride? just a ride home, that's all...

or how trailerpark!angel!reader and rafe met!

warnings: use of the nickname pet & little one, reader! is eighteen-nineteen! bit of perv!rafe, barely proofread!

a/n: first time writing a rafe fic/blurb! im so excited, also this is based on this ask and thank you so much for sending something I really appreciated it and I hope u like it mwah! I would say you two meet in like early season 2 (right before the cross storyline) also for the format slight ib to others on here esp @rafesangelita (sorry for the tag!)

this was based off of this ask! which tysm i literally love requests and rafe and trailerpark!angel!reader is my new obsession <3

a small, meaningless kick was made to the tire while you huffed and groaned, putting two hands over your frustrated features as all you wanted to curl up into a ball and cry.

“piece of shit,” you mumbled under your breath, kicking the tire once more, but immediately a whimper fell from your lips. the pain shot from your toe up to your spine. making you sniffle and tip-toe in pain. in your denim ruffle skirt, white socks, and pink converse, you sat down on the asphalt, on the side of the road, leaning against the side of your broken-down car.

she wasn’t the best car, but she surely got you around most of the time. most of the time. it was a little volkswagen beetle, light pink in color, covered in so many stickers some wondered if it was passing inspection. it wasn't.

sitting with your head against the car for what felt like hours (it was maybe ten minutes), but spending even that on the side of a main road in kildare island was torture. especially with the beating sun late august provided.

rafe was speeding down the road on the way to play golf and get drunk with topper and kelce. “ah shit, i don’t know, man.” he said into his phone, holding it up with one hand; his voice gruff and confident, topper on the other line. “you really think i won’t kick your ass today huh?” a smirk grew on his already smug expression.

letting out a short chuckle at toppers response, nothing anybody ever said meant more than a laugh to him. or that's what it used to be like anyway, his act wasn't together if anything, it was worse than it'd ever been. his father condemning him to disingenuous "discipline" to forget about the possible death of his golden daughter.

"the fuck?" he mutters into the mic, his voice laced with confusion. as he sees up ahead on the road, a pink car broken down, with the most precious thing sitting against it. a pout on the angels soft lips and the most defeated look in her eye. aw, you just fell right into my lap, didn't you? little angel.

your eyes glued on the pavement, your entertainment of watching a little ladybug try to make it to safety in the distance, was shortly interrupted.

a nice black truck coming into view it came to such a short stop it almost took your breath away, the breaks slightly screeching at the haste. a tire replaced the spot the ladybug once was.

you stood brushing the dirt and gravel off the backsides of your pale thighs, left bare by the short fabric of your skirt.

the man stepped out of the truck. he was tall, and the sleeves of his polo looked like they were about to burst at the seams, not able to contain the biceps beneath. his features strong and statue-like, his deep sea eyes hidden behind the curtain bangs that hung over his forehead. a grin that seemed too genuine, too good to be true.

you removed your heart-shaped sunglasses, placing them on top of your head to see him more clearly. your possible savior, but he was anything but.

he stepped a bit closer, seeing the state of her already pretty beaten car, "having some car trouble?" rafe asked as if he wasn't stating the obvious.

you pretended he wasn't either as you nodded, the frown only slight now but still on your lips as your eyes remained looking up into his.

"aw.. poor thing we can't have that, what happened?" his voice, a mockery of sympathy. as he inspected the piece of shit car she loved so much. his care coming from a place of ownership, of burning ache or want.

still, in slight shock, you hadn't answered him, following behind him as he reopened the hood like he owned the car. not even realizing you'd been rude and not replied till he spoke again. "little one, i can't fix it if you don't tell me what's wrong." a heady mix of gentle and firm that made your mouth go dry and your head dizzy.

"oh- it's been on her last limb for like ever, i guess she finally called it quits... right on my way home." you said with a little sad laugh that rafe wanted to bottle the sound of and listen to on repeat. "and I really need to get home," you added fiddling with your fingers in front of you.

a sweet girl all out of options, rafe was so glad he was here to provide her with his help. "tell you what, I'll take you home and come back and fix this thing up for you, huh?" he offered, there goes his saturday plans he presumed. it'd be worth it. he told himself he'd make it worth it, with those shy eyes and the expression you carried like a lost puppy. you'd owe him he'd make sure to get something in return.

just like he figured, you shook your head. never wanting to accept such a grand favor. "I can't ask you to do that, I mean, I don't even know your name." nerves, curiosity, and a glint of something else tinged in your voice, so many wonders in that head as soon as his truck came to a stop for you. why? the only question running through your mind.

"It's rafe, can I help you out now?" his genuine grin turned almost smug at his own remark, brushing that bangs out his face, the effort pointless as they immediately fell back again.

you paused. picking at the already chipped white nail polish on your sore fingertips, a larger-rougher hand covered your own, stopping your movements with that firm gentleness he carried around her. you looked up at him, he was so much closer. the scent of some cologne that probably could pay your rent, and a tinge of smokey wood filled your senses.

"pet?" he questioned with an expecting tilt of his head, calling you that like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your body and mouth responding before giving another second for your brain or anxiety to think it over, you nodded. "can you please give me a ride home?" you hesitantly asked, it felt weird. getting help, and even asking for it felt foreign, he offered it so graciously like it was nothing.

looking down upon her, his grin turned genuine once again, his eyes seemed almost proud it was a soothing balm to her nervous heart. a rosy hue to her cheeks as his palm covered the side of her neck, making a few pats to the flesh before leading her to his truck.

you'd owe him. something he was sure you were ready for.

[pininghermit]

Wifed up on a tuesday

Request: If you are still doing the tropevenia event, can you please write a fic with secret marriage prompt for Adrian Tepes x female reader. ( =＾ω＾)

AN: get this dhampir a wife! Such a fun request

Genre: fluff + Secret Marriage

Pairing(s): Alucard x Wife Reader

Summary: "No one hurts my wife," he said, his voice steady and cold, without sparing a glance back.

"You have a wife?!" Sypha screamed, her voice echoing off the walls as Trevor stared blankly into the void, looking more lost than usual.

You winced at the shriek, gently setting her cup of coffee in front of her. "Nice to meet you," you offered with an awkward smile, unsure if she even heard you through her shock.

Next to you, Adrian cleared his throat, his golden eyes flickering away as a faint blush crept up his pale cheeks. "We have been betrothed for twenty years," he said evenly, though his voice wavered slightly. "It was... a matter of time."

That, of course, did not make things better.

Before you could fully process what happened next, a heavy pile of books toppled onto you, and the sharp sting of a whip lashed across your back.

"Not a curse then," Trevor murmured, standing over you with an expression that teetered between relief and annoyance. From the corner of your eye, you caught Adrian gawking, his face frozen in disbelief.

A bubbling shame welled up in your chest, hot and suffocating. You pushed yourself to your feet, glaring at Trevor. "Indeed, quite human," you snarled, and without hesitation, you swung your fist, landing a solid punch to the oaf’s jaw.

"I am human," you continued, your voice sharp with fury. "At least in part. Adrian and I were betrothed by our parents. And we are now wed."

You could see the dread settling on Sypha's face, her expression torn between shock and dawning understanding. Then you turned your blazing eyes back to Trevor. "You're not welcome in my home. Sleep in the barn tonight."

Adrian's friend or not, no one struck you and got away with it. And if they dared, you made damn sure they understood the cost of their actions.

The silence that followed was tense, broken only by the sound of Trevor groaning from where he had staggered back.

Snapping out of his stupor, Adrian ignored Trevor completely and rushed to your side. His golden eyes scanned you, his hands hovering just shy of your back, as though afraid to touch and cause more harm. "Are you hurt, my love?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with worry.

You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could, Adrian’s power rippled through the room like a sudden gust of wind. With a sharp crack, a mighty blast of air sent Trevor flying backward, slamming the doors shut with an echoing thud.

"No one hurts my wife," he said, his voice steady and cold, without sparing a glance back. The message was loud and clear to Sypha, who stood frozen, staring at her husband lying in the rubble outside. "And anyone who wishes her harm shall bear my wrath."

In the quiet stillness of your room, Adrian carefully peels the fabric of your dress away from your back, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid to hurt you further. His golden eyes scan your unmarred skin, but the frown on his face only deepens.

"I should have stopped him," he mutters, his voice low and filled with guilt. "I was too late... I'm sorry. I just... I didn’t expect it." He rambles, his words tangling together in frustration as his gaze flickers between your back and his own trembling hands.

"Does it hurt?" he asks, his voice achingly quiet, like the faintest whisper of wind.

He had failed again. To protect you. To care for you. Gods, he was lacking, and now he had allowed a Belmont, his own friend, to harm you.

His father, who burned the world for his mother, would never have allowed such a thing. Dracula had been many things, but in love, he was absolute. But Adrian knows he will never be his father, in both good and bad.

He will never be the husband you deserve.

But he is in love. Unforgiving love that clutches at his heart, that reminds him with every breath of all the ways he falls short.

His expression crumples, like paper crushed in a fist. Adrian, for all his power, for all his strength, is so terribly fragile when it comes to you.

“It doesn’t hurt,” you reassured him, turning to face him fully. Your hands rose to cup his face, tilting it gently so his eyes met yours. “You know it can’t hurt me. Trevor didn’t strike to harm, only to dislodge potential glamor.”

You could see the mild complaint brewing on his lips. Adrian worried too much. Fretting, after all, was his favorite pastime. His brow furrowed deeply, no doubt already replaying every moment in his mind and finding a thousand ways to blame himself.

“You did nothing wrong,” you said firmly, your thumbs stroking the sharp planes of his cheeks. “You did the right thing. Tomorrow morning, your friend will apologize, and we will forgive him because he is your friend. And then, you will no longer hold this against him.”

Adrian opened his mouth to protest, but you cut him off with a stern look.

“Nope. Listen to me. Wife is right.”

His lips quirked upward, despite himself, and the tension in his shoulders eased slightly. His hands moved to rest on yours, cradling them against his face like a lifeline.

“You’re always right,” he murmured softly, leaning into your touch.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased, smiling at him.

Adrian laughed, low and quiet, before pressing a kiss to your palm. “Never,” he promised.

Somehow, Adrian had found a wife. In the bleakest of times, when the world had turned its back on him, you had come to him. And now, you were here, standing in his castle, a presence that soothed even his most troubled thoughts.

When the next morning came, you were greeted by an unexpected sight.

A sizable tuft of brown hair lay at your feet, carefully placed by Sypha, who stood before you with her hands clasped. Outside, just beyond the castle doors, her husband knelt silently, his head bowed low in shame.

The tuft of hair. A Belmont tradition of repentance. An act of humiliation and an offering of guilt.

An act you had no use for.

Still, it would be of little use to ignore it.

"My husband is a dog," Sypha said with a weary sigh, though her tone softened with affection. "He lashes out carelessly. Please, forgive him." She bowed low, an act that clearly caused Adrian discomfort. His eyes flickered with unease as he watched his friends, who seemed more like chastised children than the bold warriors they usually were.

Gently stopping Sypha mid-bow, you reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. "There’s no need for apologies," you said, your voice calm but light with humor. Sparing the kneeling Belmont a glance, you gestured toward the tuft of hair at your feet. "Though I reckon this," you said, pointing to it with a raised brow, "shall make for a very interesting wedding present."

Sypha’s head snapped up, her lips parting in surprise before a laugh bubbled out of her. The tension in her shoulders eased, the corners of her mouth lifting into a grin.

With that simple jest, the air shifted, the weight of guilt and harshness lifting from the room. Grudges were set aside, and forgiveness settled in their place like the morning sun breaking through heavy clouds.

"Bring your dog in for breakfast," you said, your grin widening as you met Sypha’s eyes. "Adrian’s the one cooking today."

The smile she returned was bright, her laughter lightening the room even more. "I’ll hold you to that," she said with a chuckle, turning toward the door to retrieve her sheepish husband.

Behind you, Adrian stepped closer, his expression softening as he gazed at you. "You handled that well," he murmured, his voice laced with quiet admiration.

You turned to him with a playful smile, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "It’s what wives are for, isn’t it darling?"

[kelyon]

Courtship 5: Outfit

Lacey figures out what she's going to wear on her date

Read on AO3

The pile of clothes covered Lacey’s twin bed. She’d spent the better part of an hour matching blouses with slacks with sweaters in a vain attempt to find the magic combination that would make her look less like the president of the student council and more like Mr. Gold’s perfect slut. 

Nothing worked. So far, her best options were to wear her summer sundress in the middle of winter with no coat, or to take a pair of scissors to the long black skirt she had worn to her mother’s funeral. That last one might have been an option, if she had a sewing machine like Mara. But she didn’t, and showing up at Mr. Gold’s house wearing unhemmed rags was probably as bad an idea as showing up wearing pants. If she had a sleeveless top, she might consider wearing the skirt as it was. She could try to go for a sort of hippy, Bohemian look. But the most revealing blouse Lacey French owned had puffed-up sleeves, like a fucking five-year-old. 

Groaning, she fell backwards onto the pile. Some of this stuff she had got in middle school. The fact that they still fit her had been an advantage every time she’d decided to spend her limited funds on books instead of clothes, but it also meant that Lacey had never aged up her personal style. She didn’t have anything that made her look or feel like an adult. 

The purple-blue dress shimmered in her dirty clothes hamper. She had jumped the gun by wearing her only sexy outfit on her first date with Mr. Gold. She had set the bar too high. Now he would have expectations of how Miss French liked to dress. More than that, Mr. Gold in his suits had standards. If she met him looking like a mess, he’d drive off and leave her on the curb.

At least he didn’t seem to mind if she left him looking like a mess. He hadn’t minded bringing her home with a wrinkled skirt and no stockings or underwear. She wanted that to happen again, but before it could, Lacey had to look presentable. None of her clothes were cutting it. She had to take action. 

She pulled a white button-up off the pile and rubbed a smear of foundation over her hickey. Then she went downstairs into the shop. Dad was sitting by the cash register, looking through a faded design book. 

Mom had known all the designs for bouquets and arrangements by heart, but Dad always needed to double check with the book. 

“Anything happen today?” Lacey asked.

He shook his head, didn’t look up.

“We should call up everyone who ordered from us last year and remind them that V-day is in less than three weeks.”

“They know,” he grumbled. “This time of year, no one has any money. The men at Fish King will get paid on Friday, that’s when the orders will start. But they won’t really pick up until the next payday, the eleventh.”

He was right. It happened like that every year. All the orders came in at the very last minute. Valentine’s Day weekend was two solid days of constant work getting everything put together. 

And it was too far away to do Lacey any good.   

“So I’m guessing this is not a good time to discuss the subject of me ever getting paid for the hours I put in?”

Her father looked at her like she had just told an offensive joke that wasn’t even funny. Had his eyes always been so bloodshot? Had he always looked like a sad cartoon dog?

“You keep your tips.” He looked down at the book again. “You have money when the store has money, when we’re not racking up daily fees from that bastard Gold.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Lacey rubbed her hands on her jeans. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Of course Dad didn’t have any money to give her. That was their whole problem. Game of Thorns was a family business, the only income any of them had. For as long as she’d worked in the store, her pay had come in the form of food and shelter. Her reward for helping keep the place open was that it stayed open. It might not have been unreasonable to ask for more, but she knew it was unattainable. 

“Ask again when Valentine’s is over,” Dad said. “We get out of this hole… I’ll try to make something work.”

She’d heard that before. Her father always had all kinds of plans and dreams for when things got better. Not that things ever did get better. Not that they ever would. The only thing worse than knowing that fact would be admitting it. So Lacey gave her father a tight smile and pretended she believed him, just like she always did.

****

She made her way over to Marine Automotive, where her Uncle Manny was locking the front doors from the outside. When he saw her loitering, he beamed.

“Hey! There’s my favorite niece!”

Uncle Manny looked like Dad if nothing bad had ever happened to him. He had the same height and stocky build. He had the same curly hair that was also the bane of Lacey’s existence. But where Moe French was loud when he was angry, Manny French was loud when he was happy--and he was always loud. He wrapped Lacey up in a bear hug.

“How you doing, Ace? What brings you by?”

She cut to the chase. “Are you going to the Rabbit Hole tonight?”

Her uncle wasn’t a huge drinker, but he was the only person Lacey knew who regularly went to Storybrooke's only bar.

“I wasn’t planning on it. They’re aren’t any games tonight. But I take it you need an escort?”

Lacey raised her shoulders in a half-apology. “They won’t let me in without a parent-slash-guardian.”

“Ah, to be young again!” Uncle Manny wrapped one arm around her. “You’ll miss it one of these days, I promise you. But yeah, we can have a night on the town. I’ll even buy you a Shirley Temple.”

“Oh come on,” she gave him a playful nudge. “I am an adult, even if I can’t drink. I should at least get a Coke and Coke.”

“Sounds like a plan.” 

****

The Rabbit Hole was dead. Between the lack of sports on TV and the town-wide lack of money until payday, most people were staying home. The only ones here were people like Leroy Miner, people who had nowhere else to go. Like the old song said, sharing a drink they called loneliness was better than drinking alone. 

Undeterred, Lacey took her uncle-approved non-alcoholic beverage over to the pool table by the fireplace. She took off her hoodie and unbuttoned her blouse a little. This whole thing was a risky move, but it was the best plan she had. Hustling pool paid off more often than it didn’t.  

Eyeing the room, she bent over the pool table, just far enough to get a little attention. She lined up a shot and missed on purpose.

“Oh crap!” she said too loudly. “Must not be my night.”

After ten minutes of staged failure, Lacey let herself land a shot. She squealed when the ball went into the pocket. The sound made people’s heads turn, and she treated them all to a too-wide, too-apologetic smile.

Only one person smiled back. Keith Sherwood turned on his bar stool to watch her. Lacey tried to remember her other encounters with Keith. Did he usually stare more at her ass or her boobs? For safety’s sake, she did both. She leaned far enough over the table that Keith could look down her cleavage, then moved around to the other side for the next shot. She stuck her ass in the air, practically humping the felt to keep his attention.

“Boys always make it look so easy,” she pouted after another ball just barely missed the pocket.

When Keith began to walk over to her, she turned her back to him. That way she could pretend to be surprised by his arrival. With careful concentration, Lacey managed to get a ball a full foot away from what anyone watching would have assumed was her target. It was actually harder to be bad on purpose, but it paid off.

“You having fun, sweet thing?” Keith leaned against the pool table, beer in hand, right in front of her.

Lacey giggled. “It’d be more fun if I had someone to play with.”

Keith chuckled. A lock of his hair fell down into his eyes. “I bet it would be. You had a lot of fun playing with me last time, didn’t you?”

How much money had she taken from Keith the last time she had tried this? Sometimes she got cocky and her marks got mad about being taken. Lacey couldn’t remember if she had ever crowed about fleecing Keith. Unfortunately, he probably did. 

She fluttered her eyelashes. “It was a lot of fun,” she cooed. “I think I got lucky that night.”

“I bet you’re gonna get lucky again.” He was standing too close to her. “I bet your luck will get better and better all night, especially when we start playing double or nothing.”

Crap. She had definitely rubbed Keith’s face in it last time. Now he was wise to her. That was the problem with a small town. Oh well, at least she’d tried.

“So is that a bet?” she said in her real voice. “Do you wanna put money down on whether or not I’m actually hustling you? Cuz I’ll take you up on that one.”

Keith shook his head. He put his hand down on top of hers on the edge of the pool table. He was still smiling.

“You know there’s another game we can play together. It’s a lot more fun than pool.”

Ugh.

Lacey backed away. “It might be fun for you, but I don’t think I’d get much out of it.”

He followed her. “How do you know? Maybe it’d be more fun if you hustled me. That’d make things interesting, wouldn’t it? Twenty bucks says I can make you see heaven.”

She snorted. “Did you just say you’ll pay to screw me?”

Keith kept smiling. “You were gonna screw me all over this table and take my money anyway. I like my version better.”

Lacey’s blood suddenly went cold. This wasn’t funny anymore. It wasn’t a game. This asshole would seriously give her money if she went home with him. It would be so easy to go along with it. Twenty dollars for two orgasms--his would be real, hers would be fake. 

Would that be enough to buy a new skirt? Was she seriously fucking considering this?

She clenched her jaw. 

“I’m not a fucking hooker, Keith.”

He raised his arms in a pacifying gesture. “No harm, no foul,” he said. “I just don’t see how it’s any different from taking a girl to dinner first. Man pays for sex either way.”

Turning away, she slid her pool cue back on the rack. 

“You’re a pig.”

“Go ahead, darlin’, keep talking dirty. See what happens.”

Lacey kept her head held high as she went back to the bar where her uncle was nursing a beer.

“I need to get out of here,” she told him.

“Sounds good.” Uncle Manny took out his wallet and tossed a few crumpled fives onto the bar. “I’ll walk you home.”

****

 Outside, Lacey pulled her arms out of the sleeves of her hoodie and hugged her arms over her chest. This stupid button down was too frumpy to make her sexy and too thin to keep her warm. 

“Pool wasn’t any good for you tonight?” Uncle Manny asked casually.

“No,” she admitted. “Fricking Keith threw me off my game.”

“What do you need money for anyway? That dad of yours not feeding you?”

“I need money cuz I don’t have any.” Lacey kicked at a chunk of dirty snow. “Nobody does.”

“I’ve got a little, for the smartest kid in Storybrooke.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “You wanna tell me what it’s for?”

Lacey bit the inside of her mouth. She didn’t want to lie to her uncle, but she sure as hell didn’t want to tell him the truth. She walked in silence for a minute. He stayed with her. Finally, she said it.

“I wanna get some new clothes.”

“Like a real coat?”

She shrugged. “I mean, maybe. I could. If I had enough.”

“And this is a sudden yearning that couldn’t wait?”

She shrugged again. There was nothing like being around a parent-slash-guardian to make her feel like a complete child.

“Ace, what’s going on?”

She took a breath. “I… don’t want to tell you.”

He put his hand on her shoulder. “Lacey French, if you’re doing things you don’t want people to know about, then you shouldn’t do them.”

“It’s nothing bad!” Lacey pushed him away. “It’s just… personal.”

“That’s not reassuring,” he said. “What’s going on? What do you need money for?”

“I told you, to buy clothes!”

“Clothes for what? You can tell me, Lacey. I’ll help you out if you’re honest.”

“I just want to look nice on a date!” She shrieked the words out into the night. They hung in the air with the cloud of her breath.

Uncle Manny looked at her, confused and sympathetic at the same time. Eventually, he broke out into a broad smile.

“But that’s great, honey! You should go on dates. Why-- why didn’t you say so to begin with?”

She pulled her hands up through the neck hole of her hoodie to rub her face.

“I’m… It’s because of who I’m going out with.”

Uncle Manny scoffed and put his arm around her as they walked. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of dating someone. Unless it’s someone you should be ashamed of, but then you just don’t date them. It’s not a girl, is it?”

Lacey shook her head, to which Uncle Manny nodded.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that, not in this modern world. You know I’m with you no matter what.”

She nodded. 

“And of course, no boy is ever going to be good enough for you. But as long as he’s not married, or some kind of asshole like that bastard Gold, there’s no reason to sneak around like--Lacey?”

She had stopped in her tracks. She looked up at her uncle and chewed on her lower lip.

Realization dawned. Uncle Manny let out a long breath. 

“Lace.” His voice was rough. “Tell me you’re dating a married man.”

Lips pressed together, she shook her head. “Don’t tell anyone.”

Standing in place, Uncle Manny stomped his work boots onto the sidewalk. The intent seemed to be half to warm his feet and half to cool his head.

“Gold,” he whispered. He pointed in the direction of Mr. Gold’s pawn shop. “That Gold? The guy that has every working person in Storybrooke by balls? The guy who’s practically the reason all of us are living paycheck to paycheck? You’re going on dates with him?”

She shrugged. “It’s only been one date so far, but he asked me to come to his house on Friday.”

“And you said yes? What, does he have something on you? Is that why you need money?”

“No!” Lacey insisted. “I was telling the truth! I just need clothes that are good enough for him.”

“‘Good enough for him?’ He’s not good enough for you, Lacey! That man is a scourge. He’s a parasite. He’s--he’s old enough to be your father!”

“If he was my father, I wouldn’t be in this situation. I’d actually have a good life.”

“You have a good life.” Uncle Manny wasn’t angry anymore. Or if he was, his anger had become still and stern. “Your parents worked every day to give you a good life.”

“And where did it get them?” Lacey snapped. “Where did it get me? Yes, we work hard, but our only reward is getting to work even harder. And I’m so tired.” Her face was hot. God, she was sniffling. “Being with Mr. Gold feels like a break, and that’s all I want anymore. Just a freaking break.” 

Uncle Manny’s arms were around her. He pulled her against his coveralls that smelled like motor oil and sweat. He squeezed her tight and patted her back as she tried to stop crying.

“Sorry,” she sniffed when they broke apart.

“Hey,” he tilted her chin up and looked her in the eye. “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.”

Despite her tears, Lacey laughed. It was an old joke for them. She knew what her next line had to be: “That’s the dumbest thing I ever heard.”  

He hugged her again, kissed the top of her head. They didn’t talk until they were in front of Game of Thorns.

“I’d stay for dinner, but I’ve had Moe’s cooking before.”

She snorted at another joke she’d heard a thousand times, then she turned serious. “Um. You’re not going to tell anybody, are you?”

“About your…” he searched for the words, then shrugged, “love life?”

“Yeah. You know my dad will blow a gasket if he finds out I’m even talking to Mr. Gold, let alone--”

“Yeah, I know.” Uncle Manny cut her off. Clearly, he didn’t want to hear what she was doing with Mr. Gold.

“So, please don’t tell him? Promise?”

Her uncle sucked his teeth and slowly shook his head in silence. It took a long minute before he looked at her again.

“Okay,” he said. “You’re an adult. You know your own mind, you can make your own decisions. It’s just--be smart, okay? You are an adult, but you’re also our little girl. Me, your dad, your mom, rest her soul--we don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“I promise I won’t get hurt, if you promise not to blab my business all over town.”

“Aright,” he sighed. He pulled her in for a tight hug. “I promise. Just--please, take care of yourself.”

  She squeezed her uncle, then headed for the door. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

****

Lacey spent the entire working day on Thursday psychically willing the phone to ring with orders, preferably orders that had to be filled as soon as possible. Doing a rush job would give them an excuse to charge extra. She wouldn’t wish a funeral on anyone, but wouldn’t this be a great weekend for an impromptu wedding? So many of Lacey’s problems would be solved if just one panicked bride would come in and beg them to fill Dodci’s Dance Hall with centerpieces and garlands, not to mention all the bouquets and boutonnieres and flowers for the church too. Or maybe someone important could get sick and everyone in Storybrooke would send flowers to the hospital. Wasn’t there anyone in Storybrooke who was celebrating anything? Did people not have birthdays in late January? There were so many reasons people could need flowers. But this wasn’t a day when people did.

Hustling at the Rabbit Hole wasn’t an option anymore. If this were any other occasion, she would borrow a skirt from Mara or Janine, but that didn’t seem like a possibility. They wouldn’t take the news of her going on a date with Mr. Gold any better than Uncle Manny had. Mara’s store, where she also lived, was rented from Mr. Gold, and Janine had taken out a loan to pay for her beautician supplies. Both of them--really everyone in Storybrooke--saw him as the enemy. As far as they cared to think about it, he was the reason they were poor. If Lacey told her friends how much she wanted to be around him, they would think she was crazy, or morally degenerate.

Maybe she was. 

Or maybe they were wrong. Had her friends ever eaten at Bella Notte? Had they ever worn a dress that made them feel like sex on two legs? Had they ever watched a hapless waiter get strong-armed into breaking a stupid law for them? Had they ever been inside Mr. Gold’s house? Had they ever taken clothes off just because a man had asked them to? Had they ever known the thrill of promising to do whatever another person told them to do? Had they ever known the peace of being an object, of kneeling silently at someone’s feet?

Could they even understand why that was something anyone would want? Let alone that it was something Lacey craved in a place deeper than her bones? Some dark, hidden part of her soul wanted Mr. Gold, like she had never wanted anything else. 

And not having enough money to buy a stupid fucking skirt might keep her away from him forever. She could not abide that thought.

When Friday was another dud--a few orders came in, but they wouldn’t pay until delivery--Lacey knew that she was out of options. Since Mr. Gold would be picking her up tonight at eight, she was also out of time. So she did what everyone in Storybrooke did when they had nowhere else to go.

She went to the pawn shop. 

****

Lacey had always been intrigued by the phrasing of Mr. Gold’s store. The sign said Mr. Gold Pawnbroker and Antiquities Dealer. Most stores advertised the goods sold inside, but Mr. Gold advertised himself. This was who he was, this was what he did. No one came to this store because they needed things, they came because they needed what only he could offer them. Usually, they needed it enough to pay whatever price he set. 

When it came down to it, Lacey really wasn’t that different from any other desperate soul who came to Mr. Gold. The only difference was what she wanted.

It was three in the afternoon. Not technically her lunch break, but it wasn’t like she was getting paid to stick around the flower shop. Lacey changed into some gray dress pants and covered her work shirt with her least-frumpy cardigan. She stuffed her purse full of old toys and oddities that might--cumulatively, optimistically--be worth about ten dollars. She yelled at Dad that she was going out for a minute and then walked over to Mr. Gold’s.

The bell rang over her head when she walked through the front door. Mr. Gold was behind the counter, writing something in a ledger. He looked up at the sound and gave the slightest grin when he saw that it was her. 

“Miss French,” he said, with just a touch of warmth. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Lacey bit her lip, but forced herself to stay cool. She looked around at the shelves and display cases, slowly making her way forward. Another time, she would have marveled at the art and jewelry and historic do-dads, but now she slunk past them.

“I…” she dragged out the word, unsure of what she was saying as she said it, “was wondering… if you have any clothes for sale.” 

Mr. Gold raised his eyebrows. “Clothes?”

“Yeah.” She stopped in front of a spinning rack of necklaces. She couldn’t look at him. “You know, like vintage stuff?”

He walked over to her, behind the display case. “I’ve got some historic naval uniforms, but nothing that would suit you.”

He was in front of her now, so they were separated by nothing but two feet of glass and gadgets. She didn’t raise her head. Some of these necklaces were really pretty. One gold chain with a mother-of-pearl pendant spoke to her for some reason.

“What do you need, Miss French?”

His voice was gentle, coaxing. He understood how much she hated what she was doing. He probably talked to a lot of people who were feeling what she was feeling. At least he didn’t seem to be enjoying her discomfort.

Lacey took a breath, and looked up at him.

“I need a skirt,” she admitted. “I don’t have anything to wear on our date tonight.”

He blinked. Then his face grew infinitesimally softer. 

“I see,” he said. 

“I brought some stuff.” She set her purse on the counter, began to pull out the junk she’d brought from home. “I thought I might--”

“Please,” he held up a hand. “You don’t need to do that. I’m more than happy to assist you, Miss French.” He turned away from her, went back over to his antique cash register. 

“I can pay you back…”

“Oh you will,” he grinned. He took a bill out of the cash register and set it on the counter. Lacey came closer and saw that it was a fifty. “Will this be enough?”

She fought the urge to snatch the money and run all the way to Modern Fashions. It was the same feeling she’d had when he’d given her the money to tip that stupid waiter. The thrill, the rush, of having cash and knowing she could do anything with it. Fifty dollars was more than she had spent on clothes in the past year. Fifty dollars could cover the bill at Granny’s for her whole family--or at least for Janine and Mara to have real lunches.

Fifty dollars was more than twice what Keith had offered her to have sex with him.

Lacey pulled her hands back. She dug her fingernails into her palms. 

“I… I shouldn’t accept this,” she said.  

“Why not?” Mr. Gold asked, unperturbed. “Are you worried I’ll take advantage of you? Wouldn’t you say that ship has sailed, Miss French?”

She looked down at the dirt-stained sneakers she wore for work. In a resigned whisper, she told Mr. Gold the same thing she said to Keith at the Rabbit Hole.

“I’m not a hooker.”

“Of course not.” Mr. Gold’s voice was smooth and confident. He came out from behind the counter to stand in front of her. Slowly, he raised his hand to cup her cheek, subtly forcing her to look at him. “You’re a woman who knows what she wants and who will do whatever she needs to do to make it happen.”

Lacey’s breath shook. Her eyes were hot and she was trembling.

“What do you want?” he asked her. He really was being very patient. 

“I want to go on another date with you, Mr. Gold.”

“And what do you need to do in order to make that happen?”

“I need--” she stopped. I need a skirt wasn’t the right answer. Mr. Gold had asked her what she needed to do. “I need to get some money, Mr. Gold.”

“Ask me for it.” He gave the order like it was a caress. “Ask me for the money and I’ll give it to you, Miss French.”

 This wasn’t like with Keith. This wasn’t being so desperate for money that she’d have sex with a stranger. This was being so desperate for sex that she’d take money to make sure she’d get it. She’d let Mr. Gold pay her like a whore just to make sure he kept treating her like a slut. 

She swallowed. She had to swallow a few times before she was brave enough to speak.

“Please, Mr. Gold, will you give me fifty dollars so I can have something suitable to wear for our date tonight?”

“I would be happy too, Miss French.” He lowered his hand from her cheek and picked the bill up off of the counter. Gently, he took her hand by the wrist, placed the fifty on her palm, and closed her fingers over it.

He grinned at her.

“Buy yourself something pretty.”

Lacey clenched her jaw. Now he was enjoying this. She bit back words that would make him take the money back. Instead, she said what she knew he wanted her to say.

“Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

“You’re quite welcome, Miss French.”

He turned around then, went back behind the counter. Lacey understood she was dismissed. Facing the door, she took a breath and checked to make sure none of her tears had spilled out onto her cheeks. 

Before she opened the door, Mr. Gold called over to her. 

“Miss French,” he said. “If you happen to buy a red skirt and wear nothing underneath it, I will eat your cunt for dessert tonight.”

Lacey’s eyes went wide. Her shock was less for what Mr. Gold had said and more for his nonchalant tone. He was talking about sex in the same way he would talk about running errands.

“Do you understand me, Miss French?”

What about it did he think she didn’t understand? Then Lacey realized she hadn’t answered him. Mr. Gold expected an answer when he spoke to people. 

“Yes, Mr. Gold,” she said. Shock had made her voice a little breathy. “Thank you for telling me, Mr. Gold.”

He gave her a nod. 

Dazed and excited, Lacey left his shop and made her way down the street to Modern Fashions. She had a red skirt to buy.

[eternalguk]

pink hearts & black clouds | jjk. masterlist

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, introvert x extrovert, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : tbc.

↠ Warnings : alcohol consumption, swearing, mental health, explicit sexual content (each drabble will outline specific warnings)

↠ A/n : Hi there ; welcome to the masterlist for PHBC 🫶🏻 seven different oneshots to show you a seven different ways this gorgeous couple love one another. Each chapter can be read as a standalone. I hope you enjoy these short snippets of their lives 🦢.

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

↠ Status : 0 / 7 released (coming soon) || teaser || prologue

❧ chapter 01 - lip gloss & leather

❧ chapter 02 - lace & chains

❧ chapter 03 - soft & hard

❧ chapter 04 - strawberries & cigarettes

❧ chapter 05 - pretty in pink & brooding in black

❧ chapter 06 - glitter meets gloom

❧ chapter 07 - bubbles & bruises

❧ FAQ

↠ Release dates?

• I will post when I am able to! Mainly on weekends / when I am off work ♡.

↠ Taglist?

• Send me an ask or comment down below.

↠ How do the main characters look in this fic?

• That is completely up to you! Personally, I imagined Golden era!jk. Here is the moodboard which provides you with an insight to both the main characters & the couple themselves!

↠ Side characters?

• Bangtan members - Jungkook’s friendship group (mainly Jm & Th)

↠ Requests?

• I will take requests for this couple once the series is officially complete ♡.

[darklightcore]

Okey, I wasn't expecting that 😳😳 Fantastically played out tho 👏👏

Author: Squizzel

Prompts: Dark chocolate. Falling in the dark. Constellations.

Group: B

-

Star Crossed

“Watch your step.”  Gold held onto Lacey’s arm carefully as they picked their way up the hill to the clearing.  Darkness had fallen and while the flashlight they carried illuminated their way, the forest path held more than a few trip hazards.  Lacey had foregone her usual high heels, but he still had his cane to deal with.  

His thoughts that perhaps this had been a foolish idea evaporated when they reached the top and Lacey caught sight of the blanket spread out across the ground, flickering candles at the side and a basket in the centre.  Her face lit up in a delighted smile at the scene and he resolved to give Dove a significant bonus this year.  

Practically pulling on his arm, Lacey led him over to the blanket and the nest of cushions there.  Giving him time to seat himself comfortably with his cane and ankle, Lacey focused on the basket, turning to hand him a glass of champagne once he was settled.  

“This is beautiful, Rum.”  She clinked her glass against his and smiled over the rim as she took a sip.  “But you know you don’t have to go to all this trouble for outdoor sex.  You only have to ask.”

“Maybe later,” he smiled, tilting his head upwards, “For now I thought you might enjoy the show.”

Lacey followed his gaze to the sky and he shifted his focus, wanting to savour her expression as she took in the sight.  Their distance from the lights of town and the lack of cloud cover made for a spectacular view of the night sky and he was gratified to see a wide smile break out across her face.    

“You know, I used to be fascinated by the stars when I was a little girl.”  Lacey cuddled closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.  “At one point I could name every constellation in the sky.  Then we moved to the States and they all flipped around.” 

He could hear the wistfulness in her voice and leaned his head against hers.  “How old were you?”

“Fifteen.  My mother had just died, Dad thought we needed a fresh start and for some reason decided that Maine would be just the place.  Suddenly I’m thousands of miles away from everyone I know and everything’s different.  Even the sky.”  

“That must have been difficult,” he sympathised.  “Do you miss Australia a lot?”

“I… guess?  It’s weird.  I feel like I miss it more than I miss it, you know?”  She glanced at him and shook her head at the look of confusion on his face.  “Sorry, I know that sounds insane.  It’s just whenever I think about it, it’s like I’m remembering another lifetime.  A life that’s not really mine cos my life is here.”

“In Storybrooke?”  

“With you.  I never really felt like I belonged here either until I met you.”  She smiled at him briefly before pulling a face and leaning back.  “Sorry, that was mushy.  Hey look, a shooting star!”

He allowed her change of subject and joined her in turning back towards the sky.  “Yes, there’s supposed to be a rather impressive meteor shower tonight.  It’s why I brought you here.” 

“Oh!”  Lacey cried in delight as more and more streaks shot across the heavens.  “You know, I always used to make a wish on a shooting star.  Do you think it still works if there are hundreds of them?”

“I think wishing on a hundred stars works about as well as wishing on one,” he said drily.  

“Cynic.”  She nudged him playfully.  “Next you’ll be telling me you don’t believe in astrology either.”  

“Mmm, a load of bollocks if you ask me,” Gold scoffed.

“Yeah, Ruby read my star chart once.”  Lacey looked at him mischievously.   “Apparently I’m intellectual, serious and reserved.”

Gold laughed.  “Told you, bollocks.”

“Also that I’m a passionate lover with a taste for the finer things in life.”  

“Well, maybe there is something to it.”  He grinned as she took both of their glasses, placing them to the side before returning to press her lips to his.  They fell back onto the blanket, lost in each other as the stars streaked the sky overhead.  

A couple of hours later, after a highly satisfying stargazing experience, they began the journey home.  Gold smiled as they walked, Lacey happily extolling the virtues of outdoor sex under the stars as they made their way down the hill.  

He should have been paying more attention to where he was going.  If he had he might have noticed the tree root that caught his foot and sent him sprawling forwards.  Suddenly he was falling in the dark and the last thing he heard before his head hit the ground and his world turned black was Lacey screaming his name.  

“Rum!”

~*~

“Rum…”  Lacey’s voice.  She sounded worried.  He didn’t want her to worry.  Gold groaned as he tried to open his eyes, wanting to reassure her that he was all right.

“Rumple…”  He frowned.  When had she ever called him Rumple?  .  

“Rumplestiltskin!”  Okay, that was definitely new.  She’d never called him that before.

“Rumplestiltskin, please wake up!”

He finally cracked an eye open to see Lacey’s anxious face above him.  He blinked a few times before focusing properly.  She was leaning over his form, he must be on the ground, and she sighed in relief when his eyes met hers.  

“Are you all right?”  She helped him to sit up and he frowned as he took in her dress.  A long blue number with white sleeves and a laced up front.  It didn’t look like anything Lacey would ever wear in all the time he’d known her.  Was the Renaissance Fair in town?  That might also explain why he appeared to be dressed in leather, he realised, as he looked down at his legs.  

“I…”  He reached toward her then pulled his arm back in shock.  What was wrong with his skin?  And his nails?  He stared at his hand with a strange fascination.  “What happened?”  

“I don’t know.  I was bringing you your tea but when I came in you were just lying on the floor unconscious.  Did one of your potions go awry?”

“My… potions?”  He turned and took in the room they were in, familiarity slowly returning to him.  Yes, yes he had been working on a potion.  Over there, on the table.  He pushed himself off the ground and slowly walked towards it, dimly wondering why his ankle didn’t hurt and then wondering why he thought it should.  

“It certainly looks like something went wrong.”  Lacey…no that wasn’t right…Belle, she was Belle, nodded towards one of his vials, the dark sludge inside still smoking slightly.

“Yes…”  Rumplestiltskin agreed absentmindedly.  He remembered now.  He’d been frustrated with his lack of visions for the future, unsure what his next step should be in his quest to find Bae, so he’d tried to brew a potion that would help his Sight.  But he’d found himself distracted, put in too much wormwood and the potion had exploded, releasing a cloud of gas that had left him dizzy and weak.  

And dreaming.

It had been a dream, hadn’t it?  Or could it have been a vision?  Had the potion done its job after all, showing him what the future held?  

He looked at Belle in alarm, the memory of her warm skin under the touch of his human hands and her soft lips pressed against his, still vivid in his mind.  It must have been a dream.  She would never want him the way the figment in his imagination had.  

Unwilling to dwell on such thoughts, he waved his hand and in a flash of smoke they were both in the great hall, the teapot and cups sitting on the table.

“I think that’s enough potions for one day.”  Rumplestiltskin took his seat at the head of the table, watching Belle as she poured tea for them both before sitting on the table itself.  

“Well, good.  Because it’s almost dark and you promised to show me the star shower.”

“I did?”

“Yes!  Remember, I told you that it was an annual event in Avonlea and you said we could see it much better from the top of your castle.  And the nurses made me go home to rest, but I couldn’t sleep so I baked instead.  I made dark chocolate cupcakes, your favourite.  So you see you have to wake up because I can’t eat them all by myself.”

“What?”  Rumplestiltskin stared at her in bewilderment.  “What cupcakes?”  

“I said I hope it’s a clear night.  It was always such a disappointment when clouds would cover the sky during the star shower.  Who said anything about cupcakes?”

“You did.”

“No I didn’t.”  Belle frowned at him, reaching out to place the back of her hand against his forehead.  “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

Rumplestiltskin shot out of his chair at the contact, the ghostly feel on her hand on his skin lingering like a burn.  “What are you doing?”

“I…”  Belle looked down at her hand and shrugged self-consciously.  “I don’t actually know.  It’s just something that my nurse always used to do whenever she was worried I might be ill.”  

“No need to worry about me, dearie,” he trilled mockingly.  “Dark Ones don’t get ill.”

“Maybe not, but apparently they do get knocked unconscious by their own potions, so forgive me if I’m concerned.”  

“Concerned?”  He repeated dumbly.  “Why?”

“Because as much as you infuriate me sometimes, I really don’t want you to die.  Maybe it’s better if you rest tonight.”  

“No, no.  You wanted the stars and the stars you shall have.”  With another wave of his hand, Rumplestiltskin deposited himself and Belle at the top of the tallest tower, flicking his fingers to remove the roof so they could see the sky.  Belle gasped in delight.  

“I love the stars, don’t you?”  She craned her neck to look in all directions.  “They’re held in high regard in Avonlea.  The Royal Astronomer said that I was born under a fortunate sign and would bring great honour to my family.  

“Of course he did,” Rumplestiltskin scoffed.  “That’s what every noble parent wants to hear.”

“Oh, don’t be so cynical.  What was in your stars?”

“I have no idea.  There were no Royal Astronomers at my birth, dearie.”  

“And you’ve never done a reading yourself?”  She looked at him with genuine curiosity.  

“The stars are the realm of fairy magic.  I try to stay away from such things.”

“You know, it’s also said that if you make a wish on the first star you see, it’ll come true.”  

“I wouldn’t risk it.  Inviting gnats into your house is a good way to get an infestation.”  

“All right, I’ll leave the stars alone then.  But I don’t care if you don’t believe in magic, I’m wishing on every single star I see that you’ll come back to me.”

“That makes no sense.”  He turned to her in annoyance.  “Obviously I believe in magic.  I am a sorcerer after all.”  

Belle looked at him curiously.  “I know.  But you said not to risk inviting the fairies in, so I said I wouldn’t.”  

“You…”  he began but trailed off.  Her mouth was closed, but he could still hear her.  

“I’m wishing on every star that you’ll wake up.”  She sounded like she’d been crying and he didn’t want to think too much on why that made his heart lurch. He blinked.  Her face was fading.  Everything around him was fading until there was nothing but darkness.   Darkness and that voice.  That beautiful voice that meant the world to him. “Every meteor shower that ever was.  Please wake up, Rum.  Please.”   

Desperation laced every syllable.  He could feel it in his bones.  

And apparently the stars could as well, because in a hospital bed in Storybrooke, Maine, Mr Gold opened his eyes.  

And Rumplestiltskin woke up.  

-

[misswynters]

Broken and whole

pairing | Viktor x gn!reader

no warnings just passionate kissing

a short drabble until we wait for the next three episodes with jesus viktor <3 (he’s always been so fine)

– let me know if you would like to get tagged in arcane fics

[note | pls don’t just like, but also reblog & give me feedback. i don’t want to get shadowbanned <3

In the night sky as the moonlight shines through the windows, the lab was filled with the low hum of machinery. It had a faint metallic scent of Viktor’s latest work. You leaned against the wall, watching him from across the room as he worked, utterly engrossed in his latest project. He had changed so much recently, both in body and spirit. The hextech augmentation now coursing through his leg gave him a powerful, refined look, yet you sensed a hidden struggle behind his carefully guarded gaze. You knew how he was. His mind was only half here, the other was lost somewhere between ambition and uncertainty.

He hadn’t noticed your arrival yet, too focused on the delicate mechanisms of the device in front of him. You admired him, his steady hand, his unwavering concentration, the way his golden eyes seemed to burn with a fire that was part passion, part burden. Yet you could see the toll it took, even if he would never admit it.

“Viktor,” you spoke softly, not wanting to startle him.

His head lifted, and his intense gaze softened slightly as he saw you. “Ah,” he said, letting out a breath, “I didn’t realize you were here.” There was a hint of relief in his voice, as if your presence offered him a reprieve from the depths of his mind.

You approached him slowly, your fingers brushing the edge of the table. “I wanted to make sure you were taking care of yourself,” you said, giving him a gentle smile. “It’s been days, Viktor. You need to rest.”

A flicker of defensiveness crossed his face, but it melted quickly, replaced by something almost vulnerable. “Rest,” he echoed, his voice laced with exhaustion. “It feels like a luxury I cannot afford.”

You stepped closer, your heart aching at the sight of him so worn down, so caught between his dreams and the demands of his body. “Even visionaries need a break,” you murmured, reaching up to gently place a hand on his shoulder. He was warmer than you expected, his skin cool to the touch from the metal but still unmistakably him.

Viktor looked down at your hand, as if surprised by the intimacy of the gesture. His gaze softened, and he let out a soft, reluctant sigh. “Perhaps… perhaps you’re right,” he admitted, a slight smile breaking through the intensity of his features. “You always have been, haven’t you?”

There was a warmth in his voice that pulled you closer, and for a moment, you forgot the cold metal and complex machinery that surrounded you. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, feeling the tension ease from his shoulders under your touch.

“Viktor…” you murmured, your voice almost trembling with the unspoken words you had held back for so long. He looked at you, truly looked, his golden eyes reflecting something vulnerable, something raw that he rarely let show. “Yes?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your fingers tracing along his jawline, feeling the softness of his skin against the hardness of his prosthetic. His eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze focused solely on your face, as if you were the only thing grounding him in this moment.

“I worry about you,” you whispered, your voice almost lost in the quiet hum of the lab. “You give so much of yourself, but you leave so little room for…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “For someone to care for you.”

Viktor’s expression softened, his hand lifting slowly to touch yours, his fingers tentative but warm. “I… I hadn’t realized,” he murmured, his gaze dropping for a moment before he met your eyes again. “But with you, it feels… different.”

A moment of silence passed between you, and in that silence, the unspoken words lingered, the weight of everything you had both held back coming to the surface. Slowly, almost hesitantly, Viktor leaned forward, his face mere inches from yours.

“Different how?” you asked, your heart pounding as you felt his breath against your lips.

“Like I could… lose myself in you,” he whispered, a vulnerability in his voice that shook you to your core.

Before you could respond, his lips brushed yours, soft at first, testing, as if he was afraid you might pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into him, your hands moving to cup his face as he deepened the kiss, his fingers threading through your hair, pulling you closer. There was a hunger in his kiss, a desperation that spoke of the weeks, months, maybe even years he had spent holding back, afraid to want this, to want you.

The passion between you ignited, his lips pressing against yours with a fervor that surprised you both. Viktor’s hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him, as if he needed to feel every inch of you, as if he were afraid you might vanish. His breath was ragged, each exhale a confession of how long he had kept himself from this moment.

He pulled back, only slightly, his golden eyes searching yours, his face open in a way you had never seen. “You…” he whispered, as if the words failed him, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You are the one thing that makes me feel whole.”

You could see the storm of emotions in his gaze. Desire and hope. They were all woven together, vulnerable and unguarded. You wrapped your arms around him, letting yourself sink into the feeling of him holding you, his heartbeat quickening against yours.

“You don’t have to carry everything alone, Viktor,” you whispered, pressing your forehead to his, your fingers trailing down his arm, feeling the cool metal beneath your fingertips. “I’m here. Let me carry some of it with you.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath as he held you close, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangled in your hair. “I never thought…” His voice cracked, and he took a moment to steady himself. “I never thought anyone could love someone like me.”

Your heart ached at the words, at the quiet self-doubt that he kept buried so deep. You tilted his chin up, meeting his gaze with all the strength you could muster. “I don’t love you despite anything, Viktor,” you said, your voice steady. “I love you because of who you are, all of you.”

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his eyes wide and vulnerable, and then he kissed you again, harder this time, as if pouring everything he couldn’t say into the kiss. His hand moved to your waist, pulling you even closer, his fingers pressing into you as though you were his anchor, the one steady point in the storm that was his mind.

The two of you stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet of the lab, lost in each other. Viktor’s hand traced gentle patterns along your back, his touch tender, almost reverent, as if he was memorizing every detail of this moment. And in that embrace, in the warmth of his kiss, you felt him let go of the weight he carried, just a little, as he allowed himself to surrender to you, even if only for this fleeting, stolen moment.

banner by. @cafekitsune

[rafecameronssl4t]

What's ours || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based off this scene in s4 ep6!!!!

Warnings: angst!!!

Word count: 2, 458

A/n: HAD to write abt this scene

MASTERLIST

divider by @h-aewo

"Rafey?" your voice rings out as you step out of the shared bedroom, the soft sound of your bare feet padding against the wooden floor. "'M out here on the porch," his voice calls back, low and calm, carrying just a hint of warmth. A smile spreads across your lips as you pick up your pace, excitement bubbling in your chest. Sliding the glass door, you step onto the porch, the late afternoon sunlight casting a golden glow across everything it touches.

There he is, lounging casually on the couch, his polo clinging to his broad shoulders and biceps in a way that makes your stomach flutter. "Hey, baby," Rafe greets, his smile wide and genuine, the kind that always has a way of making you feel like the most important person in the room. "Hey," you murmur, your eyes locking with his. You pause for a moment, giving him the chance to drink in the sight of you.

With a playful glint in your eye, you do a small twirl, letting the flow of your new dress spin out around you, the fabric catching the evening light. You watch Rafe’s reaction carefully, feeling a thrill at how his gaze moves down your figure. "What do you think?" You ask, the words soft but full of a quiet confidence. "It looks good," Rafe says after a beat, his eyes lingering on you for a fraction longer than you expect.

There’s a lazy grin tugging at the corners of his lips, and when he leans back against the cushions of the couch, his eyes never leave you. "You look good," he adds, his voice deeper now, like the words are heavy with more than just praise. You beam at his words, crossing the porch to close the distance between you. "Where you going lookin’ all pretty?" he teases, spreading his legs slightly as he pats his thighs, his grin turning sly.

The gesture is an open invitation, and you happily accept, settling onto his lap. Your arm slides naturally around his shoulders, and his hands find their place on your knee, the warmth of his touch grounding you. "Just shopping with the girls," you explain, playing with the collar of his shirt absentmindedly. "There's this new boutique that just opened up—" You’re cut off by the sound of the front door creaking open and a hesitant voice calling out, "Hello?"

Your brows furrow as you glance at Rafe. "Were you expecting someone?" you ask, your voice laced with curiosity. Rafe exhales a sharp breath, "Yeah," he admits nonchalantly. "Sarah." Your surprise is instant, and your voice reflects it. "Sarah? She agreed to meet up with you?" He chuckles, the sound warm and a little cynical. "Yeah, well… desperate times call for desperate measures, I guess." Before you can process his words, Sarah’s footsteps sound on the porch, slow but deliberate.

Your eyes shift to the doorway, and soon enough, her figure appears. She glances at you briefly as you move to sit beside Rafe, her gaze cool but not unfriendly, before turning her attention to Rafe. "Hey," he greets her with exaggerated enthusiasm, clapping his hands together with theatrical flair. "Thanks for showing up. Good work." Sarah doesn’t miss a beat, rolling her eyes as if she’s heard this act too many times. "Please, stop," she says flatly.

Rafe grins even wider, running a hand through his buzzed hair, clearly enjoying the reaction. You shift slightly, about to stand to give them space, but Rafe’s hand tightens gently on your waist, silently urging you to stay. "I don’t want to argue, Rafe," Sarah sighs, crossing her arms as she looks at him. Her tone is exasperated, but there’s something softer beneath it. "We already have enough people against us."

An awkward silence settles over the porch, the only sound being the occasional chirping of birds in the trees. The air grows heavy with the weight of unspoken things, a tension that seems to hum between them. You clear your throat, trying to ease the tension. "Can I get you something to drink? Iced tea, maybe?" you offer, your voice polite, even as your eyes flicker between Sarah and Rafe, sensing the undercurrent of frustration.

Sarah’s eyes meet yours, her gaze flicking over the space with an almost detached interest before she shakes her head. "No, thanks. I don’t plan on staying long." You nod, the smile on your lips soft but understanding. There’s something about the way she holds herself—tired, wary—that makes you feel a strange sense of empathy. It’s clear she’s not here for pleasantries.

"Kiara mentioned…" Sarah starts, her voice uncertain as she scans the porch, her eyes flitting from the furniture to the surroundings, clearly uncomfortable. "That you might be able to help." She directs the latter half of her sentence at Rafe, her gaze lingering on him, but there’s a hesitation in her tone, a quiet pleading buried beneath the words. Rafe pulls at the sleeve of his polo, his fingers tugging at the fabric.

He doesn’t look up immediately but instead turns his attention to the ground in front of him, gathering his thoughts. "Uh, no. No, not with the land stuff. You guys are on your own with that," he responds firmly, his gaze briefly flicking up to meet Sarah's. There's an almost apologetic edge to his words, but it's clear that he's drawing a hard line in the sand. Sarah’s expression falls, disappointment flashing across her face, her shoulders sagging slightly as if the weight of unspoken words is pulling her down.

"Right," she mutters softly, the edge of frustration in her voice barely concealed. She pauses, taking a breath before looking back at Rafe. "Sorry," Rafe adds, his voice quieter, almost regretful, but the frustration is still evident. "But…" He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the papers scattered across the table before him, the flicker of something heavier passing through his eyes.

"But there's… there's something else I wanted to talk to you about," he says, his tone shifting. It’s not just business now—there’s a vulnerability that creeps in, something raw beneath the surface. You watch him, your eyes tracing the subtle movements of his hand as he runs his fingers across his lips, trying to gather the right words. You stay silent, your own gaze fixed on his profile, your heart picking up pace as you sense the shift in the air.

This is no longer just a casual conversation—it feels more like a breaking point, something much deeper. "So when…" Rafe starts, his voice faltering slightly, the words coming out with an almost painful deliberation. He takes a moment, his eyes lingering on the papers again, then he looks down at your left hand resting on his shoulder, his gaze momentarily softening when it lands on the ring you wear—the one his mother gave him.

"Dad died," he finally says, the words coming out like a slow exhale, as if speaking them is harder than he’d like to admit. You feel the change in his tone immediately, the sadness in his voice gripping you, and you instinctively start rubbing gentle circles on his shoulder with your thumb, your mind connecting the dots, knowing how touchy the subject of Ward’s death always is for Rafe.

"...the first time," Rafe adds, his voice quiet, as though even acknowledging that death was not the final one is too painful to process fully. "um, he said I got a quarter of what he had," Rafe continues, his voice distant now, lost in the past as he leans forward, flicking through the papers with a focus that feels almost obsessive. "Yeah, he said I got a quarter too," Sarah chimes in, nodding slowly.

There’s something tired in her voice, a recognition of the weight of their father’s legacy that neither of them ever truly asked for. "But you didn’t get it, did you?" Rafe’s words are sharp, his gaze intense as it locks onto Sarah. There’s a challenge in his eyes, a quiet demand for the truth. Sarah hesitates for a moment, the silence stretching longer than it should. You can see her thinking, weighing her words carefully before answering.

"No," Sarah says finally, her voice quiet but firm. "Yeah, well, good luck trying to get that from Rose's greedy paws," Rafe scoffs, the bitterness dripping from his words. "She's got that money locked down tight." Sarah’s brows knit together, "well, I keep trying to call," she retorts, her tone sharp. "She won’t even let me talk to Wheezie." She crosses her arms, her gaze flickering away as if saying it out loud makes the situation even more real.

Rafe leans forward, his elbows digging into his knees as his expression hardens. "Yes, yes, that’s what I’m saying," he says, his voice rising slightly. He locks eyes with Sarah, a fiery determination in his blue gaze. "We’re a family, and I’m not—" He cuts himself off, inhaling deeply as he shakes his head. "I’m not even allowed to talk to my own sister? That’s not fair, Sarah. You know that."

Sarah’s jaw tightens, and she slowly nods, her lips pressed together as she looks down. "And then Rose," Rafe continues, his arm gesturing wide as his frustration boils over. "She just gets to keep all that gold for herself? What gives her the right? That’s not what Dad intended." His fist slams into the wooden coffee table with a resounding thud, causing Sarah to flinch in her seat. The tension spikes in the air, and you instinctively place your hand on his shoulder, your touch firm yet gentle, hoping to ground him.

"That’s not what Dad wanted," Rafe repeats, his voice cracking slightly as he pounds the table again. Sarah visibly recoils this time, her discomfort palpable. "And it pisses me off!" Rafe’s voice rises, his anger spilling out unchecked. But before his hand can connect with the table a third time, you reach forward and grab it, your fingers curling around his. "Rafe," you say softly, your voice calm but firm. His eyes dart to you, and for a moment, the fire in them dims.

He exhales sharply, leaning back slightly as he glances at Sarah, who keeps her gaze down, avoiding his. "That’s our money, okay?" Rafe insists, his tone quieter but still edged with frustration. Sarah lets out a shaky exhale, her hands fidgeting in her lap as Rafe sighs heavily, running a hand over his buzzed hair. The silence stretches, heavy and uncomfortable, until you place your palm on Rafe’s thigh, your thumb brushing soothingly against the fabric of his shorts.

He glances at you, and you offer him a small, reassuring smile. He manages a faint one in return before looking back at Sarah. "I don’t know about you, but I really—I need that money," Rafe admits, his voice tinged with vulnerability. Sarah’s gaze snaps to him, her expression hardening. "And what about the gold cross you stole?" she counters, her tone sharp and accusatory.

"It was gold-plated," Rafe shoots back with a shrug, rubbing his eyes as if the conversation is draining him. "It was a good score. It’s not endless. It’s not like the Merchant gold, so..." His voice trails off, exhaustion creeping in. "I’m so sorry to hear that," Sarah says, her words laced with sarcasm. Rafe exhales through his nose, standing abruptly, "I don't know. I was just thinking, um." Both you and Sarah track his movements as he walks to the porch railing, gripping it tightly before turning to face her.

"You know, you and me," he starts, gesturing between them, "we try to get Wheezie back." Sarah’s eyes narrow in disbelief. "How?" she asks, her voice flat, as if she’s waiting for him to say something ridiculous. "I don’t know, but..." Rafe admits, pacing back to the table. He moves the glass in front of him before perching on the edge, leaning closer to Sarah. His proximity makes her shift uncomfortably, but she doesn’t move away.

"And then we try to get the money back," Rafe continues, his voice steady and resolute. You can see the determination etched into his features, the way his jaw sets and his eyes gleam with a fervour you know all too well. He pauses, his gaze fixed on Sarah. "Which is why we need to work together," he says, his tone almost pleading now. "Just like Dad taught us. We align our interests." Sarah’s lips press into a thin line, her eyes fixed on the table as Rafe quietly watches.

"I just thought, you and me," Rafe begins again, his voice softer. "We can get back what’s ours." There’s a beat of silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. Sarah bites her lip, her gaze darting to Rafe, then away again. "Look, I’m trying here—" Rafe says, but Sarah cuts him off, rising to her feet abruptly. "No," she says firmly, shaking her head. "I’m sorry."

She turns and strides off the deck, the sound of the front door slamming shut echoing behind her. You stand, moving to where Rafe is still perched on the table, his shoulders hunched and his head bowed. Your hands find his shoulders, squeezing gently as he lets out a frustrated groan. "Can’t she see that I’m trying?" he mutters, his voice laced with annoyance. "Like seriously—" "Shh," you murmur, your thumbs massaging the tense muscles in his shoulders.

"I know, baby. I know you’re trying." You move to stand in front of him, slotting yourself between his legs as he rests his forehead against your stomach. Your manicured fingers run through his buzzed hair, the rhythmic motion calming him as he exhales deeply. "When will she realise that we’re on her side here?" he whispers, his voice tinged with despair.

"You just have to give her time," you reply softly, your fingers stilling for a moment. "She wants to trust you, but she can’t just yet, Rafe." He tilts his head to look up at you, his blue eyes glassy. "I’ve already lost Dad," he says quietly, his voice cracking. "I don’t want to lose her—I don’t want our family to fall apart." Your heart clenches at the raw vulnerability in his tone. You cradle his face gently, your thumbs brushing against his cheekbones as you hold his gaze.

"Listen to me, Rafe," you say, your voice steady and full of conviction. "You won’t lose Sarah, and your family won’t fall apart." His lips press into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "How can you be so sure?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just know," you reply softly, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "Because I believe in you."