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abovethemists · 7 months ago

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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.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #raven's fic #golden lace #fic: never let me go

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m00nkissedlover · 1 month ago

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・｡Rings 💍

You've ordered: a bone-shaped lemon tart! enjoy!

"It's always been just him and me, together."

Divus Crewel x spouse! reader | word count: 994 words

Summary: the students don't know you're married to their alchemy professor 💍 (silly little crewel drabble! :D)

Warnings: kinda rushed, not proofread. other than that, none!

Note: not my best work, but hey- it is what it is T-T. i will definitely be writing more for crewel in the future! also, i use they/them pronouns for reader. feel free to change them to your preferred pronouns while reading

"Did you guys know that Professor Y/n is married?" Ace exclaimed, receiving reactions of utter shock and complete indifference.

"You're just now finding out?" Jamil asked as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Wait, you knew? Since when?" Grim asked, his face stuffed with a meat filled pastry.

"Since the first day of class. I noticed the ring when they was handing out papers."

"Do you know who they're married to?" Kalim questioned, Jamil shaking his head.

"All I know is that they're married to a professor. I happened to overhear them talking with another student who asked."

"Professor Trein's too damn old to be their husband and Coach Vargas already told us he's not gonna get married anytime soon." Deuce explained. "And we've never seen Professor Crewel wearing a ring."

"Maybe he doesn't teach here?" Grim mumbled, finishing up his pastry and making a failed attempt to take Deuce's.

"Look! There they are." Ace announced.

The others turned around to see you walking through the cafeteria, greeting students. When you spotted their table, you smiled and waved at them, stepping over. "Good morning everyone! How are you all doing today?" you asked, your voice warm and inviting.

The boys all gave pretty halfhearted responses as their eyes drifted to the ring on your finger. Whoever your husband was, he was definitely loaded. That diamond was the size of their heads.

You followed their gaze, giving a quiet laugh as you reached you hand out, letting them get a better look at the ring. "Before you all ask: yes, i am married."

"Wow! That's a gorgeous ring!" kalim exclaimed, taking in the sparkly rock.

"So, uh...what's your husband like?" Ace outright asked, earning himself a kick under the table from Jamil. "Ignore him, Professor."

"No, no. I don't mind at all. He's very sweet and kindhearted. He's very passionate about his teaching and wants his students to succeed. He's the best man I've ever met, really." you sighed dreamily, thoughts of your husband filing your mind.

The group found it rather sweet, whispering among each other for another question to ask.

"Well, I must be on my way. See you all in class later!" you smiled, giving them a nod as you left the cafeteria and them dumbfounded.

You were currently in your classroom, setting things up for your next class. You taught Magical Botany and Herbalism, a class that happened to go hand in hand with Professor Crewel's Alchemy class.

As you checked in on the various plants growing in your "plant corner" of the classroom (you also used the botanical garden to grow things), you heard the sound of footsteps behind you. Turning around, a wide grin spread over your features as you saw the familiar face.

"Professor Crewel, what a pleasant surprise." you said, a tinge of excitement in your voice at seeing your husband. yes, you were married to none other than Divus Crewel, alchemy professor and dog lover alike.

"Y/n, you know you can drop the formalities when we're alone." he said, stepping over to you. his arms encircled your waist, making you laugh a little.

"Crewel, our students might see!" you exclaimed, pretending to scold him despite your arms already wrapping around his neck.

Crewel gave you one of his flashy grins, resting his forehead against yours. "So? At least then, the puppies will stop bombarding me with questions."

"What questions?" you mused, having a good idea of what they were.

"Like, if i have a crush on you." the alchemy professor said, making you burst into laughter.

"Well, we're married, so I would hope so!" you snickered, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Just as your conversation was going well, a few whispering voices could be heard from behind the door. Voices you two knew very well.

"Stop pushing!"

"shh, they're gonna hear us!"

"Did they say they're married?"

You and crewel exchanged a knowing glance, walking over to the door and opening it. Im tumbled Grim, Ace, and Deuce, all three of them with rather guilty looks on their faces.

"Oh? Deuce, this isn't the botanical garden!" Ace said, trying to sound convincing (and failing).

"Where you puppies eavesdropping on us?" Crewel asked, his tone turning stern. You placed a hand onto Crewel's shoulder, shaking your head.

"Let's at least hear them out."

Crewel was about to protest, but nodded his head, letting them explain themselves.

"We were just curious about who Professor Y/n was married to!" Grim blurted, Ace facepalming and Deuce silently scolding the cat-like creature.

"Like he said, we never would've guessed it was Professor Crewel. He never wears a ring." Deuce explained.

You couldn't help but laugh, Crewel rolling his eyes at their little display of curiosity.

"The reason he doesn't wear his ring is because he's afraid he'll lose it or ruin it up during alchemy lessons. It also looks weird if he wears his gloves over it." you explained, the boys nodding their heads.

"You do understand that I'll have to punish you three, correct?" Crewel said, the three boys hanging their heads.

"Oh come on, love. Cut them some slack this time, hm?" you suggested, playfully nudging crewel in his side. The students were shocked to see this side of their professors, finding it a bit weird, but also rather sweet.

"Fine. But don't let me catch you again."

After the trio left, Crewel helped you set up the last of your things. You two were now having one last little intimacy session before classes began again.

"Tell you what? After classes are over, let's go have some tea in your office and just enjoy each other's company?" you hummed, reaching up to tuck a tuft of his white hair behind his ear.

"You always know how to take my stress away." he smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"Of course I do. I know my husband inside and out." 💍

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a-neru-neru · 19 days ago

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more six black birds art.

#i suspect that moment in the fic was when kasati got attached for good #just insrant fatality to his previous conditioning #night lords #art #kasati nuon #anrek barbatos #oc six #from the fic not my oc #more is coming i have to draw corvus as a terrifying raven beast now

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adamsrcnan · 11 months ago

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pre-pynch adam being unsurprised that ronan would be at his door in the middle of the night just gets me every damn time. like i need to know how that first time went.

the surprise of ronan standing there sullen and looking a little lost. the awkwardness of the cramped space and these two boys trying to fit in it.

ronan saying or doing something that would make adam sigh or roll his eyes. the falling into comfortable silence. ronan throwing himself onto adam's mattress, kicking off his boots and flipping open a text book as if he intended to read it.

adam side eyeing this action. their eyes locking. adam, eye brow raised. ronan, giving back a dead stare (because in that moment he wants to scream at the intimacy of everything so instead he has to pretend he feels NOTHING)

adam shaking his head and carrying on with his studies. ronan dozing off to adam's pen scratching on his notebook. adam kicking his leg later telling him to move he needs to sleep. ronan ungracefully rolling off the mattress onto the floor beside it. adam's scoff as he says "nice lynch" before laying down. (doesn't escape adam's notice that it's warm now and smells like feathers and leather. smells like ronan).

ronan snatching up a hoodie of adam's and balling it up under his head. adam throwing his arm over his eyes and losing himself in sleep immediately. ronan staring up at the ceiling listening to adam's breathing (he's so quiet he could be dead) and then turning his gaze to adam's face and his hand just shy of the edge of the mattress. (he can see the callouses in the moonlight, the faint stains of oil adam couldn't get out, the little pen ink marks) ronan sighing deeply before turning away and muttering "night parrish"

and then the second, third, and fourth times it happens. ronan dreaming up a better set of pillows for adam bc "your hoodies suck ass parrish" and "you have your own bed lynch" and ronan snarling in response and not saying anything back.

like i'm sorry i can't believe maggie just dropped that casual fact into the story TWICE. once from ronan and once from adam and then just never let us see it happen ever and expected me to not lose my mind over it

#i couldn't get enough of reading fics about this #it's been yearsss #i should go back to the ao3 tag and drown myself in it #adam parrish #ronan lynch #pynch #the raven cycle #trc

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magniloquent-raven · 5 months ago

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this post has been haunting me. i'm weak for beefy men in pretty underwear and @theweewooshow left an open invitation in the tags that i could not resist 😭 i was gonna say i can't believe this is the first fic i'm posting about these two, but honestly it kind of tracks.

hope yall enjoy!!

One of the things Tommy's always liked about Evan is how emotional he is. Expressive, is the word, maybe. Vibrant. It was one of the first things he noticed when they met. Poor kid was radiating nerves. The way his hands fidgeted in his pockets, and he wouldn't stop pacing while Tommy was double-checking their gear.

It's kind of fascinating to Tommy, watching Evan light up when he's happy, wilt when he's tired, always seeming to feel every emotion with his entire body.

All that to say...Tommy notices right away that something's up. There's a tiny, reactive part of him that wants to say wrong, something's wrong, but Evan's not pulling away, he just. Froze up for a second. It could've been a twinge in his bad leg when he climbed into Tommy's lap, or any number of other blips that won't completely derail the nice evening they're having.

But on the off chance...

Tommy carefully rearranges his grip, settling his hands comfortably on the small of Evan's back instead. "Everything okay?" He keeps his tone as light as his touch, and watches Evan's expression closely. Their eyes meet only briefly.

"No, uh, yeah." Evan's gaze skitters down, roaming Tommy's face, then darting away. "I, um." He grimaces, and shifts in place. The warm weight of his thighs is distracting. He's still a solid presence in Tommy's lap, and making no move to change that, despite his sudden singular focus on toying with the drawstring of Tommy's sweater.

The corners of his mouth are pursed into a frown that Tommy thinks about kissing away. That thought gets gently pushed to the side. Talking first, he reminds himself. Especially because... "If you're not in the mood anymore, that's okay."

Those—pink, perfect, God—lips part around a huff, half-curved into a grin. "That's kind of the opposite of the problem," he laughs.

Tommy can't help but mirror the smile, even if it's only a tiny one. "So, what is the problem?" He trails his fingertips up the line of Evan's spine, and down again, retracing the path when he feels Evan lean into the touch.

"It's...well, not hard to explain, exactly, but. I kinda wasn't expecting to explain..." He sighs, loud and exaggerated, and falls forward to plant his face in the crook of Tommy's neck, where he continues, slightly muffled, "How do you feel about lace?"

It's not what he was expecting to hear. Though, he's not sure what he was expecting. "Can't say I've thought much about it, to be honest."

He dated a girl back in the day who liked lingerie. She was always asking him what he thought about various scraps of silk and velvet, and it was all...very awkward. He always told her he'd like her just as much in cheap cotton and a borrowed t-shirt, which. In retrospect, was ironically true. When she broke up with him she accused him of being cold. Withholding. He brushed it off as neediness on her part.

He suppresses a wince at the memory.

Evan wraps Tommy's drawstring around his index finger, slowly curling it around his knuckle. "My ex. Taylor. She liked it. She liked...me. In it."

...Oh?

He can't picture it. Not in a bad way, he's not put off by the idea—very much the opposite—but when he tries, the mental image just...blurs. His brain is trying to mesh Evan with his hazy memories of things he never paid much attention to, and it's coming up frustratingly empty.

Tommy is very proud of how calm and steady he sounds when he says, “And…this was something you liked too?”

Warm air tickles the underside of his jaw. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Why are you telling me this now?” He feels like there’s something he’s missing. Something obvious he should have realized, if only he wasn’t so preoccupied with the way Evan’s thighs are flexing, his hand sneaking under the hem of Tommy’s hoodie, skin-to-skin, palm skimming his side, and the hot, tingling press of mouth-on-neck.

“Wanna find out?”

The second he nods he almost wishes he hadn’t, because all at once Evan is gone, and Tommy’s left sitting on his couch in a horny daze, blinking up at his slyly grinning boyfriend. As nice as the view is, his lap is cold now.

Evan thumbs his waistband. There’s excitement sparkling in his eyes, bright and shining, but he hesitates a moment before taking a deep breath and dropping his shorts around his ankles.

Oh.

So…lace. Tommy’s having feelings about lace. Not much in the way of thoughts yet. But feelings, definitely. The sudden rush of heat that burns through him leaves him a little light-headed, all the blood in his veins fizzing like he’s a can of soda someone just popped the tab on. His fingers itch to reach out, he aches with want, desire pooling low in his gut.

Thing is, they’re not even anything too fancy, as far as Tommy can tell. He has vague memories of his ex—and good God does he suddenly feel like he owes her even more of an apology—in complicated woven ribbons and things that probably looked like a crate of bungee cords in whatever bag they came in. Evan is just wearing…panties. Simple, pale blue, lacy panties. There’s a little bow on the front, and it’s unreasonably cute.

Evan hikes up his t-shirt a little, so Tommy can get a better look, presumably. Which he appreciates. He’s losing his mind a little over the trail of light blond hair under his belly button disappearing into soft blue lace. He wants to follow it with his tongue.

The attention is making Evan hard. Tommy’s not sure what his face is doing exactly, but whatever it is, Evan seems to appreciate it. He’s filling out that pouch in the front so fucking well, it’s making Tommy’s mouth water.

“So, uh. Good?” Christ, he sounds breathless and Tommy hasn’t even touched him yet.

It takes all of Tommy’s willpower to drag his gaze up to Evan’s face, but it’s worth the effort. His cheeks are flushed a happy pink, creased by a grin he’s failing to restrain even with his bottom lip trapped by his teeth. The blue in his eyes is a nearly-invisible ring around his dilated pupils, and shadowed by his heavy-lidded expression.

“Evan,” he says, a little hoarse. It’s all he can say without laughing hysterically at the sheer understatement of good. Without telling Evan, in detail, exactly how badly he needs to suck him off through that fabric. How vividly he’s imagining what it would feel like against his own cock, wondering if he could cum just from rutting against Evan’s lace-clad ass while he squirms and begs to be fucked properly.

And more importantly, it’s all he needs to say.

The rest he can just show him.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 show #a raven's writing desk #after they're done fuckin tommy turns to buck and all serious-like goes #''dyou think taylor would prefer flowers or a fruit basket''#and buck has to convince him not to send a thank you card

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