#rumbelle smut

[kelyon]

Courtship 3: First Date--His Place

After dinner, Gold takes Lacey back to his house.

Read on AO3

Mr. Gold’s house was a salmon-pink mansion in the good part of Old Town. This was a popular neighborhood for flower deliveries, so Lacey had at least been in the door of most of these places. But she had never been inside Mr. Gold’s house before. She didn’t know anyone who had. 

He unlocked the door and held it open for her. Lacey tried not to gape at the size of the place, the obvious quality and care. The front hallway was paneled in wood--not fake wood paneling, but wood--polished and clean. No chipped paint or decades’ worth of smudged fingerprints anywhere. 

Most of the house was dark. Lacey couldn’t see up the stairs or down the hallway. The only light was a mini-chandelier, with ropes of crystals that sparkled like the sequins on her dress. The darkness outside was so complete she could see her reflection in the panes of glass on each of the double doors.  

“This is lovely,” she smiled at Mr. Gold.

“Thank you.” 

He locked the front door behind them, then shrugged off his coat and hung it onto one of a row of empty hooks on the wall. When that was done, he went over to a door on the other side of the entryway. It was a closed door, made of shiny wood so dark it was almost black. He stood in front of it, with his cane in front of him, like he was guarding whatever was in the room behind him.

“Miss French,” he began, “you don’t have to be here.”

Lacey raised her eyebrows. “Well that’s a great start to a hookup.”

“I’m quite serious,” Mr. Gold went on. “I want you to understand that I am not compelling you to do anything. We’ve already discussed that what goes on between us will have no bearing on your father’s situation with the rent. If you leave now, or if you want to stop at any point in future, it will not affect my opinion of you. If you’re ever in need of my assistance, you’ll be able to come to me and I will treat you like anyone else.”

Lacey pressed her lips together. She didn’t want him to treat her like anyone else.

“At any point,” he was still talking, “you can ask to go home and I will drive you back. It is of utmost importance that you understand this: You are acting of your own volition, without coercion or threat.”

She looked at him, hands on her hips. She ran her tongue over the back of her teeth while she thought.

“You sound like you’re gonna try things I shouldn’t let you get away with.”

He came towards her. “I have tastes,” he said simply. “I have desires. I have things I want from a lover that many people--quite reasonably--balk at.” He was close enough now to whisper in her ear. “And I have an inkling about you, Miss French. I think it’s possible that you have desires of your own, desires you wouldn’t dare ask another person to indulge in.”

Her face went hot. She didn’t say anything.

Now he spoke more evenly, but still low and seductive. “At the restaurant, you asked me why I chose you. Let me tell you now: I chose you because it’s possible our desires might align. You might want to receive what I so dearly wish to give.”

He stepped away. He hadn’t touched her but he had been so close that having him gone threw her off balance, at least mentally. He stood in front of the door again.

“I’d like to be right about you, Miss French, but I need you to tell me if I’m wrong. Before you get hurt.”

Lacey blinked. She took a breath, got her bearings. “Are you planning on hurting  me?”

“I’m planning to give you every pleasure you can think of and a few more I’m sure you can’t. If you follow the rules.”

Oh. So this was another game. Straightening up, Lacey looked him in the eye. “What are the rules this time?”

There was that glint in his dark brown eyes. That gleam she had come to realize meant he was happy with her, or proud of her. She had done something right.

“This is my study.” Mr Gold tapped his knuckle against the wooden door behind him. “For tonight, this room is our field of play. When you come into this room, you will obey me. Without hesitation, and without question. Do you understand?”

The hairs on the back of Lacey’s neck stood up. The house was warm, but a chill went through her. 

“What will you tell me to do?”

“Nothing you won’t like,” he promised. “Any time you don’t want to obey, you just have to walk out this door. The game will be over.”

Lacey crossed her arms over her chest and tried to ignore how good the scratchy fabric felt against her bare breasts. 

“So are you gonna make me call you ‘Master’ or something?”

“No,” he chuckled at the suggestion. “No, I’m Mr. Gold. That’s quite enough for one lifetime.”

So at least she wouldn’t have to fawn over him like he was God. She just had to do what he said. Everything he said.

“Is this another game I can win?”

He shrugged. “That’s up to you, isn’t it?”

“I meant, would there be another prize?” Technically, the very fact of her being here was her reward for winning the game at the restaurant. 

“I’ll find ways to make it worth your while, Miss French. To my way of thinking, the greatest prize for winning will be the chance to play again.”

He wanted her. Somehow, the thought hadn’t occurred to her until now. It had been so obvious. Of course Mr. Gold wanted to screw Lacey French. She was young and hot and he was old and lonely. But there were a lot of girls in Storybrooke who were young and hot and Mr. Gold chose her. Mr. Gold wanted her. He saw something in her that he didn’t see in other girls. He wanted things--unmentionable but specific things--and he thought he could only get them from Miss French.

He wanted this to work. He wanted her to want him. He wanted her to want to play his games. The fact that she did only made the revelation that much sweeter.   

“Okay,” Lacey moved toward the study. “Let’s play.”

He held up his hand to stop her. “You should take a moment to collect your thoughts. Make sure this is really what you want, Miss French. Then, before you come into the study, take off your stockings and your underthings. Leave them out here. Put your shoes back on, and come join me. Or tell me that you want to leave.”

“I don’t want to leave.”

She spoke softly, but it was the boldest declaration she had ever made in her life. 

Mr. Gold gave her a small smile--an actual smile, the first she’d seen from him. Then he made a nod that was almost a bow. He went into the study and left the door open behind him.

****

Alone in the entryway, Lacey let out a long breath. Mr. Gold had told her to collect her thoughts but all she could think about was how horny she was, how alive she felt. All she could think about was what Mr. Gold had planned for her. Exactly how unconventional were his tastes? Would she walk into the study and discover him putting on clown makeup and wielding a meat cleaver? What did he want? What did he want from her?

She wasn’t going to find out in the hallway.

Lacey backed away from the glass-fronted doors into the dark interior of the house. Then she pulled up her skirt and rolled down her panties and her stockings all in one go. Good thing she had shaved her legs after all. She stepped back into her sensible black pumps and crossed the threshold into Mr. Gold’s study.

He was lighting a fire in the antique fireplace when she walked in. He was fully dressed and not in clown makeup, which was a good sign. When he saw her, he tossed the long match into the catching flames.

“That was quick,” he remarked.

“I know what I want.”

He came toward her, until they were standing close enough to kiss. With the hand that wasn’t holding his cane, Mr. Gold cupped her cheek. It was the first time they had touched anything more than their hands. 

“And what is that?”

The word you lay on the tip of her tongue. I want to know you. I want to know what you want and I want to give it to you.

Of course she couldn’t say that out loud. Sentiment was a little treacly for Mr. Gold’s taste. He liked bitter, not sweet.

“I want adventure,” Lacey said instead. It was mostly true. “I want something I can’t get from any other man in this town--something I can’t imagine most of them would even be able to understand.” She pushed herself toward him, pressing her body against his. She put her hand on his chest. “I want more, Mr. Gold. I want much more than this… life.”

He took a step back, then another. With his body gone, her hand hung in the air. He gave her one of his long, appraising looks.

“The first rule,” he said softly, “is that you don’t touch me. I will touch you, and I may give you explicit instructions on where I want your hands or your body, but I will not have you pawing at me like a pickpocket.”

Lacey’s cheeks burned. From embarrassment this time, not anything fun. “Oh.” She lowered her hand. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t meant to--”

“That’s why I’m telling you. I don’t want you making that mistake again.”

She swallowed down her guilt and nodded her understanding. She kept her eyes downcast. She really was sorry to have made him uncomfortable.

“I spoke to you, Miss French.” He came close again.

She looked up at him. “Yes, you did. And…?”

“And when I speak to someone, I expect the courtesy of an answer.”

“Oh,” Lacey said again.

He shook his head. “That won’t do at all, dearie. Say, ‘I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.’”

A flash of anger went up her spine. Who the hell was he to nitpick her behavior? Sure, they were playing his game, but that didn’t give him the right to patronize her!

Boldly, she matched his stare. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.” The sentence was hot in her mouth as she spat it out. But the words were right. She was following the rules. “I apologize Mr. Gold. Forgive me, Mr. Gold.”

Now he grinned. “Three times is a nice touch, but remember to say please when you want something from me.”

Lacey managed to conceal her eye roll with a long blink. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

He put his hand on her waist and pressed his body against hers. She couldn’t tell if it was a reward or a tease, the closeness she was allowed to have, but only on his terms. The warmth of him steadied her. It dampened down the sparks of her aggravation.

She felt his breath on her ear as he whispered, “Good girl.”

He slid away from her and once again Lacey was left feeling dizzy and off-balance, like she had just gotten off a Tilt-a-Whirl.

“Do you know how to pour whisky, Miss French?”

Lacey blinked a few times to clear her head. She looked around. He was in the far corner of the study now. A section of the bookshelf folded out to reveal a little compartment with bottles inside.

“Uh, is it different from pouring any other liquid?”

Mr. Gold nodded his head toward the bar. “Come here,” he ordered casually.

Lacey hurried to obey. She darted around a large couch with her arms out slightly in front of her, like she was being pulled by something on her wrists.

That was weird. Why had she done that? Lacey shook her head to clear it. When she got to Mr. Gold, she put her arms down by her sides.

���Pay attention,” Mr. Gold ordered. “I want you to be good at this.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

He positioned her in front of the bar, standing behind her. Reaching over her, he placed a finger on the lid of one of the bottles.

“Johnnie Walker Blue Label,” he explained. “Blended Scotch whisky, two hundred dollars a bottle. It’s good enough for everyday use.”

Two hundred dollars for a bottle of booze? A bottle of good enough booze?

Before she could marvel any further at how the other half lived, Mr. Gold took Lacey’s hand and placed it on the sky-blue bottle. With him guiding her, she took the bottle by the neck and pulled it out of the row.

“You may unscrew the lid.” He murmured it into her hair like it was a sweet nothing.

Lacey watched to make sure her hands weren’t shaking as she did what he said. Mr. Gold helped her pick up a short glass and set it on the bar. Her hand covered the glass and his hand covered hers. 

“Pour until it’s the height of two fingers.” He had his other hand over hers on the bottle. “Or three, in your case.”

She stopped before he could tell her to, when the brown liquid reached the top of her middle finger. She pushed away from him, just a little. Just enough that she could pick up the glass and spin around to face him. 

“Like this, Mr. Gold?”

The lines in his mouth deepened. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Count to ten--slowly, out loud--then come and serve me.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.”

She watched him walk over to a stuffed leather armchair by the fireplace. Before he sat down, he took a pillow from the couch and set it on the floor next to his chair. As she counted, Lacey looked at him, at the power he radiated. The chair he sat in wasn’t a throne. Mr. Gold wasn’t a king. He was something bigger than that. Something dark and eternal. Just what, she wasn’t sure. It was a mystery to be uncovered. 

When she was done counting to ten, Lacey went over to Mr. Gold with the glass in her hand. Some instinct made her bend at the waist when she offered him the drink. It paid off when Mr. Gold’s eyes swept down the line of her spine and lingered on her ass. Was he thinking about his order to take off her underwear?

“Well done,” he said as he took the glass.

Lacey made a pointed look at the pillow by Mr. Gold’s feet. “What next?”   

“Next,” Mr. Gold sat back in his chair. He swirled his whiskey in the glass and took a drink. “Next you will go to the top drawer of my desk, on the right-hand side. Open it, and bring the contents to me.”

“Yes, Mr. Gold.” Obediently, Lacey crossed the room.

The desk was a thing of beauty, rich dark wood and a leather writing top. It was large enough and sturdy enough that it could function as a bomb shelter if Storybrooke was ever under aerial attack. Lacey French had become valedictorian while doing homework at her kitchen table. If she’d had a desk like this, she would be a Rhodes scholar by now.   

In the top drawer on the right-hand side, Lacey found a strip of foil-wrapped condoms, a box of rubber gloves like at a doctor’s office, and white tube with the label facing up to read: ANAL LUBRICANT.  

She blinked. 

For a long minute, she just stared at the objects in front of her. The things Mr. Gold wanted to have close at hand. Then Lacey took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. In one motion, she scooped the supplies into her arms and walked back to Mr. Gold. 

The condoms and the gloves went on the table beside him, next to his drink. The lube he placed in an inside pocket on his suit jacket, close to his heart. 

He gestured to the pillow on the ground. “Would you like to kneel at my feet, Miss French?”

At that moment, Lacey didn’t know what she’d like. She had some ideas, or thought she did. Her formative years had been shaped by age-inappropriate romance novels. But it was one thing to fantasize about things--to imagine them and even want them. It was something else entirely to drag a secret desire out into the cold light of reality.

Mr. Gold was leaning forward, staring at her. He was waiting for her to answer, to obey, to keep playing their game. The game that had suddenly become too real for her.

“Can I ask you a question?”

He tilted his head. “You may.”

Lacey breathed. There was no other way to say it than to say it. 

“Anal?”

 Mr. Gold smirked. He sat back, comfortable again with how things were going. “You’ve never done it before?”

“No,” Lacey almost laughed. “It’s supposed to be gross, right? Or complicated, or dangerous?”

“What good thing in life doesn’t have an element of complexity or danger?”

“But don’t I need to, like, do an enema or something first?”

“That’s what these are for,” he gestured to the condoms and gloves. “It’s my understanding that being overzealous with cleaning actually increases the risk.”

“Really?” Lacey had never done research on the subject, and the few romance novels that featured anal were annoyingly vague on the details. Apparently Mr. Gold did this enough to develop a preference for it, so he was now the leading authority. 

“If you want to be clinical, Miss French, an enema will dry out the anal passage and leave you vulnerable to microtears, which can lead to infection.”

“I’m sorry, I stopped listening after I heard the word tear.”

“Micro,” Mr. Gold emphasized. “As in microscopic.” He patted his jacket where he’d just put the bottle of lube. “That’s what this is for, to make everything… smoother.”

Lacey dug her nails into her palms. The sharp, stinging pain eased her nerves. 

“Why did you put it in your jacket?”

“To make it warm for you.” He took a drink, then set down his glass. “Anything else?”

“You’ve done this before.” It wasn’t a question. “A lot?”

“Yes.”

“With who?”

“A gentleman never tells,” he smirked. “Suffice it to say it was long ago and far away. You’re in no danger of running into any jealous exes.” 

Lacey let out a breath of a chuckle. Learning more about what was going to happen had helped. Talking to Mr. Gold, listening to his unshakable self-assurance, had helped.

She smoothed her skirt.

“Do you still want me to kneel, Mr. Gold?” 

He picked up his drink. “Very much.”

Nodding, she went to the place beside him and got down on her knees. She sat up straight in a perfect L, the way people did in Catholic church.

“You can relax,” Mr. Gold said softly. “You’re going to be down there for a while, Miss French.”

His arm draped over the chair to hold her by the back of the neck. Gently, but with firm pressure, he pushed her down. She was still kneeling, but sitting on her legs. Now Lacey felt like she was in a karate class.

“There,” he said. “Isn’t that better?”

There was only one answer Miss French could give: “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

****

For at least fifteen minutes, Mr. Gold sat, and sipped his whiskey, and touched her. He tried to play with her hair, but quickly realized it was an unmanageable rat’s nest full of bobby pins. After that, he kept to her neck, her ears, her cheeks. He played with her idly, as if she was a pet, or some kind of ornament with an interesting texture. Just a thing for him to fidget with while he was thinking.

His fingers were soft. Mostly they grazed over her, practically teasing. Sometimes they pressed in. Sometimes he rubbed her with several fingers at once. He made his way down her back like that, massaging the spaces her dress left bare. Whenever she reacted with a sigh or a muffled moan, he touched her more. 

It was a quiet time, with nothing but murmurs between them. They watched the fire, listened to the crackles and pops of the burning logs. Lacey felt her pulse slow. Her thoughts wound down into almost nothing. Mr. Gold’s touch, his presence, could thrill her, yes, but right now it calmed her. It helped her be ready for what she knew was coming. 

“Have your legs gone numb?” he asked her after a while.

When was the last time Lacey had felt her toes? “I think they are, yes.”

“Good.” 

Pushing himself up with his cane, Mr. Gold got out of his chair. Then he bent down over Lacey, wrapped one arm around her chest, and with surprising strength, lifted her to her feet. She couldn’t stand under her own power, but he walked her to the couch and let her fall over the arm. Lacey braced against the cushion, holding herself up on her elbows.    

“Stay there,” he rasped. 

It sounded like he was out of breath. Had hefting her around worn him out? Or did it excite him to see her like this? If there was ever a position for a girl to get fucked in the ass, Lacey was in it. 

She breathed. It was going to happen. She looked down at her hands. They looked so pale and small against the wide expanse of tufted burgundy leather. Before the date started, she had managed to wash away all the potting soil from work, but she should have painted her nails as well. Maybe tomorrow she’d stop by the drug store and splurge on burgundy nail polish.

While she was thinking inane nonsense, Mr. Gold was running his hands up and down her thighs. 

“So soft,” he murmured. “So lovely.”

“That’s the miracle of exfoliating,” Lacey quipped.

As soon as she spoke, his hands stopped. “No, it’s the miracle of youth, Miss French. Enjoy it while it lasts. Can you stand now?”

Experimentally, she pushed herself up off the couch and put her weight on her feet. “Looks like it,” she said.

“Good.” 

As she stood, he pressed against her again, his front to her back. His breath was hot and delicious against her neck. Carefully, slowly, he put one hand on the front of her thigh, just below the very short hemline of her dress. 

“You know what I want,” he whispered. “The fact that you’re still here means you’re willing to give it to me. Is that correct, Miss French?”

“Yes,” Lacey breathed. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

Still with the same deliberate slowness, he dragged his hand over her thigh and under her skirt. He rested a minute on her hip bone, right over what would be her pantyline, if she was wearing panties.

For a moment, they breathed together. Lacey had the thought that this moment for him was what entering the study had been for her: Crossing a threshold. 

He slid his hand down, over her pubic hair, and into her pussy. 

She hadn’t realized how wet she was until she felt his fingers dip into liquid heat.

“Fuck,” Mr. Gold hissed. 

Lacey’s teeth chattered, but she grinned. “You sound surprised.”

“Pleasantly,” he assured her. His fingers began to move. “Delighted, actually.” He rubbed his face against her neck. His stubble prickled her skin.

She moaned.

“Are you always so easily aroused, Miss French? Do other men slide into you so effortlessly?”

He had found her clit shockingly fast, but he didn’t press against it too hard or for too long. He seemed to know without being told how she liked to be touched, how she touched herself. He pressed two fingers into her core for just a moment, dipping down and pulling up more wetness to slather over her lips and folds. His hand was quick and constant and everywhere.

“I asked you a question, Miss French.”

“No,” she answered breathlessly. “There’s only been one and he didn’t care much about me. I had to--oh!--take care of myself most of the time.”

“Well, there will be no more of that,” he muttered, still working furiously. “A woman’s pleasure is a prize, Miss French. It should be worked for, and savored.”

It was hard to think of an answer right now. It was hard to think of anything besides the swell of feeling he was pulling up out of her. No, Hunter had never touched her like this. She had barely ever touched herself like this, or found herself as wet as Mr. Gold made her.

She felt something building, felt herself rising and arcing, ready to reach the peak. She was going to--she was--

Abruptly, Mr. Gold’s fingers stopped. He kept his hand on her mound, holding it, but not doing anything.

“What?” Lacey turned around as best she could to look at him. “Why did you stop? I was almost there!”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I know,” he said. “You’re not subtle with your orgasms, Miss French.”

“I--should I be? Is that a thing you want?”

“Not particularly.” He squeezed her cunt and Lacey shuddered. “No, it’s to my advantage that you’re so… demonstrative.”

Groaning, Lacey fell forward over the arm of the couch. “You’re just fucking with me, aren’t you?”

“No, Miss French, I’m fucking you. I have every intention of letting you come.” With his other hand, he pulled her back up, pressed her against his body. He growled into her ear. “You’re going to ruin my jacket sleeve with your sopping wet cunt.” He let her go. “But only when I allow it. Do you understand?”

Breath shaking, Lacey tried to pull herself together. It was harder than it had been before. Blood pounded in her ears, the pulse of pleasure denied, the throbbing need she knew Mr. Gold could feel against his hand. She managed one breath, and then another.

“This is called edging, isn’t it?”

“It’s called obedience, Miss French. It’s called doing only what I want you to and only when I tell you to do it. It’s called being a good girl.”

Lacey clenched, she shuddered. She was going to come whether he wanted her to or not. She didn’t have a choice. Her body was just doing this.

“Fight it,” he snarled. “It’s a skill like any other. You can just stop.”

It was like falling. Like thinking there was one more stair and then you stepped up onto nothing and landed hard. Like waiting for a sneeze and not having one. Like trying to force yourself not to have hiccups. It was a weird holding sensation, as Lacey staved off her natural reaction. 

Somehow, she managed it. The feeling passed through her. She was able to calm down, control herself. Just like he wanted.

“Perfect,” Mr. Gold whispered. “I knew you could do it.’

Her teeth chattered. Lacey felt strangely wrung-out. Overwhelmed. Her mind and her body had somehow disconnected, and there was only the slightest tether between them.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you, Mr. Gold.”

****

Two more times he brought her to the edge and made her pull herself back. Each time it was harder and when he finally allowed her to come she was barely aware it was happening. Her body took over entirely, thrashing and screaming, grinding against him. Her mouth begged for more--Lacey heard herself say the words--but it was removed from her mental reality. It might as well be happening to a character in a book. 

Mr. Gold permitted her as many orgasms as she could take, then gave her one more when she thought she was done. By the end of it, she was slumped over the arm of the couch. Utterly boneless, utterly spent. Her mind was quiet. Her body was exhausted. In that moment, nothing mattered. In that moment, she floated on a cloud of perfect safety and peace.

When he decided she was done, Mr. Gold gave her a satisfied pat on her hip. At some point, her skirt had gotten rucked up to her waist. Her naked ass was up in the air, the perfect position for him to do whatever he wanted.

Through bleary eyes, Lacey watched Mr. Gold walk back over to his chair, to the little end table where he had set the condoms and rubber gloves. He put on only one of the gloves, and flexed his fingers with a satisfied smirk. Then he tore one of the condoms off the strip and walked back over to Lacey. He slipped the foil square between two of her limp fingers.

Putting his weight on his cane, Mr. Gold crouched down so he was on her level. Lightly, he brushed her hair away from her face. “You’re going to hold onto that for me until I need it. Do you understand?”

Blinking slowly, Lacey nodded. 

He tilted her chin up, so she looked him in the eye. “That’s not what you say, is it Miss French? Is that how you communicate with me?”

He was gentle, almost teasing, but she knew he was serious about what he wanted.

“No, Mr. Gold,” Lacey murmured. Complete satisfaction had brought her to a place of complete compliance. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gold.”  

“That’s the way.” He stroked her hair as a reward, with the hand wearing the glove. She could smell her pussy through the rubber. “Do you understand what I want from you?”

 She squeezed the condom between her knuckles. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

He gave her a fond grin. “Good girl.”

****

He stood behind her and opened her legs. He played with her pussy for a moment. The  sudden pleasure jolted her out of her stupor. He spread her wetness back towards her ass.

“Barely even need lubricant,” he muttered. “With a cunt so wet, so sloppy.”

He punctuated the word by jabbing his fingers hard into her cunt. Lacey let out a keening moan--it wasn’t painful, just intense--and he soothed her with gentle rubs.

“But that’s the way I want you, Miss French. You’re a mess of desire, absolutely filthy. You don’t mind getting dirty, do you dearie? No. No, I think you like it.”

His thumb was circling her asshole now, while his other fingers played with her cunt. He paused, briefly, and Lacey heard the snap of the lid opening on the tube of anal lube. A spurting sound, then a new substance on her body. 

The lube wasn’t cold, but it wasn’t as hot as her own juices. Lacey shivered at the feeling--at all the feelings--all the sensations and reactions Mr. Gold had drawn out of her.

“I do,” she whimpered as he rubbed the lube around her asshole, as his thumb made short, exploratory ventures within. “I do like it, Mr. Gold. God, I fucking love this.”

Behind her, he chuckled. His free hand rested over her ass, spreading her apart ever so slightly.

“You’re taking it well,” he murmured. 

Slowly, he eased the whole of his thumb inside her. Lacey closed her eyes and focused on the feeling, the invasion, the unusual fullness. Mr. Gold didn’t move his hand. He seemed to be listening, seemed to be as attuned to her reaction as she was.

“Well?” he breathed.

Lacey tried to think, but he had already fucked all the words out of her. “It’s… weird…”

“Unpleasant?”

“No. I mean--no, Mr. Gold.”

He squeezed the soft flesh of her ass and she knew that was her reward for speaking to him correctly. Then he began to move his thumb. At first he only rotated his wrist, so his whole hand moved in a slow circle. Then he began to spread outward, making the circle wider. Making her asshole wider. He slid out partially, then eased his way back in. All the while, Lacey lay draped over the couch, vaguely aware of the distant pleasure, but mostly overwhelmed. Mr. Gold hadn’t even gotten his cock out and she had already been well and truly fucked.

He added more lube, then started with his fingers. One at a time, he used the same patient experimentation as with his thumb. He explored her, filled her, fucked her.

“I’m going to start with two now,” he told her. “I’m going to open you up, and then I’m going to need that condom.”

Through her blissed-out haze, Lacey nodded. Then she corrected herself. “Yes, Mr. Gold.”

Again, he squeezed her. “Good girl.”

Two fingers was odd, especially once he started moving them. Odd was the only way she could think of it. It didn’t hurt, and it didn’t really drive her wild, at least not as much as his fingers in her cunt had. Lacey got the impression that this act wasn’t for her. Mr. Gold was just preparing her so she’d be alright with him doing what he wanted. 

That was fine. God knew he had already given her plenty. Mr. Gold might as well take something for himself. And in Lacey’s current state, she wouldn’t have been able to do much for him anyway. Better for him to do the work, better for her to just take it.

He plucked the condom from her fingers. She heard the sound of a zipper, of foil being ripped open. She heard a slight hitch in his breath. Then his hands were on her again. He spread her open and glided into her ass.  

Mr. Gold gasped. His clean hand gripped onto Lacey’s hip so hard it was sure to leave bruises.

“Fuck.” He choked back the word through gritted teeth.

With one arm, he roughly pulled her up and turned her neck to look at him. His cock was still inside her, but there was no pain or even discomfort. He felt amazing.   

“You’re sure you’ve never done this before?”

Lacey tried to hold herself up on the couch. “Not that I remember.”

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Fuck, you’re just a natural slut then, aren’t you? You just walk around in your day to day life with an arse that’s begging for my cock?”

He thrust his hips into her for emphasis. Lacey moved with him, realizing for the first time how tightly their bodies were joined. Become one was a romance novel phrase for fucking, but she felt the truth of it now. In that moment, Mr. Gold was a part of her, and she was a part of him. They were one thing, one animal, united in a singular drive.

It felt so right. It felt so good to be with him. So natural, so perfect. She was his and he was hers. They should never be separated again.

He must have felt the same thing. With his clean hand, Mr. Gold turned Lacey’s head to look at him. He stared at her for a moment. His eyes washed over her face, searching for some answer. He must have found it, because he pulled her even closer, and kissed her. 

She kissed him back, wet and sloppy like her cunt. It was an awkward angle with him inside her, but neither of them stopped. His hand moved over her body, over her dress. He squeezed her breast through the fabric and she trembled.

Their mouths broke apart, but they were still one being below the waist. For a moment, Mr. Gold stared at her again. His mouth was loose and slack from the kiss. He looked softer than she had ever seen him before, softer than she could ever imagine him being. He looked open and tender. He looked like he could love her. 

He was beautiful.  

One second later, his features sharpened again. His mouth hardened into a smirk. He bent her down over the couch. His cock pulled out about halfway and then rammed into her.

“Rest assured, dearie: You’re going to remember this.”

****

He took her hard, banging her into the couch with such force that the furniture shuddered forward with his thrusts. Lacey cradled her head in her crossed arms and let herself go loose. He made noises, animal grunts and muttered swear words. Her moaning was so constant it was almost a drone, a single music note that rang out over and over.

How could something so brutal feel so good? Mr. Gold fucked her like a beast, unyielding, unending, and she knew she had been made for him. To be thing he fucked, that was the only purpose she had. Through her haze of bliss, she understood it with perfect clarity. She accepted the fact. She loved it. This was where she belonged. This was all she wanted to do, to be, for the rest of her life. Lacey French was gone, even Miss French had faded away. She was something else entirely now. She was sex itself. She would take anything he doled out to her. She would take it gladly and beg for more. She really was a perfect slut.

His perfect slut. 

His thrusts became faster and stronger. A snarling stream of exclamations poured out from his mouth and over her body. Abruptly, he grabbed her. His arm pulled her up to stand while his cock kept pushing her down into the couch.

 “Ohh,” she sighed. It was all she could do.

His mouth was on her. On her cheek, on her neck. He kissed her with possessive bites, marking her. Claiming her body as his. 

He worked on one spot, just at the nape of her neck. He sucked and gnawed at her flesh until the pain he was giving her outpaced the pleasure. Her moans became high-pitched and pleading, but she didn’t want him to stop. She never wanted him to stop. 

Her pain was enough to send him over the edge. His thrusts became erratic, jerking and sliding, deeper and deeper, until he gave one final push.

When it was over, he let out a heavy sigh against her shoulder. For the first time, she noticed he was trembling, just like she was. Panting, he leaned against her. He rested his head on her neck, pressing his lips to the place he had marked. He wrapped both arms around her waist.

He held her.

Lacey kept shaking, shook more than she had while he was fucking her. Those movements had been all his, there had been no need for her to add to them. Now that he was still, Lacey’s body shuddered. Her hips thrust forward against the couch, her ass ground against him, even while his cock was softening inside her.

Mr. Gold chuckled in her ear. “Again?” he murmured. “Don’t you have an off switch?”

“I wish I did,” Lacey said as she clenched and convulsed. 

Finally, the wave crested through her again. She came with a grunt, her hands clawing at the leather cushion. Then she slumped forward, exhausted. Her body still twitched and throbbed, but those were aftershocks. She was done. 

Mr. Gold rubbed one hand over her back and down to her ass. He patted her like she was a friendly dog, like she had done hard work and done it well. Like she was a good girl.   

“I’m going to pull out now, Miss French.”

She made a vaguely affirmative noise and he didn’t chide her for not being correct. The heat of his body left her and she felt the familiar sensation of something vacating her asshole.

“Oh shit!” She lifted her upper half off the couch. “Did I--”

“No,” Mr. Gold answered before she could finish the question. “It just feels like it because you’ve never had anything else come out of there. At least, I assume. You took my cock with such ease, one might accuse you of feigning your innocence.”

Lacey groaned and crawled forward on the couch so her legs were on the cushion with the rest of her.  She lay on her stomach, her bare ass slowly getting cold.

“I never said I was innocent, Mr. Gold.” She rubbed her face. “Fuck, I’m sure not innocent after tonight.” 

He was over by a trash can. The hand wearing a glove held the full condom. He hooked the thumb of his other hand under the edge of the rubber so when he pulled the glove off, it went inside out. The condom went with it, so now everything dirty was in a neat little latex package for him to throw away.

He tucked in his shirt and zipped up his pants, but he had never even taken off his jacket. Five minutes after coming in a girl’s ass, Mr. Gold looked like he had spent the evening quietly reviewing the details of contract law. He knew it too. There was a swagger in his step as he came back to her. He was every inch the cocky bastard. 

 “Innocence is overrated, though there can be some pleasure in destroying it. Can you stand, Miss French?”

She could, but it was a multi-step process. She hauled her legs down to the ground--God, she was still wearing her shoes--and forced herself to sit up on the couch. Groaning, she got to her feet. Her legs were a little wobbly, but she was able to stand up straight.

“Very good.” 

Mr. Gold put his hand on her waist, just above her ass. He walked her out of the study to a bathroom in the hall.    

“Clean yourself up,” he instructed gently. “Feel free to use the washcloths. Come out here when you’re done.”

She obeyed him groggily, moving like she was underwater. The lube felt so slick and unnatural as she tried to wipe it away with toilet paper. Anal sex wasn’t that gross, but the aftermath sure was. She washed her hands and soaked one of the washcloths in hot water to put on her face. It was soft and new and good-smelling. Lacey breathed in the steam, the scent of lavender. Lavender was one of the few flowers she could actually stand the smell of.

She sighed.  

She looked in the mirror. Her face was flushed from the heat, her cheeks and forehead splotchy. If she pulled the collar of her dress over to one side, she could see the hickey Mr. Gold had left on her. The shape of his lips seared darkness onto her skin. She hoped it would last a while. It was her only memento of a very momentous night.

Her hair looked about the same as when she’d left home. There was some advantage to being so messy. Wild hair easily hid the wild things Lacey got up to.

When she got out of the bathroom, Mr. Gold was waiting for her. He offered her a glass bottle of sparkling water. She took it, and drank.

“Thanks--uh, I mean, thank you, Mr. Gold.”

They had left the study, but were they still playing? Would he want her to keep up the formality? He didn’t correct her. His pleased expression only deepened.

He put his hand on her bare back and gestured with his cane to a wad of cloth on the floor.

“I believe those are yours, Miss French.” 

“Oh!” She crouched down to pick up her pantyhose and underwear. “Sorry about that, Mr. Gold.”

He shook his head. “Not at all, Miss French.”

It would be too intimate to put on her underwear in front of him, and she didn’t want to excuse herself back into the bathroom. Lacey’s only option was to roll her stockings around her panties and hold the bundle in the hand farthest away from Mr. Gold. 

“I’ve got the car running out front,” he said. “I’d say it’s high time you got to your bed.”

“What time is it?”

“Just before midnight. I’ll see you home before your glass slippers vanish into fairy dust.”

Lacey snorted at the joke, then sobered when she looked down at her shoes. She’d gotten these sensible black pumps to wear at her mother’s funeral. Maybe it would be better if they did disappear. Then she wouldn’t have to think about tragedy every time she looked at them. 

Or maybe it would be okay. After all, now she could remember that these were the shoes she was wearing the first time Mr. Gold fucked her. 

****

He drove her home. The Cadillac was as smooth and as silent as a shark cutting through water. It was a far cry from the only vehicle she ever drove. The store’s delivery van coughed and rumbled like a workhorse that needed to be put out to pasture. Her Uncle Manny was over at least once a month to repair it. He used all his skill as a mechanic to keep that clunker running for just a little while longer. Just until things got better.

Lacey stretched out in the roomy warmth of the passenger seat. She luxuriated in this comfort for as long as it would last. She’d have to go back to reality all too soon.

“I can’t believe after all this I’m gonna have to take a cold shower.”

Mr. Gold looked at her. She couldn’t see his expression in the dark, but there was a tinge of amusement in his voice. “Is your libido that insatiable, Miss French?”

“Huh? Oh.” Lacey chuckled. “No, I mean literally. Our hot water tank is pretty much useless.”

He pulled over and parked in front of Game of Thorns. There was no amusement in his voice when he spoke again. “No one informed me of any problems with your hot water.”

Lacey blinked. “Why would we?”

“Because I’m your landlord, Miss French. Technically, that’s my hot water tank.” He shook his head. “I never should have taken your father’s word that everything was fine.”

“Um. I mean, it’s not a big deal. My dad’s gonna get it fixed eventually.” 

Like everything else in their lives would eventually improve. 

Mr. Gold didn’t say anything. He unlocked the door and Lacey took that as her cue to get out.

“I--uh--I had fun tonight.” She stood in the street with the passenger door open. “Thank you for a… really great evening.”

In the flickering street lamps, Lacey could make out the shape of Mr. Gold’s head, but not his expression. He was looking at her, but she had no clue what he was thinking.

“You’re welcome, Miss French.”

She shut the door, and picked her way through parked cars and piles of snow. He waited until she opened the unlocked side door of the building, and then he drove off. 

[goldenwingediris]

I took a little break from my WIP to write some Dark Castle smut! Enjoy.

[rumbelle-scream]

i cant watch this scene without knowing there's makeup sex after! 😭 like, that's the only reason i'd watch a ship fuck up!

they still look good together tho. (shocked)

they styled his short hair nicely in this one. and even though her dialogue is heartwrenching, belle is really a sight when she's being scathing. 😍

ONCE UPON A TIME 6.04, Strange Case

[a-rose-for-gold]

An excellent question! Gimme!

Rumbelle fandom:

Where is my post Dark One Rumbelle smut? We have a sensitive woobie who is madly in love with his wife. We have insecure Rumple who could be with Belle for the first time without the Dark One in his head. We have a chance to write first time smut for a couple who has been together for 4 seasons all over again. 

So where’s the smut?

[fioredimarzoo]

Hey, I have a 🌶 prompt for rumbelle/goldenlace!! and i need someone to fic it!

Cursed Storybrooke, but in the present day. Season one. Rumple has just woken up from the curse, after Emma's arrival, and one random afternoon, while he's on his smartphone, he gets a notification that an onlyf4ns creator he subscribed to has just posted a photo (the nickname is something like luvlace(?) bookishluvxoxo, idk). Rumple, having nothing better to do, decides to take a look (well, he's paying for whatever this photo is!) and there he sees his Belle for the first time in years, with less clothes than he was used to seeing her wear. First reaction: shock! he smashes his phone somewhere!

His Belle is alive and... not dressed!

[kelyon]

TMI tuesday, do you have any Belle or rumple masturbation or mutual masturbation snippets you can share?

Well, I didn't until I got this ask! Between this and the earlier question about making male masturbation sexy, I am quite inspired.

Here's the first 900 words. I'll post the whole thing to AO3 when it's done.

“What are you wearing?” Belle put her phone on speaker and set it on her pillow before sliding under the covers.

“Uh, a suit.” Theo’s voice filled her tiny bedroom in the apartment over the library. “It’s the dark gray one, with pinstripes and--”

“Are you still wearing pants?” She wouldn’t mind hearing him describe his entire wardrobe, but they had a specific goal they were working on tonight. She had to keep him focused. 

“Yes, Mistress, I’m wearing pants.”

“Your belt is still buckled?”

“Yes.”

“Are you hard yet?”

Over the phone, she heard him gulp. “I’m getting there.”

Sinking down into her mattress, Belle moaned. “Yeah, I bet you are, Theo. Tell me about it, darling. Are you at half-mast or just twitching?”

This time, he sighed. “Oh. Oh, I--I don’t--”

“Do you need to feel it for yourself, Theo? Do you need to touch your cock to know how hard it is?”

“Yes,” he breathed. 

“Well then, you know what you have to ask me.”

Another breath. Across the miles, Belle could see her Theo gathering himself together. “Please, Mistress, may I touch my cock?”

“Hardly any time ago at all, you were too ashamed to touch yourself in front of me. Now you’re begging for it! What a good boy you are, Theo. How far you’ve come!”

He made a slight whining sound. Belle grinned. He knew that she hadn’t actually given him her permission yet. 

She dropped her voice, made herself low and sultry. “Alight, sweet Theo. Put the phone down near your waist so I can hear you obey me.”

From the various noises of movement and then a muted thunk, she knew he had done what she said.

“Now I need you to unbuckle your belt.”

Faintly, she heard a clink of metal, then a woosh of leather against wool.

“Unbutton your pants and unzip your fly.”

He obeyed.

“You can feel yourself over your boxers, can’t you, darling? You don’t need to take them off just yet, do you?”

“No, Mistress,” Theo said, but he sounded choked. That was good. As much as Belle wanted to give her Theo what he wanted, there was no reason not to let him want things a little more. 

“So tell me how hard you are, you good boy.”

“Very hard,” he breathed. “I’m so fucking hard for you, Mistress.”

“Mmm!” she moaned. “I knew you would be! What are you going to do with that big, hard cock?”

For a second, Theo didn’t say anything. He didn’t seem to know what the right answer was. “I---I, uh…”

“You are going to touch it, aren’t you?” she coaxed him. “You know more than anything, I want you to love your body.”

He scoffed. His breath was loud against the phone. He must have brought it back up to his ear.

“Where are you right now, darling? Where in your house?”

“I’m in the study,” he said. “At my desk.”

“Get upstairs,” she ordered. “Get into your bed, get comfortable. Call me back if you need to.”

“No,” he rasped, too quickly. “No, Mistress. I--I don’t want to hang up on you.”

“That’s fine,” she assured him. “I’ll stay on the line, I don’t mind. But I do want you to do as I said.”

“I will,” he promised. “I--I’m going upstairs now.”

She listened to his heavy step as he went up the stairs. The sound of his cane on the hardwood floors, the creak of antique doors opening and closing. The rustle of fabric. 

“I’ve undressed, Mistress.”

“Completely?”

“No, I’m still wearing my boxers.”

“Do you want to take them off?”

“N--” she heard him swallow. “Not really, Mistress.”

“Then you don’t have to, my good boy. Just get into bed. Arrange the covers however’s comfortable. Turn the light out. Do whatever you need to do to relax.”

“Yes,” he sighed. She heard him moving around. “Um.”

“Yes, Theo?”

“Mistress, I’m not hard anymore.”

He didn’t sound like he was judging himself, but she showered him with assurances just the same. 

“That’s perfectly alright, Theo. It happens all the time. I know you still want me. I know you want to please me, and you do, you will. I know what a good boy you are. And I know what a lovely, hard cock you have. You’re going to get hard for me again, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” he breathed. He sounded like he meant it. “I’m in bed now.”

“Good!” Belle smiled, though of course he couldn’t see it. “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Alright, my heart, we’re starting from the top. I want you to run your fingers through your hair.”

“My hair?”

“Mmm-hmm. Try to pet yourself the way I pet you. Think about me running my fingers through that silk. Maybe when you’re on your knees in front of me?”

Theo breathed. “Or kneeling by your side while you sit. Faithful as a dog.”

And just as loved. Belle wasn’t sure if she should say that, so she didn’t.

“Play with your ears,” she ordered. “The very top of the outer shell, that’s always so sensitive when I touch it. Do you like touching yourself there?”

The hitch in his breath gave her all the answer she needed. “It puts a tingle in my spine.”

“Oh, can you touch the back of your neck? It always makes you shiver.”

“So it does,” he chuckled. He did sound relaxed. He sounded happy. 

[goldenwingediris]

Tangled Threads - golden_winged_iris - Once Upon a Time (TV) [Archive of Our Own]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/58459678

It’s all right, we all enjoy a little dark castle smut here.

Chapters 1 and 2 of about a million

[phoenixwrites]

Regina talks a big game. But for all of her suspicions, right here? She is afraid.

She was so desperate for Rumplestiltskin's curse, she did not see the little...failsafes, little loopholes for Rumple to see. For instance, why he asked for Emma's name, because Emma's name--the Savior's presence in Storybrooke--would unlock his memories of the Enchanted Forest.

Or that little, "I want everything I want, as long as I say 'please'" which turned out to be a little curse trick that would FORCE Regina to comply, whenever he said 'please'. (Which should've been utilized more often actually...I suppose that broke when the curse broke, but still.)

But here in this moment, Rumplestiltskin reveals a few things.

He gave up his biggest trump card against Regina--his name, the knowledge of the curse she cast--just for a tiny PIECE of his memories with Belle. Regina has always known that Belle is important to him, but I don't think she understood HOW important, that what SHE thought was a clever move--kidnapping Belle for further use against Gold--actually seems to be her holding on to an atomic bomb ready to go off the moment Gold realizes he has her.

He is not SCARED to give up his name. It alters things a bit, he's annoyed, but he is not afraid to do it, the way she is. That frightens her. Gold has had this plan for WHILE and she has no idea what it is or how it might screw up her own machinations.

She tries to get the upper hand back when she taunts him with the cup--but it's too late.

Gold is a dangerous weapon and the moment he realizes that Regina has Belle, that weapon is gonna be turned against the Queen.

[bookwormchocaholic]

Am writing two novels side by side...

This Magnificent Bastard enters my dreams and in my sleep, he gave me an idea for a fanfic that won't leave me. Haven't written fanfiction since 2018/2019...

Thanks, Rumple.

[nym-wibbly]

In BOT did Rumbelle get around to oral sex?

They did! Rumple was down there like a shot once he believed Belle was into him rather than just tolerating him. Took a lot longer for him to work up the nerve to ask her to do him. I'm sure she'd have thought of it by herself a lot earlier if he hadn't kept her so thoroughly... distracted...

Poor Rumple. Always his own worst enemy.

[eirian-houpe]

Time’s Curse - Chapter 4

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Baelfire | Neal Cassidy, Victor Frankenstein | Dr. Whale

Additional Tags: AU, Original Character(s), Non Storybrooke, London, The Enchanted Forest (Once Upon a Time), Angst, Pining, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Murder, will add others as necessary

Summary: Never fall in love - such is the admonition given to Rumplestiltskin. Blue sees fit to interfere with his plan to reach a world without magic by sending him there herself so that he can pursue his quest to find his son, but he is not alone in this world without magic, nor does it appear that he is entirely free to live his life as he would wish. In the course of his seemingly fruitless search for Baelfire, Rumplestiltskin takes a job as a history teacher at an exclusive private school, and there meets Isabelle - the French teacher. All of a sudden that interdiction against falling in love seems to be really important.

Read previous chapters on AO3

Chapter 4 - An Ordinary Life

Transitions were always hard, new lives harder. It wouldn’t be the first time of course, that Rumplestiltskin had changed from one identity to another, but for some reason, trying to be ‘normal’ was proving to be a challenge. It seemed the past was always trying to pull him back.

The head teacher’s office was such a melting pot of Clorox, dark brew coffee, and cheap air freshener to disguise the mingled scents of adolescents or sickness - probably both - that it propelled him instantly back to the incident with the doctor that he had only just days before been discussing with Cambridge. There was even a black and white print poster of famous people throughout history, most of whom did not even look like themselves, with a blank space in the corner next to the question, “You?”

The head teacher returned to the room, and apologized for having had to deal with a discipline issue, and to thank him for waiting. A woman clearly close to retirement; the lines of weariness clear on her face. 

“My pleasure,” he answered quietly.

“So… Mister Gold - Sheridan…” she smiled at him, and fixed her graying hair back behind her ears. She was clearly flustered,  So he sat and waited for her to regain her composure. He wanted this to go well, after all.

“Been at this school for thirty years now,” she volunteered. “The last ten as the head teacher, and so much has changed. Depressing really - I feel so old.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head.  If only she knew about old; feeling old. The march of centuries weighed heavily on him at that moment. To distract himself as much as to compliment his prospective employer, he said, “You don’t look it.”

“You’re too kind,” she said, but he knew he had reached her with that. “Oh, to be as young as you.”

Gold chuckled. “Hardly,” he said. “Fifty two isn’t young, Miss Evers.”

“Well, you look good for it, Sheridan.”

“Dan is fine,” he told her, suddenly feeling like Sheridan was such a mouthful, and at that moment, sitting in a routine job interview, for a normal job, he was enjoying feeling ordinary; inconspicuous.

Far from inconspicuous was the sudden noise coming from beyond the window behind the head teacher, and he looked that way to see a handful of rambunctious students in untidy uniforms following a woman not much taller than they. She wore a plaid green plaid skirt with cream colored, woolen tights beneath; a grass green blouse and a dark blue, almost black cardigan over it all.  Her chestnut hair was piled atop her head, and lit almost aflame by the sun that bathed the seemingly impromptu educational party.

For many long moments he sat, as if mesmerized, unable to look away, finding himself warmed by the beauty that graced her as she laughed at something one of the students said.

Miss Evers turn to glance in the same direction, a knowing smile drawing a blush to his face as he said, “Ah, that’s Isabelle, our librarian, and French teacher. Unique among our staff and the students adore her.” He thought, and tried not to remark that he doubted they were the only ones, which only served to deepen his blush. “She always seems to prefer al fresco education - rain or shine.  They really engage.”

“It seems like you all do wonderful things here,” he said, pointedly trying to draw the attention away from his obvious admiration for the librarian turned teacher.

“We do our best, Dan,” Evers said, “but somehow we feel like we’re pushing that boulder up the ever present mountain of inner city disadvantage.”  She sighed. “That’s the only thing that worries me, I have to be honest.” At his puzzled expression she added, “About your application.”

“Ah,” he said, feeling suddenly crestfallen, his stomach knotting in fading hope.

“Don’t get me wrong, Mister Gold,” her switch back to a more formal address did not fill him with confidence. “I heard from all your references and I can’t fault them. They’re impeccable.” He sighed with relief. At least Cambridge had done right by him in that regard. He’d been highly worried that she wouldn’t. “But… well - this is the inner city, and not an affluent comprehensive out in the suburbs.”

“Pardon me saying,” he interrupted, “but kids are kids.”

She nodded agreement, “And our kids, as you’ve seen,” she gestured through the window once more where the teacher and her class seemed intent on studying something low on the ground.  He quickly looked away again. It wasn’t seemly for him to suddenly be thinking about the alluring curve of the diminutive educator, “our kids are great, but they don’t have those same privileges, and… well… I worry that you’ve led too sheltered a life to appreciate that.”

He let out a sudden burst of humorless laughter, adding, “You’d be surprised,” to the end of it, so as not to appear too manic; too desperate.

“Mister Gold–”

“Dan.”

“Dan,” she nodded then continued, “Most of our students struggle so much to understand the present… the world around them.  Their reality.  How do you hope to get them engaged with the past; to bring history to life.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. She could have asked him no easier question. “Miss Evers,” he began, “I don’t need to bring history to life, because it already lives. It isn’t abstract tales of kings and queens, politics and wars. It’s you, and me… it’s those students and their families. Your shirt, for example. You could explain the whole history of colonialism, imperialism and slavery.  The blood, sweat and tears that brought us to being able to walk into Marks and Spencers and pick out a shirt for work or school… it’s incredible when you think about it.”

She fiddled with the collar of her shirt, and he knew he’d made her uncomfortable and should have regretted it.  He didn’t, just raised an eyebrow at her look of almost guilt.  Evidently he’d hit the mark on where she shopped for her work clothing.

“My point is,” he continued, “It’s all around us - history. It’s a part of us, and teaching it is just about making people understand that.  Everyone loves history!”

She raised an eyebrow. “You think?”

“I know.” he corrected. “It’s about making people see that who they are now, is because of what came before.”  He gestured to the window, and asked, “May I?”

She nodded, a look of intrigue on her face, and as he stood to walk to the window, she too stood from her chair and followed him.

“That building over there,” he gestured to a drab, depressing looking building with tall towers on one corner and an even taller chimney. “It used to be a mental hospital - an asylum - did you know that?”  She shook her head, “And that one,” he pointed not too far away from it, to a building he knew was on the next street over. “A slaughterhouse.  Did you know a couple of hundred years ago they took the bones of those slaughtered animals, ground them up and made porcelain from them?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, just went on, “If we just turned back time and walked that street we would hear the lowing and the wailing of people and cattle each condemned to madness and death.”

“You certainly have a macabre way of putting things, Dan,” she murmured, and he worried he had traveled just a little too far to the darker side of history, but he shrugged.

“Not too far from here is where the suffragettes used to meet. A turning point, a real change for good.”

“I see from your resume that you knit,” she changed the subject.

“I do,” he said, “and weave, and even spin.”

“You put Helen to shame.”

“Helen?”

“Our domestic sciences teacher.  Can’t even iron a shirt without putting more wrinkles in than she’s taking out, let alone make or sew clothing.”

“Well I love to,” he said, “especially to spin my own wool, but I find it hard to talk about. Hard to teach.”

“Unlike history?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Unlike history.”

“And the curriculum?” she said, “You’re up to date.”

He nodded. A lie.  He had downloaded the document, but hadn’t ready it. The time at the computer had given him a headache enough without plowing his way through something he knew was going to be drier than dust.

“Well…” she seemed to have one more reservation. “For a history teacher, you’re a bit on the young side.”

He almost jumped back in surprise.

“I’m fifty two,” he reminded her.  Going on several centuries - older than you can count. he didn’t say. “A rather old fifty two.”

She smiled then, and seemed to be considering something, considering him, and he did likewise, thinking of himself in terms of the lifetimes, the generations he had lived before the curse… after the curse in Cambridge’s thrall… each year lived, each moment past made it harder yet to live in the present, in the moment without darkening your soul. Eternity was little more than a progression of moments in the present, ignoring the ghosts of the past to try to live.

He gave himself a mental shake, the voices encroaching on him again - the murmuring, hissing annoyance of all those centuries past, all those lives, the voice of all the Dark Ones before him.  It had been happening a lot of late, the more years he suffered since the curse, the more it seemed the past wanted to catch him up and crush him before he could reach his goal, before he could–

He had to concentrate, to hold on to the inconspicuous, to the ordinary - to normal.

Miss Evers shook her head and gave a little laugh, lost, it seemed, in past moments of her own.  Was it as dangerous for her as for him?

“I have to say, Dan, I’m impressed with this application - very impressed.” She blushed then, and lowered her voice to make her confession, “I’ve been somewhat suspicious of why someone with your credentials would apply to our struggling little school.  You’re frankly everything we’ve been looking for, and… well… even if you weren’t, you’d still be getting the job.”

“Oh?” he asked, his own suspicions somewhat stirred.

“No other applicants,” she explained with an apologetic smile.

He could not help but laugh at that.  It was probably the most ordinary thing that could have happened to him in that moment, and his laughter was, apparently infectious, because Miss Evers apologetic smile, became first a nervous, and then more hearty laughter to join with his own.

The laughter soon died though as Evers shared, “There’s a plaque on my street, you know, right there on the corner below the street name.”

“There is?” he asked, though the prickling along his spine told him he shouldn’t.

She nodded, and returned to her desk to sit and take a sip on her coffee.  He followed her lead, retaking his seat across the desk from her. “There were many plague victims who died on that street. One of the worst hit areas of the city apparently.”

Memory laced with pain assaulted him at the mention of plague. It surprised him with its vehemence because he had long since laid that memory, and his feelings for his former wife - indeed his former wife herself - to rest.  Milah was nothing to him any more.  Worse than nothing if he were honest.  Forgotten remnants of a cuckolded past laced with hate.

“I see,” he said mildly, pushing the thought away, and forced a smile to his face. “You see, I told you that we are history.”

She chuckled again. “I have a feeling about you, Dan, and aren’t we supposed to listen to our instincts?”

“I suppose,” he agreed, though he wasn’t sure that he agreed.  Feelings had never been helpful for the Dark One… had always led him astray, in fact - his own at least.  Some of his best deals had been made when he was hard and cold, calculating. No room for feelings in that. No… feelings were the opposite of everything he stood for… Weren’t they?

He found his eyes flicked through the window again, to where Isabelle was moving among the students, speaking to each with little touches here and there that reminded him of someone. But no… that someone was dead. Regina had told him so.

He smiled and stood, “Well… if there’s nothing else, Miss Evers, I will… see you in August, I suppose.”

“Of course,” she, too, stood. “But August will be here before you know it, Dan. That’s another thing about getting older,” she added sagely. “Time goes by faster.”

“Or not,” he whispered, looking down at his hands, his normal hands. In that moment he missed the claws and scales.

Ever’s must not have heard, because she added, “And children.” The words jolted him from his growing self loathing.

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

“Children,” she repeated. “I have three. The oldest is in her twenties, and I promise you time has flown.  Only yesterday she was playing dress-up with princess dresses, and next week she’s moving in with her girlfriend… a house of their own.  Can you imagine?” She shook her head. “Do you have any?” 

Another flash of memory and pain.  He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t deny Baelfire. Wouldn’t.

“A son,” he told her. “But… I lost him.” He didn’t understand why he would tell that to a complete stranger, especially when he knew she would take it wrongly. “I mean… I don’t know where he is. We lost touch.”

He turned away from the awkward, sympathetic expression on her face. He couldn’t stand her pity.  He’d find Bae… one way or another, and with or without Cambridge’s help. He heard Miss Evers shift in her seat, and glanced at her again to see she looked as if she were about to make some kind of comment. Instead she simply said, “See you soon, Mister Gold.”

With a nod, he stepped out beyond the threshold of her door, turned to look along the corridor to watch as two teenagers who had been standing, heads together, thick as thieves, looking at their phones, scurry away like cockroaches.

“Yes,” he said aloud but quietly. “See you soon.”

He left the school and prepared to walk the mile or so back to his modest home - a town house, two up two down - but he couldn’t help feeling as though he were walking with one foot still in the Enchanted Forest. He had not experienced that sense of dislocation in a long time. It bothered him. Everything like that had meaning.

He took the long way home, and it took him down by the wharf, another painful reminder of a past that seemed ever to be encroaching in the new, cursed life in which Cambridge had trapped him with her interference and her false promises.  He should have crushed her like the bug she was centuries ago; when she first gave Baelfire the bean.  His head began to ache - an understatement for it pounded like the painful beating of his heart. Another symptom of living in a world without magic… as if that magic were trying to reach across worlds and pull him back; enticing - daring him to try and reach for it, even knowing that he could not.

Wearied, dizzy, he reached out to try and support himself on something - anything - nearby. He leaned against the hood of a nearby car, only lightly, but the car alarm still sounded and to him was like the one of many wails of pain out of that long dead time in the Enchanted Forest, reaching through worlds and through time. He pushed away from the car, escaped from its insistent cacophony, only wishing he could walk away from the cacophony of pain-born memories just as easily.

[shamelessrumbellefan]

Chapters: 17/? Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle & Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Jiminy Cricket | Archie Hopper/Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Grumpy | Leroy/Nova | Astrid Characters: Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Belle (Once Upon a Time), Evil Queen | Regina Mills, Maleficent (Once Upon a Time), Jabberwocky (Once Upon a Time), Mad Hatter | Jefferson, Jiminy Cricket | Archie Hopper, Red Riding Hood | Ruby, Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Blue Fairy | Mother Superior, Prince Charming | David Nolan, Nova | Astrid, Grumpy | Leroy, Snow White | Mary Margaret Blanchard Additional Tags: Rumbelle - Freeform, RedCricket, Fluff, Rumplestiltskin in love, The Evil Queen is jealous, the evil queen - Freeform, Protective Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Romance Series: Part 1 of The Realms Series Summary:

3 Months after Rumplestiltskin throws Belle out he crashes her wedding and returns to the Dark Castle with her. Now what was he supposed to do with a woman who was in love with him but couldn't be with him?

*Rating is for chapters six and beyond.

Chapter 17 is posted!!!!! CONTAINS SMUT!!! 

[tickletorso]

The Rare Books Crises -chapter 2-

FIRST I want to give a big big thank you to @the-chipped-cup-awards for putting together a great event and keeping the fandom going! It was my first year participating and I had a blast. 

SECOND I was fortunate to have my fic The Rare Books Crises win BEST COMEDY which I love for soooo many reasons but inparticular because I love to make people laugh. 

THIRD I didn’t have any plans to expand this fic, but a devilish smut bunny would not leave me alone. Thus, a very smutty pwp was created. It’s my first time writing smut so constructive criticism is welcome! 

AO3 link THE RARE BOOKS CRISES CHAPTER TWO 

[thescholarlystrumpet]

Show Me Your Top "No White Flag" Ships as of 2025

It's my birthday and I wanted to make a fun post so I thought I'd start a tag game for top Ride or Die, I Will Go Down With This Ship and get my friends to post their faves too :D

no pressure tags: @quona @gleafer @kotias @hakunahistata @mielpetite @klikandtuna @loversandantiheroes @lexarturo @timelordthirteen @beeeinyourbonnet @abovethemists @emospritelet @bisexualr2d2 @rufeepeach @roselynnthornwood @lassitr @starfish-spencer

Aziracrow/Ineffable Husbands (of course)

Shassie (my newest ship but I'm deeply invested now)

Agathrio (had me in a chokehold from Ep ONE)

Huskerdust (I'm SO HERE for their "slow burn romance" which is canon per Viv!)

Whouffaldi (do not @ me. they are in LOVE.)

Jeff x Annie (I'm aware of the problems but DAMN their chemistry is REAL)

Bubbline (even before I knew it was canon, I knew they belonged together)

Rumbelle (the first OTP that got me writing smut!)

Sarah x Jareth (baby's first ship, the one that started it all. Iconic, problematic, and formative AF.)

Honorable mentions below the cut!

Garcy

Barson

Callian

Capt Ryan Clark x Billie McEvoy

WandaVision

Hameron

[kelyon]

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice).

What the Rumbelle fandom needs now?

ANYTHING though I will also accept NEW BLOOD. We've talked before about the trouble with being in an old fandom whose show has been off the air for years. The old guard is still around and sometimes we get new people, but it will never be the hive of creativity that it was when we had one week between episodes to fix whatever nonsense the show threw at us.

MORE SMUT. Rumbelle has a reputation, dammit! The internet as a whole is going though a stage of prudery, but I am on the side of UNABASHED FILTH. I want writers to take risks! I want to be offended and grossed out! I want to discover new kinks through fanfiction!

More angst/drama (in fics). In today's world, I understand the impulse to use fandom as a retreat from troubles. But sometimes escapism can also come from reading about how bad off fictional characters can have it! This goes with my earlier point of wanting writers to take risks. Write something that makes people sad! Remember how angsty Rumbelle used to be before we knew it would all be okay? Live in that moment! Rumple spent 30 years thinking Belle was dead and never knew he loved her! SAVOR THAT ANGST! Tear out my soul! Please!

[goldenwingediris]

Reworked a little for canon compliance.