So I've been writing fanfiction on Tumblr for literal years and after a while, things got messy. Really messy. Like, I found things here I never even knew I posted because they never got put on the old masterlist and just got buried. Well, it's time for a fresh start, and with a whole slew of new formatting. Here we go!
Supernatural Fics
Dean
A Sinner's Lament 1 2
Sam
To Love a Moose
John
Letters from the Grave
A Bittersweet Reunion
Waiting for Superman
Crowley
Just For Tonight
Busted
Multi-Character
Nightmares of the Damned
Your First Time
Good Omens Fics
AziraCrow
What Did You Say?
Finally
Original Character Fics
Fallen From Grace - Shea (Supernatural) [xCrowley]
Silco's Sparrow - Cassa (Arcane) [xSilco]
De Amor y Magia - Carmen (Encanto) [xBruno]
Southern Comfort - Nicole (The Walking Dead) [xDaryl]
So,,, if elves can live up to 750... then Astarion's parents may still be alive if they had him young. They'd be old as hell, but alive. And they'd have mourned their murdered son for 239 years, not knowing he was undead, a vampire, and being tortured. They'd have been visiting an empty grave. And never knew it was empty. So potentially... if Tav was sneaky enough and did some digging and found out where they lived... they could reunite Astarion with his parents. His old, elder elf aged parents. Who would see the 39 year old son they'd assumed dead 200 years ago at their doorstep. See those fang wounds and the red eyes and just... know.
The truth about Cazador would have gotten out eventually after his downfall. They'd see their now vampire son and immediately know what had happened to him, that he'd suffered for 200 years. And now he was free, deeply traumatised and a changed man. But still their son, still looking 39 like the day he died, back in their arms.
And some stranger they'd never met had cared about him enough to find his parents and bring him home to them. Astarion finally could bring his *true* lover home to his mum and dad. And his parents could finally rest easy knowing someone cared about him and loved him as much as they did, to the point they went out of their way to reunite them.
Fell down a vine rabbit hole last week. Made this. @kikorenart thought it was funny. So. *throws down like wet piece of luncheon meat and gestures vaguely* there y’go.
warnings :- none
pairing :- rumplestiltskin x fem!reader
TRUE LOVE
"You've earned him." The King said, a grudging respect in his tone as he beckoned Prince Henry to come closer.
The throne room buzzed with muted whispers, silk brushing stone, candlelight flickering against gold-trimmed pillars. Nobles leaned forward in their seats, hungry for spectacle, for a fairy-tale ending they could gossip about for years to come.
The Prince kneeled down and kissed (first name's) hand, his lips warm against her skin, reverent and hopeful. The court sighed as one, seeing devotion, seeing destiny.
But all she could think about was the dark sorcerer who had helped her.
"(first name). If you will do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage." He said, hope glimmering in his eyes.
She felt the weight of a thousand expectations press against her chest. Her smile came easily enough — she had learned long ago how to wear one like armor — but her pulse betrayed her, thudding loud in her ears.
(first name) hesitated for a moment, her eyes quickly flickering to the crowd where Rumplestiltskin stood, half-hidden in shadow, his knowing gaze locked onto hers. There was no jealousy in his eyes. Only certainty. Possession. Trust.
But ultimately she said;
"Yes." with an emotionless look on her face, knowing where her heart truly lay.
The room erupted into applause. Bells rang. Cheers echoed. And yet, inside her, everything was quiet.
---
(first name) adjusted her satin gloves, looking at herself in the mirror; her frame clad with the beautiful ivory wedding dress as she threw back her veil.
The gown was exquisite — delicate embroidery, pearls sewn into the bodice, fabric soft enough to feel like clouds against her skin. This was the dress girls dreamed of. This was the moment songs were written about.
And still, it felt like a costume.
"Enjoying the view as much as I am?"
(first name) whipped around, her breath catching — then steadying — as her beating heart calmed down at the sight of him.
"Rumple." She smiled as the imp like man giggled, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her.
His magic hummed beneath her skin when he touched her, dark and alive, as familiar as her own blood.
"How dare you. I'm a married woman." She teased, lightly pushing him back as he replied, pulling her closer.
"Not yet. Wedding's tomorrow." He grinned slyly, kissing her again as she hummed in approval, laughing against his lips.
"Well then it's alright." She whispered, deepening the kiss.
The world narrowed to breath and heat and stolen seconds. When he finally pulled back after a moment, her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright.
"Love the dress."
She smiled, looking at herself in the mirror again, seeing not a bride — but a woman standing on the edge of choice.
"Thank you. Though my heart's not really in this whole marriage thing."
She sighed as he sat on the chair behind her, watching her like she was the only thing that mattered.
"You know, I thought I wanted this. White and bright, all the admiration. Then I look at it. Doesn't have that much appeal if I'm being honest." She shrugged, walking over to him.
"Compared to what you could give me." She said with a smile.
"I can give you nothing, but darkness and isolation." He replied, looking slightly regretful, as if afraid that truth might drive her away.
"And love." She finished for him.
"Yeah. And love." He looked disbelieving, as if nobody had every truly loved him before.
"Then that's all I need." She said, holding his hands in hers, grounding him.
"What if I uh...what If I amended our contract, hm? Instead of you owing me some random first born child-" he said with another flourish of his hands.
"-you owe me...my child." He said, with a somewhat gentle expression.
(first name's) face flushed slightly as she nodded, the weight of the promise settling between them — dangerous, binding, eternal.
"I can make that deal."
"As can I." He muttered, pulling her to him as she spoke again.
"Rumple. Can we truly do this? Can we really have this?" She asked, vulnerability cracking through her resolve.
"If you truly wish it." He replied, a hopeful smile on his face.
"...There is one-"
"What?" He asked.
"The King. He humiliated me. He made me feel the way you've shown me, I never have to feel. I want him dead. I want to take his heart, and crush it so he can see what I'm doing when he dies." She said, the anger burning anew, sharp and righteous.
"And that is why I love you." He grinned cruelly.
"Show me." She said, placing a hand on his heart.
"I will show you everything." He replied, placing a hand over hers.
"Then I'll do it tonight. Tonight, the king dies." She whispered.
"Let's seal that promise." He said, his voice low as he kissed her, making her feel weak in the knees.
---
Rumplestiltskin stood under a tree in the dead of night, moonlight spilling through twisted branches, shadows curling at his feet like loyal beasts. He saw a serene looking figure approaching, calm and purposeful, dress dark against the forest gloom.
"I was starting to grow concerned."
He said, with a smirk, walking up to her and kissing her.
"Well, here I am. With the King's heart."
She smiled triumphantly, holding it aloft — still warm, still faintly pulsing under her control.
(flashback)
(first name) walked up the stairs to the King's treasury, each step echoing like a countdown.
"They told me I'd find you counting your treasure."
"Well, you've made us a rich kingdom again. How can I help you?" The King asked., writing down something on a scroll.
"I don't love your son." She said, her voice hardened.
"I didn't expect you to." He replied, not looking up.
"Not much there to love, frankly. But this is not about love. It's about alliances." He said, standing up and taking her hands in his, an action that thoroughly creeped her out.
"Love, is weakness." He said, "It isn't for hard women like you. That, should make your choice easier."
"My choice?" She pretended not to know what he was talking about.
"Run off with the evil imp you think no one knows about in the name of love or stand next to my son with crown on your head and citizens at your feet."
"You're wrong. Love isn't weakness. It's power. To those who use its potential to the fullest and besides. If the choice is love or power, then even having a heart is a liability isn't that right?" She asked, placing a hand over where his heart should be.
Before even giving the King a moment to think about what she said, she plunged her hand into his chest and ripped his heart out.
"Follow me and forget about everything that just happened." She whispered into the heart as she lead him to the forest where her true love was waiting for her.
(present time)
"Would you like to do the honours?" She asked, tilting her head towards Rumplestiltskin.
"No. You do it." He replied as (first name) turned to King Xavier.
"Long live the King." She said as she crushed his heart, the man falling dead at her feet.
The forest went silent.
And in that silence, a crown fell — not onto a throne — but into darkness, love, and power earned the hard way.
fin-
AN :- WEEE WE'RE DONE
DISCLAIMER :- almost all script credits go to abc productions and ouat 🫶🏻
Rumple sighed as he leaned against the counter. He shook his head before pushing off and heading towards me.
“Long day?” I asked. He shrugged. “Regina?”
“Isn’t it always?” He sighed. “Another deal. Another day.” He headed into the back to hang up his coat before coming back to shift through some papers. He pressed a kiss to my cheek before I grabbed his sleeve. “Everything alright dearie?”
“perfect.” I said, drawing him close. He chuckled as he wrapped his arms around my waist. My hands wound their way into his hair as I pulled him into a kiss. “Rumple.” I hummed as I gently tugged on his hair. He moaned as he backed me against the counter.
“(Y/N).” He whispered as he pulled away for a breath. “What’s brought this on?”
“you’ve had a bad day.” I shrugged, pulling him back. He hummed as he kissed me deeply. “Rumple.” The bell above his door rang as we stumbled back from each other, the two of us looking to see Emma walking in. I glanced over to see rumple running his tongue over his lips with a smirk. He winked at me before turning to her.
“and what do I owe the pleasure ms swan?” He asked as he tugged his vest down. “Another attempt at finding Henry’s storybook?” Emma shook her head, glancing over at me with a teasing smile.
“No. Today I’m looking for…Regina said something to me about…” emma started.
“a glass mobile?” Rumple said. Emma nodded. “Damn her to hell.” He grumbled as he went into the back. “Before I got…distracted…” rumple cleared his throat. “I was planning on checking to see if her warning was true.” He disappeared into the back and started rummaging around.
“so you and mr gold…” Emma started, teasing as she leaned against the counter.
“shut up.” I groaned, rolling my eyes at her. “I’m grown. I’m allowed to kiss who I please.”
“oh that looked like it was leading to more than just kissing.” Emma hit her shoulder against mine.
“Emma you’re a fucking tease you know that?” I laughed.
“Someone has to look out for you.” She shot back. “He ever tries something you…”
“I know. I’ll call you. But I can handle him.” I assured her. Rumple came back holding the mobile.
“seems Regina was wrong.” He chuckled. “Name your price Ms swan.”
“I’ll help you find your son.” Emma said, ghosting her hand over the glass animals. “And keep your secret.” She nodded over at me before leveling her gaze at rumple.
“Deal.” Rumple said, handing over the mobile. Emma nodded and headed out of the store. “Thank fuck she’s gone.” I chuckled as I reached out to brush his hair back. “Since when do you wear cherry chapstick?”
“since Mary Margret said something about it driving David wild.” I teased. Rumple laughed. He smiled softly at me before tugging me back towards him. “Rumple.” I laughed as he leaned over and kissed me again.
“remind me to extend my thanks to them. Owe them a favor.” He murmured before leading me into the back of the shop.
warnings :- suggestive, i digress way too much, mdni
pairings :- killian jones, rumplestiltskin, robin hood, peter pan, david nolan x reader. (SEPARATE)
HICKEYS; HOW THEY'D GIVE AND RECEIVE
Killian Jones
Oh, you better BELIEVE that this man is going to leave his mark—and he’s not doing it gently. Losing a hand didn't make him less dangerous; it just forced him to adapt. Killian bites slow, deliberate, and agonizingly deep. He takes a twisted kind of pride in mapping out his lover’s skin with his teeth, treating their body like a canvas for his possessive streaks. By the time he’s satisfied, they look less like they’ve been loved and more like they’ve survived a genuine battlefield, painted in a mosaic of bruises.
And god forbid something makes him jealous. If he catches another person looking for too long, the subsequent marking becomes a territorial claim. He will deliberately ruin them for anyone else, focusing on the most public, high-visibility areas—the stark line of the collarbone, the dip of the throat, and the soft skin right beneath the jawline. It’s an unspoken rule: after a night fueled by his envy, leaving the house requires at least two or three heavy layers just to look respectable.
Does his partner mind? Absolutely not. There’s a thrill in carrying his weight around all day.
Flip the script, though, and Killian’s tough exterior fractures in the best way. On the receiving end of things, he becomes an entirely different creature—impatient, restless, and delightfully whiny. He hates the vulnerability of being serviced, his hand twitching for control he can’t quite grasp. But the second his partner's teeth touch his own skin? The complaints completely die in his throat. He’ll take every single mark given to him, sinking into the mattress and wearing those bruises like a badge of honor.
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
Rumplestiltskin
This man may be well over five hundred years old, but time has only sharpened him into a master of precision. He is no blunt instrument; when it comes to marking his lover, Mr. Gold doesn’t just leave a bruise—he burns himself into their very being.
Because of his cane and the slight physical limitations, he relies heavily on leverage, pinning his partner down with an unexpected, deceptive strength while his hands—accustomed to the delicate precision of spinning gold—hold them fast. His favorite marks are the ones hidden from the eyes of Storybrooke but agonizingly loud to the wearer. The tender skin of the inner thighs, the abdomen, or the vulnerable flesh right along the ribcage. These are strategic placements; they ache with every single breath, stride, or shift in a chair throughout the work day. It is a constant, throbbing, tactile reminder of exactly who owns them.
Jealousy, however, coaxes out the volatile nature of the Dark One. He has learned to control the violent impulses—after all, it isn't his darling’s fault that the world stares at what is beautiful. When his deep-seated insecurities are triggered by a lingering look from a stranger, his retaliation is quiet, methodical, and devastating. He will deliberately mark his partner's pulse point of the throat or the nape of the neck—high-visibility zones that demand a high collar or a heavy scarf to conceal. Each bite is a slow, deliberate brand, a silent declaration to the opposer: Look at what is mine, and despair.
On the receiving end, however, Rumple completely unravels. Decades of being unloved and feared make him incredibly touch-starved, yet intensely defensive. Give him service, and he goes absolutely still—tense, quiet, and hyper-aware of his own vulnerability. He won't whine. Instead, he chokes on his own breath, completely overwhelmed. If his partner leaves a mark on him? It shatters his control. Feeling teeth sink into his skin reassures his darkest insecurities, proving someone actually wants to leave an indelible scar on the Dark One.
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
Robin Hood
Robin might be a rogue and an outlaw, but when it comes to his lover, he’s a man defined by a fierce devotion. He marks his partner out of an overwhelming, breathless need to cherish. His touch is a contradiction of a thief's lethal precision and a gentleman's profound reverence.
Because he is a man of the woods—accustomed to tracking, survival, and the raw elements—his style is deeply tactile and grounded. His marks are dark bruises left by a mouth that lingers too long because he simply cannot bring himself to pull away. He favors the spots that evoke comfort and closeness: the slope of the shoulder where they rest their head, the crook of the neck, or the sternum. They are meant to feel like a warm, protective brand that pulses with his heartbeat.
Jealousy turns Robin into a protective wall. If someone dares to eye his partner, he doesn't scheme in the dark—he stakes his claim out in the open. His reaction is to pull his lover into his side, his hand gripping their hip right where everyone can see. That night, his marks will crawl up the throat and right along the jawline. He wants the world to see the shadow of his mouth on their skin the very next morning. It’s an archer’s arrow shot straight into the ground: This territory is occupied.
When the tables are turned and Robin is the one receiving, the bold, confident leader entirely melts away.
Robin thrives on the vulnerability. He is a provider by nature, constantly looking out for everyone else, so being taken care of makes him sigh into the mattress with a heavy relief. He is incredibly vocal—not whiny, but breathless. He whispers praise, mumbles half-formed words of devotion into the pillows, and chuckles softly at the sheer bliss of it, his fingers tangling tightly in his partner's hair. If you bite him, Robin absolutely unravels. To an outlaw who owns nothing, those marks are the only wealth that matters—proof that he belongs to someone, and that he finally has a home worth fighting for.
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
Peter Pan
This little shit is a creature of pure, unfiltered malice and eternal youth. He isn’t looking to romance his partner; he wants to consume them. When it comes to marking his lover, Peter doesn’t do it out of passion or insecurity—he does it for the sheer, sadistic thrill of dominance. He treats their body like a territory conquered, and he wants them to remember exactly who their king is.
Because Peter thrives on torment, he doesn’t leave marks where they can easily be shown off. No, Peter leaves his marks in the most agonizingly frustrating, high-friction places possible: the lower abdomen, the center of the sternum, and the sensitive skin curving along the side of the ribs. Every time his partner bends over, laughs, breathes deeply, or pulls his clothes on, the fabric rubs directly against those raw, stinging crescents. It is a constant, physical reminder of his teeth, keeping them trapped in his orbit even when he isn’t in the room.
Jealousy doesn't make Peter volatile; it makes him incredibly petty and wicked. If he senses another's eyes on his sweetheart, he will pin them down with a terrifying, ancient strength that belies his youthful appearance. He will deliberately cage them beneath him, sinking his teeth into those exact, agonizing spots on their ribs and abdomen until they are breathless and sobbing from the sheer sensory overload.
When the tables are turned, the dynamic becomes a high-stakes psychological game. On the receiving end, Peter Pan refuses to yield an inch of his power. Peter absolutely refuses to let his partner leave a mark on him. To him, a mark is a sign of ownership, and the king of Neverland belongs to absolutely no one.
There is only one single loophole to this rule: if he has genuinely angered his lover. If Peter has pushed them too far, played one too many cruel games, and sparked a real, blinding rage in them, he will allow it.
He would rather jump off the highest cliff in Neverland than admit it out loud, but seeing the dark, angry bruises and teeth marks his partner leaves on his pale skin turns him on immensely. Seeing the marks on him is the ultimate proof that he managed to evoke a passion so intense it became violent.
Yet, beneath the mind games lies a terrifyingly soft truth: his partner is the only person he has ever confessed his love to. Peter is a romantic in his own twisted, dark way. During every single one of their trysts, amid the heavy breathing and the biting, he will lean down and whisper those three words over and over like a mantra. He reminds his sweetheart of his devotion with a desperate, almost fierce urgency, ensuring that while their body belongs to his games, his blackened, immortal heart belongs entirely to them.
∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗
David Nolan
David Nolan is a prince, and his approach to intimacy is different. David is a man of duty, honor, and deep, overwhelming passion. When he marks his lover, it is an act of pure, unadulterated adoration—heavy, breathless, and incredibly possessive in a deeply traditional way.
Because of his background as a shepherd, David possesses a rugged, physical strength that he usually keeps carefully checked. But behind closed doors, that restraint snaps. He uses his broad frame to completely engulf his partner, pinning their wrists above their head with one large hand or anchoring their hips flat against the mattress. David marks with a deep, aching slowness, favoring the places that feel the most romantic: the muscle where the neck meets the shoulder, the soft underside of the jaw, and the inner curve of the wrists. His marks aren't sharp or cruel; they are deep, blooming bruises that look like flush, sun-warmed branding. It’s his way of anchoring them to him, leaving a physical testament to a love that survived curses and time itself.
Jealousy turns David quietly protective. If a stranger stares too long, his jaw tightens, and his hand immediately finds the small of his partner's back, a quiet, reassuring gesture. That night, his marking becomes an urgent, almost desperate reclamation. He will focus heavily on the collarbones and the high slope of the chest, areas that sit right at the edge of a shirt collar. He wants his beloved to look in the mirror the next morning and see the unmistakable shadow of his devotion, a silent warning to the rest of the world that they are entirely spoken for.
On the receiving end, the man who carries the weight of the entire town on his shoulders completely dissolves. David spends his whole life being the protector, the savior, and the leader, so being the one completely taken care of utterly unmans him. When given service, David loses all of his rigid, military alertness. He goes entirely melty and heavy against the sheets, his chest heaving as he surrenders control to his lover. He doesn't play games or hide his emotions; if his partner makes him feel good, he will look them dead in the eye, his gaze intensely soft, and tell them exactly how much he loves them, his voice thick with emotion.
The bell over the shop rang as I opened the door. Rumple looked up with a smile as I headed straight for the counter on the left.
"It's still here right?" I asked, leaning over the glass and looking behind the counter.
"Of course it is." Rumple said, smirking at me. "I told you it would be. So why wouldn't it?" I rolled my eyes at him and made grabby hands at the glass pumpkin behind the counter. “Give me a minute.” Rumple chuckled as he moved behind the stacks of odds and ends he kept in his shop. “Remember, it comes at a price.”
“yeah yeah yeah.” I waved my hand. “I know how retail works rumple.” He took a step back.
“I mean a deal.” He cocked his head.
“yes. The deal is you give me the pumpkin. And I give you money.” I put the cash on the counter and rumple stared at it. “Now gimme.” I reached towards the pumpkin and rumple chuckled.
“If you’re trying to get a rise out of me…” he shook his head.
“is it working?” I asked, dropping my arm onto the counter. I crossed my arms and propped my chin on them, staring up at rumple with a smile. Rumple rolled his eyes and brought the pumpkin over to me. “Yay!” I squealed as I picked it up.
“Keep your money.” Rumple pushed the bills back towards me. “My only request is you stop buying decorations sweetheart.” I looked over at him. He was trying to give me his best puppy dog eyes. “You have enough stuff.”
“Never!” I cheered, holding the pumpkin aloft. “Trust me rumple, you can never have enough Halloween decorations.” I pulled the pumpkin closer and smiled at him as he leaned across the counter to kiss my cheek.
“darling, you are incorrigible.” He smiled. “See you back home?”
“see you back home.” I kissed him softly. “And I make no promises about the decorations.” Rumple chuckled and shook his head as I walked out of his shop.
Synopsis: Twenty-eight years after the dark curse is cast Rumplestiltskin wakes up to find himself in an idyllic small town in Maine, where he has all of the wealth and power Regina had promised him. Of course, he expected Regina to throw in some loophole, something small enough to make him quietly miserable without breaking their deal, but what he didn’t expect was to wake up to a woman bearing his last name and a town that only tolerates him because they care for her. Now he must tip-toe the line between his identities, silently guiding Emma to fulfill her destiny as the savior while never breaking their illusion that he is a happily married human man.
Or: Regina decides to punish Rumple by forcing him to be emotionally available (eg. married) to a woman he’s never met before. He wakes up long before she does. Chaos ensues.
Warnings: None, very very brief mention of cheating (Milah & Hook)
Word Count: 1.4k
A/N: Rumple’s POV chapter! I took some liberties with his cursed personality so if he’s OOC that’s why. Anyway let me know what you guys think! Once again posting on mobile so sorry for any weird formatting! (Gold’s cursed name is Robert in this. It’s a throwaway line, but will be used more as the story progresses)
Rumplestiltskin was three hundred years old, the physical embodiment of dark magic, the most powerful man alive, and was currently hiding from his wife in his pawnshop.
Waking up had been like a splash of cold water, a buzzing behind his eyes as two lives collided in his mind, forcing each other to shift and change and mold together. His first thought, when he awoke with a jolt to memories flooding his subconscious, was that he would need to find the savior as soon as possible. His second thought was that there was a body beside him, softly snoring.
At first, he refused to turn, some small part of his mind hoping that if he didn’t acknowledge the woman he knew would be there, she would simply disappear. The rational part of his mind knew better.
He wasn’t sure if he had been relieved or disappointed when he rolled over and didn’t recognize your face. Of course, he did know you, he had seen you every day for the past twenty-eight years, but he couldn’t recall ever coming across you in Misthaven. At any rate, you had certainly either been too smart or too scared to call upon him yourself.
He had gotten ready well before dawn and had done his best to avoid you since, though you inconveniently kept materializing wherever he seemed to be walking towards. You smiled at him when he saw you at the inn, unfortunately unable to continue ignoring your existence. You had spoken to him with such familiarity, had leveled him with a gaze that spoke of no true ill will, only the irritation that came from a long marriage, that for just a moment he saw Milah in your place. Milah, back when they had been happy, and Bae was still young and at home, and Killian Jones had stayed far out to sea where he belonged.
The thought had so violently shocked him that he turned to leave without a word to you at all, and very well would have without a second thought had Granny and Red, no, Ruby, not shot each other sharp glances from across the room at his behavior.
Now, sitting alone in the back room of the pawnshop, he turned his wedding ring over in his hands, his mind struggling to force its way through his memories of the curse. Being as old as he was, having seen and done as many things as he had, imaginary memories had no place in his head. He could have forgiven the lack of them and continued on unnoticed, he thought, had it not been for you. You, who knew his cursed self better than anyone and seemed intent on attaching yourself to his hip because of it.
He sighed, closing his eyes, willing his mind to dredge up who he had been only a day prior.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He was younger, though not by much. A little over five years, maybe, if he was being generous. Storybrooke was bright and cold, the dead leaves of autumn falling on the concrete of the sidewalk around him. The street was clear, pedestrians anxiously fluttering to the other side whenever he drew near, and despite the sharp frown that he wore he was quite content.
His steps were even, his cane providing a rhythmic beat to his walk as he moved.
Click
Click
Click
BAM!
He was suddenly taken off balance, his back slamming into the brick wall of some small shop or other. It took him exactly one second to realize that he wasn’t moving, and another to realize that the reason was because someone had run into him.
Someone rammed into him so hard it sent him flying backwards and yet there they were, still curled into his chest, as if they could make him disappear by simply ignoring him. He wasn’t quite sure what to do, he had never been in this situation before, and so he froze, waiting for his accidental assailant to make a move.
When they finally looked up his breath was knocked out of him for the second time that day.
There you were, your skin prickling with embarrassed heat and your eyes wide with a mixture of shock and worry. You let out what he took to be a nervous laugh, your fingers fluttering anxiously as you searched for words.
Rather than bolt, like he assumed you would, or start furiously apologizing, which you seemed halfway to doing, you bit the inside of your cheek, looking him over.
“Are you alright?”
He was…surprised, by your words. An emotion foreign to him, but not an unwelcome one. You seemed genuinely worried, unlike those who would pretend in the interest of saving their own skin, and at the look you shot him something in him shifted.
He gently grabbed your elbow, steadying you, his mouth moving before his mind had the chance to catch up.
“I’m alright, are you?”
You slowly nodded, lips pulling up into a small smile as you relaxed, looking him over.
“You’re Mr. Gold, right? The pawnbroker?”
“I prefer ‘investor in vintage goods’, but I suppose that works too, yes.”
You nodded, then, holding out your hand to him, a bright smile gracing your face.
“Well, in any case, let me treat you to lunch. It’s the least I could do after hitting you like that.”
He wasn’t sure what came over him, at that moment, but he nodded before he could think better of it, shaking your hand.
“I’d like that.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gold awoke with a start, his back aching in protest as he straightened in the old, wooden chair he had fallen asleep in.
The pawnshop was bathed in darkness, his bones creaking in protest as he moved to stand. He reached blindly for his cane, attempting to push away the false memories before they burrowed back into his mind.
He was…unnerved, to say the least, that his cursed self had behaved in such a way. It seemed that Mr. Gold was nothing but an old, blubbering fool who had become wrapped around the finger of the first pretty girl he had met.
He pointedly ignored the fact that he called you pretty.
He sighed as he checked his watch, the time showing that it was well past midnight, the pale moonlight doing nothing to illuminate the room around him. He grabbed his coat, debating whether or not it would be worth it to sleep on the old sofa tucked away near the back door, when the quiet ‘ding’ of a bell caught his attention.
Someone had just walked in.
For a moment he allowed himself to simply listen, debating what his story would be if Regina had somehow deduced that he was awake. He didn’t particularly think her to be that clever, but then again he did teach her himself, and she was his second-best student.
“Robert?”
Your voice drifted to him from the front room, his cursed name quiet on your lips. He clenched his jaw, irritation bubbling over, but hardly had time to even turn toward the curtain before you were pushing your way through, eyes wide with concern.
You looked as though you had just rolled out of bed, though, considering the hour, he wasn’t sure that you hadn’t. You approached him but stopped just short of touching, your voice dripping with worry that very thinly concealed your irritation.
“What’s gotten into you? You’ve avoided me all day, and now you’re sleeping at the shop? I just…I’m worried, alright? I want you to talk to me.”
He met your gaze, forcing himself to fall back on the few cursed memories he could clearly recall, and took in a deep breath, nodding.
“Yes, I…apologize. I was busy, that's all. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
It felt like pulling teeth, speaking to you in such a way. If he had his magic he imagined that he would have turned you into a toad or a chicken by now, but alas, here he was. He didn’t miss that the way your eyes lit up, your voice gaining back its excited tone from that morning as you babbled on about something or other.
As he followed you back to your shared home, because you had for some strange reason neglected to take the car, he only had one thought.
As soon as the curse was broken, Regina would have a hell of a storm coming her way.
Can you write a Mr. Gold x reader where he proposes? Your the only person I've found that write for him and is also taking requests
I’m so sorry that this took so long! I hit a period of writer’s block and honestly didn’t check on this account for several months, but now I’m back!
Anyway, this was a super cute request and I went a little overboard with it, enjoy!
Mr. Gold (OUAT) x GN!Reader oneshot request
A/N: I honestly don’t love how this came out, and I’ll probably go back and rewrite the ending, but it’s done! yay! || probably OOC Gold, he’s harder to write for than I thought || author’s first fic in like seven months who cheered || requests are still open guys so feel free to send in a prompt! || author is writing and posting on mobile so if it’s formatted weird that’s why
CWs: None? I think? || there’s a brief mention of night terrors || let me know if I missed anything!
Word count: 3.8k
In the midst of the curse, you hadn’t particularly liked him.
You didn’t fear him, no, not like most other residents of your quaint little town of Storybrooke, just found him mildly annoying. He always arrived to collect rent a day early, seemed to appear behind you at the most inconvenient of times, and spoke to you like you were a child, someone who was inherently beneath him in your small-town hierarchy. It was small things like that which grated on your nerves, resentment bubbling up under your skin when you saw him pause for just a second too long outside of your bakery’s window, as if scanning you and your shop for any slight imperfections.
So, it was safe to say that you were surprised when he waltzed inside one rainy Monday afternoon, the bakery deserted so that the only sound was the click of his cane on your new tile flooring. Your head shot up from where you had been kneading dough behind the counter, your brows pinching together and your lips pressing into a thin line. You dusted your hands off on your apron, standing straighter as he approached you like he had all the time in the world.
“Mr. Gold, what a surprise. I’ve already paid rent on the bakery and my apartment for this month, unless I’m mistaken?”
Your voice held no malice, but it was cold and tight, the kind of tone that someone held when they felt cornered into a conversation they’d really rather leave. Gold simply shrugged in response, turning his head to scan the empty tables around you both before his dark eyes returned to you.
“Yes, dearie, I have every cent owed. Though I wonder how, considering you seem to be forever short on business.”
The corner of his lips tilted up into that infuriating smirk that you couldn’t stand, the tips of your ears burning hot in a mix of embarrassment and indignation at his smug tone. You leveled him with a hard stare, your fingernails digging into your palms as you spoke.
“Well, when you choose a Monday in the middle of a monsoon to visit, business can be a little slow. Besides, it’s not my fault you drive off the customers. They take one look at you and run with their tails tucked between their legs.”
He shrugged then, as if proud of his horrible reputation, his eyes raking over you in a way that felt less invasive than it should have. A small, secretive part of you that you kept tucked away in the corner of your heart preened under the attention, despite your better judgment. You quickly shoved the feeling down, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as you tried to ignore the way he was looking at you, as if you were something worth being looked at.
You huffed in annoyance, at both your own feelings and at his presence, arching a brow before speaking and forcing yourself to keep your anger in an effort to drive him off, preferably far away from you.
“Did you just come to stare, or was there a point to your visit?”
His eyes flicked up to meet your own as you began to speak, some unreadable emotion passing over his face before his expression was quickly schooled back into cool neutrality. Rather than simply tell you what he wanted, because when had Gold ever been easy to deal with, he reached into the inside of his coat, pulling out a small, yellowed sheet of paper and sliding it across the countertop towards you.
“I found this in my shop, I assumed that it may be of some interest to you.”
You frowned, shooting him a wary gaze before taking the paper, unfolding it. You could vaguely tell that it was a letter, addressed to a woman with a name similar enough to yours, but the writing was in a messy cursive that you could hardly make out and the signature at the bottom had been unceremoniously torn off.
Your eyes scanned over the page, but nothing jumped out at you. You had never written a letter to anyone, not when everyone you knew lived within a fifteen minute drive of you, and you had no memory of anyone bearing the frankly very old name scribbled at the top of the letter. You slid the paper back to him, one of your shoulders tilting up in a half-shrug.
“I don’t know why you would think that, I have no idea what this is.”
“A letter.”
His words were blunt and quick, as if annoyed at your lack of knowledge over something that he knew you had never seen. You rolled your eyes in response, your own voice sharpening to meet his tone.
“I can see that, Gold. What I can’t see is why the hell you think this would mean anything to me. It’s old and illegible at best, falling apart at worst. You want an honest opinion? Go find a historian.”
His frown tightened at your words, his eyes shining with something that could almost be described as disappointment. You had no time to ponder why he was looking at you like you’d personally wounded him, however, before he snatched the letter from the countertop, shoving it back into his coat pocket. He turned on his heel, his cane clicking against the floor with more force than necessary before he was out of the door, braving the storm with no umbrella.
You frowned but didn’t give chase, figuring that there was no point. You understood, deep down, that he could have you tossed out onto the street at any given moment, and that there was almost no building or home in Storybrooke that he didn’t own. So, it was best to count your blessings and toe the line between keeping to yourself and pissing him off, never wanting to go too far and find yourself unable to turn back.
You sighed, running a hand over your face, exhaustion creeping in as you pulled your apron over your head and tossed it to the side, deciding then that you were going to go home, sleep, and pray that Gold had forgotten all about you by tomorrow morning.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For a few weeks it seemed as though your prayers had been answered. Gold didn’t quite avoid you, but he didn’t seem to be a dark cloud hovering over your shoulder anymore either.
Whenever you crossed paths on the street he didn’t stop you, but you felt his gaze burn into you even after you turned a corner or walked into a building. He didn’t pass by your bakery with a scrutinizing gaze any longer, but you saw how the pawn shop lights stayed on until after you walked by on your way home, as if he was waiting on you before allowing himself to retire for the night.
Had it been anyone else you would have almost considered it chivalrous or sweet, but with him it just felt wrong. As if you had just sat down at a chessboard and realized that he’d been playing for longer than you’d been alive.
You had intended to confront him about it one morning at Granny’s, seeing the way that he sat far enough away to be considered coincidence, but close enough to cause suspicion, when your attention had instead been grabbed by a blonde who seated herself across from you. She was pretty, probably in her late twenties, with a leather jacket slung over her shoulders and a coffee in her hands. Emma, you had heard the name was, the first newcomer to Storybrooke in God knows how long, who was now looking at you with a healthy mix of amusement and concern.
“You stare at him any harder and he’ll probably catch on fire.”
You just blinked at her, heat rushing to your cheeks, suddenly feeling both very stupid and very exposed. A nervous giggle escaped you, your fingers fidgeting across the table.
“Sorry, I just- I mean- well he-“ you sighed in frustration, taking a moment too long to gather your words before speaking again, “It’s complicated.”
She hummed, taking a sip of her coffee before leveling you with a stare that made you feel as though she had already seen every hidden part of you and was simply allowing you the opportunity to lay it all bare. You sighed, your brows pinching together as you stared down at your own mug.
“I don’t like him, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s rude, inconsiderate, and prouder than anyone I’ve ever met before.”
Emma nodded then, as if she’d already heard this story a million times before. Knowing Gold’s reputation, you were sure that she had.
“Ruby called him the devil in a suit and tie. Said that the only times she’s seen him smile are when screwing people over or emptying their bank accounts.” She hesitated for just a moment too long, her gaze taking over you before she spoke again, “But you don’t feel that way, I’m assuming?”
You scoffed, your voice coming out harsher than you meant it to.
“Of course I do. He’s always…just always there. Always hovering, like he knows something that I don’t and like it’s my fault that I haven’t caught up with him yet.”
She frowned at your words, then, immediately morphing back into her role of a PI, rattling off questions like she was being paid to be crammed into this booth with you. You murmured out generic reassurances that no, you weren’t being stalked, and no, you wouldn’t classify your landlord as a creep. An asshole, definitely, but never someone who you felt purposely threatened your safety.
Your gaze didn’t stay on Emma for long, however, your words dying off as you were met with the empty seat where the subject of your conversation had been just minutes prior. Your jaw clenched in frustration, and Emma, sensing that your attention was elsewhere, left you alone with a quick goodbye and her phone number, just in case.
You sat alone with your thoughts as the time dragged by, not quite angry but not very far from it either. You couldn’t understand what Gold’s angle was, why he had always treated you just slightly differently, and why now he was studying you like a puzzle that he had already solved. You scowled at the thought, practically throwing a tip down onto the table before storming out of the diner, deciding that there was nothing a fresh batch of cookies in a bakery that no one else could open couldn’t fix. Your shoulders felt lighter at the thought, and you almost smiled on the walk back to your bakery.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You had failed to account for the fact that Gold had a spare key.
Thinking back on it now it was obvious, he was your landlord after all, but that didn’t stop white-hot indignation bubbling up in you as the bell above the door rang, signaling his entrance.
You rounded on him, already prepared to rip into him for his odd behavior for the past few weeks, but the words died on your tongue. He carried an envelope in his free hand, his expression resting somewhere between mild irritation and amusement, as if he knew that he had been bothering you and was waiting for you to pounce. You refused to give him the satisfaction, instead crossing your flour-covered arms defensively over your chest.
“The door was locked for a reason, you know.”
“And I own the building.” He shrugged as he spoke, the words rolling off his tongue like they had already been resting there, as if he was anticipating what you would say.
Your gaze flicked down to the envelope in his hand, lips pursing as you tried to determine whether or not to play this game that he was clearly baiting you into. In the end you gave out, curiosity winning over your common sense, as it always did.
“Is this blackmail, or just a very late birthday present?”
He held up the envelope as if seeing it for the first time, pretending as though that wasn’t his only reason for waltzing into your bakery unannounced. It was an act, something meant to worm its way into your mind and lower the defenses you kept up against him. You silently resolved to not fall for it, your cruel landlord who was behaving strangely impishly would not get into your head.
“I’m not one for birthdays, dearie, though you wouldn’t be much fun to blackmail either. You’re not like the madame mayor or myself, you don’t have enough dirt under your nails to warrant finding your skeletons.”
“So what is it?”
He paused, allowing the moment to fester for just long enough to make you nervous before tossing the envelope down onto the counter.
“You’re late on rent. A week late, to be specific.” He paused then, rolling his shoulders, as if forcing the words out of his throat, “While I’m not one for chivalry, I too understood that it would be cruel to shut down Storybrooke’s only bakery without handing in the eviction notice myself. Too many loose ends, and I don’t need an angry mob at my doorstep come nightfall.”
You blanched at his words, your hands shaking as you ripped open the envelope to reveal an eviction notice tucked inside, every detail down to the fine print tidy and organized. Your stomach dropped, the realization that you would be losing your life’s work crashing down on you all at once. You could have cried, you thought, if he hadn’t been standing there, staring at you with a carefully blank expression. Your eyes flew over each and every line, your face twisting and pinching up as each word sunk in.
This was wrong.
Of course, it was wrong that he was shutting you down with barely a week’s notice, which was no time at all to pack up what had become your entire life and find a suitable back up plan. What made this truly wrong, however, was the fact that you knew you had paid him what he claimed you owed. You remembered taking the money out of your account, handing him the wad of cash when he had knocked on your front door early in the morning.
“I paid this!” The words left your mouth in a panicked shrill, your eyes darting up to meet his own, “I know I did! You know I did!”
He sighed, then, as if this was some great annoyance to his time, fixing you with a stare that you couldn’t quite read.
“I can guarantee that you did not, and I have the papers in my shop to prove it.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You found yourself tucked away in the pawn shop only an hour later, anxiously picking at your nail beds as Gold sorted through his papers on the countertop. At least, that’s what you assumed he was doing, but you were almost certain that the pages he was looking at were blank.
The air had changed since you’d walked in, as if he was anticipating something from you and growing agitated that you didn’t know what it was. As if able to read your thoughts, his eyes darted up to meet your own, his cane clicking against the hardwood floors as he moved around the counter to make his way to you.
“It seems I’ve been mistaken. Your payments are filed away after all. Must have been an error with the bookkeeping.”
You nodded, allowing your shoulders to droop as relief coursed through you. The silence that stretched between you after was deeply uncomfortable, and you frowned as you avoided his gaze, still upset with him. He took a deep breath then, his jaw clenching before he spoke, as if some invisible force was compelling him to speak to you.
“Do you suffer from night terrors?”
You blinked dumbly at him, no words leaving you for several seconds due to sheer confusion before you nodded, your hands still trembling from the adrenaline rush of minutes before.
“Sometimes, why?”
He frowned, his brows pinching together as he looked you over, something dangerously close to hope brimming in his eyes.
“What do you see, if you don’t mind divulging?”
“I don’t know,” You shrugged, feeling his gaze bore holes into you, “It changes, depending on the night. Sometimes I see a forest, a castle, a dark cloud enveloping me. Just nonsense, really. Stuff from a fantasy novel, nothing of substance.”
You didn’t bother to ask why he was asking, understanding that you wouldn’t get a straight answer either way. You had long since learned that Gold worked in riddles, giving just enough to get you to talk but never enough to understand the consequences of what you’d divulged.
You didn’t have long to ponder, however, before Gold’s cane went clattering to the ground, his hands almost bruisingly gripping your forearms, as if worried you’d disappear if he let go. You instinctively leaned away from him, half of your mind screaming ‘Wrong!’ while the other half screamed ‘Right!’, as if you were two different people warring on how to feel about one man.
“Please forgive me, if this doesn’t work.”
The words had been so quick and quiet that you almost didn’t catch them, and before you could ask what he meant he yanked your forwards, your lips crashing into his own.
Your eyes widened, your first instinct to push him away, but something in you shifted before you could move, your limbs locking and going rigid in his arms. Memories, or maybe dreams, flooded your mind. Flashes of color and light and sound that you couldn’t understand, your psyche morphing and twisting to make room for two different lifetimes lived by one person.
You hadn’t even realized that Gold had moved away from you until you felt his grip return to one of your arms in an effort to keep you steady. You were fighting to catch your breath, your mind finally slowing down as you looked up at him.
Your first conscious thought as yourself in twenty-eight years was that the Dark One looked different. Your second thought was that you liked it, just as much as you had always liked him.
“Rumple?”
Your voice caught on the word, your face twisting up in a mix of disbelief and joy. He practically melted at the sound of his name, his real name, on your lips, slowly nodding. He let go of your arm then, looking almost awkward under your intense stare, your mind still struggling to comprehend the intense wave of information you’d just absorbed.
You took a step back, looking around the pawnshop with fresh eyes, your chest tight with a mix of awe and trepidation.
“The Queen’s curse…it worked, didn’t it? That’s why we’re here?”
He nodded, and you understood in the silence that followed that there was more to the story, things that he wouldn’t tell you, like why he had helped her in the first place. You decided not to worry about it for now, taking a step towards him, your eyes darting across his face as you tried to soak up every detail.
“You made me a baker.”
“You always loved to bake.”
His words were sharp, but his expression was not, his eyes almost soft as they met your own.
You pulled him tightly into a hug, nearly sobbing in a mix of joy and relief when you felt his own arms wrap around you, holding you close.
“Twenty-eight years.”
He mumbled the words into your hair, his hand smoothing up and down your back, a comforting gesture uncommon for him.
You took a half step back, a smile forming on your face as you looked him over, your emotions running high in every direction.
“What was the plan if I didn’t remember?”
“There was no other plan. True love’s kiss, dearie,” He shrugged, as if the answer was obvious, though you could see the lingering worry on his face, “The most powerful magic in any realm, including this one.”
You hummed in acknowledgement, moving away from him to look around the pawn shop, recognizing many of the artifacts he had laying around, most having come from the Dark Castle. Tangible items of adventures only found in storybooks in this realm.
“This is where you’ve stored all of our magic?”
He shook his head, his gaze tracking you, “Magic doesn’t exist here, not in the way that it exists in Misthaven. All of these trinkets are simply that, trinkets.”
You glanced at him over your shoulder, worry suddenly prickling up your spine at the way he spoke, as if this was all obvious and you should know these things. As if he had known these things for too long.
“How long have you been awake?”
He paused at the accusation in your words, and you could tell that he was fighting to keep his voice even, to not allow your temper and his pride to taint your reunion.
“Since the Savior arrived, nearly a month ago. I went to you the day after with the letter I had written from my cell-“
“I remember.”
Your voice was no longer angry when you cut him off, but it was just sharp enough that he knew you were still hurting. You forced yourself to relax, however, walking back up to him.
“I’m glad you woke me up. I don’t know what I would have done otherwise. I missed you, even if I didn’t know that I missed you.”
He nodded, a hand coming up to brush against the back of your own. His voice was quiet when he spoke, not responding directly to your words.
“I apologize for frightening you earlier, I had to find a way to get you to come to the shop. I may no longer have magic, but I have learned that in this world fear is just a healthy tool as any.”
You nodded, mumbling out an incoherent answer as you tucked yourself back into his side, your head resting on his shoulder. You both sat like that, in comfortable silence, for several minutes before he spoke again, his gaze locking onto yours.
“Marry me.”
“What?”
Your eyes widened as you blinked up at him, completely caught off guard by his words. In response he shuddered in a deep breath, his words quiet, spoken to you and you only.
“Marry me. We have spent twenty-eight years apart, and several before the curse dancing around the inevitable. I am not a good man, dearie, but I want to try. For you. If you'll have me.”
Tears welled up in your eyes as you quickly nodded, kissing him once again, hoping that he could feel all of your love and longing through that action alone.
You had spent so long alone, and now you were back with the strange, impish, occasionally cruel man of dark magic that you had grown to love.
He had broken your curse just as you had broken his, all of those years ago. Now, you would help Emma break hers, and then you would marry this man, and finally, finally, have your happy ending.
You glanced up at him, a coy smile tugging at your lips.
“So, does this mean that I get to keep the bakery?”
