#Sheriff Of Nottingham | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

muiitoloko · 12 days ago

Text

Through the Wall

Summary: A virgin’s accidental voyeurism exposes her to the raw passion of Sheriff George, who discovers her secret and becomes determined to claim her innocence and her heart.

Pairing: Sheriff of Nottingham × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Voyeurism, virginity and Smut

Author's Notes: It took me a while, but I finally finished writing this one 😅 You can find the request for this story here!

Also read on Ao3

The castle was a labyrinth of grandeur and mystery, every corridor a new story waiting to be uncovered. You wandered through it, awestruck by the towering stone walls, the intricate carvings, and the sheer scale of the place. You had never been to a castle before, your life confined mostly to the cozy but unremarkable home where you had spent countless hours buried in books. Those books had been your escape, your window to the world, but they couldn’t prepare you for the reality of such a place.

It was fortunate that your father had brought you here, though you had a nagging suspicion it wasn’t purely for your enjoyment. The party the Sheriff of Nottingham was throwing in two days was a grand affair, and your father had made it clear that this was an opportunity to meet potential suitors. At your age, marriage loomed over you like a storm cloud, and you knew your father saw this as a chance to secure your future.

Leaning against a stone-framed window, you inhaled the crisp evening air. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the sun setting beyond the castle walls. Despite the unease in your heart about your father’s intentions, you couldn’t deny the beauty of the moment. But your legs, weary from hours of exploring, begged for rest, and you decided to return to your quarters.

The wooden door creaked softly as you pushed it open, the cozy chamber within welcoming you with its warmth. But as you stepped inside, a strange sound caught your attention. It was faint at first—muffled noises, rhythmic and low. Your brow furrowed as you listened more closely, your curiosity piqued. Moving toward the wall, you pressed your ear against the cool stone, realizing the sounds were coming from the adjoining room.

The Sheriff’s room.

Your pulse quickened as the noises grew clearer—slapping, gasps, and moans. Heat rose to your cheeks as the realization of what you were hearing sank in. You hesitated, caught between curiosity and propriety, before noticing a small hole in the wall, likely a flaw in the old stonework. Your heart pounded as you leaned closer, peeking through the tiny opening.

The scene beyond made your breath catch in your throat. You couldn’t see much, just fragmented glimpses of the Sheriff’s long black hair and the curve of a woman’s bare back. But what you could see—and hear—was enough to make your face flush deeply. The Sheriff, George, stood tall and commanding, his hands gripping the woman’s hips as he drove into her with unrestrained fervor. His hazel eyes glinted with intensity, his black beard brushing against the curve of her neck as he growled low words you couldn’t quite make out.

The woman’s moans were unabashed, echoing through the chamber with every rhythmic slap of their bodies. Her hands clung to his shoulders, her head thrown back in pleasure. It was raw and primal, nothing like the sanitized descriptions in your books. The sheer passion of it, the way the Sheriff moved with such dominance and control, made your stomach twist with feelings you couldn’t quite name.

“Take it,” George growled, his baritone voice rough and commanding, the words sending a jolt through you. “Every inch, my little minx. You’ll remember who owns you tonight.”

Your breath hitched, and you stumbled back from the wall, your cheeks burning with shame and something else—something darker, deeper. You had never witnessed such intimacy, such naked desire. It was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the quiet, proper life you had always known. Virgin as you were, this was a glimpse into a world you had only read about in stolen moments with forbidden books. But this wasn’t fiction. This was real, raw, and undeniably human.

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing, but the sounds continued to seep through the wall, the woman’s cries of pleasure mingling with George’s guttural moans. It was too much. You fled to the far side of the room, sinking onto the edge of the bed and burying your face in your hands.

This wasn’t what you had expected when you’d imagined exploring a castle. And yet, as you sat there, your heart racing and your body betraying you with a lingering heat, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had seen something you weren’t meant to see—or if some part of you had wanted to see it all along.

The noises began again, pulling you from the sanctuary of your book. You had been lost in the story for what felt like hours, curled up in a chair by the window in your chamber, the faint sound of the bustling castle barely reaching you. The Sheriff, George, had been surprisingly gracious that morning during breakfast, offering you free reign of his extensive library when you had asked your father for something new to read. You had accepted eagerly, thrilled at the chance to escape into stories far grander than your own.

But now, the words on the page blurred as your attention wavered. That sound—that unmistakable rhythm of pleasure—had returned, louder and more insistent than the night before. Your cheeks warmed at the memory of what you had witnessed through the tiny hole in the wall. You tried to focus on your book, telling yourself it was none of your concern. Yet your curiosity tugged at you, persistent and unyielding.

You placed the book on the side table, your pulse quickening as you moved toward the wall. Was George so enthralled with her that he sought her out every day? The thought intrigued you, the idea of a man so consumed by passion for his mistress. But when you pressed your eye to the tiny hole, your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t the same woman.

This one was younger, with auburn hair cascading down her back, her lithe body wrapped around George as he lifted her onto a table. His long black hair fell across his face as he growled into her ear, his hands gripping her thighs with an intensity that made your stomach twist. His hazel eyes burned with desire as he murmured words too low for you to hear.

The woman’s moans filled the chamber, her head falling back as George moved inside her with an unrestrained fervor. The slapping of their bodies echoed, and your cheeks burned with embarrassment—and something darker, deeper.

You had assumed he had a mistress, someone he adored and cherished in secret. But this? This was different. Was George the kind of man who did this with any woman who caught his eye? The thought unsettled you and yet intrigued you all the same. If he could do this with any woman… would he do it with you?

The question sent a jolt through you, your imagination betraying you as you pictured yourself in her place. George’s strong hands gripping your thighs, his hazel eyes darkened with desire as he whispered sinful promises in your ear. You shook your head, trying to banish the thought, but the image lingered, making your heart race.

You peeked again, unable to resist the magnetic pull of the scene before you. The woman clung to George, her cries of pleasure echoing through the chamber as he thrust harder, his baritone growls filling the air.

“Take it,” George growled, his hooked nose brushing against her neck as he kissed her hungrily. “You’re mine now. Do you understand that?”

The woman whimpered in response, her nails digging into his shoulders as he held her against the table. The intensity of his movements left no doubt that he was in complete control, his dominance both commanding and intoxicating.

A soft, involuntary cry escaped your lips, and you slapped a hand over your mouth, your eyes widening in horror. George froze, his hazel eyes snapping toward the wall as if he had heard you. Your heart pounded wildly as you scrambled away from the hole, pressing yourself against the far side of the room. Had he heard you? Would he come to investigate?

You held your breath, straining to listen, but the noises from the adjoining room had stopped entirely. The silence was deafening, and your mind raced with possibilities. What would George do if he discovered you had been watching? Would he be furious? Amused? Intrigued?

The thought of facing him made your stomach twist with both fear and a strange, unbidden excitement. But for now, you stayed frozen, your hand still pressed to your mouth, waiting to see if the Sheriff would come to your door—and what might happen if he did.

The Sheriff of Nottingham, George, paused mid-thrust, his hazel eyes narrowing as a sound interrupted his focus. A cry, soft yet distinct, had pierced through the muffled air of his chamber. His long black hair fell into his face as he stilled, his hooked nose flaring slightly as he tried to discern the source. Beneath him, the auburn-haired woman whimpered in frustration, her hands clutching his shoulders in an attempt to draw him back to their moment.

But George’s mind was elsewhere, his thoughts racing. That sound—where had it come from? His gaze flickered toward the wall separating his chamber from yours. He had placed you there deliberately, ensuring your proximity under the pretense of convenience. But the truth was far more selfish. He wanted you close. Close enough to imagine, close enough to tempt, close enough to claim if the opportunity arose.

His jaw tightened, and he leaned back slightly, his hands still gripping the woman’s thighs. Could you have heard? The thought sent a thrill through him, his cock twitching inside the whore beneath him. But he quickly shoved the excitement aside, forcing himself to think logically. The cry hadn’t sounded like pain. No, it was softer, more startled—like the sound of someone caught off guard. Could it have been… arousal?

“Sheriff,” the woman beneath him cooed, her voice tinged with impatience. She shifted her hips, trying to recapture his attention.

“Be quiet,” George snapped, his baritone voice sharp and commanding. His hazel eyes darkened as he pressed a hand firmly over her mouth, silencing her attempted protest. She whimpered beneath his palm, her eyes wide, but he didn’t remove his hand. He couldn’t risk another noise slipping through the walls to reach your innocent ears.

Your innocent ears. The thought was almost maddening. George knew your father had brought you here to parade you in front of potential suitors, but George had seen the way you looked at him—curious, nervous, intrigued. He had made it a point to be near you, to catch your glances, to stir something within you that no other man could. And now, the idea that you might have been listening, that you might have seen…

“Christ,” George muttered under his breath, his free hand gripping the woman’s thigh more tightly. She moaned against his palm, her muffled cries only fueling his conflicted arousal. A virgin, he thought, his teeth clenching. Untouched. Pure. Your father had mentioned it in passing, pride coloring his words as if your virtue were a prize to be flaunted. And it was—though not for the reasons your father imagined.

George leaned down, his beard brushing against the woman’s flushed skin as he growled lowly in her ear. “You’ll stay silent,” he ordered, his voice rough with barely restrained tension. “Or you’ll leave with nothing.”

The woman whimpered again, nodding obediently under his grip. Satisfied, George removed his hand, though his sharp hazel eyes stayed locked on her, daring her to disobey. He resumed his movements, slower this time, his mind still spinning with thoughts of you.

Had you been aroused by the sounds? Had you imagined yourself in the place of this whore? Would you blush and stammer if he confronted you, your wide, innocent eyes betraying the truth? George’s cock throbbed at the thought, and he thrust deeper, earning a muffled gasp from the woman beneath him. But it wasn’t her body he was truly thinking about.

“Take it,” George growled, his hooked nose brushing against the woman’s neck as he drove into her harder, faster. His words weren’t for her, not truly. “Take every inch. Remember who owns you.”

His mind conjured your image—your wide eyes, your parted lips, the way you had fidgeted nervously whenever he was near. Would you tremble beneath him like this? Would you cry out his name as he claimed you, your innocence surrendering to his dominance?

“Sheriff,” the woman beneath him gasped, breaking his reverie. He snarled softly, pulling out abruptly and stepping back, his chest heaving as he glared down at her.

“Leave,” he ordered, his baritone voice cold and final. The woman blinked up at him in confusion, her flushed body trembling as she tried to understand his sudden dismissal. “Now.”

“But—” she began, her voice tinged with desperation.

“Now,” George repeated, his hazel eyes flashing with irritation. “Before I change my mind about paying you.”

The woman scrambled to gather her clothes, her protests silenced by the sharp edge in his voice. As she slipped out of the room, George turned toward the wall, his expression dark and contemplative. He needed to know if you had heard—if you had seen. And if you had, he needed to know what you thought.

The Sheriff of Nottingham was not a patient man, and the thought of your wide-eyed innocence consumed him. If you had listened… if you had imagined… George smirked to himself as he considered his next move.

“Soon,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and dangerous. “Soon, my sweet little bird. You’ll know exactly what it means to belong to me.”

The great dining hall was alive with the hum of conversation and the clinking of silverware, but George was notably absent. You had noticed, of course. It was hard not to, given his commanding presence. The servants had assured you he was dining in his quarters, preoccupied with party preparations. Yet something about the explanation felt… off.

Meanwhile, George prowled through your chamber like a wolf on the hunt. He hadn’t bothered with subtlety; the door had been left unlocked, an oversight he took full advantage of. His long black hair brushed his shoulders as he moved, hazel eyes scanning the room with sharp curiosity. He didn’t know precisely what he was looking for—evidence of your curiosity, a token of your innocence, or perhaps just the satisfaction of invading your private space as you had his.

And then he found it.

The hole.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he crouched to inspect the flaw in the wall. It was small, almost imperceptible, but perfectly positioned. The angle wasn’t ideal, but it offered just enough of a view into his quarters to see more than you should have. His hazel eyes glinted with amusement and something darker as he realized the truth.

“So, my little bird,” George murmured to himself, a sly grin curving his lips, “you’ve been watching.”

Unable to resist, he leaned closer, his hooked nose nearly brushing the stone as he peeked through the tiny opening. From this angle, the room appeared quiet, undisturbed, but the memories of what had taken place there earlier that day brought a smirk to his face. He couldn’t help but test the hole further, sticking his finger into it and wiggling it slightly.

“Not much,” he muttered with a low chuckle, “but enough to entice a curious little virgin.”

He was still grinning, finger stuck in the stone, when he heard the door creak open behind him.

“Sheriff?”

George froze. He turned his head sharply, but the motion only lodged his finger deeper into the wall. Standing in the doorway, you blinked at him, clearly caught off guard. Your hair was slightly disheveled from dinner, your gown modest but elegant, and your expression a mix of curiosity and confusion.

“W-what are you doing in my chambers?” you asked, your voice uncertain but steady.

George cleared his throat, tugging subtly at his trapped finger, but it refused to budge. “The castle is mine,” he replied smoothly, though his cheeks betrayed a faint flush of embarrassment. “I can go wherever I please. Including here.”

You frowned, stepping closer. “But why… why are you at the wall?”

George gritted his teeth, giving his finger one last sharp tug, but it remained stubbornly lodged. “Inspecting the masonry,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “Shoddy work, really. Dangerous, even. A flaw like this—” He gestured vaguely with his free hand, the other still stuck. “—could compromise the structural integrity of the castle.”

You tilted your head, clearly not convinced. “And… your finger?”

“I was testing the depth of the hole,” George snapped, his voice laced with irritation. “Which, as you can see, is deep enough to cause serious concern.”

Your cheeks flushed as you pieced together what he had found. “You—” Your voice faltered. “You found it…”

“Found what?” George challenged, his hazel eyes narrowing as he finally yanked his finger free. He stumbled slightly but straightened quickly, brushing off his black tunic and adjusting his belt as though nothing was amiss. “If you’re referring to this—” he pointed to the hole, his tone laden with faux authority—“it’s a disgrace. A security risk.”

Your gaze darted to the wall, then back to him, realization dawning on your face. “You… you know.”

George smirked, stepping closer, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor. “Know what, my sweet?” he purred, his voice dropping to a dangerously low baritone. “That you’ve been spying on me? That you’ve been watching things you shouldn’t?”

Your cheeks burned, and you took a step back. “I-I wasn’t spying! I just… I didn’t know it was there until—”

“Until you saw something you liked?” George interrupted, his grin wicked as he leaned closer. His hooked nose nearly brushed your cheek, and his hazel eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and hunger. “Tell me, little bird, did it make you blush? Did it make you ache?”

“Sheriff!” you gasped, mortified, your hands flying up to cover your face.

George chuckled, his voice rich and teasing. “Oh, don’t be shy now. You’ve already seen more of me than most have the privilege to. Or was it curiosity, hmm? A virgin’s curiosity, yearning to know what it feels like to—”

“Stop it!” you cried, your voice muffled behind your hands.

George leaned closer, his long black hair falling across his sharp features, the hooked nose casting a faint shadow over his smirk. His hazel eyes glinted with wicked amusement as he prowled closer to where you stood, cornered against the chamber wall. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his towering frame casting an imposing shadow over your much smaller figure.

“You didn’t answer my question, my sweet little bird,” he murmured, his voice a low baritone that sent a shiver down your spine. “Did it make you blush? Did it make you ache, watching me? Tell me,” he whispered, his hooked nose brushing tantalizingly close to your cheek, “did you imagine yourself in her place?”

You flushed a deep crimson, the embarrassment burning hot in your cheeks. “N-no!” you stammered, your voice trembling. “I didn’t imagine anything of the sort! My… my virtue belongs to my husband!”

George paused, arching a dark eyebrow. “Husband?” he repeated with a mocking lilt, his grin widening. “And where is this mythical husband of yours, hmm? Because I certainly don’t see him here, protecting what he so nobly owns.”

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You felt utterly cornered, both by his words and by his physical presence. His hazel eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of disdain crossing his face.

“So what?” he sneered, stepping closer, his voice dripping with mockery. “You think your precious husband—who doesn’t even exist yet, mind you—would do what I can do for you? Would he make you blush like this?” He leaned closer, his voice a husky whisper. “Would he make you tremble?”

You swallowed hard, pressing your back against the cold stone wall as you tried to gather your composure. “He… he would,” you said defiantly, though your voice wavered.

George snorted, the sound laced with derision. “Ah, of course, the perfect, chivalrous husband,” he said with a dramatic wave of his hand, his black hair catching the candlelight. “But tell me this, little bird—has this imaginary husband of yours ever touched you? Has he ever kissed you? Has he ever made you feel the way I know I could?”

Your mouth went dry, and you shook your head quickly. “No! And he won’t… not until we’re married!”

The Sheriff laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent a jolt through you. “How quaint,” he said, shaking his head. “A virgin bride, saving herself for a man who will likely be as dull as a plowshare.” He leaned in closer, his hooked nose almost brushing against your neck as he whispered, “And yet, here you are, sneaking peeks at me through a hole in the wall. Tell me, my sweet, what were you hoping to see?”

You clenched your fists, mortified beyond words, but his taunting didn’t stop.

“Don’t deny it,” George continued, his voice dipping lower. “You wanted to see. You wanted to know. And now, here I am, offering you a taste of what you’re missing.”

Your breath hitched, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. “You’re not my husband,” you said weakly, your voice barely audible.

“Not yet,” George replied smoothly, his grin devilish. “But who knows? If your father offers a good enough dowry, I might be persuaded.” He paused, tilting his head as his hazel eyes bore into yours. “Now, answer me truthfully. Do you want to be in her place?”

The question hung in the air like a heavy weight, and you looked away, your cheeks burning. The silence stretched, thick with tension, until you finally whispered, “Yes.”

George’s smirk widened, his eyes darkening with triumph. “I thought as much,” he murmured, his voice like velvet. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering against your flushed skin. “And tell me, little bird,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “what would you do if I made you mine right here and now?”

Before you could respond, George leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against your cheek as he tilted your face toward his. The kiss was sudden, a claiming as much as it was a caress. His lips were firm, his beard rough against your skin, a stark contrast to the softness of his mouth. The taste of him—rich, heady, and intoxicating—invaded your senses, leaving you breathless.

You gasped against his lips, but George took the sound as an invitation, his hand slipping behind your neck to deepen the kiss. His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you felt the strength of his body, the undeniable heat of him pressing into you.

“You taste sweeter than I imagined,” George whispered against your lips, his voice thick with desire. His teeth grazed your lower lip, drawing a soft whimper from you. "Do you know how long I’ve waited for this moment? How many nights I’ve wondered what those shy little lips of yours would feel like beneath mine?"

"George—" you began, your voice trembling as you tried to summon your resolve, but he silenced you with another kiss, this one fiercer, hungrier. His tongue teased your lips, demanding entry, and when you hesitated, his grip on your waist tightened possessively.

“Don’t fight it,” he growled, his hazel eyes blazing as he broke the kiss, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. "You’ve been curious, haven’t you? Wondering what it would feel like to be touched, to be kissed like this." His hand slipped lower, brushing over the curve of your hip, and you shivered at the sensation.

“I-I don’t…” Your protest faltered as his fingers traced the line of your jaw, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes were smoldering, filled with a dangerous mix of hunger and triumph.

“You do,” he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You crave this, even if you’re too innocent to admit it. I see it in your eyes, feel it in the way you tremble beneath my touch.” He leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Tell me, little bird—are you trembling because you’re afraid, or because you want me?”

Your knees weakened at his words, your breath hitching as his lips trailed down the side of your neck, leaving a burning trail in their wake. "George, this is… improper," you managed, though your voice lacked conviction.

"Improper?" George echoed with a wicked laugh, his teeth grazing your collarbone. "Is that what they’ve taught you in those musty books you cling to? That desire is improper? That surrendering to what you want makes you weak?" He pressed his body against yours, his arousal evident, and you felt your own resolve slipping.

“You’ll find I’m anything but proper,” he continued, his baritone voice dripping with seduction. His hand slid up your back, tangling in your hair as he claimed your lips once more, this time with an unrestrained fervor that left no doubt of his intent. "And by the time I’m done with you, little bird, neither will you be."

You whimpered against him, caught between the intoxicating pull of his dominance and the faint voice of reason urging you to stop. But when his hand slipped to your waist, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin just above your gown’s neckline, that voice was drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

“Say the word,” George murmured, his lips hovering above yours, his hazel eyes burning into yours with an intensity that left you breathless. “Tell me to stop, and I will. But if you don’t…” His hand slid lower, his touch igniting a fire in you that you hadn’t known existed. “Then you’re mine.”

Your lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as his hand tightened on your waist, anchoring you to him. The weight of his words, the promise in his gaze, left you teetering on the edge of a decision that could change everything.

And yet, when your voice finally emerged, it wasn’t a command to stop.

It was his name—a whisper, a surrender, a plea.

“George.”

The sheriff's grin widened as your whispered plea left your lips, his hazel eyes darkening with intent. His hands, strong and deliberate, slid down your sides, tracing the curves of your body as if committing them to memory. You trembled under his touch, unsure of what he intended, your innocence leaving you vulnerable to the overwhelming sensations he stirred within you.

"Relax, little bird," George murmured, his baritone voice low and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. "Let me show you what it means to be truly desired."

Before you could respond, he sank to his knees before you, his hooked nose brushing against the fabric of your gown as he pressed a kiss to your hip. Your breath hitched, your cheeks burning as you looked down at him in confusion and growing anticipation. His long black hair fell over his face as he began to raise the skirts of your dress, exposing the bare skin of your thighs to the cool air.

"George," you stammered, your voice trembling. "What… what are you doing?"

He didn’t answer immediately, his fingers deftly sliding under your skirts, pulling them higher and higher until the cool air kissed the bare skin of your legs. His touch was firm yet gentle, commanding yet reverent, and the contrast made your heart race. When his hands reached your underwear, he paused, his hazel eyes glinting with a wicked gleam as he looked up at you.

“Trust me,” he said, his voice dripping with sinful promise. Then, without waiting for your permission, he hooked his fingers into the delicate fabric and pulled it down. You gasped, your cheeks flaming as the intimate garment slipped down your legs, pooling around your ankles.

"George!" you exclaimed, mortified yet unable to look away.

"Shh," he soothed, his smirk never faltering. "I’ll take care of you, little bird. You’ve spent so long imagining what it would feel like. Let me show you."

Before you could protest further, he gently lifted one of your legs, guiding it over his broad shoulder. His grip was steady, his movements confident, as if he had done this a thousand times before. Your hands flew to his shoulders for balance, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps as you felt the heat of his breath against your most intimate places.

“George, please,” you whispered, though you weren’t sure if you were pleading for him to stop or to continue.

“You’ll thank me soon enough,” he growled, his voice muffled as he pressed his mouth to your center.

The sensation was unlike anything you had ever imagined. His tongue moved with practiced precision, teasing and tasting as he explored every inch of you. Your head fell back, a soft moan escaping your lips as your body reacted to the unfamiliar yet intoxicating pleasure. You tried to look at him, to see the man who was unraveling you so completely, but he was hidden beneath the skirts of your dress. All you could see was the faint movement of fabric, the telltale shifts and ripples as he worked his magic.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as his tongue delved deeper, circling and flicking with a skill that left you trembling. You bit your lip, trying to stifle the sounds of your pleasure, but it was no use. The moans spilled from you uncontrollably, each one louder than the last, until you could no longer hold back.

"George!" you cried out, your voice a mix of shock and ecstasy.

He growled against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure coursing through your body. His grip tightened, his pace quickening as he drank in every sound, every tremble, every gasp that escaped you. It was as if he was devouring you, his hunger insatiable, his determination relentless.

“You taste sweeter than I ever imagined,” he muttered, his voice husky and low. "I could stay here forever, little bird, savoring every moment of you."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the raw, primal edge to his tone both thrilling and terrifying. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your body arching against him as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable peak.

"George, I—" you began, but your words were lost in a cry of pure bliss as he pushed you over the edge.

Your body trembled, your legs threatening to give out, but George held you steady, his mouth never leaving you as he prolonged your pleasure.

As the waves of pleasure subsided, you leaned heavily against the wall, your chest rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath. George, still kneeling before you, shifted beneath your skirts, his hands brushing your thighs as he attempted to extricate himself from the voluminous fabric. His muffled grumble reached your ears, laced with frustration and amusement.

“Damn women and their cursed skirts,” he muttered, his voice partially muffled. “How is a man meant to breathe under here?”

You let out a breathless laugh, your cheeks flushing as you reached down to help him. Your hands shook slightly as you gathered the layers of your dress, pulling them up and over his head. When his face finally emerged, his long black hair was mussed, his hazel eyes gleaming with mischief, and his beard—his beard was glistening with evidence of what he had done to you.

“Better,” George said, his lips curling into a smirk. He reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch lingering. “Now, where were we?”

Your cheeks burned as he leaned in, his gaze fixed on you with a predatory hunger. “I could give you more, little bird,” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “If you want it. If you’re brave enough to ask.”

Your heart raced, and for a moment, you were tempted. But then reality crashed down on you, and you shook your head, your voice trembling as you whispered, “I… I can’t. This… this is still my husband’s.”

George froze, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly before he let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Your husband?” he repeated, standing to his full height. His imposing frame towered over you, and his expression was a mix of amusement and annoyance. “You mean the husband you don’t have yet?”

He gestured to his face, his beard glistening with your essence, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. “Because, from where I’m standing, little bird, you’ve already given something of yourself to me. Or are you planning to tell your future husband about how the Sheriff of Nottingham made you cry out his name?”

Your breath caught, your cheeks flaming with humiliation and lingering desire. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything,” George replied smoothly, his tone softening as he cupped your face in his hands. His thumbs brushed your flushed cheeks, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak. “I’m not a patient man, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

George leaned in, his hooked nose brushing against yours as his lips hovered just a breath away. “I’ll speak to your father,” he said, his voice a low growl. “I’ll negotiate the dowry myself. If taking you to my bed means putting a ring on your finger, so be it.”

Your eyes widened, your heart skipping a beat. “You’d… you’d marry me? Just for—”

“Just for your virginity?” George interrupted with a sly smirk. “No, little bird. For you. All of you. Your body, your mind, your fire. I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you. And now that I’ve had a taste…” His hands slid down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. “I won’t settle for anything less.”

You stared at him, stunned. “You’re serious?”

“As serious as I’ve ever been,” George replied, his voice firm. “I don’t make a habit of sharing what’s mine. And you, my sweet little bird, will be mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t deny the thrill it sparked within you. “And what if my father refuses?” you asked, your voice trembling.

George chuckled darkly, his hazel eyes gleaming with confidence. “He won’t. Not when I offer him more gold than he’s ever dreamed of.” He paused, his grin softening into something almost tender. “You’re worth every coin, and more.”

Your heart raced as his words sank in, the weight of his declaration leaving you breathless. Could he truly mean it? Could the Sheriff of Nottingham—a man known for his ruthlessness and cunning—be willing to marry you just to claim you as his own?

Before you could respond, George leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Prepare yourself, little bird. Once I have you, I won’t let you go. Ever.”

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #sheriff of nottingham x reader #sheriff of nottingham

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muiitoloko · 10 months ago

Text

11 o'clock girl

Summary: The sheriff notices you and makes you the 11 o'clock girl.

Pairing: Sheriff of Nottingham × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, questionable consent, degradation.

Author Notes: Hey folks! First off, a big shoutout to all 150 of you wonderful followers! *pops open a bottle of budget-friendly champagne* Now, let me tell you about my recent dive into the cinematic masterpiece that is "Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves." Can we just take a moment to appreciate Alan Rickman's brilliance in that movie? He practically swiped the spotlight from Costner like a pro pickpocket!

So, I decided to scribble down a few thoughts about the character, but fair warning, I might have taken some creative liberties here and there. So, if the Sheriff of Nottingham ends up doing something completely outlandish, just roll with it, okay? Oh, and I should probably mention that I didn't bother proofreading this gem. Hey, blame it on my laziness! But I promise I'll clean up the mess later. Cheers to that! 🥂

As a lowly servant in the castle of Nottingham, you've always known the dangers of catching the Sheriff's eye. His reputation for cruelty and ruthlessness precedes him, and you've seen firsthand the consequences of crossing him. But when the Sheriff notices you, it's not fear that grips your heart—it's a chilling sense of dread mixed with a strange fascination.

At first, it's just a fleeting glance, a passing acknowledgment of your presence as you go about your duties. But soon, those glances turn into lingering stares, his piercing brown eyes boring into your soul with a hunger that sends shivers down your spine.

You try to keep your distance, avoiding him whenever possible and praying that he'll lose interest and move on to someone else. But the Sheriff is relentless, his obsession with you growing with each passing day until it becomes impossible to ignore.

One night, as you're tidying up the Great Hall after a banquet, you feel his presence behind you, his breath hot against your neck as he leans in close. "You have a name, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice sending a chill down your spine.

You nod nervously, unable to speak as fear grips your throat like a vice. But the Sheriff doesn't seem to notice—or perhaps he just doesn't care—as he continues to hover close, his gaze burning into your skin with an intensity that makes you squirm.

"I want you," he said abruptly, his words sending shockwaves of terror through your body. The implication hung heavy in the air, leaving you trembling with fear at the thought of what he might do to you.

But before you could respond, the Sheriff gave you a chilling command. "Come to my quarters at 11," he instructed, his voice dripping with authority. "And don't be late."

You nodded numbly, too terrified to refuse as the Sheriff smiled contentedly to himself before leaving, leaving you shaking in his wake. As you stood alone in the Great Hall, the weight of his words settled over you like a suffocating blanket, filling you with a sense of dread and helplessness.

The thought of what awaited you in the Sheriff's quarters made your stomach churn with nausea, but you knew that disobeying him was not an option. With a heavy heart, you resigned yourself to your fate, knowing that you had no choice but to obey his command.

As the clock struck 11, you found yourself standing outside the Sheriff's quarters, your heart pounding in your chest as you knocked on the door with trembling hands. The seconds stretched into eternity as you waited, the anticipation building with each passing moment until finally, the door swung open, revealing the Sheriff standing before you.

He was dressed only in his pants, his black hair tousled and his brown eyes gleaming with amusement as he greeted you with a sly grin. "Ah, the 11 o'clock girl," he purred, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. "Right on time, as always."

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry with fear as you stepped into his quarters, your eyes darting nervously around the room. But before you could utter a word, the Sheriff turned away from you, his attention drawn to the woman lying in his bed.

"Time to go, darling," he said casually, his tone dismissive as he addressed the woman who lay beside him. "You were the 10:45 girl, weren't you? Off you go now, before I lose interest."

The woman scrambled to get dressed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she hurriedly gathered her belongings and fled the room, leaving you alone with the Sheriff once more. As the door closed behind her, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease wash over you, the realization sinking in that you were not the only one he had summoned tonight.

But as you looked at the Sheriff, his gaze lingering on you with a hunger that sent a chill down your spine, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. You had been summoned here for a reason, and now it was time to face whatever fate awaited you.

But as the Sheriff approached you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, a wave of doubt washed over you, your mind reeling with questions and uncertainties. Did you truly want this? Did you have any choice in the matter?

As he drew closer, his hands reaching out to touch you, you couldn't help but flinch, your body recoiling instinctively from his touch. But the Sheriff paid no mind to your hesitation, his eyes blazing with desire as he closed the distance between you, his lips brushing against yours in a rough and possessive kiss.

As the Sheriff pulled you into his embrace, his hands roaming over your trembling form, a shiver of anticipation ran down your spine. Despite your fear and uncertainty, there was something undeniably thrilling about being in the presence of such a powerful and commanding man.

"You're trembling, my dear," the Sheriff remarked, his voice dripping with amusement as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear. "Nervous, are we? Or perhaps just excited to finally be in my arms?"

You couldn't help but blush at his words, your cheeks burning with embarrassment as you struggled to maintain your composure. But the Sheriff only chuckled darkly, his hands wandering lower as he pulled you closer, his touch sending sparks of desire coursing through your veins.

"Tell me, darling," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he trailed kisses down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. "Do you know why I summoned you here tonight? Or are you content to let me take what I want without a word of protest?"

His words sent a thrill of fear and excitement coursing through you, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggled to find your voice. But before you could respond, the Sheriff silenced you with a searing kiss, his lips hungry and demanding as he claimed you as his own.

As his hands roamed over your body with a possessive urgency, you surrendered yourself to him completely, your mind clouded with desire as you lost yourself in the heat of the moment. And as the Sheriff guided you towards the bed with a predatory gleam in his eyes, you knew that there was no turning back now.

He paused for a moment, his fingers caressing your thigh with a disturbing mix of possessiveness and curiosity, he posed a question that made your heart race with apprehension.

"Are you a virgin?" he asked, his voice laced with a cruel edge as he studied your reaction.

You swallowed hard, your mouth dry with fear as you stuttered out a nervous "no." The truth was that servants like you were rarely virgins, your station in life leaving you with very few options and even fewer expectations of finding a husband.

The Sheriff nodded, his fingers trailing under your servant's dress, which was little more than a rag draped over your body. "How many men have you been with, then?" he inquired, his tone mocking and derisive.

You lowered your gaze respectfully, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks as you admitted, "Only one, milord. A stable boy here at the castle."

The Sheriff's brow quirked in amusement, a sardonic smile playing on his lips as he considered your response. "Ah, a stable boy," he remarked dryly. "Is he your betrothed, then? Your one true love?"

You shook your head quickly, your voice barely above a whisper as you denied his assumption. "No, milord. We were... merely acquaintances."

The Sheriff chuckled darkly at your response, his fingers continuing to roam over your trembling form as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear. "Well, my dear, it seems you and I have something in common," he murmured, his voice dripping with malice. "Neither of us is meant for love, only for pleasure."

You shuddered at his words, a chill of dread creeping down your spine as you realized the true nature of your predicament. With a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, you knew that there was no escape from the Sheriff's clutches—that you were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of power and desire.

And as he pressed his lips to yours once more, his touch hungry and possessive, you resigned yourself to your fate, knowing that there was no turning back now.

As the Sheriff of Nottingham stripped away your meager garment, revealing your naked form to him, a predatory grin spread across his lips, his brown eyes gleaming with a cruel hunger. His gaze lingered hungrily on your exposed body, savoring every curve and contour as if he were appraising a prized possession.

"You're beautiful, my dear," he remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he traced a finger along the curve of your hip. "Almost too beautiful to be a mere servant."

You flinched at his touch, feeling a chill of dread wash over you as you realized the true extent of your vulnerability. But before you could protest or beg for mercy, the Sheriff's hands were already moving with purpose, stripping away your last shred of modesty with callous disregard.

As he tossed your underwear aside, leaving you completely exposed before him, you couldn't help but tremble with fear and shame, your heart pounding in your chest as you braced yourself for what was to come.

The Sheriff's smile widened at the sight of your nakedness, his eyes devouring you with an insatiable hunger that made your skin crawl. He wasted no time in making his intentions clear, his movements rough and commanding as he positioned himself between your legs, his erection throbbing with anticipation.

With one hand gripping your thigh possessively, the Sheriff used his other hand to guide his throbbing member towards your entrance, his touch sending shockwaves of pain and pleasure coursing through your body.

"No, please, wait," you pleaded, your voice trembling with desperation as you tried in vain to reason with him. But the Sheriff paid no heed to your protests, his lustful desires driving him forward with relentless determination.

Ignoring your cries, he thrust himself into you with brutal force, causing you to cry out in agony as he stretched you beyond your limits. You were not ready for him, not prepared for the searing pain that tore through your body with each merciless thrust.

But the Sheriff showed no mercy, his movements relentless as he claimed you as his own, his grunts of pleasure mingling with your cries of pain. He was rough and demanding, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he pounded into you with a primal intensity.

"Ah, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he reveled in the sensation of your warmth enveloping him. "That stable boy clearly didn't know what he was doing if he left you like this."

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you struggled to endure the agonizing pleasure, your mind clouded with a dizzying mix of pain and arousal. The Sheriff's thrusts were relentless, each one driving you closer to the edge of oblivion as he claimed you as his own.

And as he pressed your hand against your lower stomach, forcing you to feel the full extent of his penetration with each thrust, you realized with a sickening sense of despair that there was no escape from his clutches—that you were nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game of power and desire.

As the Sheriff continued to thrust into you with a relentless determination, his words became more cutting, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted, his breath hot against your ear as he reveled in your helpless submission. "A filthy little servant like you, enjoying being used like a common whore."

You whimpered at his words, a mixture of shame and arousal coursing through your veins as you struggled to reconcile your conflicting emotions. You knew you shouldn't be enjoying this, shouldn't be responding to his cruel words with such eagerness, but you couldn't help yourself.

With each thrust, the Sheriff seemed to find new ways to demean and degrade you, his words like daggers piercing your already fragile sense of self-worth.

"You're nothing but a plaything to me," he sneered, his tone laced with contempt as he continued to pound into you with a punishing rhythm. "A worthless little whore, good for nothing but spreading your legs and taking whatever I give you."

But instead of recoiling from his words, you found yourself growing more aroused with each insult, your body responding eagerly to his dominating presence. With a newfound sense of confidence, you reached out and grabbed the Sheriff's back, pulling him closer to you as you urged him to intensify his thrusts.

The Sheriff's eyes widened in surprise at your boldness, a dark grin spreading across his lips as he realized the depth of your depravity. "Well, well, it seems our little servant has a bit of a backbone after all," he chuckled, his voice tinged with amusement. "I like that. Let's see how much you can take, shall we?"

With a renewed sense of purpose, you gripped the Sheriff's ass firmly, urging him to thrust into you harder and faster as you surrendered yourself to the pleasure of the moment. Despite the pain and humiliation, there was something undeniably exhilarating about being dominated by such a powerful and commanding man.

And as the Sheriff chuckled darkly at your eagerness, his hands roaming over your trembling form with a possessive urgency, you knew that there was no turning back now—that you were his to command, body and soul. And strangely, in that moment, you wouldn't have it any other way.

As the Sheriff took your hand off his ass and pinned it to the bed above your head, you felt a surge of excitement coursing through your veins. His touch was rough yet electrifying, sending shivers of anticipation racing down your spine as you surrendered yourself to the pleasure of the moment.

Leaning down, the Sheriff pressed his lips to your neck, his kisses leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he trailed down to your collarbone. With effortless strength, he took your other hand and pinned them together above your head, his large hand easily holding them in place against the mattress.

You moaned with pleasure, the sound music to the Sheriff's ears as he reveled in the intoxicating power he held over you. With each thrust, he drove you to new heights of ecstasy, his movements relentless and commanding as he claimed you as his own.

As he kissed down your collarbone, the Sheriff couldn't help but marvel at the scent of soap on your skin, a stark contrast to the other women he had been with. "You smell divine," he murmured, his voice filled with admiration as he praised you for your cleanliness.

But you were lost in pleasure, your eyes closed and face contorted in ecstasy as you surrendered yourself completely to the Sheriff's desires. With each thrust, your back arched and your body writhed beneath him, the sensations overwhelming your senses as you neared the brink of climax.

The Sheriff watched you with a hunger that bordered on obsession, his brown eyes dark with desire as he imagined what it would be like to see you cum on his dick. It was a thought that had never crossed his mind before, the idea of giving pleasure to a woman rather than just taking what he needed.

But as he gazed down at you, lost in pleasure and utterly vulnerable beneath him, the Sheriff felt a strange sense of longing stirring within him. He wanted to see your expression as you reached the peak of ecstasy, to witness the raw, unbridled passion on your face as you surrendered yourself completely to him.

With a newfound sense of determination, the Sheriff quickened his pace, driving you towards the edge of oblivion with each powerful thrust. And as you cried out in ecstasy, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of pleasure washed over you, he knew that he would stop at nothing to make you his own.

For in that moment, as you lay beneath him, utterly vulnerable and completely surrendered to his desires, the Sheriff realized that he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side—to possess you body and soul, now and forever.

#sheriff of nottingham #alan rickman #robin hood #Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves #sheriff of Nottingham x reader #alan rickman x reader

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